Foxxe Wilder
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Body Thief
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©2013 — Foxxe Wilder
Micheal Carols, a police detective in the near future runs into a problem while alone at a crime scene. Having been stunned into unconsciousness from behind, he wakes up in a strange woman’s body. Still on the crime scene, he is arrested for interfering with a crime scene as well as being a prime suspect in the theft of some experimental software from the crime scene.
The real owner of the body he is trapped in makes off with his police credentials and system access (coded to retinal scan, voice and thumbprint) and stirs up trouble for him. His best chance is the help of a female jail inmate that knew the original body’s inhabitant and a detective he barely knows.
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Tuesday 07-30-2013 at 05:59:51 am, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
Carol Micheals looked in the mirror and adjusted her bra. She hated the damn thing but it came with the territory. If you had boobs any bigger than a B cup then it was better to wear one than to risk eventual back issues - or so they told her.
She was never quite sure about just how true that was but she was not going to risk it. She didn't know very much about the background of her body aside that it belonged to a 27 year old woman when he ‘moved in’, she had been barren, had a history of some chemical addictions as well as long history of criminal activities.
This body had been her home for almost 10 years now and her face was beginning to show signs of her physical age. Not her true age mind you, just the age of the body. Her true age was 59 as she was born as a man, Micheal Carols, who was 22 years older than the body she had now. She got a longer lease on life out of the deal but with that was the gender issues and almost months on end of bullshit of trying to re-establish her actual life to the courts and various other governmental department.
Then there were the attentions of men. That was the worst part. She had never had any attraction for any man and had often wondered since the body theft just why and how women put up with them at all. She had no libido to speak of before the theft of her natural body and had far less now, but it was not always like this.
She found herself, once again, thinking of how she got in this state.
Micheal Carols had made the level of detective by the age of 33 after years of walking the beat in downtown Vancouver. With time he advanced his career to a level where he rarely had to actually leave his office but he still trusted his eyes and other senses on crime scenes and trusted far less in the virtual scans most detectives had become used to in more recent times. Quite often he'd see something that a scan just didn't pick up clearly enough or even a slight smell or odour would catch his attention and lead him to a vital discovery that a virtual scan system couldn't match as of yet.
The downtown core of Vancouver had changed quite a lot over the years. The old turn of the century yuppie built condominiums had been retaken by the poor and lower financial classes after the second real estate crash of 2021. In fact that was the only bonus the poor had ever made in that area. Over twenty thousand people were able to get homes almost over night due to provincial government take over of the bank owned properties.
It was on one of his personal visits to a crime scene, just after his forty-ninth birthday, where he ran into his life changing ordeal. It was a case where some very expensive software had been reported stolen after a late night break in and he was bored in his office with just pouring over the virtual scans. Virtual Reality scans were always taken from every crime scene and many cases have been successfully solved because almost all info could be saved for future reference. But as he could not see as much from it no matter how much he examined it and being an old fashioned trained detective, he decided to visit the crime scene in person.
The software in question had to do with medical equipment but was flagged as experimental and confidential so he really didn't know too much about it. Neither did he care. He didn't need to know the specifics about the software. All he needed to know was just a basic idea of what it was supposed to do and the means of identification of said softwares; the specifics were naturally not any of his business.
As always there were some things the scanners could not pick up nor replicate and he had a nose for it - literally. As he stepped into the office he immediately detected the slight odour of ozone, often left behind by the constant running of high energy computers.
There was something else that he detected that was out of the normal - a scent that he could not quite place. It was a slightly fruity smell, an odd smell for a software lab as it was not common for software engineers to eat in the workplace; that was a practice that was frowned upon since the early 2020's where software engineers commonly made mistakes while eating so it was decided that such activities would be simply banned from the environment to help to cut back on unnecessary distractions.
It was not overpowering though. In fact one could say that it was barely there, distant or subdued, as if someone had attempted to hide it for some reason - probably due to a programmer that was delinquent by nature, took a chance and ate in the lab. His curiosity being peaked by this oddity led him to check the waste baskets of the cubicles.
He smelled it much closer now; some odd mixture of strawberry and melons.
He was thinking that he was getting close to discovering the precise source of the smell when he was hit from behind with what felt to be a stunner - a common street issue hand tazer that worked on a finely tuned electromagnetic disruption of the nerve endings. It was used as a replacement for the old wired models that had become notoriously unhealthy with old police use at the turn of the century and as it was fine tuned for human nerve endings, it had no effect upon any magnetically sensitive materials.
The smell of strawberries and melons was almost overpowering him as he went down like a stone in water, and blacking out just as fast.
How long he laid there he could not tell for sure. His head was pounding like an ancient air hammer; there was also a feeling of slight nausea, often the after effects of stunner.
It was early morning when he got to the site and the sun was now somewhat high in the sky. The location of the office downtown did not offer any good view of sun's position nor of any view aside of other high-rise buildings. He could only guess that it was still daytime - perhaps midafternoon at best but he could not be entirely sure. He struggled to get upright but the room spun as he did so.
Vertigo? That was not a normal side effect of stunners; not any that he had heard of anyways. He lay back down rolling slightly to his side as he did so to try to orient his spinning senses. As he did so he heard distant voices coming down the hall. He'd left a note for his auto-secretary before he left his office to record his movements and whereabouts. Standard procedure.
He listened as the voices got closer and eventually they could be heard entering the room where he laid prone on the floor. Still nauseous and spinning from slight vertigo he let out a slight groan to assist them in locating him.
Moments later he felt himself flipped on his back and the security guard of the building hit his badge, spoke briefly into it and minutes later was joined by a pair of paramedics, and a beat cop joined them with his cuffs out.
He was injected with an adrenaline based shot and stood up rather roughly, just as his physical discomforts started to clear up, the cuffs were put on him and his arms yanked roughly behind his back.
The beat cop looked at him directly in the eyes and replied, "Okay missy, this is a closed crime scene and as such you are under arrest for interference in a criminal investigation. I suggest you keep all your statements to yourself and await legal counsel as you are most certainly going to need it."
He then turned to the security guard who seemed to be apparently wandering from cubicle to cubicle looking for other people, "Any signs?"
"Nope, no signs of him at all," he replied, "she must have been here alone."
"She?" Micheal thought, "Who the hell is this she they are speaking of?"
"Well that is just fine by me," the beat cop said as he grinned at Micheal, "No extra surprises then. Carols must have left then without reporting in," he then went very sombre faced and turned to face him again, "or at least he had better have for your sake, missy!"
There was that reference again, 'missy'. "What the hell is wrong with this flat foot?" Micheal wondered as he was forcibly shoved towards the door, There was no reason for this abusive treatment at all especially by a subordinate. On top of everything he could still smell that strawberry-melon smell, only it seemed extremely close now and just would not seem to go away no matter where he was moved to.
"I assure you that I will have your badge and your ass on a platter after this day is done, flat foot!" Micheal snapped out in a groggy voice. Further irritated by the odd sound of his voice Micheal cleared his throat but even that didn't seem to help at all. His voice sounded way off normal.
The beat cop just chuckled slightly, "yeah sure, anything you say!" and pushed him through the door where Micheal fell flat on his face his hands still bound behind his back. The beat cop lifted him back up on his feet just as easily as though he were hoisting a mere 50 pound sack of potatoes and stood Micheal on his feet.
As Micheal regained his footing he glanced down towards his feet to assure his footing. That was when he saw it. It all began to fit toget3her now. He saw breasts, a slightly bulging but not quite overweight waistline, widened hips and tiny feet. He was in the body of a woman!
"Oh shit!" was all he said, then he thought better of saying anything else.
He knew that some of these beat cops were corrupt enough to 'lose' people that pissed them off and in the body of a yet unknown woman and found on a crime scene as such, he had little hope for any immediate understanding by him and his true identity was going to be a real bitch to prove no matter what for some time.
The beat cop took him in custody with the security guard to the rear gate of the building and hit his badge activating the transceiver built within. By design it was similar to the security guard's but naturally worked on a differing bandwidth.
"This is number 718 - McMurtrey, Located at crime scene 412 south of Dunsmuir at Seymour Ave in the rear entrance. I need transport for one female age approximately mid to late twenties. - Better send a female unit for strip search. Charges to include possible disruption of a crime scene," the beat cop then looked at the security guard and nodded, "shouldn't be any more than a few minutes maximum."
"Not to worry," the security replied, "it's been real quiet this morning, I recorded Detective Carols entering the building about 3 hours ago but he must have slipped out while I was on break. I didn't see him leave at all."
Micheal sat in the interview view - which was a nice way of say interrogation room - and looked at the one way mirrored window. The woman's face staring back at him from the reflection was no beauty queen but at the same time she was not exactly ugly either. She had a round face with full cheeks, medium high cheekbones, slightly pouty lips, blue-grey eyes and shoulder length chestnut hair. Her eyebrows were heavier in growth than he was used to seeing these days on women but he assumed that was partially due to the absence of vanity this woman had - an assumption he made when noticing she wore no makeup at all. The only vanity item she did use some sort of fruity cologne that smelled of strawberries and melon - the smell that originally gave her presence in the software lab away.
The identification process gave him a bit of other relevant information on her as well. She was five foot five inches tall, had a an almost slender build with a slight bulge on the belly indicating that she was not one for much exercise. She weighed in at one hundred and forty-four pounds.
During the strip search by the female officer that came along with the paddy wagon, he also learned the girl's body he was stuck in, never trimmed herself 'down there' and by the looks of it, her boobs were roughly a thirty eight double D cup.
It took five hours of constant grilling by the arresting officer and two junior detectives to ascertain that the woman that they had in custody had the mind of Detective Micheal Carols within it or at least a good knowledge of his life.
Her fingerprints were taken and she was identified as Shari Anne Canning; a recovering chemical addict with an extensive record of drugs and some minor robbery charges.
Micheal could already feel the rising tension in her body from the withdrawal she was going through. It was no picnic for him but he knew only too well that he had to keep a level head at this point. Although the interrogators had discovered that Micheal Carols might be the mind within the body, they still had to be sure of it and that could only be done over time and extensive interrogation to assure all answers they got were giving the same information on a constant basis.
Micheal had been on such interrogation teams in the past only too often where a victim's body was stolen for the purpose of a crime, or for hiding from a police dragnet. The victim within the accuser’s body could be in custody for up to a full week, constantly under the microscope to insure proper identification.
Meanwhile the name of the person they purported to be was recorded, tracked down and taken into custody to also prove identity. Most of the time the criminal with the stolen body would screw up after only a few days and the original body owner would be transferred back to their own body under medical supervision.
He knew that it could be quite a while in his case as the perpetrator now had access to his entire life, badge number and police clearances. With his retinal scan and a thumbprint his very job could be hacked into. He sighed aloud.
Ten minutes passed and two detectives entered the room; one male, one female. Micheal recognized the female detective as a newer addition to the division, by name of Detective Teri Jacobson. Although he had never actually met her in person before he had heard that she was rather thorough in her procedure. The male detective was just as new to him but a quick glance at his Precinct Ident Card told Micheal that his name was Detective Trent Canon.
“Well, Ms. Canning,” Teri addressed him, “for the moment that is who you have been physically identified. Now as know if you are the real detective Micheal Carols, you will be identified by the name of the body you are in.”
“We have contacted the body of Detective Carols and he has admitted to being on the crime scene. However he has reported nothing unusual. In fact his report has been validated by system security monitors. He was in the same room where you were found, he checked a trashcan and left the scene. You were seen on the security cam later apparently poking around in the computers looking for something,” Detective Jacobson continued.
“That’s impossible,” Micheal responded, “She must have hacked the security system. Altered the timestamps somehow.”
“That would take quite some advanced knowledge of computer software systems and according to our records, Ms. Canning, you don’t have any such talents and never had any formal training in that area at all,” the male detective replied, “why don’t you come clean and tell us what you were really after?”
”Dammit, why can’t you get it through your skull?” Micheal replied frustrated, “I am not Shari Canning, this is her body. She hit me with a stunner from behind and must have used a portable Xchange unit on me. When I came to I was in this body and on the crime scene still. I did look into the trashcan. That’s where I was when I got hit by the stunner. I know only too well the problems I am looking at for ident as well. I’ve sat in on such sessions many times.”
The female detective hit her badge and mumbled into it. Moments later the door lock clicked and another person joined them. Micheal was startled as it was Micheal’s own body grinning from ear to ear!
“So this is the little tart junkie that seems to want me for my body?” Micheal’s body smiled at him with an odd gleam in the eye, “Just why would a woman of your age want with an old fart’s broken down body like mine? I doubt you’d take me as attractive!”
Teri attempted a poorly stifled giggle and failed but for a moment, then rapidly regained her composure.
“Well apparently you have some sort of plan or you would not be here,” Micheal hissed angrily in Shari’s voice, “This is a good ruse by the way, but there are things you don’t know about me that are not on file and those will eventually be your undoing. In the meantime if you damage anything on that body…”
“That, my dear, is my business,” Micheal’s voice replied back, “and you aren’t going to do shit because you can’t do shit. I’ve seen your file. They showed me on the way in. You are delusional, a drug user and a habitual criminal with a record as long as my arm.”
“You showed her the files?” Micheal nearly screeched, “Are you two crazy? That is so far off procedure I could not begin to know where to start! You gave Canning the door to my life and everything! I demand you cap this at once for further investigation.”
The person within Micheal’s body smiled, pinched Micheal on the ass and activated his badge, calling for the door.
As Micheal watched his body leave the room, the female detective looked Micheal directly in the eyes and said. “You are going to be charged for tampering with a crime scene, Ms. Canning. You will be detained in a women’s cell block until your trial which can take up to 14 days minimum to process. At which time you will be required to present further valid proof of your identification claims, assuming of course that you can.”
“And you are going to set him free on his own recognizance?” Micheal began to feel the weight of his fruitless predicament. It was his word against the word of what appeared to be a much respected detective; a reputation he worked his ass off to achieve over the years, and here he was trapped against it.
“What if he runs and only afterward I can prove my innocence and Ident?” he continued, “Then you two numbskulls will have to find him and bring him in for corrective Xchange. I’d hate to be in your ass when that shit hits the fan!”
The male detective laughed, “Wow, that is some convincing delusion! I’d almost believe you, were it not for the fact that Detective Carols has already passed a lie detection hands down — I checked the results personally.”
A cold chill ran down Micheal’s spine; he knew what that meant. Shari Canning apparently had some help from the inside. Sighing heavily he looked up and replied, “Well then, that’s about it for now then. Any more questions will have to be made in the company of my lawyer.”
“As you wish Ms, Canning,” he replied as he straightened up and touched his badge to signal for the door, “A public defender will be assigned to you, until then you will have to return to your cell for processing then transferred to the **Worem centre. Clothing will be supplied.”
(**Worem Centre aka Women’s Remand Centre — a special correctional unit for the non-sentenced accused.)
Michael sighed as he glanced at the pile of non-descript women's clothes then up at the female guard behind the clothing desk. Already he had seen more variations of female flesh than he'd ever dreamed of before and he hoped that this escapade would not sour his view of woman when he got his own body back.
The shower room contained a dozen women of various ages and sizes and none of them were what he would refer to as pretty in anyway. Due to some rather personal and highly invasive searches, he had already experienced a few of the pains that were female specific. He already new far more from experience about the vagina between his legs than he expected.
He put the clothes on as best as he could and joined the waiting line-up of similarly clad women. The next step they were all issued blankets, a pillow, bed sheets and a pair of towels. After the bedding issuance they were paraded out the door and escorted to an empty halfway room where there was not a stick of furniture, just one lone metal door with a small 10 inch square window. All prisoners were left there and the guards exited the room promptly. As the guards’ exit door clanged shut, the door opposite issued it’s own clang, then it swung open, allowing the inmates a view of the indoor courtyard beyond where a number of other female inmates were idly milling about.
As he entered he heard a voice call from the opposite side of the room, “Shari?” the woman’s voice cried out, “Dammit bitch, what the hell did you do to get here?”
For a moment he forgot himself then remembered the face he wore was not his own. He forced a smile and replied, “I was caught in a software lab.”
A slightly overweight short woman of about 32 years strolled up to him and dropped her voice to a whisper, “Okay who the hell are you? Shari would never admit what she was doing and she outright hated me, so fess up. Did she finally get the parts to repair that hot xchange unit of hers?”
Michael smiled briefly then answered cautiously, “well you are right on a few things. I am definitely not Shari despite my appearance, and as I am here in her body instead of my own, so I’d say that her search for replacement parts was a success. As you know my name, or at least the one this face goes by, may I inquire as to who you might be?”
“My name is Jessica Leon,” the blonde woman responded, “me and Shari did a few jobs years ago but things came to a head between us when she slept with my old man. She denied it and threatened to kick my ass everytime she saw me. She did exactly that a few times but every so often I got the best of her. I suppose that she must have made off with your body and left you in hers then?”
“That’s right,” Micheal replied, “and I will admit that it is a very odd state for a person like me to be caught in. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get used to all this woman stuff.”
“Oh my god,” Jessica exclaimed in a whisper, “You’re a man in there? You poor dear. What is your normal job, when you are in your own body I mean?”
Micheal thought quickly. He could not be identified as a cop of any kind in this environment. He’d never survive to ever see his own face again. He had to play it cool somehow.
“I’m into law,” he offered, “she nailed me on a crime scene and made off with my life leaving me stunned and unconscious on the crime scene. As I could not prove my identity, they put me in here, under her name and with the charges applied to her on my shoulders.”
“She always was a bitch,” Jessica replied, “so what are you? Forensics?”
“Crime scene virtual scanner,” Micheal lied, “I record crime scenes for crime scene vids.”
“Crime scene Photographer is what they used to call you guys before all the fancy holographing toys came out,” Jessica responded, “so she nailed you from behind and you woke up with tits?”
“Yeah something like that,” he replied, “any idea why she’d pick my body for this? I mean my body is almost 50 years old, this chick is 27. She’s not getting an upgrade in this trade off, that is for sure.”
“Well, Shari liked to use xchange to cover her tracks on various jobs,” Jessica replied as they sat down at a secluded table away from the general population, “she used to say that some day she’d Xchange with a guy for shits and giggles; just to see what it was like to be a man. I will admit I am a bit surprised that she settled for an older man’s body for that.”
“No more than I am,” Micheal replied, “I was never what you’d call a looker at all, well, not that I am aware of anyways. I never did that well with the ladies either, so I pretty well just stuck to my job and my boring life and just existed.”
“Well now you’re definitely getting out of your rut,” Jessica giggled.
“And right into someone else’s,” Micheal replied dryly, “It’s not really what I had in mind for a change of pace.” Micheal looked around and motioned adding, “and this is definitely not where I was planning to take my vacation.”
“Well hon,” Jessica sat back and stretched, “it looks like you are going to see how the other half lives and big time. As a woman and an inmate. Any idea on how long you will be in here?”
“Not precisely,” Micheal replied with a sigh, “they sent me direct from the station to here. I saw no judge nor administration at all. Legally I should not be here at all until a judge or Justice of the Peace sends me here. I suspect that there was some paper tampering involved.”
“Well,” Jessica scowled slightly, “if Shari’s behind this and she has access to a police computer, she’d be the one to find a way to hide you away for a while, to keep you out of her hair. It may not show up in her records but Shari has quite a talent with security systems on computers. It’s mostly self taught but she did have a boyfriend about years back who taught her a whole whack of stuff.”
“So that’s how she did it,” Micheal thought, “she hacked the admin files using my retinal scan, thumbprint and voice pattern; this is not going to be easy if she gets me moved into solitary somehow. I have to make sure I don’t end up there.”
“Well if and when you need help with any upcoming feminine issues, I’m here for you. If anyone bothers you just tell them that you are Jessie’s bitch.” Jessica smiled slyly, “There will be a price for my services but we can negotiate that at a later date. You have to contact someone with some pull on the outside if you can.”
“Feminine issues?” Micheal asked warily, “what kind of issues could those be?”
“Oh just the standard menstral period and hygiene issues, emotional problems, hell maybe even sex!” Jessica replied with a slight smile, “you’ve not thought of any of this, have you?”
“No, not at all,” Micheal replied suddenly feeling uncomfortable in this skin once again, “least of all sex! I was hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with any of that.”
“Ha!” Jessica laughed a bit louder than she meant to which turned almost every eye on the range in the direction where Jessica and Micheal chatted, “With Shari’s body you are more than likely to feel a bit bothered rather soon. She used to be a bit of a nympho.”
“Oh Christ,” Micheal felt a shiver go up his spine. Nothing about sexuality had even occurred to him. He had been more worried about his body and the fact it held all sorts of security access methods that without it, he was totally helpless. He barely noticed being female that much.
“Well all that aside, I’ll deal with that as it comes,” Micheal blushed at the unintended pun he made, “The big part of that is how do I prove to them who I am?” he wondered aloud, “it won’t be easy. I’ve seen a bit of Shari’s record, it’s lengthy and a bit wild to say the least.”
“Yeah there is one thing that might help you out with her,” Jessica pondered, “Shari had a run in with the cops in Winnipeg about 3 years ago involving Xchange units. She got caught red handed with 6 stolen units, she got off that charge scot free on a technicality. The charge should still be on the books but there was no guilty verdict. She lost the units to the cops but walked from the charges.”
“Well let’s get you set up in your cell before the good ones are taken up.” Jessica smiled, “we can talk business some other time. There is just one more thing I want from you at this time.”
Jessica pulled Micheal close and hugged him tightly while kissing him full on the lips and pronounced loud enough for the courtyard to hear, “You’re my bitch. You do as I say, when I say and to who I say — no questions!”
Jessica winked quickly at him and whispered low, “play along.”
Micheal got down on his knees in a submissive position and looking at Jessica’s feet replied, “as you wish ma’am.”
“Okay now get your ass up, grab your shit and follow me,” Jessica led him off to find his cell.
Later on that night Micheal laid in his cell frustrated and more than just a bit shaken. He had made a friend in jail, which was always a plus but she had her price. Micheal was not sure what she would ask for repayment but he was not sure he wanted to find out too quickly. Jessica made no motion to explain or even hint what that price would be but he was hoping that it would happen after he gained his freedom and his life back.
He had made a friend, but not just any friend; one that had a vendetta upon the very person who owned the body he was stuck in. It was not much for help but it was a start. He could probably gain more info into what Shari’s life was like so he could track down her intentions. He was almost sure, by the sounds of the stories that Jessica had shared with him, that she could be helpful to ascertain Shari’s intentions.
Micheal had his suspicions that his body would be used for some sort of major crime and then she’d just drop his body for someone else’s, leaving someone else trapped within his body while Shari made off in their body.
He rolled onto his side and gazed idly out the door of his cell, more than just a little aware of the feeling of his breasts laying on top of each other. That was something that felt oddly comforting but he had no idea why. He hugged his boobs as he stared out the door and drifted off to sleep.
Two days had passed without any incidents. Micheal was playing cards with Jessica and a few other inmates when a guard’s voice came over the intercom, “Canning, you have a visitor. Go to door 3b and wait.”
“Are you expecting someone hon?” Jessica asked him.
“Not that I am aware of,” he answered, “unless it’s him, but I don’t see that happening. He is not likely to be coming here anytime soon.”
“You might be right there,” Jessica smiled.
Micheal got up and went to door 3b and waited. After a few moments he saw the face of a guard on the other side of the glass and a slight buzz was heard as the door unlocked to allow him access.
As the door slammed shut behind him, the guard told him, “It seems the police want to ask you some more questions about your case. Do you want to have your attorney here for this?”
“No that’s okay,” he replied, “I don’t have anything to hide at all.”
He was led into an interview room with 2 chairs and a small table between them. Sitting at the table was a fellow detective that he knew by reputation although the two of them had never actually intermingled socially.
“Good morning Ms. Canning, My name is Detective Dave Frost,” he introduced himself with a handshake, “I am investigating your claims to be someone else. Could you elaborate a bit for me on this?”
Micheal told him everything. From the moment he left his office after viewing the virtual scan to the point where he lost consciousness only to wake up as a woman.
“Can you offer ME any proof as to who you claim to be?” the detective asked as he checked the statement recorder on the desk to assure its operation, “given your physical form we cannot go through the standard old school identification methods. Perhaps if you offered me some personal info on your early life that I could verify by way of researching older records. It would take a few days but it could help to verify who you claim to be and even help you to return to duty, if you are who you claim to be.”
“Oh yeah, look at me,” Micheal replied, “I’m in the body of a drug addict, I’ve been going through withdrawal for the past while and you are saying that they will just up and allow me to grab my badge and sidearm and return to duty? No, if at all, they are more likely going to stick me on desk duty until all ident questions are verified one way or another. Then if I can get this body to pass the physical, well you know the procedure I’m sure. No, I can’t see me doing that.”
“Well Ms. Canning, and I’m sorry for referring to you as such but until I can see proof that you might be Micheal Carols, I will continue to refer to you as the name that comes with your body,” the detective responded, “this is the fastest way we have at present, and to be honest with you, I saw the records of your initial interview. I was curious and checked them further. I found that you’ve been sent here without even seeing a Justice of the Peace?”
Micheal nodded, “That’s true. I was railroaded. Someone on the inside seems to be working with the real Shari Canning and helped to get me out of the way. I have as yet to understand why.”
“Well, I’ve come to a similar conclusion,” Det. Frost replied with a smile, “but they have police clearances and chasing this gossamer thread is going to take some time and patience but we should have some results that we can take to a judge to at least get you released.”
“Then what?” Micheal asked, “it’s not like I can go home at all. The security system is rigged to voice and thumbprint and my voice now won’t match up at all not to mention my thumbprint is not mine either.”
“I’ll arrange for accommodations and supplies under the federal witness act,” Det. Frost replied, “As you may know, we can cover you there as well as some fresh clothes, until the investigation is complete. You need only be honest and help me as much as you can. I can’t say that I’ve ever known Det. Micheal Carols personally but I have dealt with a few Xchange body thefts in the past. If I can verify who you claim to be, we can proceed from there and hopefully track down his location.”
“What do you mean by that?” Micheal felt panic rising.
“It’s just that Det. Micheal Canning has not reported for his shift for 2 days now and has not logged out of the system from the day when you were picked up.” Det. Frost replied, “Your story was examined on the interview room recorder because he was present for a time in that interview room and we detected a few oddities. Some of the records have been altered and we need to know what was changed and why.”
Micheal remembered that day all too well. It was quite a bit of a shock to see his own face like that. Then there was the pinch on the ass he got from his own fingers the last time he saw it.
“Well I’ll be more than willing to help out naturally,” Micheal responded as he motioned to his chest and downwards, “I am not exactly willing to be stuck like this, but I can man it out as they say, for a while I suppose.”
“Well then that is great!” Det. Frost smiled, “We should have you out of here within a few days with any luck, and into a witness protection shelter until we can get this case cracked. If you are anything at all like I’ve heard then you can’t wait to get this woman in custody.”
The detective picked up his paperwork and recorder and called for the door, “Well until next time we meet.”
Micheal smiled, “Thank you for your help, I was afraid I was going to rot in here and stuck as a woman at that.”
“Well we can’t have people stealing the bodies of police officers and detectives. God knows what kind of damage they could do to one’s career, never mind the reputation of the police ourselves.” Frost answered with a smile, “Don’t worry, we’ll get her.”
The door opened with a slight buzz and Detective Frost vanished through it leaving him alone. A few moments later a female guard showed up at the door, another slight buzz allowed Micheal to exit the room and the guard escorted him back to his cell range.
Micheal was all smiles when he got back to his cell.
“Internal affairs,” Micheal thought as she sat in her cell a few days later, “Frost must be with internal affairs and someone in the station must be already be under investigation even before this shit started. Otherwise how the hell would they be able to respond so quickly? And it’s not like I’ve never taken a few unscheduled days off here and there. The fact that Micheal Carols has not shown up for work could not, in itself, be enough for Internal Affairs to have checked on my situation as this woman, Shari Canning.”
Micheal thought back to the night this occurred, Teri Jacobson and Trent Canon were definitely involved, Micheal had no doubt of that and what was worse was that they appeared that they had not a problem in the world of anyone finding out. How could they be that arrogant? Was their plan so intricate that they thought there was no chance of discovery? Yeah Shari was a very well known drug user and as such her reliability as a witness could easily be in question. Even now she fought off the shakes.
She looked at the calendar. She had been in this body almost a week now and she was getting oddly familiar with it. It seemed natural to refer to such things as her looks, her hands, her ass, her breasts, etc.
Xchange units had their legal and moral uses after all, it was not like they were outlawed. The radical liberals would not allow such things as absolute abolition these days. All technology available at all was purchasable one way or another. This was mostly to avoid the near-miss the US had of being totally overtaken by the military and declared a military regime some 15 years back.
Canada had immediately responded by shutting off the electrical power, water and all other imports to the US and called for a world wide ban on trading or doing any business with the US while the military was in power. After 6 months of severely reduced electrical power and no water imports or food imports, the military regime lost its leader by way of assassination and the military stepped down allowing the citizens to retake the country.
The US citizens re-enacted the US constitution and made some very much needed amendments to it. No technology, no matter what the intent was to become the sole property of the military and the military did not get run by anyone linked to any government. They were to answer to the people and only in times of actual defensive need; no more bullying of other countries was going to be tolerated.
It was militant conservatives with their closed minded thinking that was thought to have brought on the military coup in the first place so the citizens set safeguards in place. Instead of blindly following orders, they supported the questioning of orders for sanity reasons. All too often in history military forces took over any given country because no one questioned the nature of the orders and the system that operated under such foolish measures.
Now the strongest forces anywhere in the world were the Terran Militia; a multinational force that went to the aide of any country, allied or not, to help to keep the peace. That was their only job; it was not to invade over land or resources.
The cities were free from active troops, the people that kept the peace there were, of course, the police. That had not changed much at all. Some individuals would always try to make someone else’s life miserable or take advantage of the weaker. The criminal element had not be abolished; there were always plenty of them around.
Micheal tried to picture Shari at an earlier age. Sure, she was 27 now, but after god knows how many years she had started taking all those chemicals, her face was looking older. Micheal would have guessed that she looked closer to 35 or more. Shari’s face bore the signature of a hard life.
Shari’s health was not unrecoverable but it was plain that she’d never attempted to recognize what she was doing to herself. Micheal looked at her body in the mirror and sighed. She could have been a real looker if she could clean up. Well maybe not a looker but at least pleasantly presentable.
Shari had a bit of a paunch on her belly. It was nothing major; nothing that a few morning crunches couldn’t trim up. It might also feel good to get some upper and lower exercises going, if not for no other reason but to give her something to do. Micheal couldn’t see anything wrong with getting into shape even if it was a woman’s body.
“Geez you’re makin’ me tired just watchin’ you there, Shari,” Jessica greeted Micheal as she started her workout, “I could never imagine a healthy version of that body but there has been improvement!”
“Well coming out of withdrawal takes a lot out of you, and this body almost didn’t survive it” Micheal smiled slightly, “or at least that’s how it appears to me. So I considered it realistically. There ain’t nothing I can do about correcting things at this time, right? I mean not at this time, so I may as well do as best as I can with what I got.”
“Yeah, true, but your life” Jessica asked, “for this one? Ain’t that sort of like replacing a Masserati with a Toyota Corolla? Sure both will do the same job with similar results…”
“Hey, cool off now,” Micheal smiled as she straightened up, “I’ve had some good luck with this first week of exercise, almost to the point of feeling personal pride. I feel sort of recharged when I exercise anyways. It is pretty much the same with this body only it was a bit slower in start-up.”
Micheal giggled and returned to her arm curls.
Jessica studied Micheal as she exercised, “it truly is amazing you know. You have her body but somehow it doesn’t seem like hers at all. It’s like it’s all you and not her at all. Did you exercise this much before all this happened?”
“Wait a minute, I don’t look like Shari?” Micheal asked, “How is that so?”
“I don’t know, you just don’t carry yourself the same, way as she did. There’s something different in the walk too,” Jessica pointed out, “Like confidence levels. It’s like you’re the ‘I’m proud to be woman I am” version of Shari, whereas the real one seemed almost ashamed to be a girl.”
“Wow, sounds like a wonderful girl,” Micheal replied dryly, “what with the drugs and crime elements in her life I am not surprised this body looks as old as it does.”
“Well believe it or not,” Jessica smiled, “Just over the past few weeks you have never looked better.”
“Umm thanks, I think,” Micheal smiled, “I’m not sure if I should feel complimented or Shari should be.”
“And no, in my own body I’ve not exercised for years,” Micheal giggled with a twinkle in her eyes, “I think I must have just given up on how I looked and just let everything go to pot.”
“And you being in Shari’s body brings a new respect for life?” Jessica tilted her head, “how the hell does that work?”
“Well, my body is one of a 49 year old man and admittedly it’s not in very good shape,” Micheal smiled sheepishly, “it’s the typical male cop physique.”
“Ha ha ha,” Jessica laughed as she slapped Micheal on the ass, “Too many years of donuts and coffee?”
“Yeah something’ like that,” Micheal replied, “I never thought of my health going all going downhill like that but I got so engrossed in the job that I just plain forgot. Being in a younger body after all this time, even that of a junkie sort of brings back a feeling of… umm… I don’t know…”
“Self Esteem?” Jessica prodded with a slight smirk.
“Well for lack of a better term, yeah,” Micheal replied as she ran her hands down her frame, “Yeah, self esteem would describe it best.”
“So you are liking it there with all that estrogen?” Jessica teased.
“Well I’ll be honest and admit that it’s not as bad as I first feared,” Micheal replied as she started up another set of crunches, “I’m out of withdrawal, well the worst part anyways, and I’m stronger than I expected this body to be. It is hard to believe that men actually believe women to be the weaker gender of the species. Hell I feel stronger and healthier than I’ve ever felt in my body.”
Jessica smiled and eyed Shari’s flattened stomach, “well some parts are looking far better. It appears that body is doing better with the new driver than with the old one. So, tell me honestly, do you think this experience will make you a better lover as a man?”
“How do you figure?” Micheal asked feeling a bit uncomfortable.
“Well you’ve been a woman for about 3 weeks now,” Jessica prodded, “when you get back to your body do you think this will improve things for you, by way of love making?”
“I can’t see how,” Micheal answered, “I’ve not had to deal with my plumbing that way at all. Anyways, I’d feel far too self conscious about it.”
“Do you think for a moment that Shari has not checked out your plumbing?” Jessica laughed, “I know that perv well enough and trust me, by now she has. If not only on her own, if you know what I mean.”
“Well I doubt she’d have any opportunity to use it on any woman,” Micheal smiled, “I never had that sort of luck.
”
“Yeah but you were not a woman taking a man’s body,” Jessica countered.
“No, I’m the other way around,” Micheal replied, “and I’ve not had the least interest in sex at all since I got became this girl. I don’t see how it would affect Shari in my body so much.”
“Ha, a lot you know,” Jessica laughed, “testosterone is the hormone for sex drive and aggression, or did you not know that? The influence of those levels of testosterone on Shari’s head… well, let’s just say that if your body was virgin before, it certainly won’t be now!”
“Now, that would be just my luck too,” Micheal laughed almost sweetly, “My ass gets laid and I’m not even there to enjoy it. That’s not all, it seems to be a lot easier to think since I’ve been here in Shari’s body than in my own. It’s like this body has less resistance.”
“But to sum it all up for you simply,” Micheal giggled, “No I’ve not so much as touched myself in an improper manner. Strictly business.”
“He he he! You are an optimist though!” Jessica laughed, “Shari probably had yours long before you even knew it was gone!”
“You are a truly sick girl you know that Jessica?” Micheal joked.
“Yeah laugh it up little girl.” Jessica’s face did not smile at all, “Shari’s got your body, all your parts to do as she wishes, when she wishes. She could seriously fuck up your life by just becoming a father! Hell a woman’s mind under the influence of those testes, could easily lose all control over her desires and become like most men; a slave to the dick. If that happens she could avoid running into you for years!”
A mere few minutes later Detective Micheal Carol’s body rose up from the floor smiling strangely as he gazed at the motionless body of a woman beside him.
There was an odd stirring within him that verified what he thought. He grabbed the bag from around the girl’s shoulder and paused a moment looking at the girl’s face.
He bent down to her on one knee, leaning closely and smiled; “Now you be a good girl now. Daddy’s got some business to do and some money to make for good girls.” He then dropped the girl’s identification wallet landing just by her chest. “and we can’t have a girl loose out in this part of town all without her purse and stuff, can we? It’s just not safe.”
Shari looked at the Detective’s reflection in the monitor’s glass as she peered at it. In the man’s own deep voice she smiled and spoke aloud to herself, “Yeah I can put up with you for a few days I guess. It should be about a week before this joker gets enough evidence to convince them that she’s not just some hyped out chick with delusions. By then I’ve got the gun, I hit the bank and this face is dumped for someone else. I find me, jump back and I’m safe!”
Shari had just stood back up when she heard the security guard come in. The guard took a quick glance at Shari, now well hidden within the Detective’s body. “We’d tracked a break and enter to this area but we lost the female suspect. She was last seen coming in here.”
Shari thought quickly, “Ah yes, the bitch tried to stun me but I must have been pregrounded or something.”
“Fucking lucky I’d say,” the security guard replied, “we’ve seen this chick here before, she’s going away this time.”
“Hmm.” Shari looked at the comatose detective in the female form and smiled slightly speaking aloud in Micheal’s voice, “It would certainly suck to be her.”
“Well I’d love to stay but I can’t hang out all night, bud,” the voice of the Detective told the security guard, as the body of the girl seemed to begin to stir, “I still have shitloads of paperwork I need to get to at the office and I should get to it quickly while it’s fresh.”
“Yeah I hear ya bud,” the guard replied, “I have a bit here as well but it’s not as bad as yours. I feel for ya, I really do. Have a good one!”
Shari took one last quick glance at her nearly conscious form taking in the sight. She’d done a quite her share of gender xchanges before, mostly for fun, but this one felt different somehow. It was nothing she could point a finger on for sure. Something felt off. He shrugged, and thought to himself “bah, it’s probably just hormones and stuff. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been a man.”
“Thanks, I’m probably just getting old,” Shari said in the detective’s voice calmly, “Good night.”
Shari desperately fought off an urge to bolt and it was well that she did not for as she rounded the next turn in the halls on her way out, she came upon the sheriff there to pick up the guilty party found on the crime scene. That was her body, sure, but it was not her problem for now. She now had the body of a cop, with all his genetic markers for security accesses and all. She wanted to keep this one for just a bit longer. He had things to do for her.
The heat was on. After almost a week, the cop in her body was chattering up a storm on the inside and the law were beginning to consider her ramblings to hold some possible truths. What was worse is that Shari’s inside sources said that ‘Shari Canning’ had hooked up with her old working buddy, Jessica Leon and they seemed to be quite close. Shari knew better than to trust Jessica again. That bitch fucked her over numerous times on jobs in the past and she was not going to fuck this one up if she could help it.
No, Shari had to bump her plans ahead by days and she was not close to ready. She wanted to have at least a month to set things up but the game had changed too much. She had the bank targetted and most of the security detail marked out but not in it’s entirety. There was a gaping hole in her plan and for some odd reason she was not sure where the problem was. It looked good but her instincts told her something was off and dangerously so.
Shari looked in the mirror. The old detective’s face was quite overgrown as she had not bothered to shave his face since she got the body. She knew how to shave her legs as well as various other parts but shaving those parts was not normal for a man and she had no experienced shaving a face. She might need the extra disguise. All this body hair and the penis and the constant sense of over aggression she felt was beginning to make her wish she didn’t swap at all.
There was something that felt excessively odd this time. It was like over time, this man’s body was beginning to feel more comfortable to be in; maybe even too comfortable.
There were times that waking up with a penis was beginning to bother her. She was beginning to think of it rather fondly and looking at girls with an uncomfortable interest. She’d done the sex thing in a man’s body before but it was always with her lover at the time. It was also always her own body she was penetrating. This felt different though. She knew it was not her penis but it felt like it was to her. There was that very odd sense of familiarity with it. That bit of a paradox bothered her most of all.
Sex was slowly becoming an overriding interest to her. Shari often caught her mind wandering just in the simple act of watching tv to thoughts of sexual affairs with women.
Upon the 19th day, just short of the 3rd week, Shari woke up with a morning hard on that started her day off frustrated. Then to add fuel to the fire, she then found out that the police were letting Shari Canning free on her own recognizance. Shari sighed, thinking of the morning wood and decided then and there, “To hell with this, I’m doing this today and getting away from this damned guy. Maybe I can swap into someone inconspicuous and hide out for a while. Someone not so old this time, and definitely not a guy either.
Micheal Carols’ face smiled as Shari stepped out the door. “Just another hour tops and I can dump this guy.”
A one hundred foot radius from the body of Detective Micheal Carols; that was the restrictions that Shari Canning’s body could not be seen within. They had set a peace bond that placed a 100 foot radius of protection around the body of Michael Carols from him. Ever since this entire thing started up, Michael was being screwed, debased and ridiculed; reduced to the level of a convict. After a few days in jail, he had learned a lot from Jessica. He became the nice girl, cooperative and gentle while he sweated out the nastiness that came from Shari’s withdrawals.
She couldn’t be seen anywhere near her own body. That was crazy! The courts had found that there was enough evidence to suggest that Shari was not the person in her body. But they rejected his claim to being a cop as he had forgotten valid passwords and such that would help to prove his claims.
The judge’s words still echoed in her ears, “We cannot proceed to assume that you are Michael Carols as we have evidence of him working and carrying on as he always has. We have no proof to believe that he is not whom he seems to be. Now young lady,“ the judge continued, “Your Identification stays as Shari Canning but an XCIdent is active on your files. Until we can find absolute proof of your identification claims, then locate your actual body, you will remain in that body. You had best make the best of your time and efforts while you are free.”
The city helped her get a small hotel room with little more than a bath, hotplate and a TV. That and a voucher for used clothing access at a local Salvation Army thrift shop. Michael had learned on the inside, mostly with Jessica’s help, that he need not be idle during this “altered imprisonment” as Jessica referred to it as.
A no-go order with her own body, and the question of identity. She was basically a Jane Doe officially for the moment. A near nobody. In order for Michael to get anything happening with his identification issues, he’d need a helping hand. He needed someone that could access official records; someone involved in shady law practices, or failing that he could take the risks himself, encased as he is, in a woman’s body of questionable health at best. Sure, he had tackled Shari’s crack addiction head on and was still feeling the flack from that battle but he was not going to go down that road no matter who he was. He’d seen far too many dead bodies from crack addiction over the years.
He had to go it honestly somehow. The courts gave him the identity of Shari Canning for the time being as he did possess that body, however permanent records showed of his existence as Shari. This was more to protect the true Shari Canning in case something illegal was attempted while in her form. Naturally Michael was not at all like that but he was grateful for the sentiments. This girl’s life was a shambles and he couldn’t live like that so it was either improve her life or suffer in it and Michael was not one to suffer.
He leaned back on the bed idly gazing at the old TV in deep thought.
He could help her with her corrections as he strove to regain his life back. Of course much of this depended upon just how influential each other’s life was upon their body. For instance, Michael was highly aware of Shari’s developed sexual appetite but he was quite determined that he did not want to try it out for himself.
What bothered him more was the thought of what the girl might be doing with his body. He’d long discounted sexual issues as he was sure she could have ensnared some younger guy for her passions. No, she had to have another idea in mind. All he could thing of was his job and his legal accesses. In the wrong hands his job and access could gain a criminal…
Michael’s thoughts trailed off as he realized what was up. There was obviously money to be made with his body by its possessor.
But bank jobs were no push over these days. Special electromagnetic fields cancelled out all but local electronic devices. No weapons or non-shielded devices could help in any bank. They were all rendered inert. No, only very few police and an extreme few, specially licensed citizens had weapons that could operate in a bank. But his body had them close at hand.
Then his eyes caught a glimpse of something happening live on the TV news that involved a rarely heard of incident, live gunfire at a bank. Such attempts at bank robbery were often considered as ‘twisted people attempting suicide’ as most that attempted it, died in the attempt.
Shari was pinned down behind the bank teller cage. Her accomplice, D-Dawg had already gotten himself shot low in the shoulder area and it looked real bad for him from Shari’s position.
The entire bank job was a disaster from the top. Michael Carol’s sidearm did pass security as it was legally in his possession or at least genetically speaking. Despite that, the history on D-Dawg’s sidearm was not as good as they were alerted and the bank security raised the alarm. D-Dawg raised the pistol as if to fire but as it had been deactivated at the door due to it’s status, the police were alerted to the bank robbery.
Outside she could see the TV remote hover cameras all over the place trying to get a good view of what was going on. “I have to get out of this place somehow. D-Dawg ain’t gonna make it and I have to watch my ass well this one anyways, at least until I can get back to it. I don’t think I will be able to do that from the inside of a jail cell in a men’s prison so I have to be careful."
Shari clutched his bag that held the portable xchange unit and looked desperately around the bank for possible bodies to xchange into. He didn’t see anyone viable though. The only people in the bank aside from personel, were an elderly couple with their toddler grandchild in an infant’s hoverchair.
“Damn!” Shari exclaimed aloud in Micheal’s voice.
He sat for a few moments thinking, looking at Michael Carol’s sidearm in his hand. Then a smile appeared on Detective Carol’s face. He cocked the pistol turned off the safety and walked to the bank doors with his hands on his head. Surely there would be one cop out there that would recognize Michael’s face and help him to escape the moment.
It almost worked too. Shari was recognized as Detective Michael Carol and allowed to leave the bank unharmed. Shari claimed exhaustion and the duty sergeant on site had just given the ‘detective’ leave to go home for the day. Shari grinned as she patted the multiple packets of bills hidden within her jacket
Then as the hostages poured out of the bank led by the bank manager yelling, “The robber is a cop! That robber is a cop!” then the pistol was spied in Shari’s right hand behind her head, “He’s got a gun!” another shouted. Then came the hail of gunfire…
The life force within Detective Michael Carol ended tragically that afternoon ending his life.
Meanwhile about 3 miles across town, a very kindred spirit to the Detective viewed it all on an old TV in horror. As she watched she realized with a very cold reality that there was no going back now. His body had been killed on TV with the whole world watching.
The detective sat there for a while just staring blankly down at her hands upon her lap. She was going to be with this body and would eventually have to accept it as her own. There was a very sudden feeling of finality when he looked down at his hands. The hands of a woman; a woman just coming off crack and still on fragile ground about it.
The phone rang, breaking him out of his stupor, “Hello?”
“It’s Jess, you saw the news? It don’t look like you’ll be going home after all hon.” Jessica’s voice replied over the phone, “but hey, you did her far better in a month than I’ve seen her do in years.”
“Yeah, fucking hurray for me,” Michael sighed as he idly stared down at his own cleavage, “Now this is all mine. Her life, looks and legacy are all mine.”
“Well, hey,” Jessica replied cheerily, “You do gain something out of this. You get an extra 22 years of life plus out of the deal. You know, women do live longer.”
“Oh yeah, extra bonus, I get to be a woman for a longer time than I had been previously allotted on earth.” Michael’s voice began to crack and waver, “I just can’t believe it. Why me?”
“Hey. You’re also in a lot better health than Shari was when she got your old ass killed. She must have put some pounds on your ass. It sure looked like hell on TV.”
“I almost didn’t recognize it, to be honest,” Michael sniffled giving the true emotions within him a release, “He looked so wide and clumsy! That was definitely not me. It’s impossible to imagine that body was me at one time.”
“Well you know way better than that now girl!” Jessica smirked, “you are the driver, not the vehicle itself. Otherwise you would not be here, you’d have gone with the body right?”
“Yeah, I suppose that is true enough,” Michael repeated through the tears, “Now I exist as her.”
Michael barely slept at all that night but then how could anyone sleep at all after seeing their own body die without them? When he did, it was all childhood stuff, and not from his own life but from the eyes of a little girl. He knew this was his mind attempting to deal with the shock of being permanently separated from his own life and the addition of a new, permanent life, and one very different from his own.
He woke up confused; lost for a few moments as he struggled to get his focus. Oh yeah, he had curled up with Jessica the previous evening and fell asleep in her arms apparently. Jessica had turned out to become a very close friend for him and a very valuable one now. Jessica had been his tutor at every turn since they met. When he experienced Shari’s menstruation for the first time, Jessica was there to help and be a moral support. In fact, if he didn’t know better he’d swear that she was acting like a girl friend would.
“Morning coffee!” Jessica greeted him cheerily, “I was going to put some breakfast on but I’d thought that maybe I should check with you first. I know the body far better than I know the inhabitant. Do you feel like eating at all?”
Michael sipped on the coffee savouring the flavour and aroma, “This is just fine for now. I’m not sure if I’m hungry or not.” He glanced down at himself and sighed heavily, “I’m going to be a woman for the rest of my life. My old life is totally gone. Crapped out and left with a life with no direction or hope.”
“Hey now that’s not true hon,” Jessica chided, “you, or rather your new body, is younger, a bit more vibrant and has you in control of it now. The old Shari was a total loss, a nearly worthless soul and the life she followed was towards ruin. Now here you are, a mere month after having her body thrust upon you, having surmounted hurdles that many would have fallen victim to.”
“You beat the one monkey that kept the original Shari in its grasp; her addiction to crack,” Jessica continued, “and you’ve improved your looks big time since then!”
“They are not my looks,” Michael argued, “they are her looks, her face, her arms, her hands, her feet, and her,” he paused for a moment, “everything else. I am the only thing that remains of me! Whatever it was that made me Michael Carols is a woman.”
“Well anyways, you’ve improved her lot ever since you got in there, and she’s done nothing but ruin everything she’s ever touched; your life included. Given the facts and all, I’d say you came out far ahead with this as your lot in life.”
“I can think of numerous advantages you have over some other people now. Heck, you’ve lived life as a man all those years and you still hold all that experience and knowledge, and now, as the new Shari Canning you’ve received heck of a software upgrade in so many ways!” Jessica laughed lightly, “You’ve got a younger albeit a female body to put that extended experience as a man into. With a bit of luck we can get you back working as a cop again, if that is what you want. You need only to try. Who knows you might be able to scoot right in where you left off. We don’t know for sure yet.”
“I need to get to the station and talk to someone there. I need to establish my actual identity, the news reports have already reported that there have been rumours that my old body was reported to have been behaving very out of sort. Smoking, Drinking and acting very belligerent. Then there was the shape my body was in at death. He put at least 20 pounds on my body in a mere month!”
“And you, my sweet,” Jessica murmured, “lost at least 15 and gained some tone and perkiness!” She slapped Michael on the butt to empathize her point, “just look at that ass and those boobs! Those tits are far happier with you and it shows ! You make that body look good!”
Michael suddenly felt an odd mixture of feelings. He felt a bit of pride for what he had been successful with as far as this woman’s body he had. He couldn’t live with an addiction of any kind no matter where he was. He didn’t like the idea of having to depend upon anything that much, something that would literally weaken him to intolerable levels.
He looked down judgementally at the body he wore now as if for the first time.
It was true. He did tone it up a bit but firmed the boobs? He wasn’t sure about that. To him they looked the same, at least from his angle, and her ass didn’t reveal too much to his viewing either. He’d have to take Jessica’s word for it.
Despite having been a functioning woman for over a month, she didn’t know how to be a girl. There was a lot that she learned in the first month including a full blown menstruation but that was just scratching the surface of this new life. There was so much more involved in being a woman.
All she knew was the law; it had been her career for over 20 years at least. She didn’t know how to do anything else. But it was true, in these times there were no reasons why she couldn’t continue with being a cop. Sure the uniform was going to be different but the job would be pretty much the same, once she overcame the gender issues.
That would be one solid thing she could base this new life around, one way or another. She just had to be recognized as who she was in truth. At this point they had her listed officially as Shari Anne Canning since leaving jail. There was no distinction from the normal status of the body. Her bonus was that at least they recognized that she was a new spirit and hence a new person. Shari Anne Canning’s history was only hers when it came down to factors related to her physical health. She had no actual memories from the body’s past.
After that, what? Who would she be then? She possessed a woman’s body now; she couldn’t be referred to as Michael Carols any more, not that the government would let him act in Shari’s body under the name of Micheal Carols. That would be too confusing for the records. She wasn’t crazy about being referred to as Shari either, no matter what face she had. Shari was the person that got her into this predicament and she was not crazy about having anything more to do with her. What she had experienced was far worse than any type of rape or other physical abuse. Her body was stolen from him, tossing her spirit into the body of the thief herself.
Yeah he’d have to get used to the pronouns, the life, and mannerisms, but before all that, he had to establish just who he was, or rather was becoming. He needed a name that fit.
When Michael looked up from his pondering, barely noticing his coffee mug empty already, he saw Jessica chatting on her mobile, “Look Les you owe me big time and I am pulling in all favours on this one. This chick is an old friend and I want to see her get through this. It’s no fault of hers that Shari stole her body and got fucked over and killed in it. Now she’s stuck in Shari’s body and she needs to make some connections in the upper offices. I know you can do this Les. I know you can.”
She sat there for a few moments and then, having suddenly cheered up, she replied, “Great thanks a lot Les. I’ll give you a special treat sometime for your troubles.” Jessica giggled, “I’m sure she will be glad to hear there are helping hands now. She’s been in a real bad way for over a month now and the system isn’t helping very much.”
“Okay then call me back when you hear anything, or get some ideas.” Jessica smiled as she hung up and looked at Michael who was on his second cup of coffee by this time, “Well there you go. We got the ball rolling. If all goes right I’ll have a connection at the office of records with a JP. I’m hoping we can swing it that you can undergo some verbal and mental examinations to compare with the files of your body.”
“Do you have to put it that way?” Michael complained, “It makes it sound like I belong to the body.”
“Oh I’m sorry dear,” Jessica smiled, “I didn’t mean it like that, but to be honest I’ve been looking at that body, and I just can’t picture talking to anyone but you in it. I can’t picture you as that older man, and to be just as honest, I like talking to this face more these days. You are far more expressive and easy to deal with. Shari was a bitch.”
“Hence the reason why you wanted to kill me at first sight!?” Michael responded.
“Precisely,” Jess replied, “She’d long since told me about how some day she was going to use an xchange unit to pull off a bank robbery. I never expected her to actually try it though much less meet her poor victim.”
Michael sipped on his coffee in thought as Jessica continued on, “nor admittedly fall in love with them.”
Caught totally unaware, Michael sprayed a mouthful of black coffee then turned and shared his look of surprise with a pleading, sheepish look from Jessica.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, not believing what was said, “Did you just say…?”
“Yes, I did and I’m not exactly without experience with that body, or parts of it.” Jessica smiled with a slight blush, “and you know I don’t just want you for your body but all things considered, this could be a bit of an eye opening experience for you.”
“As for my sexuality, well,” Michael said as he thought for a moment looking surprisingly effeminate doing it, “it was rather non-existent before the swap. I was a man and as such I loved the ladies; I just never had much luck with them.”
“And now?” Jessica prodded.
“Not much has changed, interest-wise,” Michael smiled slowly, “I mean my interests are the same as before; just the plumbing has. I’ll be the first one to admit that I’d have no idea how to get started there anyways, not that I had really thought that way.”
“Oh come on!” Jessica laughed, “Are you trying to tell me that an older man suddenly in the body of a younger woman, doesn’t have certain curiosities? I’ll bet you groped yourself pretty thoroughly already! Trust me, if I suddenly found myself with a penis I’d be checking it out as best as I could.”
“I suppose you might,” Michael admitted, “this has been very odd for me. It’s the pelvic differences that hits me the most. My jeans feel almost empty now, and then there are these tiny fucking hands.”
“So you’re okay with the tits?” Jess giggled teasingly.
Michael scooped them up in his hands and replied, “These things? I barely notice them for all that they are.”
“You can ignore a double D cup that quickly?” Jess asked incredulously, “Holy shit.”
“I suppose that Shari’s body got used to them so long ago that I barely notice them,” he cocked his head thoughtfully for a moment.
“But you notice the vagina quick enough?” Jess giggled.
“Well admittedly only that once-a-month time and before that it was just that I did sort of miss having erections. You do sort of get used to those, umm, intrusions, and when they are not there anymore; yeah I do miss them in an odd way.”
“Hmph,” Jess snorted, “it sounds to me like you are settling in quick enough.”
“Well, what choice do I have now?” Michael replied almost absently as he indicated his current body, “this seems to be my home base now. I have the advantage of being physically younger by about 20 years and being female, well statistically I’ll also live longer. But still, I have to be a girl to do that?”
“Hell no baby,” Jess reached over and hugged Michael over the shoulder, “you’re a woman now, not just a girl and you’re a major improvement on the last tenant. Ha ha ha!”
“Hey, you’ve mentioned an interest in a new name and I’ve had an idea for your new name. I assume naturally you won’t want to keep Shari,” Jess smiled.
“Yeah?,” Michael looked at her as he felt an odd hollow emptiness somewhere deep inside.
To accept a new name meant he would have to fully accept this femininity as his own.
“Okay, what’s the name you have in mind?” Michael steeled himself from within.
Jess smiled, “I thought it was obvious from the start to you! Switch your name around and change the middle name from Allen to Anna and there you go!”
Michael got up and looked into the dresser mirror and voiced it for the first time trying to get a feel for it, “Carol Anna Michaels. Hmm.”
Jess smiled, “It suits you much better. Besides I’ve got issues with me calling you Shari all the time. I know it was her body and all but I don’t see you as Shari at all despite the face. Hence the idea for your own name.”
The form of Shari sat up straight, chest out proudly, and smiled, “yes, I definitely like it. I’m going to drop the name of Shari and get my badge back. Living in identification limbo is hell. Just to be able to look into the mirror and find something of myself in the reflection. If I rename the image, perhaps it will become more of my own in my head some time soon.”
“I’m sure you’ll pass the tests to get your old job back as a detective,” Jess smiled and hugged her, Welcome to my nightmare Carol Anna Michaels!”
Carol Anna Michaels was eventually found innocent of the crimes that her new body was accused of that day in the lab and compensation was paid for her misplacement as well as a grant to restart her life. Identification of who she was previously was a longer process than expected but after 2 years of red tape and other physical related issues, Carol once again wore a badge and a sidearm. She’d got part of her life back but the man she knew was gone for ever.
Perhaps it was fate or divine providence but in the end, Detective Carol Michaels turned out to be the top Xchange Identification expert within the force and she pioneered techniques to help Xchanged victims identify themselves and even helped to set up a special unit for Xchange crimes.
As for Jessica, she straightened out her life and eventually joined the force as a securities consultant.
Homo Sapiens version 2.0
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©2015 — Foxxe Wilder
Due to a few supporting comments and much thought I've decided to put this short story back up.
Now PLEASE REALIZE that this IS FICTION, and speaks of various theories etc. So please do NOT go ape shit on me for "scientific inaccuracy" as one foolish reader did! You will save your own embarrassment
How it happened, no one knew for sure. To the western hemisphere it happened over night. To the eastern hemisphere, it happened during the afternoon.
It was postulated that some sort of galactic dust storm passed through the earth's orbit. Others theorized that it was some sort of odd solar flare radiation. Even others suggested that it was the result of a virus, uncovered from the melting of the arctic and antarctic ice fields due to global warming.
Whatever it was caused by, after the initial panic of the previously male population, the world became a much different place.
All over the world men were changed into women. Only a very few were spared and in the beginning no one understood why they were spared. Oddly enough there were also a few women that had changed into men.
Eventually scientists would discover, after extended psychiatric and psychological testing upon the men left over as well as the newly converted men, that there was a level of understanding of people and a level of tolerance that only they possessed.
The newly converted men had all been mothers, having given birth about 10 years previous to the conversion. As time wore on humanity, such as it was, would also discover that all of humanity would be born female, grow up as female and could only become male after a certain understanding of human nature and achieve a level of social tolerance and social achievements. They would also be mothers for at least 10 years and only then the alteration to masculinity would be triggered by an internal drive; a personal desire to become a man.
Mankind's morality had been rewritten overnight. Misogyny and gynophobia were things of the past. The very notion of gender dominance was gone, never to return.
The future still had men in it but they were far wiser and far more understanding than they had been in the previous 200 millenia of homo sapien's history on earth.
One Final Gift
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©2017 — Foxxe Wilder
(inspired by the recent loss of a loved one. I have long revealed my true self but sadly, some wait too long.)
Daniel Sands looked at the body of the woman in the coffin. She was elderly, regal and held an aura which, even within death's repose, that compelled one to come to trust that face without question or fear. His mother passed away before he could reveal his inner self to her. He had long wished he could confide in her but all the stories he had heard from other peoples' attempts over the past few years ended so badly for most.
He never got to know the woman that had raised her for so many years. She was a mother, a symbol of the management of the household, and discipline. Sure, she was a compassionate mother but very strict in many ways. Because he personally rejected
authority just on general principle, he failed to see the rest of the woman who laid to rest before him.
Sighing, he looked towards his best friend, Anneka, beside him, "I never had a chance to tell her about the real me, Anneka. I couldn't tell her about the daughter she's always had. To her I was a son."
Anneka smiled and stroked his cheek gently, "It's okay Daniel, I'm sure she would have accepted you as who you really are. After all, you might be very surprised what is behind many people's faces. Many children don't learn that the real person behind their parent's identity. We're taught to see them more as authoritarian as opposed to just people."
"I know," Daniel said, "but now she's gone and I've waited too long."
"Perhaps you would feel better if you told her now," Anneka smiled, "you know, sort of like post mortem confession - to help you relieve yourself of the guilt you may feel over not telling her."
Daniel leaned over and kissed his mother's forehead for the final time and whispered, "Mom, I'm sorry but I have to be honest with you. Even now. I'm sorry that it took so long for me to tell you but, I've been feeling that I'm living a lie for many years of my life. I've never felt right as a boy and now I honestly believe that I've always been a girl in my heart. I needed for you to know but I've left it for far too long. I wish I could have told you before because I could have used your help and support. I'm sorry I waited for so long, Mom."
Anneka took the sobbing sibling into her arms, embracing tenderly trying her best to console her friend.
For almost a full ten minutes the two friends stood there hugging each other in solemn silence.
Finally, Danielle straightened up and with a painful, forced smile and a tear she bade a final farewell to the old man in the casket.
"So how do you feel now, Danielle?," Anneka asked as she wiped a tear away.
"Much better thank you," Danielle sniffled, "In fact, I feel like a new woman."
The Great Shift - A Fish Tail
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Brenda Armstrong looked out at the throngs of "normal" people wandering about the food court of the mall. Although few actually paid any attention at all to her, she felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.
Brenda was not tall, nor was she short; she was five foot seven, and light of frame. Nor could she be considered as ugly. Sure she was no beauty queen but, like so many girls, she longed to have that sort of look. The thing was, Brenda was not born female.
She was closing in upon her 27th birthday, which was also her 9th anniversary of her transitioning to womanhood. Brenda, born as Brendan was a male to female transgendered person.
She had lived all her life in various locations in Southern Ontario, Canada but she mostly kept to the Windsor-Detroit region.
She had fared rather well in her timing, having started the process very early in life, beginning upon her 18th birthday, the earliest legal age she could begin the process. A few years later she had legally changed her name from Brandon Lee Armstrong to Brenda Lee Armstrong, keeping it as close to her birth name as possible to ease the transition for her family and friends around her.
As such she was spared the facial hair nightmares and the roughness that would settle in upon the average male by the time he was finished the last vestiges of his puberty – which is about 25 years old.
She maintained her androgyny throughout her teenage years and after a mere 4 months of transition, she actually saw some results. Sure they were slow and almost imperceptible but she kept an old photo of herself from before taking hormones so she could keep a running comparison like she learned that so many other transgenders were doing.
By the time she hit her 27th birthday, it had been years since any stranger referred to her as anything but a young woman. She sure had the looks too. Her face was soft and her facial skin tones effeminate and her bust had filled out to a rather healthy 34C which was not an unusual size for any girl in her family line.
But like all trans-women, she lacked in the hips and ass department. Yeah she could use padding like so many others did or she could actually employ the rules of fashion that she had learned over the years to enhance what you did, or didn't have. She knew much of it was how she dressed herself.
She, in fact, passed very well but she was still aware that she still had "it" down there hiding beneath her clothes and was constantly aware of how it would influence the public if they were privy to what "evil" lay beneath the folds of her clothes.
In truth though, no one but Brenda were actually aware of what evil lurked within her shadows.
Brenda stood up, draped her purse strap over her shoulder, sighing wantonly as she watched a few girls of her age group nearby chatting and giggling with each other.
She could have easily been a happy girl but like many transgendered women, she was convinced that she was less than everyone else.
Brenda left the mall parking lot and walked the two blocks home to her small basement apartment where she lived alone with her cat, Maestro who came and went as he pleased through a hidden cat door she had installed by the laundry room window.
She sat down on the couch, idly flipping through channels on the television cursing to herself at the flood electoral advertisements that seemed to be on every channel, invading the homes of anyone that had a television.
"All those candidates and not a single sane person within the lot," she spoke aloud in her highly practised effeminate voice, "this election is going to the dogs very quickly"
Then a wave of nausea hit her like a wall. She tried to fight the feeling off but eventually she had to give in to the wave.
In the background just as she felt reality slip away she heard something on a television emergency broadcast. It mentioned something about an unknown blast somewhere in New Mexico...
The Great Shift - A Fish Tail - Chapter Three
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Brenda was left alone for a while to settle in but she was told that if she needed anything that both, Boreas and Kassiopeia would be very closeby.
As she sat she closed her eyes and just listened to the sounds and happenings around her.
Far off in the distance she could hear the songs of whales and the clicks and whistles of nearby dolphins. She could also sense all the movement near her; that of fish, seaweed and other aquatic plants as well as the presence of Boreas and Kassiopeia. How, she was not sure as she was not really aware of such things before all this change came about. It was just there, silently existing like the gentle movement of one's own hair; she was conscious of it but only at a very low level.
It was only the quick darting movements of nearby fish that pushed for her attention as they were suddenly surprised or frightened by some unexpected happening.
She was aware of all of it. It was like an extra sense that had long gone unnoticed to her suddenly awakening to her conscious mind.
After a few minutes she opened her eyes and looked down at herself again, this time with more curiosity than anything else.
With a small bit of effort she was able to flick her tail fin slightly. It felt strange at first. Strong, yet elegant. She was aware that this tail could propel her at quite a good speed if and when necessary.
She could also see a few marks - the remnants of scars - of Diantha's experience with the eel. It didn't look bad but she felt sure that whatever the eel had as a defence put Diantha into the comatose state.
She ran her hands down her torso. It was incredibly smooth to the touch, almost surreal in feeling. As she ran her hands upon her, she was very aware of the sensation that her fingers made upon the mermaid-scales.
She could feel it as if she had always been like that. It didn't seem as alien as she might expect,
There was also the question of her body's gender. She knew that it was that of a functional female although her human mind did not quite know where that differentiation was.
She just knew that her body was naturally female - unlike her previous human existence.
Instinctually she knew that one of the two slits on the front side of her tail indicated she was female (aside from her obvious streamlined breasts). Only one which was a vagina
She also knew that males had two slits on the front. How she knew this was unknown to her. She just knew it as a fact. Somewhere within one of those two slits on the male was a hidden penis. Apparently Mother Nature had decided to tuck it away for streamlining issues.
Mermaids and Mermen did not wear clothing. Such things were unnecessary and could actually be harmful to them. They could easily get caught in them like they were small nets on coral reefs and other natural outcroppings. Besides they also didn't have the vanity issues that humans were plagued with.
Mermaids were totally free of the shallow world of fashion and clothing design and for the first time Brenda felt somewhat relieved. No longer did she feel the need to hide behind some artificial curtain of cloth to express who she was.
Yes, becoming a mermaid had set her free in many ways. She looked down at her tail. Gone were her self-esteem robbing size 11 feet. In fact she'd never need shoes again.
Her eyes skimmed over the rest of her body. She'd never have to deal with clothes again either; such things were not needed by the mer-folk. Clothes would cause unnecessary drag and held no purpose to them. They were not needed as protection from the sun, nor were they needed as protection from thorns and the like that were so numerous on land. The mer-folk also didn't have a sense of unnecessary modesty as there was no sense of fashion.
The necklace around her neck as well as those around Boreas and Kassiopeia signified the family clan. They identified with the dolphin and took it's image as a clan signifier.
They told her to take a few days to recuperate as the body of Diantha had been immobile for quite some time. During those few days she flexed all the muscles that she could think of so she could help gain the strength.
Eventually she was allowed to move about the sunken ship where Diantha's family had taken residence. The sense of movement through the water as she kicked her tail was quite invigorating. She had to learn to be careful while swimming within the structure as there were still quite a few hazards all about the ship.
As she moved through the ship she became aquainted with the local denizens. There were dozens of different species of fish, crustaceans, and various jelly fish.
As a human she was always taught that touching jelly fish could be dangerous as they could sting. But as a mermaid she found them quite affectionate (almost feline in nature). She spent a lot of her time with them, intermingling within their small colony in amazement at just how different they were from a mermaid's point of view.
Like many other sea creatures, they had evolved alongside the mer-folk and didn't consider them as any sort of threat as the mer-folk were notorious herbivores.
As a human, Brenda didn't care much for eating flesh of any creature. She didn't see how eating any flesh could benefit a species that bore so many herbivorous features. She also couldn't bear the idea of hurting any animal. Her new life as a mermaid suited her just fine - there was no carnivorous mer-folk in existence to attempt to coerce her to such a life style.
After a week of free movement around the ship she was allowed to leave the confines of the shipwrecked hull but still remain in the general vicinity. She was quite excited by this new found freedom.
For a week she had honed her skills in manoeuvering herself through the ship and felt quite confident in her ability to safely swim around the ship. She learned that she had to reign herself in with every kick of her tail or she'd speed off too far from the ship with almost no effort.
The Great Shift - A Fish Tail - Chapter Two
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Brenda awoke and was quickly aware that she was underwater. Instinctively she lashed out at anything near her trying to get a grip on where she was and why was submerged.
Then she was aware of two pair of hands steadying her. As she struggled she became aware of a conversation about her.
She could hear voices under the water as well. They were as clear as if she was not submerged, "Help me hold her Boreas! Diantha could well hurt herself or us if she should fall!"
"I am doing the best I can, Kassiopeia," he replied, "I am not as young as I once was! There is something different about her though, can you not sense it?"
"Yes, I feel that she is distressed somehow for being here with us," Kassiopeia answered, "but there is something else greatly changed within her."
Once Brenda realized that she was not drowning, and that she was in fact breathing quite well underwater, she slowed her struggles. There were other things to deal with aside of the strange watery location and the ability to breathe beneath water – she was not alone and someone was actually trying to care for her.
"Diantha?" she thought to herself, "Who the hell are these people? And why would they refer to me as that? And what the hell is on my feet?"
She gave a kick to try to shake the feeling off her feet but it would not go away. It remained.
With her eyes still closed she felt the light brushing of a delicate hand upon her cheek,
"Diantha? You are home here with me, Kassiopeia and your dad Boreas. You've been unconscious for quite some time now; almost a full season. We were worried for you that you would not awaken. Your injuries have long healed after the eel bite but your reaction to the eel bite had us very scared."
Brenda opened her eyes to see the delicate features of a young girl looking down upon her. There was also something else she could sense. A familiarity that she could not explain, and the idea that she was not in danger in the least."
"Diantha?" she spoke but haltingly and in a very different voice.
For the moment she brushed the oddness off to being underwater.... "wait a minute. I shouldn't be able to breathe under water anyways, and what the hell is on my legs?" she spoke aloud as she struggled to sit up and gazed down at her torso.
There were no legs to see at all. There was a silvery scaled fish tail there instead, the tail of the fabled mermaid. She also wore no clothes at all. Her breasts, which were about the same size and shape as Kassiopiea's were left uncovered and none seemed to notice save for her.
She dropped her head back down, speaking aloud as she closed her eyes again, "wow, whatever caused me to pass out really did a job on me. For a moment there I could swear that I saw a fish tail!"
Boreas responded gently, "Why, what did you expect my dear? Legs are only for the land peoples. Naturally, you have your tail, and it has healed from your encounter rather well I would also add. You must have dreamed that you were a human."
Brenda sat back up, opening her eyes and turning to see the grizzled but proud grey bearded face of a.... merman?
It was a strong face that had seen many years. He had shoulder length wavy grey hair that floated naturally with the slight water currents within the underwater home. He had strong shoulders albeit somewhat slight by human reckonings. He wore no clothing at all save for a necklace of carved coral in the shape of a dolphin that was held by a woven strand that held it around his neck.
She shook her head for a moment but the older gentleman's features remained. He also had a silvery tail similar to the one she had. She then turned her head to the female at her side.
She also had a silvery tail, and very fine, almost elfin features to her face and upper torso. She was not large in the bust but was "well equipped" with modest B cups bared for any and all to see.
"Apparently clothing sis not the way for these people," she thought to herself as she then noticed that the young mermaid also wore a similar dolphin necklace about her neck.
Kassiopeia had long auburn hair floating about her face that gave her an almost angelic look. She also had a comforting smile that could disarm the nastiest of foes.
"I'm not supposed to be here," Brenda told them, "I don't know who this Diantha is but I am not her."
She then looked down at her tail and then noticed that she wore a dolphin necklace of her own, identical to Boreas' and Kassiopiea's. Then a tendril of auburn hair floated into view from her own head.
She took the tendril in her hand, also a fine boned hand, not dissimilar to Kassiopeia's hand and shrugged, "At least I never used to be her. I don't know what happened but I used to be, as you referred to us as, a land person. This is not the body I was born in. Not that I am complaining, mind you, as I was not exactly happy with what I had before this."
It was only then that she noticed the sensations at the sides of her neck. She could feel something on it slowly and gently opening a closing with each breath she took. A light and careful investigation with her fingertips answered the question she had in mind. She was, like the two merpeople she was with, breathing with the aid of gills.
"Well that answers that question," she said aloud as she fended off a pair of questioning faces, "This is all going to take some time to get used to. To humans mermaids and mermen are nought but mythology. So few of us have witnessed mermaids that they are considered crazy or some sort of dream."
"Well," Boreas said, "apparently although we do have the body of our Diantha back with us, it no longer carries her **pnévma." (**pronounced NEHV-ma)
"We have long learned to avoid the shores where humans were known to gather. In fact most of us consider going anywhere near land as a foolish activity. We stay to the depths and some live, as you see," he motioned to the room around them, "in the lost wreckage of your ships that have been long lost to your kind."
"Who is it that we share our time with then, my dear?" Boreas enquired of her.
"Well my name, as a human was Brenda, but that was a derivative of the name my parents gave me at birth, which was Brendan. It was a boy's name but I never saw myself as such. But I would welcome the name of Diantha if it would please you. Trying to explain to others that a new... umm... pnévma exists within her body would likely be hard to explain. Even to me it seems like I am within an insane dream; not a bad dream, mind you, just one unexpected."
The Rebirth of the Phoenix (SRU)
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The Rebirth of the Phoenix (SRU)
©2010 — Foxxe Wilder
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(Author’s note: This story was previously released but has been re-released here in total with a few very minor changes)
Justina Sage was lost for ideas. She had left everything for the last moment and time was running out. She had a variety of costumes to choose from for herself but nothing for her abusive rocker boyfriend, Phoenix London. He had agreed to allow her to choose the couple's costumes for the Hallowe'en party and he gave her carte blanche for her to use her imagination for both of them.
Phoenix had very little insecurity about who he was. He was a guitar player extraordinaire and he felt assured that nothing Justina chose for him could diminish his ego in any way. He was not an overtly large man in build. In fact his frame was fairly light. He stood a mere 5 foot six and weighed in at about 150 pounds but he had a tendency to have a bit of a temper and quite often Justina had to bear the brunt of his brutality, but brutal or not, he did love Justina very much.
Justina sighed as she stepped out of the mall into the side street where her car was parked. She was just about to give up on going to the party at all when she spied a display of occult based items in the window display of a dark old shop she'd never noticed before. Perhaps she could get an idea for Phoenix's costume in there. It was worth a try anyways.
Justina was not an overtly tall woman nor could you think of her as short. She stood 5 foot 5 inches and weighed in about 145 pounds. She was not necessarily proud of her weight and thought of herself as being 15 pounds overweight but she was also not too worried about it. The guys still appreciated her looks and that was all she cared about. It would only be if they stopped their obvious appreciation that she'd begin to worry, but until then.
She slowly walked through the place. It held all sorts of oddities. Computer programs, hand held video games, dusty old books and vials of liquids. Then a costume caught her eye (odd, how is it that she didn't notice it on the way in).
It was marked in what seemed to be Arabic text but what it appeared to be was obvious in her eyes. It was a bra with pre stuffed cups with a lip that encircled each cup to blend the 'stuffing' onto the chest wall to help make it look natural. An idea popped into her head and she smiled to herself.
Among her clothes Justina had a sexy police woman's outfit that she could still fit into. This would be the start of Phoenix's costume. The idea she had in mind was a policewoman and a female prostitute.
She took the package to the checkout and the old man at the checkout smiled at her. "I understand this is not for you?"
"Oh no," Justina laughed, "I have a rather abusive boyfriend that needs his ego reigned in. I think this just might do the trick."
The old man smirked, "Indeed it may do just that," The old man peered out at the darkening sky and smiled, "This will be a very special Hallowe'en night to be sure. It is not often we get a full moon upon the night of Hallowe'en. In some circles they regard this night as being quite mystical and holy."
"There is a warning there on the package in Arabic," the old salesman continued, "it would be wise not to allow your boyfriend to remove the bra before midnight, as there could be dire consequences."
Justina laughed lightly and paid the old man, "I will keep that in mind. Thank you very much!"
Justina left the shop and loaded up her shopping into the backseat of her Nissan. As she drove past the shop she had just left, the old man made his way to the door and locked up for the night. He flipped the plastic sign from Open to Closed, and turned off the lights.
If anyone was to be watching at that moment they would have seen the flickering sign flash on for a moment illuminating the entire sign to read "Spells R Us". A few moments later the site of the shop swirled and faded in a small dust cloud and a small empty parking lot appeared in its place.
Upon returning home Justina went to work to put together the other components of the outfit Phoenix was to wear that night. She only had a few hours to put it all together but she was sure of the clothes to use. Phoenix was not an overtly large man in build. In fact his frame was fairly light. He stood a mere 5 foot six and weighed in at about 150 pounds, so Justina was sure that almost any outfit she had in her closet would fit him.
She had a crimson red top and a short thigh-length black skirt for the basic outfit. To set it off she highlighted it with a fake black pearl necklace as well as a pair of her black fishnet stockings and a 4 inch wide black waist belt. As Phoenix's hair was dark and long, she knew that she could work something appropriate with it.
For shoes, Phoenix would have to wear his normal black kung fu shoes that were his 'trademark'. His feet were a bit larger than Justina's and she had nothing in his size at all. They would have to do.
Justina looked at the odd brassiere in the package; the colour seemed quite close to Phoenix's skin tone; almost as if it had been created just for him alone. She set it on the bed along with the clothes and accessories she had chosen for Phoenix for the night. She was sure they would most certainly turn a few heads this year.
Hallowe'en was one of the few times of the year where Phoenix allowed her full reign over the night's events. Over the past 3 years that they were together they had many arguments many that ended rather roughly but they had always, somehow, made up with one another and got back together. The agreement about Hallowe'en was Phoenix's way of making up for his emotional cruelties upon her.
Phoenix had only hit her once and he paid quite dearly for it. Although she kept the law out of the issue, some of her family members were not quick to let it go. Justina's sister threatened to have his butt kicked by some male friends of hers if he ever stepped out of line again. Justina knew most of her sister's threats were merely her blowing smoke rings. Sure, she was a protective sort to the core but Justina had her doubts that she'd actually go through with having Phoenix roughed up. Besides, it was also not Justina's way to deal out physical responses. She felt that emotional based responses would have a far longer and lasting effect upon him.
Justina looked at the clock; she had just enough time to take a quick shower and start to get herself ready.
Dinner would have to be chinese take out tonight. She grabbed her cell phone and sent a text message to Phoenix to remind him to pick up the order from the Chinese restaurant down the block on his way home.
Justina smiled to herself as the hot water cascaded upon her. Yes, this was bound to be a night to remember.
Phoenix stepped into the apartment and tossed his jacket aside and kicked off his boots and let them lay where they landed. He didn't care. Justina would see to them. He silently stepped past their bedroom where Justina seemed to be busy searching in the closet.
He shrugged to himself. She was forever searching for something in that giant closet of hers. "Women and their love of clothes!" he thought to himself as he entered that bathroom, "I'll never understand that love!"
He stepped into the bathroom and dropped his dirty work clothes on the floor and stepped into the shower to bask in the soothing pulses of the shower's hot water for a while.
He came out again, squeaky clean and with merely the towel wrapped around his waist, he entered their bedroom. Justina had gone back to the kitchen to set up dinner. He'd have preferred just doing the Micky D's thing but today was not his call, he was just the delivery boy. Tonight, like it or not, was to be all one hundred percent her call.
"So what is the theme?" Phoenix asked as he sat down to eat with Justina, "Hugh Hefner and playboy bunny?"
"HA!" Justina laughed, "You wish! No, I had a flash of inspiration earlier this afternoon, which was admittedly good timing as I was pretty well out of ideas until then."
"Yes, go on," Phoenix fought a grin; usually Phoenix had some real doozies for ideas.
"I was thinking a cop and a prostitute!" Justina grinned widely.
"Aha!" Phoenix smiled, "so that means I can search you for... evidence?"
"No, no, no," Justina laughed a bit harder as Phoenix was off in the wrong direction entirely, "I will be the cop. The uniform I have will barely fit me. It is you that will be the prostitute! I can't wait to get to do your hair and makeup!"
Phoenix felt almost panic for a few moments. He always thought of himself as a lady's man, not a lady, man! Well it was for the spirit of Hallowe'en and as such he had long ago agreed that Hallowe'en was Justina's party this year. Yeah most of his buddies would only joke on him for a short time anyways as most of them had fallen prey to this type of scheme by their girlfriends in the past.
"Hmmm," Justina said smiling after a ten minute silence, "That got your goat did it?"
"Oh no, not quite, but close," Phoenix replied, "I suppose my number had to come up eventually," Phoenix smiled slyly and continued, "Just be gentle with me, it's my first time!"
They laughed together as they cleaned up and went to get dressed.
Justina only had to put the uniform on as she had taken time to get prepared ahead of time and she felt she would need time to do up Phoenix's face, but now that he stood before her, she got a more in focus view of his features. He really was a bit effeminate in his looks but until now she'd never really looked at him in that way. Hell, his hair would be easy, he normally wore his hair in the perfect style for what would suit him best, so with a few strokes of a curling iron and a bit of mousse, she could recreate his image in short order.
She took a shade of peach blush to minimize the darkness of his freshly shaven face. He was smooth but you could still see the darkened roots, the peach blush would neutralize the darkness. Next was the concealer and foundation powder. The eye work naturally took the longest, but Justina discovered that Phoenix's features were almost inspiring her artistic talents. When she finished with him she stepped back and viewed her work for a moment.
At first glance you would never recognize Phoenix anymore. What you'd see would be an attractive wavy dark haired girl with dark, mysterious eyes.
Next were the clothes. The all important steps were right there, right off the bat. It was the old 'hide those bits and show more of these bits. The bra went on and as it was clasped in the back, the breast cups seemed to actually attach themselves to his chest. He looked down and laughed.
The bra was a padded bra but it looked like nothing he'd ever imagined. It was a rather basic black lacy underwire bra with a strap size of about 36 inches around. It was the cups contents that made them so different. They had a very realistic looking insert in the cups that when put on, the breast moulds would press so hard against the chest wall as to look as if it was actually a natural part of the wearer.
The effect on Phoenix was a bit shaking as he was experiencing a rather extraordinary sense of anxiety. It seemed that every pore of his skin was tingly and his muscles were jittery. As the top, skirt and accessories were put on Phoenix's altered appearance was startling to both of them.
Justina looked at this beautiful woman standing right where her boyfriend used to stand. "Wow, you look amazing," she almost whispered, "I had no idea that I'd get results like this with you, I thought, yeah maybe a bit girly looking but holy christ!"
"Ha ha," Phoenix laughed sarcastically, "well it's only for the night and I do owe you one. Hell if I didn't know better I'd fuck that woman in the mirror!"
"Hmmph..." Justina laughed aloud, "yeah that would be a good one... and in the process you could go fuck yourself."
Phoenix looked up for a moment, "ha ha...it's not like you haven't said that to me before."
"Yeah and knowing you," she laughed in response, "it certainly won't be the last time either I suspect!"
"Oh and by the way," the store that sold me that bra said once it's on, not to take it off at all until after midnight. He seemed oddly explicit about that part; he said only that there could be dire consequences if you did. Still that isn't all that long anyways, hell, if I can wear one all damned day and night, you can last out a few hours."
Phoenix laughed aloud, "ha, that'll be no sweat off my...."
"Enough of that!" Justina cut him off shortly.
As they stepped out into the night Justina watched Phoenix get into the drivers seat. Maybe it was a trick of the light of the full moon high above but somehow he seemed just a bit shorter.
Phoenix sat in the driver's seat and frowned. "How the hell did the seat move back? Strange I didn't notice that earlier," he thought to himself as he readjusted the seat, readjusted his mirrors and started the car's engine.
The image in the mirror had him almost in a state of mild shock. He couldn't get over how real the costume looked. Even in his eyes he looked like a woman.
Frustrated with the sudden looseness of his shoes, he kicked them off and told Justina that he was going to need some shoes, the kung fu flats he habitually wore seemed to be a bit stretched.
"What do you mean they feel stretched?" Justina asked.
"I don't know," Phoenix replied hotly, "they just seem about a size too damned big, maybe it's the pantyhose and stuff. I don't know. All I know is that I am going to need some shoes for the night, and nothing too insane! Absolutely no 2 or 3 inch stiletto heels. I want to be able to walk after this night is over."
"Okay then we can stop at the PayLess on our way to the party," Justina replied calmly, "They carry a variety of shoes for low cost and they also carry the larger sizes too. Did you put your wallet in your purse?"
"Yeah I did," Phoenix muttered, "I thought I better have ID on me for the night. You never know what can happen at a party!"
"You'd better wear your flats into the store," Justina warned Phoenix as he parked the car near the entrance, "because if you ruin those fishnets you will have the devil to pay!"
"Devil to pay?" Phoenix smiled as he stepped out into the chill night air, "hell I live with her!"
"Ha ha ha," Justina smiled, "you wish I could be that nice."
As they stepped into the store the lone saleswoman stepped forward and smiled, "Can I help either of you pretty young ladies tonight?"
Justina stepped forward, "Yes we would like a pair of inexpensive, yet somewhat stylish flats for my friend here." Justina gestured towards Phoenix who was blushing slightly at the term 'you pretty young ladies'.
The saleswoman motioned toward Phoenix and smiled, "Okay hon, just take a seat here and we'll see what your proper size is."
Phoenix sat down feeling suddenly very aware of the skirt he was wearing. He crossed his legs in the most feminine way he'd seen Justina do it and offered his foot to the saleswoman.
The saleswoman took a reading and smiled, "You're in luck; I have just the thing!" She headed down the aisle and grabbed a few different styles of shoes and brought them back to where Phoenix and Justina were waiting.
One pair were like ballet shoes, a flat, functional and good for the long run. Then there were a pair of strapped shoes with a slight heel to them. The third pair were ankle boots, again with a slight heel to them.
Phoenix chose the ballet flats and slipped them on, "These are actually quite comfy," he replied to Justina, "Write them up, I'll take them and wear them out!"
Justina took Phoenix's kung fu flats and put them in the box then something on the box caught her eye. The size of these shoes were the same as her own shoes. "But how could that be?" she thought to herself, "that old man was right, tonight is shaping up to be quite a strange night.
Justina stood silently beside Phoenix as he fished out his MasterCard, put the shoes on it, signed the slip and walked out.
"Okay it's time to party!" Phoenix announced as he stepped back outside into the moonlight.
Justina looked at him curiously for a moment, did she just hear that? She heard what Phoenix said and there was nothing inherently wrong with it. It was how he said it. She could have sworn that Phoenix had femmed out his voice somehow.
"Wow, you are really getting into this, aren't you?" she asked him, "Your voice sounded very good there for a moment."
Phoenix glanced curiously at Justina; he had no idea what she was babbling about. But he was in a partying mood and nothing was going to stand in his way of having a good time tonight!
He sat in the driver's seat and brought the car to life.
Justina sighed as she sat down. First there was the height thing, Phoenix actually appeared shorter tonight somehow and there was the question of his shoe size too.
For as long as she could remember, Phoenix naturally had bigger feet than she had, but now he took the same size as she wore.
Then there was that girly voice she heard. It was not Phoenix's normal bassy voice. This was higher in register somehow. If he was putting it on for show then he was doing a damned good job but something told her that was not the case here. He didn't seem to notice the tonal change at all in his voice. How was it that Phoenix didn't notice any of these oddities?
Justina sat staring blankly at the full moon as Phoenix piloted the car through a minor maze of suburban streets. Presently he pulled up to a house that already had over a half dozen cars out in front and parked. With the engine now shut off she could hear the partying going on inside. There was laughter and voices and music, sounds that a good time was to be had.
For a moment Phoenix sat pondering, feeling slightly nervous. He couldn't help but to notice the odd acceptance that the saleswoman had shown him in the shoe store. To her, he looked like a 'pretty young lady'. He took a quick glance down at himself. Even from his viewpoint he could not detect the seam where the breast forms were on his chest. In the moonlight, they actually appeared like they were real breasts. He shrugged it off thinking to himself, "It's just a trick of the light from the moon, that's all."
Justina rang the doorbell as Phoenix stood aside still obviously very nervous over his appearance. "It's just for tonight," he told himself over and over, "it's just one night and all will be okay tomorrow. Besides the other guys have pretty much done this at least once for their past girlfriends; I suppose my number is up this time."
Presently the door opened and a slim young girl with short shoulder-length wavy hair dressed as the typical playboy bunny greeted them, "Justina, you made it! Nice costume! And who is this behind you?"
"Hi Wanda!" Justina replied as the 2 girls hugged, "You look good yourself, I'm going to have to keep a watch on you. Make sure you behave yourself and all. And this," Justina motioned to Phoenix, "you already know. You know Phoenix, my errr, life partner."
"Ha ha ha," Phoenix replied sarcastically, "the term is boyfriend smart ass."
Justina looked at Phoenix and laughed, "Okay boyfriend-smart-ass it is. But you look MUCH more like a girlfriend to me, a very pretty one too."
"You do have a point there Justina," Wanda replied, "You did an excellent job on the makeup and everything. Heck even the boobs look real! I must give you a pat on the back for the voice though Phoenix, you really do sound like a girl!"
Phoenix was taken aback, he didn't hear his voice as she did but there was the evidence of the look on Justina's face as they left the shoe store not to mention the shoe store saleswoman's acceptance of him as a 'pretty girl'. Even when he spoke she didn't seem put off by anything unusual.
He sighed aloud and looked down at himself. She was right, even in the porch light the boobs looked real. "Maybe that is how they are supposed to look like but damn, they are so distracting, I can sense them with every damned arm movement," he thought to himself.
"Yeah thanks," Phoenix thought up a lie quickly to diffuse the suspicions, "I thought when in Rome," he shrugged and laughed but it came out as a girlish giggle.
Wanda glanced directly at him with a sly smile, "Damn you are good, even your giggle is very convincing!" Wanda smiled widely and continued with a slight giggle, "Well, come on in ladies before you both get frigid nipples."
As they stepped into the spacious front room they were accosted by a mixed bag of smells, some perfume, some tobacco, as well as various drinks. Justina glided off with Wanda and joined a few other girls in the kitchen. Meanwhile Phoenix found himself wandering out to the back door where his buddies huddled around in a small circle obviously smoking some of 'mother nature's finest'.
"Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" Phoenix spoke up from the shadows just behind the group.
"Sure honey, come on over," called one of the guys with a slight chuckle as a hand in the near darkness held out a burning joint, "We could use a pretty face in this ugly group!"
Phoenix stepped forward and accepted the joint, took a long toke and passed it on. In a slightly choked voice he replied, "Well I hope that pretty face gets here soon. I wanna see it too!"
Light laughter broke out within the group and one guy that Phoenix didn't recognise responded, "Are you kidding, with a face as sweet as yours and that sexy little outfit, Girl you are hot!"
"Hmph!" Phoenix replied aloud slightly irritated by this stranger's enthusiasm, "I sorry that you think so dude, but try to keep in mind, like any other guy, I like women! The outfit is just something I blindly and foolishly allowed my girlfriend to stick me into for the night."
"Holy shit, Phenom!?" one of the guys asked aloud with obvious incredulity in his voice. Phenom was a nickname he'd had for a while since early high school where he joined the flyweight wrestling team in school. "Is that you in that skirt dude?"
"Yeah Raf, I suppose it had to be my turn sooner or later," Phoenix replied.
"Holy shit dude, Justina really did you up fierce!" Raf marvelled aloud, "the effect is totally killer! You really carry this off better than any of the rest of us ever did. Hell, what you are doing with your voice is just enough to set it off nicely. If I didn't know you better I'd try to hit on you!"
"Damn man," replied the stranger's voice, "that is a DUDE? Christ you can't tell at all, even the cleavage looks real. Damn, I really hate Hallowe'en sometimes."
Phoenix walked away from the group with Raf in tow. Raf, otherwise known as Rafael to his family, had been a long time jamming partner with Phoenix. Phoenix would play lead guitar to Raf's rhythm guitar and singing and from time to time would add a bit of vocal flourish by harmonising with Raf's singing.
"Go easy on Mike there, Phenom. He didn't mean to be an asshole; he saw you the same way as the rest of us, none of us recognized you until you got up close and even then I had to look closer. You barely look at all like you normally do," Raf said, "In fact it's bloody scary dude. How the hell are you doing the voice though, We've performed together hundreds of times and I've never heard you sound like that ever."
"I'm not sure either," Phoenix replied attempting to clear the femininity from his voice by clearing his throat repeatedly but to no avail, "it must be some sort of bug like laryngitis or mono or some other strange bug, I'll probably end up flat on my back sick as a dog. But I will say this much, it picked a hell of a time to screw with my voice."
"Just do me a favour, keep that jerk away from me," Phoenix replied as he glanced over at Mike, the stranger of the group that mistook him so loudly as a girl, "I'm not likely to be able to take any further jokes about it from him."
"Geez dude, chill out," Raf patted Phoenix on the shoulder lightly, "You really are having issues with this costume. Remember all of us did this as well at one time or another. Like you said yourself, it must have been your turn."
Raf was right. Phoenix was overreacting to the situation. Raf actually did the chick costume 3 times out of the last 6 years usually at the begging of the girl that he happened to be dating at the time.
"What some guys won't do for a girlfriend, christ," thought to himself as he caught his image in a mirror as he and Raf shuffled past people in the livingroom to get to the couch. The effect caused him to stop for a moment. He stepped closer to the mirror and looked at his image now that he could see it clearer.
He wasn't sure if it was the effect of the one drink he had in his hand, or the few tokes he had or what but when he stared into the mirror he could have sworn he was looking at a girl's image. The few facial traits that he recognized as being his own were heavily masqued in a very feminine aura. For a moment he was so taken by the beauty in the mirror he actually could be heard as he caught his breath.
Raf turned around as he sat on the couch nearby, "See what I mean?" he said to Phoenix as Phoenix lightly brushed his face with the tips of his fingers.
As Phoenix sat down heavily beside him he replied, "I must say even I am amazed. I mean why can't Justina get results like that when she does herself up? I mean she has to be a real talent with the makeup to pull off this effect on a guy."
"Yeah she definitely made you into one heck of a foxy lady!" Raf said.
"Oh shut the hell up," snapped Phoenix embarrassed and slightly angered. Raf was a long time buddy of his and because of that he put up with a lot of abuse from him on numerous occasions. Old buddy or not though, Phoenix needed some space from him.
He began to feel like he was on display somehow. It was like everyone in the room could see the shy nervous girl that he felt like. Phoenix looked down at the glass in his hand.
"Empty again," he sighed aloud as he stood back up. Perhaps it might be a better idea to stick near the girls. That way he wouldn't feel as vulnerable. Yes, that and it would be closer to the cold drinks.
Phoenix smiled to himself, "Yeah that sounds like a plan!"
Justina watched as Phoenix made his way into the kitchen. Phoenix looked great, she had to admit that but she also suspected that back when she was doing his makeup that things were getting far easier as she continued.
It did seem that the entire effect started to snowball after Phoenix got dressed. Phoenix insisted upon putting the outfit on himself before the makeup. Justina wondered to herself just how he was going to tackle putting on the bra as he had often exhibited problems in taking hers off of her.
It was like as soon as Phoenix had the clothes on, things seemed to naturally fall into place. She had seen it happening slowly all night long ever so slowly, but partially due to the drinks, Justina didn't quite believe what she was seeing. In this light, however, she could see him very clear; Phoenix looked very different.
Justina was standing off to the side with Wanda still chatting up a storm when Phoenix reached her. Wanda was chatting about her favourite subject which this week seemed to be her newest fixation. Wanda had become incensed with some prepubescent little boy rapper. She seemed fixated upon the little kid and made no secret about how she thought his extreme pre-teen feminine look to be a turn on. Justina shook her head, Wanda was a good friend and all but her taste in the arts were far from what she considered as good.
Justina gave her head a bit of a shake. There was definitely something else wrong here, more than just the feminized look of Phoenix. Maybe it was a trick of the light but somehow Justina now seemed to be taller than Phoenix. Now Phoenix appeared to be quite a bit smaller in stature. Now Justina towered over Phoenix by just over an inch. "Holy crap," she thought to herself, "Is he actually shrinking?"
She shook her head again to try to clear those strange suspicions from her mind. Such things were impossible. Weren't they? No one could actually change sex merely by putting on clothes and applying a bit of makeup? But that was definitely what seemed to be happening here.
"Clothes," Justina thought suddenly, "that's it! It must have been that strange lace bra with the breast forms built in from that strange old shop downtown. It's like from the moment Phoenix put that bra on all this seems to have started."
"Maybe I'm not going crazy after all," Justina thought, "the old man in the shop had said 'DON'T take the bra off or there would be dire consequences.' What could that mean? And to me, Phoenix looks like he is actually becoming a girl. What could be more dire than that?"
Then flashes of her memories of all the arguments she and Phoenix had in the past went through her mind. Most were very explosive and extremely painful, a few even physically violent. Those memories were her main motivation for Phoenix's costume for the night. Justina smiled to herself, "payback as a bitch!"
The idea was to put him into a position that women experienced every day of their lives. Sure it would have only been a bit of clothing to her but to Phoenix it would be emotionally devastating to his male ego. Even if it was just for this one night Justina hoped that it would teach Phoenix a bit more sensitivity towards women in general.
Phoenix returned from a quick trip to the fridge holding what appeared to be a Margarita and smiling oddly. He raised the glass in mock salute and joked, "When in Rome..."
"Wow, you seem to be getting into this tonight," Justina remarked offhandedly.
"Yeah what the hell, it's just a costume," Phoenix reasoned aloud as he adjusted the bra strap, "Besides most of the guys have done it too. Hell, Raf has done it at least 3 times over the past bunch of years. I think he likes it to be honest." Phoenix smiled wickedly.
That smile of his, she knew quite well; teasingly naughty; but now somehow that smile was on a woman's face.
There were definite signs of skin tone lightening beneath the foundation and Phoenix's face was rounder and very soft in the features.
Justina looked at her drink suspiciously and spoke to Phoenix, "Yeah that's true but I don't think any of them have taken to it so well in looks. I mean I am almost jealous!"
"Oh stop it for Pete's sake," Phoenix pouted, "Look, I agreed to do this, carte blanche. I set myself wide open, you shot, and you scored! Let's just leave it at that and enjoy the night."
"That was rather open minded of him," Justina thought, "this is not like him at all. Where is the fight gone in him?"
"So what brings you in here?" she asked Phoenix, "I thought you'd be hanging out with the guys out back."
"Some smartass hit on me almost as soon as I got here," Phoenix complained, "what an asshole! Then after it was made plain that I'm not a girl, he still made out as if it was hard to believe that I'm not!"
"Ha ha ha," Justina laughed openly at him, "welcome to my world!"
After an uncomfortable 20 minutes of silence between them, Phoenix sighed loudly and spoke up, "Well, my time is up soon anyways. I only have until midnight then I can do with it as I will?" Phoenix looked up at Justina for a sign of an answer.
Justina smiled and replied, "Yeah that was the deal. Besides you have to, or as the old salesman at the store where I got the bra from said, there would be 'dire consequences'. I have no idea what he meant by that. Maybe he was just full of shit. Just keep it on this last 20 minutes and we can make a break for it and go home."
Justina smiled, Phoenix did seem to have mellowed out a lot over the past little while. He didn't seem so worried about how people looked at him now. In fact he looked almost relaxed.
Justina watched as Phoenix looked about the room. His body language was definitely feminine as was the way he spoke. He didn't seem to have the fierce spark as she used to see in Phoenix. She liked him better when he was passive at parties like this. Finally there would be a party that they went to and he didn't embarrass her by getting into a drunken stupor and act the fool as was his habit when overindulging.
There was none of that here at all, "Well it's just 15 minutes," Justina smiled wickedly at Phoenix as she gripped Phoenix's hand, "Let's go home and I'll show you how women play!"
Justina finished her drink and they both went out to the car, Phoenix taking the driver's side and Justina taking the passenger's side.
Phoenix cursed as he adjusted the seat and mirrors again, "I think someone's been in the car, the seat and the mirrors are all wrong again."
"Well I don't see how that is possible, hon, the doors were all locked." she answered.
Another 10 minutes later they were home, and Phoenix could finally take off the costume. The bra had been bugging him all night with the itchiness from the lace. He could not wait to take that damned thing off.
"I have to take this off," he complained, "it's been itchy as hell and driving me nuts all night. Hell I can feel the breast forms bounce with every step I take. The fit is just a bit too snug against my chest."
"Look I told you, after midnight, not a minute before," Justina cautioned him again, "you lasted this long, you can last a few more minutes, besides, I think you look gorgeous! It's no wonder that guy hit on you!"
"Well can I at least take off the top and belt?" Phoenix asked, "at least I can get a bit of breathing room here."
"Yes but no more than that until after midnight," Justina laughed, "but it's a pity, I'd have loved to get a picture of you like this."
"Not on your life!" Phoenix snapped, as he pulled off the crimson red top, and looked down at himself, "Jesus Christ, he exclaimed, "these things really look real though, even in this bright light. At the party I thought it was just the subdued lighting and the joint I smoked with the guys playing tricks on my eyes.
Phoenix turned his back to Justina and tossed the top and belt onto the bed with a sigh of relief. It was then that Justina saw something unusual. Phoenix had obviously, over the evening, unhooked the strap in the back. Instead of doing up both hooks properly, he only did up one and it was the bottom hook in the eye of the top hook.
The clock hit midnight just as he turned around to face her again. He exclaimed, "HA! Finally! Do me a favour and unhook this thing, I need to breathe!"
Justina shrugged and reached around to his back and unhooked the bra strap and Phoenix shook the bra off.
Justina let out an audible gasp as she stared at Phoenix's chest.
Phoenix let out a surprised squeak of pain when he tried to pull the breast forms off of his chest. It hurt him when he tried and the nipples suddenly hardened in contact with the cool night air.
"Oh my god!" Phoenix cried out, "They're real!!"
His hands darted beneath his skirt and as they did Justina saw his face turn paler than she had ever seen it, "What the hell, that's gone too!" was all he could say.
Justina grinned widely at the girl in front of her that used to be her abusive boyfriend, "Apparently payback is not only a bitch but she can make you one too!"
Other people in that neighbourhood reported an earth shattering woman’s scream just shortly after the midnight hour struck.
The Rebirth of the Phoenix Revisited - Wisdom & Justice (a sequel)
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The Rebirth of the Phoenix Revisited - Wisdom & Justice
©2011 — Foxxe Wilder
(Author’s note: This is a sequel to a story I wrote last year. It is meant sort of as a follow up.)
Phoenix went through 4 months of intense emotional therapy after that Hallowe’en night. It went without saying that Justina and Phoenix could no longer be a couple so Phoenix ended up moving to a small bachelor apartment and tried to start afresh as she didn’t seem to have any other choice.
The doctors she had consulted had all agreed universally that Phoenix was a genetic girl but they were all still lost on just how it happened. She knew it had something to do with that bra and she felt slighted that Justina didn’t go into adequate detail about the warning upon putting it on wrong or taking it off until the correct time had come. If she had only known the importance...
She sighed as she looked into the full length mirror in the washroom. She was cute, Phoenix had to admit that. But that was not the issue. Cute or not, Phoenix’s life had been flipped upside down in almost every way. She shouldn’t have a body like this at all. Phoenix was a ladies’ man, he was not meant to be a lady, man or so he thought.
Meanwhile the authorities scrambled to understand what happened to her. The only thing they knew for sure was that the fingerprints on file at the police station perfectly matched the fingerprints on a young woman in the mental health ward at the hospital who claimed very late one, past Hallowe’en night that she used to be a man until she put on this costume, now the costume became real.
Police interviewed an accused woman, Justina Sage, who claimed she never knew the woman and found her topless running around the neighbourhood screaming hysterically.
The one year anniversary was approaching fast and she felt nervous seeing the last one's results.
Phoenix’s job was put in jeopardy as well. As a man, Phoenix drove a 10 ton van delivering local supplies for various businesses in a small trucking firm. After the change and seeing Phoenix had lost her position as a truck driver because she could no longer do the job so they transferred her over to the dispatch office.
Her spirits had crashed along with everything else in her life. She was amazed at just how much of her life was directly attached to gender. The loss of her masculinity had almost successfully wiped her life clean.
Then the rumours started up about the odd purchase from a very odd store that seemed to vanish after the fact.
The urban legend went that there was an actual wizard that travelled the random strings of time and sold his wares from time to time whenever the Fates had bid him to open his store. She had to find him. That was the only link she knew for sure was a fact and she had to find him to fix things and hope for miracles.
Phoenix’s first few menstruations were major issues. All the hormonal issues hitting Phoenix all at once nearly put her over the edge emotionally. The pain and cramps were like nothing she could ever dream of as a guy. There was simply nothing that could be comparable to a guy that was this uncomfortable and it happened to all women once a month for most of their adult lives. She had learned a whole new respect for women from the experience.
After 10 months and 10 menstruations had gone by, Phoenix ran across Justina in the mall while shopping (ironically both were buying underwear).
Phoenix was still a bit gun shy around Justina so she said as little as possible at first. She knew the motivation behind Justina’s actions on the past Hallowe’en. As a man she had no respect for women and as such she did treat women quite horrifically. She knew that now and knew it only too well.
It was Justina that made the first move. “You‘ve lost weight dear,” she smiled sweetly, “mostly on the hips and boobs. But hey it really does look good on you. Are you still living alone?”
Phoenix scoffed almost louder than she meant to, “Well it is not like I am in a hurry to just go out and get laid these days. I think my meandering days are finished now thank you very much!”
“Ooo Catty!” Justina giggled, “Well if it means anything I am very sorry it worked out the way it did. If I could change the end result at all I would but you were never one to listen to me and my warnings. You apparently did undo the bra sometime before midnight and doing so, sealed your fate.”
‘You didn’t say the boobs would become real!” Phoenix hissed as she looked around nervously after momentarily attracting the attention of a salesgirl, “Well to be totally honest, I didn’t know. I mean even if the old man told me that would happen in the end I would not have believed him. Belief in the ways of magick is quite unrealistic these days. He only said that the outcome could be disastrous or something like that.”
“We’ve had this argument so many times over the past year that it is getting very old, Phoenix,” Justina sighed heavily, “and to be honest with you I am tiring of it. Please don’t make me get another Restraining Order on you. I only want some peace between us. I’m sorry about the statements to the police but they would never have believed the truth even if I could prove it.”
“That is true, I will admit it, and for all the bullshit I am supremely sorry,” Phoenix wiped back a tear that stole it’s way into her eye, “I just wish you were the type that liked girls as well these days. I feel so damned lonely and you are the only one that really knew me at all. Anyone that has met me since then thinks I am a schizophrenic or some sort of basket-case. I never get a chance to just talk to someone anymore. Guys just spend all the time looking down my top and girls always seem to be threatened by me somehow.”
“Well you never asked me before but I do like girls as well, hon,” Justina smirked, “We just never got that far, you were far too freaked out. Trust me; if we’d have gotten past that one little hump we’d have a few more interesting humps.”
“Are you saying that…” Phoenix began haltingly.
“Yes, I’d have gone back out with you in a second!” Justina smiled sincerely, “I loved you for who you were within, not because of what you may or may not have had between the legs.”
A strange warmth sparked in Phoenix’s heart for the first time since she came upon this new life style, “Oh my god and I …”
“Wasted all this time,” Justina finished Phoenix’s sentence for her, “when we could have been living a more interesting life together. You really did turn out looking good enough to totally put me to shame. You are gorgeous and you don’t even have to try! I mean what woman wouldn’t be jealous or threatened by your looks these days! Having been a man yourself you must realize that.”
“Well I can’t and won’t argue there, if I had the choice to look female, I suppose I would naturally want to be as good looking as I could be,” Phoenix smiled slightly shyly, “so if I asked if I could make up with you, you’d have no problems with that?” Phoenix began to beam as that spark of hope in her chest suddenly flared back to life.
Justina’s reply was contained in a sudden hug. Phoenix had never hugged a girl since she had become female. As such she suddenly felt very self conscious about how to place herself in the hug. Despite her best attempts though she was highly aware of how her breasts felt as they pressed up against Justina’s. She shook almost perceptively as she felt a spark of excited electricity go up and down her spine.
Then the reality crashed down upon Phoenix’s thoughts. “But how, I mean I’ve never been with anyone at all like this, be they man, woman or otherwise,” she thought for a moment, “well it might be nice to try something with her if I get the chance but I’m afraid she’d be leading the nasty dance.”
Phoenix jumped as she felt Justina slip a small piece of paper into her bra as they released from their embrace, winking obviously as she straightened up, “Call me later tonight and we can plan a girls’ night out together,” Justina smiled then added, “or two, or three. Hahaha, we can even make a day of shopping, dining, and dancing of it. You know, kick the dust off your ass and have some real fun.”
“That sounds great!” Phoenix responded, totally forgetting every painful moment of the past year, “I will call you later. I need to shower, etcetera.”
Chapter 2:
Phoenix heard the rumours again. She had gotten into the habit of keeping a sharp ear out for any resurfacing of this mysterious shop of intrigue that had been partially responsible for the gender shifted change in her life. If she was going to set things right, her only hope was to have faith that the shop would resurface and she’d have her chance to set things right.
She followed every lead immediately; no matter what time of day it was that she heard it. She didn’t ask for this life but she was bound and determined to correct the injustice she felt that she had been served.
The only plus that happened over the past year was the return of Justina into her life. She saw that as a good sign of things to come. Perhaps they could work things out. Perhaps even return, somehow, by hook or by crook, to boyfriend and girlfriend.
In the past the very idea of two girls together would have gotten her blood pumping but that was back when she was a man. Now that she was a girl herself; she was not too sure about those views of lesbianism. Sure she still had feelings for Justina as she always had, and the post change traumatic legal issues sent her some confusing signals but then she was also dealing with confusing signals from everywhere.
It was during that time that she learned what was considered as a good looking man and what was not. She was quite surprised when she found within herself an attraction to the bad boy types; the very type of man she had been that brought her to this state of affairs.
Yes, the number that Justina gave her was a legitimate phone number and as such, Justina answered promptly when she called.
After a series of dates involving movies, (borderline chick flick/adventure movies) and classy dining and dancing it was decided that the 2 girls save some money and move in again together.
Their plans for upcoming Hallowe’en were slightly revamped from previous years, naturally, in that whatever costume one wore, the other would dress accordingly. The theme would be mutually agreed upon by both girls and the outfits would be purchased at the same time in a shopping trip together. This year would be pair of Cat Woman outfits; one, a classic style from the old 60’s Batman series and the other the more racy, sinewy model from the more recent Movie release of Cat Woman starring Halle Berry.
Chapter 3:
Both of them went out that weekend and bought the outfits they were going to wear. Phoenix
Phoenix was beginning to lose faith in finding that strange old shop that Justina’s story clung to so vehemently for the past year. In all the time of Phoenix’s searching for that odd purveyor of odd antiquities, Phoenix gained an interest in the thrift and antique shops and often browsed them during idle times.
She found an interesting string of shops on a side street in a nearby town she’d not visited in years. It was literally a treasure trove of thrift shops, retro trend and antique shops so she spent much of the afternoon the Saturday, just 3 days previous to Hallowe’en they had everything they needed that night from makeup, and perfume to customized gloves.
The gloves for both costumes were creations of Justina’s. Justina always was a real sewing witch that way; she could take a few patches of cloth, some thread, a bit of trim and truly work some amazing magick with them.
There was nothing to do but play the waiting game until the big night so in the meantime she went window shopping in a nearby town.
She went through shop after shop, making the odd purchase of things that caught her eye as she browsed when she came across a place with no visible sign short of a red neon OPEN sign in the window.
As she peered within the window she could see a myriad of items within, from books, a few racks of clothes and assorted one of a kind items. Curious, she entered the store, briefly nodding and smiling at the old man who was standing behind the till reading a newspaper and made her way in.
She made her way past hand held video games, computer software, racks of books, and many shelves of assorted electrical and novelty items, when she came upon a curtained off area in back the main room that had a sign beside it, “Adult area. You must be over 18 to gain entrance here. She smiled inwardly and stepped through the thin curtains.
There were all sorts of adult shop oddities here. Lotions, lubricants, various ingenious toys of any assorted perversion. Normally she never bothered with places like this. In the old days she didn’t want to be seen as some perverted guy that got his jollies in strange ways and as a woman she really didn’t have that much interest in the parts she had gained. She failed to see any sexual interest in the boobs upon her own chest nor of the other areas that demanded her monthly attention.
This time was different. She was alone, in a strange town and no one would know her from Adam, (or rather, Eve.) Then she found them.
Justina and Phoenix only kissed and cuddled for the most part during the early part of their revamped relationship, Phoenix would not have known how to proceed from there with a woman. She simply didn’t understand how sex with another woman was done if you had no penis, but there were a few ideas in the display case in front of her now.
Back as a man, Phoenix had found Justina’s personal toys in the past and pretty well scoffed at them with near disgust. Now however she’d have blushed herself to death if she realized the sparkle that was in her eyes as she visually examined the articles behind the glass.
There were ‘rabbits’, a few dozen different sizes and shapes of dildos and vibrators but there was one item that caught her eye. It was a strange v shaped double header dildo. By design it could position 2 girls’ pelvises directly face to face.
Phoenix smiled despite herself. That thing could help her out sexually at least. Using this thing was sort of like a strap on without the straps.
~oo00oo~
Phoenix’s eyes sparkled as she looked at the odd sex toy with interest. The very idea of substituting this thing for the penis she used to have seemed almost ludicrous, yet somewhat enticing. It was a double dildo with vibrator but was at this very strange v shaped angle. Using her imagination she could picture how it would appear if only one girl used it alone. The other end of the double donger would bear an odd basic resemblance to an erect penis.
It seemed to be just the thing she was searching for with her next encounter with Justina. Justina liked to take control over things these days but then again that was expected as it was like the old master teaching the acolyte, with Phoenix being the acolyte.
“Well, well, Miss,” the grizzled old man behind the counter smiled slyly with what seemed to be strange unsettling twinkle of recognition in his eye, “Will that be all today?”
“Yes, and could you be a dear and box that up for me please?” Phoenix put on her sweetest innocent face and smiled blushing slightly at his obviousness.
“Ahh, so no bras this time?” the old man asked quickly and almost under his breath.
“Excuse me?” Phoenix spun around to look at the old man.
“We have a fine selection of lingerie back there as well for your special night, “ he smiled almost innocently but there was something in his manner that seemed to goad at Phoenix’s subconscious.
“Is there any especially odd properties about this, umm, product?” Phoenix ventured, “I mean anything of an unusual nature, well outside of the obvious I mean.”
“Well there could be but that all depends upon the two lovers involved, “the old man replied, “They say that sex is pure magick. With the right mindset and sincerity, you could literally create, and not only life itself but things you wish for. The Ways of the Wise refer to that as Sex Magic” The old man winked knowingly, “So this could definitely help to treat your little problem as well my dear.”
Phoenix smiled, and packed the object away in her shopping bag of clothes and assorted items, barely taking notice of the no return policy sign by the cash register, “thank you very much my dear sir!”
“Glad to see you again too dear!” the old man smiled as he bowed low in mock courtesan manner.
“I must ask you a question before I go, but you speak to me as if you know me, have we ever met before?” Phoenix asked pausing at the door.
“Alas no milady. But a with a face like yours, no man would quickly forget yours,” he smiled as he picked up his newspaper.
Now she was confused but she suddenly suspected this was that store that Justina got that bra from. That shop had never been seen at all since Justina came upon it, and then it seemed as by chance that Phoenix came upon it tucked away in a dark recessed doorway to an alleyway.
Chapter 5:
Unlike the previous year, Phoenix and Justina didn’t have a party in mind to go to. The idea this time was for them to hit as many clubs as they could all night long and attempt to each get deep into character as Cat Woman.
Phoenix never really learned how to just let go at parties in the old days, especially if anyone knew him. He’d always be the stoic drunk off to the side boasting and making his hollow claims to fame back in the old days. Now if she came across someone like that she’d be more likely to just roll her eyes and ignore that type of guy as a total loser.
She often found that as a woman she’d have never actually had anything to do with a man like the one she had been. She was dead sure of that. Phoenix London as a man was an irritant to the sense of social tastes she had developed over the past year.
In their bar hopping as ‘Cat Woman twins from different times’ Phoenix saw more than a few guys in the bars that could easily have been candidates for Loser of the Year award that she as a man could have easily won many times before.
She inwardly sighed as she peered across the top of her Margarita. Why did it seem so plain and easy to see where he went wrong now? She did notice her new habit of foresight seemed to have a positive influence on life. Her life was far more ordered and not as given to flights of fancy as she had been in the past.
“How the hell was it that I had missed all that before?” she asked Justina on the dance floor, “Whatever bullshit I was spewing out before actually felt like much of it was the truth, but you know as well as I know. Men sure can be full of it that way!”
“Finally,” Justina giggled as she replied, “you can see things from my perspective. I always hoped you would someday but I never thought how much it would take to get you thinking along my lines.” Justina playfully gave Phoenix the obvious once over; pun and insinuation was often their favourite vocal games.
“Yeah I suppose once I learned to relax and accept it all that things got easier to deal with,” Phoenix replied. “I had quite of bit of excessive garbage luggage.”
Justina tilted her head slightly and smiled teasingly, “Happier now are we?”
“Ha-ha,” Phoenix shook her head to clear the new margarita generated cobwebs settling into her head, “Yeah I suppose I am damn it!”
Phoenix then took a chance there on the dance floor and whispered into Justina’s ear, “I picked up something interesting to celebrate my first anniversary of my new life. I am sure we can both enjoy it very deeply. Ha-ha!”
Chapter 6:
(I won’t go into detail here as I don’t write of sexual activities. Albeit said, however there were some repeated ‘trading of interests’ with Phoenix’s new toy that night. Eventually Phoenix feels her first orgasm as a woman. During this exchange neither person could help but to briefly think of a certain night with the two of them together as man and woman lovers as they were used to. It’s only a fleeting feeling and it is gone as fast as it appeared. Or was it?)
Phoenix felt an odd change within her. She squeezed her eyes tight in her fantasy but she felt that something felt different within her as well as with her body as well. She felt charged up and alive suddenly, and things seemed like she had been doing this for years.
“Almost,” she heard her partner whisper, “So close,”
She then felt her lover’s hips thrust forward into her and then it sunk in… That voice sounded strangely familiar. Hauntingly familiar.
It was Phoenix’s old voice. The voice of a man that was missing from the face of the world for just under a year.
Phoenix’s eyes snapped open and she found that her sexual partner was now the old male Phoenix, her old male body! Panicking slightly she looked down to see his entire nudity apparent in front of her save for one part and that was apparently within her.
As she peered down at their union, she noticed there were also new changes on her. Her breasts did not look the same; they were slightly smaller and somewhat different. There was a navel ring in her belly that was not there before as well as the small tattoo of a tiny butterfly just off to the side of the centre of her bikini line, a tattoo small enough to be hidden by tiniest of bikinis. She recognized it. The tattoo and navel ring were definitely Justina’s.
Her thoughts were then shattered by a sudden flurry of emotion and motion, at the end of which, the form of Phoenix’s male identity rolled over, she felt his manhood sliding out as he pulled away.
“I don’t believe it,” she trembled slightly as she barely whispered feeling emotions and incredible sensations flooding her mind all at once, “this is not the way I thought it would be. “
“But then things rarely go the way you expect do they?” the new Phoenix muttered.
Justina smiled and nodded, “Too true, the Fates can often have a very strange sense of humour.”
Justina thought back with an effort. There was that sign in the shop that stated in block bold letters, ALL SALES ARE FINAL. That made sense. Magick was a one way trip. You can’t go back, but sometimes you could curve the path of the pitch.
So, apparently Phoenix could not return to his old body after all, but apparently Justina could and had. That left the persona of Justina free, according to the rules of the Great Balance of Life, to become her own. It sort of made sense in a strange sort of way.
She suspected that the double donger did have some minor role in this; she was almost sure of it, but now it was no where to be found. It was like it had totally vanished.
Now Phoenix London, the man, was back in the world. That life now belonged to someone else. Phoenix felt her consciousness in regards to that life fade away, subtly shifting over to the identity of Justina, being the face she saw in the mirror now.
She smiled as she gazed into the new Phoenix’s eyes. Then bringing herself out of her trance like state, she lightly brushed the coarse dark hair aside and she smiled.
“You know we have such odd names.” she giggled, “Phoenix London? No wonder you think you are such hot stuff fella! But then Justina Sage is an odd one too. Justice and wisdom.”
“If you say so, my dear,” Phoenix’s voice responded, “But I think Justina London would suit you far better.”
Justina’s eyes sparkled with tears of joy, and she replied holding back her joy a bit, “Yes, I agree,” she kissed him fully, “Mrs. Justina London sounds just fine to me.”
The Switcher: The Song of the Street
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The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 1
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The music could be heard from just over a block away. Randy, the lead guitar player, initially found the warehouse months ago and approached the manager to rent space for the alternative metal band he was in.
It was located in the warehouse district of town, well away from any residences so they could play to their hearts' content without needing to worry about noise complaints.
Randy tore into the lead and Jason, when he was not singing lead vocals, covered with his rhythm playing. Damien covered the bottom end with his bass playing and added background vocals to the mix.
Dwayne held it all together with his drumming, and adding a bit of background vocals as well from time to time.
Dwayne stopped drumming and sighed heavily.
"No, no, no, Randy," he said, "remember how you played that lick last week? Play it like that and I can bring us all in after the 4th bar."
Randy looked up with a raised eyebrow,"Seriously? You liked that?"
"Hell yeah, dude!" Dwayne grinned, "those were some pretty killer licks you played here last week. We should definitely incorporate them into the final mix."
Dwayne checked the faces of Jason and Damien, finding agreeable looks on each.
"Hell yeah!" Jason chimed in and Damien nodded silently.
They repeated the same song another two times before they moved onto another tune, playing it a total of three times in a row.
Damien initially wasn't a big fan of the constant practising, but he did it just the same with every bit of seriousness as he put into all his other musical projects in the past. This one was a little different though. He had only picked up the bass guitar a little over a year previous, and really didn't feel too confident about his playing but all the other guys encouraged him constantly.
His background vocals initially got him into the band in the first place but he never felt his guitar playing held up to the material they wanted to do.
But Damien had a background in other instruments over his lifetime, among them he learned to play tuba in high school. He reasoned that as the bass used the same clef as the tuba and was laid out similar to a normal guitar then he should have little trouble adapting to the bass.
He was right. He took to the bass as if he was designed to play it from the beginning.
He liked being in a band. It helped to give him hope for the future. It also broke the monotony that playing guitar on the street could get like.
He had spent 4 years playing guitar on the street and had been playing guitar for 10 years now. He didn't play fancy like so many people he knew. He considered himself as a vocalist first and used the guitar to complement his singing.
The guys in the band hung around for another 30 minutes after turning the amps and other gear off for the day.
They considered it their winding down time.
Damien opted out early this time though, he had to make some cash and the street was calling his name.
“Hey there Damien, you hitting the strip tonight?” Randy asked grabbing his coat.
“Yeah, I'm short on rent again this month. I'm going to have to make up the difference real quick too. I have just short of a week to build up another thirty bucks for rent,” Damien smiled weakly, “Hey guys, I'm going to leave my bass here until tomorrow. “
“Sure not a problem dude,” Randy nodded, “It will be safe here.”
Damien nodded with a smile. He knew it would be okay. They regularly stored all their stage gear in the warehouse space and Randy even got it all insured just in case.
Damien slipped on his own black leather jacket and denim vest, lifted his hard shell acoustic case and headed out the door.
“Hey, you need a ride?” Dwayne asked Damien.
“Nah, I got a bus pass, I'm good. The buses take me right down there anyways, but hey thanks for the offer.”
Damien took off on foot towards the nearest city bus stop. He checked the sky. No signs of rain. That's good.
He stopped at the bus stop, joining an oriental couple already there.
The oriental couple bantered back and forth in Chinese. Damien checked his watch. He had timed it pretty well. The bus would be there within a few minutes. If he had come out any later he would have had to wait an extra 20 minutes for the next bus.
No, he wasn't very big on waiting for things, especially buses.
Minutes later he was on the bus headed to the downtown core. It was a place he referred to as his old stomping grounds. He had become a bit of a landmark there over the past four years.
He treated his job as a street musician as a normal job, complete with long hours, and various set lists to guide him along.
Yes, he had spent almost every single day of his existence for over four years down there and everyone in the neighbourhood knew him.
He loved that feeling. No, he was no high paid rock star by any definition but he considered himself as successful because he got to do something he loved for a living.
The other guys in the band had their hopes pinned on an upcoming battle of the bands contest next month. They were all excited about it.
He wasn't expecting much from it but it was an opportunity for the band to be seen and heard out in public, and what was a band if they were never heard?
Damien liked being in a band but it was all for naught if you spent all your time in practice and never actually hit the stage. He loved the stage, whether it was a raised dais or just a spot in a doorway on the street.
He loved performing. It was his way to express all the pent up emotions that guys were not supposed to show. Compassion, hope and tenderness were such things that guys were not even supposed to have but he had his own emotion portal that he made good use of.
The bus made the wide turn onto the street where the downtown core clustered around a long row of movie theatres, restaurants and night clubs. Damien's stop was coming up soon. He readied himself for the upcoming night, and rang the bell to signal the bus driver to stop at the next bus stop.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 2
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Damien looked up and down the street as he stepped off the city bus carefully guiding the hardshell acoustic guitar case through the passengers also exiting the bus.
He had a classic metal head look to him. His hair was a dark chestnut colour and he wore it long enough to drape over his shoulders. His unshaven face had a gaunt look as if he had not eaten for days.
His standard fair for the streets included a black leather jacket with jean jacket vest over top, a black teeshirt with the logo of Black Sabbath upon it. The rest was just a basic pair of straight leg blue jeans and a pair of black kung-fu shoes.
A few doors to the left was the old jewellery shop; now empty and up for lease. To the right and down the block a ways was the front entrance to the Orpheum with it's natural echo chamber in the front doorway.
The first location would be better for coin flow as it was right in the middle of the block but the Orpheum had those fantastic acoustics to play off of and Damien was addicted to the sound.
He shrugged, he could easier get into the mood for playing with a good sound.
He turned right and headed towards the Orpheum with a determined smile.
The weather was a comfortable 21 degrees, with a slight overcast and a gentle breeze coming in from the west. The best part was it was still the early part of the month so people were in a good mood.
This was good for two reasons. Happy, positive people meant he'd have a good time performing and that often lead to a more generous crowd, or so he hoped.
He set down the guitar case in front of the Orpheum as he had done uncounted times before, pulled out his acoustic guitar, strapped it on and deftly produced a guitar pick from his right pocket.
He looked up and saw that he was not alone. Officer Ron Sparks stood in front of Damien.
“Hey there Sparky, what can I do you for today?” he asked the police officer, “Care to hear a tune? You name it.”
“Well Mr. Leone, my friends down here keep telling me that you have been dealing out of the guitar case these days. I hope that isn't true because if I find anything on you when you have your guitar out then I just might have to confiscate your axe as well as bust you,” the police officer warned.
“Ah come on Sparky, you know me better than that,” Damien smiled, “I'm playing for chump change today, dude. I'll be lucky to afford bus fare home tonight unless I get lucky today.”
“I'll believe you this time but trust me when I say, I'll be watching you,” he warned.
“Aww that's really sweet of you, Sparky!” Damien joked, “Always a pleasure knowing I have an audience, even if it is an audience of one!”
Damien smirked as Officer Sparks turned down the street. As Damien turned around he noticed the smile of a young Tracey Uxbridge (aka “Trace”) passing by headed up towards the bus shelter he just left.
Trace was one of his regular and dedicated clients. Every so often the regular street people in the area would drop some money into his case in appreciation and some would request songs, which he did the best he could to fulfill.
Trace was a pretty 17 year old girl of a slight yet muscular build with chocolate brown hair cut into a pixie haircut.
She was dressed in her usual uniform. She was fond of the sleek dancer look with a touch of heavy metal punk influence.
Her jacket was black leather, and tailored to enhance her dancer's frame and was worn over usually a pink teeshirt that had random tears in it (to give it a punk rock look) all topped off with a pair of black tights. Her favourite footwear tended to be a pair of black suede short boots.
Yes, Trace definitely cute enough to be able to literally cash in on her looks in various rather unsavoury street professions, but her choice fell into the realm of small time cannabis sales.
She smiled at him as she walked by and cheered him on enthusiastically, “Woo Hoo! Rock and Roll!”
Damien returned a grin and set his gear down. He opened his guitar case so it faced the street and took up his place behind it.
He took in a few minutes to gather a feel for the street, reaching for that little spark of inspiration.
He put the guitar strap over his shoulder, grabbed a pick and began to tune up and as he did so, he ran through his repertoire in his head, looking for something that he could open up with.
He liked to draw the attention of the crowd subtly. He'd start off with a soft, easy song that pulled on the heart strings. Then he pulled them in with his own renditions of the classics.
Damien enjoyed performing here. It had a good sound and afforded him an excellent vantage point on the street. He could see almost a block in either direction.
His initial enthusiasm would carry him only for a few hours on end. Although the numbers of people were there, things were slow to build up.
People came and went into the numerous movie theatres nearby. Just as the 9 o'clock people started to gather Damien spied a disturbance coming his way from way up the block.
From this vantage point Damien often witnessed foot chases between many local minor league drug dealers running from the local police. He squinted his eyes in a vain attempt to see what was coming his way and if he could cash in on the happening.
He watched as a man in a dark suit came into view running down the block. He slowed at the bus shelter and ducked inside.
Then, just as suddenly a younger man in a tee shirt and jeans darted out of the same bus shelter, coming around the back to the entrance to a book store.
From there he saw Trace suddenly run out of the book store and sprint toward Damien's direction.
In all of the 7 months time that Damien had known of Trace, he had never seen such a look of crazed desperation as what he witnessed on Trace's face that day.
Trace quickly closed in him and was showing absolutely no signs of slowing down in the least.
In a desperate move to save his precious instrument, he quickly released the guitar strap and set the guitar down.
Damien had only just straightened up when Trace collided with him tossing him to the ground far and clear of his guitar and case. Damien lost consciousness for a moment just after Trace collided with him..
His next memory came in a dark haze. He had been lightly tossed aside as a male form got up from beside him and started to run down the street.
“Now where in hell did he come from?” he wondered as he sat up and looked around. His saw little more than a mass of hazy images. He rubbed his eyes.
His sight cleared up momentarily but not before the male shape had at least gained 10 feet of distance from Damien, and as his sight focused in, the male shape had just glanced over his shoulder to look back at Damien.
What he saw caused Damien's head to spin. For a moment he felt dizzy and his legs threatened to give way beneath him.
The face that had looked back at him was his own. The male shape that was running away from him was Damien's own body! All Damien could do was sit there in shock and stare at it getting away.
“How the hell could I be sitting here if that's my body?” he wondered as his body turned the corner vanishing from sight with a small group of darkly clad men in hot pursuit.
He blanked stared as the last of at least six men disappeared around the corner and out of sight.
“This is totally not my day,” he said aloud as he picked himself up.
He paused and put a hand to his throat in response to the strangely familiar voice he spoke with. It was not his voice in the least, no not by a long shot.
This voice was distinctively feminine and one he had just heard minutes ago.
He recognized it but could not place it. It was then that he realized his clothes felt very different.
He became aware that his pants were far too tight on him, totally unlike what he was wearing, then there was the jacket. Where was his own leather jacket and jean vest? This wasn't the jacket he was wearing.
He glanced down at it and froze. The jacket was of a very feminine cut and under it was a pink tee shirt with a few holes torn into it and beneath that he could feel something else.
He opened the jacket and found a pair of perky B cup breasts pushing out behind the thin pink tee shirt fabric.
“Oh my god!” he exclaimed aloud, gasping at the elevated tonality in his voice.
He began to form an idea of who that voice belonged to, now that he had seen the teeshirt and jacket, not to mention the shape of breasts beneath.
A quick glance past the fleshy twin peaks confirmed his suspicions. His legs were clad in black tights and his tiny feet were wearing a pair of black suede short boots.
He sat on the sidewalk for a few moments totally taken back by all the events over the past few minutes when he was suddenly picked up by a single man on each arm who proceeded to carry him away leaving his guitar and everything else behind.
He kicked and thrashed about savagely but the tiny body he was in made no headway in his attempt to escape. He was hopelessly out powered by these two men in dark suits, at least for the moment.
He was pushed into a white windowless van that had few rows of seats, many populated with confused people of various types and ages. He started at the sight of them for a moment then he realized that both men had released their grip on him.
He smiled, spying an opening just to the left of the nearest man and tensed up.
Within a half second he launched himself through the opening and found himself free.
He made a quick glance towards his music gear but two more men were at work cleaning them up. He shrugged inwardly; he had his freedom, but if he was to keep it he would need to give up on his guitar gear. A half second later he took off running down the street headed for the nearby corner and turned left then left again into the nearby alley. He knew these streets like the back of his hand. Well maybe not like the back of his hand now but suffice it to say he had an intimate knowledge of the area.
As he darted into the alleyway, he looked towards the corner he had just came around, spying the two men he just escaped had been joined by two others and they were also in hot pursuit.
He had to lose these people somehow and fast, the body he was in, although being quite healthy, was still a lot shorter in stature than he was used to.
He spotted a narrow passage between two buildings that lead out to the next street over, slipped into it and from there turned right and sped as fast as he could into the multilevel parking lot on the opposite side of the street.
Once in the parking lot he went up the stairwell, making as much noise as he could, to assure that his pursuers would chase him up there. Then at the 3rd floor he hooked back behind the steps and crouched down underneath desperately trying to hush his laboured breathing as he listened to all four of the men in dark suits run off into the 3rd level parking lot.
Damien smiled after they had gone out of hearing range and darted back down the steps as quietly as he could.
Upon returning to the street level he headed directly for a line of abandoned, boarded up buildings not too far from his location.
He had known of these buildings for quite some time, having had to use them a few times in the past as emergency housing when he was homeless not a long time previous. Right now that would be the perfect place to go to hide and try to collect himself.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 3
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Damien was almost out of breath by the time he cleared the 2 blocks, constantly dodging vehicles and pedestrians along the way. He had no idea who those people were in the dark suits but he definitely didn't want to have anything to do with them. He already had enough problems with the body he was in.
He scanned the old hotel with his eyes, searching for an entrance that would be easy to get to. He wasn't too sure just how agile this body was and he was sure that he could feel it's pain if he pushed it too hard.
He spied a piece of plywood that had been wrenched open some time ago by some homeless nocturnal visitors. Smiling to himself he squeezed through the space and soon found himself alone, relatively safe in the livingroom of an abandoned main floor apartment.
There was dust everywhere as well as a few odds and ends tossed about in the building. On the longest wall of the livingroom was a rather long patch of graffiti art.
He recognized some of the names painted on there and smiled.
This place had definitely seen more than one small friendly nocturnal gathering.
He was alone. The events of the past half hour suddenly began to sink in.
He ran through it all in brief in his head.
There was the runners. A couple of them and for some odd reason Trace joined these runners.
Trace literally ran Damien over and thus knocking him completely off his feet.
Then Damien gets up, sees his own body running away and discovers he's now in Trace's body.
To make things more confusing, just after Damien realizes he's in a female body, some people in dark suits attempt to abduct him.
This sets him in terrified flight mode, forced to leave his precious guitar behind to save his own life.
Which all wraps up with him alone in the livingroom of an abandoned building.
He looked down at himself, this time taking in the moment now that he had an opportunity to collect his thoughts.
Any typical man would check out the boobs first and Damien was no different. He took a guilty peek down his own top at the two small fleshy mounds.
He recalled her voice, Trace's voice responded with ever word he spoke.
He looked up and cocked his ear, “Hello, I am Damien, or rather I used to be. Now I'm Trace.”
“Holy shit, it's exactly like her,” he said aloud, “Hmm that definitely was not very lady like, but then again I am pretty new at all this girl stuff.”
He ran his hands down his sides sliding down to the hips, “Wow, this really does feel,” he paused then continues, “ very different!”
His thoughts naturally centred for a moment on his groin area. He shook his head, and tried to put any thoughts of that area of his body right out of his head. Or was it really her head?
He growled, which despite his intentions actually ended up sounding more cute than menacing at all.
In any case, He intended upon holding off on discovering the groin later on and only if he had to.
He decided to take inventory of what he had on him.
Trace never carried a purse but instead she wore a waist pouch. It was far easier for her to deal with and it freed up her hands.
Damien unzipped the waist pouch around his waist and looked inside.
There was lipstick, a black eyeliner pencil, 4 tampons, 2 light pads, birth certificate, and other related identification. There was also eleven dollars and 35 cents, zig zag rolling papers, a fingernail clipper with nail file, a small brush and mini bic lighter.
“So I have ID anyways. Not that it will do any good if those assholes are still looking for me, but I am pretty well broke.” Trace's voice said.
“I'm going to have to try a disguise,” he said aloud, “this should be really interesting as I've never had to disguise a girl before!”
He walked into the bathroom. There was no running water in the building so the bathroom was not usable at all, save for the fact that it did have mirrored shower doors in the bathroom and they were in perfect shape, save for a light layer of dust.
He stood there in the bathroom just staring at his reflection.
“Yes, it definitely is going to take a while to get used to this,” Trace's voice pondered aloud, “of course I suppose it could have been worse. At least I kind of know her; I just wish we had mixed and mingled a bit more before this.”
He turned his back to the mirrors and looked over his shoulder with an amused smile, “It's not fair, I have this ass now and I can't see it very well at all!”
He sighed as he got serious. Trace was known for her pixie-punk look. Damien would have to totally abandon anything in that region if he wanted to be able to hide Trace's face from public scrutiny.
All he had to do was put on normal clothes and maybe get a wig until her hair grew in a bit more.
In his mind's eye he tried to picture Trace wearing something as simple as a pencil skirt with a classy top. Trace would never been seen in simple “peasant clothing” as she termed it. Such outfits were so totally devoid of taste for her.
Damien had never seen Trace with anything on but her normal pixie-punk tight outfits and she had always had that short hair. He'd never seen her in any other manner.
His mind's eye furnished him an image that caused him to feel a sort of twisted self pride.
The image he had in mind was one where Trace had shoulder length hair and the addition of other styles and adding colours to Trace's wardrobe would change how he looked so much that even the original Tracy Uxbridge wouldn't recognize.
Right now though he had very few options available to him. His apartment keys left with his body as well as everything he owned. Even if he could access his apartment, it would be a wasted effort as he owned nothing that would even remotely fit the tiny frame he had now.
No matter what he decided to do, it couldn't happen until after dark. He could always move around freely and safely at night and has for years and he was quite sure that he could pilot Trace's life through it as well.
By the time that dusk had set and Damien suddenly realized that he had no idea what size of clothes Trace wore. That was going to be a problem that he had to solve quickly. He desperately wanted to try to get Trace's face to disappear.
Damien went back into the bathroom utilizing the last dying embers of light in the building.
“Hmm. Maybe I can start with something simple,” Trace's voice announced.
Damien Took off Trace's leather jacket and looked at the mirror critically.
“Hmm, If I comb my hair with a slight part.” he mumbled as he adjusted Trace's hair.
“I definitely need to reduce makeup use and change the style.” he smiled.
I could at least get a good start like this, but I will need some new stuff real fast,” he sighed
Damien looked around the apartment. Trace's leather jacket was expensive and he didn't think it would be right if he just tossed it away. No, he could find a safe place to stash it away and return for it later. But where?
After searching the room for almost a half hour he discovered a few loose floorboards near the corner of the room. There was just enough room beneath to hide the jacket safely.
He pulled an old pile of boxes over the floor boards to disguise his stash spot and turned to the window. By peeking out a small crack he could see outside.
The sun had set and darkness had fallen, which afforded him a bit of cover. He had to get out and soon.
He had been hiding in the abandoned building now for just over three hours and hunger was beginning to make it's presence known. He had to go for it.
He slipped out past the plywood and stepped into the night.
He had to replace Trace's signature waist pouch too. Sure a lot of people wore them but it was a major part of Trace's look and Damien didn't want to be recognized as Trace at all. He needed someone to help him out, but who did Trace and Damien have in common that they both knew?
Damien checked the town clock far overhead. It was just past seven pm, there was a Value Village just down the street a few blocks and there was just over eleven dollars at hand. It wasn't much but it was a start.
He took off at a quick walk, not too slow nor nothing so fast as to attract unusual attention. He kept it at a decent pace and was soon turning into the store.
Internally Damien cringed. He was out in public as a girl. Within him his very manhood screamed in terror.
He glanced down at himself for a moment, taking in what he had to deal with and started to make his plans when he felt someone tapping on his shoulder.
He turned around to find Shadoe, an old friend of Damien's smiling at her, “Hey Trace, what brings you here?”
Shadoe was a small built girl, native North American and very pretty. She had a style all of her own though. Everything she owned was black, all her clothes even her hair was naturally black
Damien's mind went into hi speed.
“What the hell? Shadoe recognizes me? She knows Trace?” he wondered silently as he assessed the situation.
“Oh well,” he started, “I got nervous with all the guys in those dark suits running around.”
“Oh yeah they were grabbing people left, right and centre! Basically, if you ran, they nailed you.” Shadoe replied, “and they did get a few of us. I saw you toke off just after Damien took off like that. I never saw that coming though. Damien would never just leave his guitar like that. Something was definitely wrong,”
Shadoe continued, “Apparently you did get away though. Damien didn't, but when I saw them grab him, it was like he had gone insane! He was babbling in what sounded like Chinese!”
Damien felt his eyes begin to tear up, “What? They got Damien?”
“Oh yeah and trust me he didn't go quietly either. I've never seen him so violent before. That was definitely not the guy I've known for the past 4 years now. No, not at all. So how did you get away?”
Damien smiled and recounted his encounter with the dark suits. Shadoe laughed at how Damien eluded them by doubling back.
“Where did you ever learn a trick like that from?” Shadoe laughed.
“Oh, well,” Damien replied as coyly as he could, “I suppose I watch a little tv every so often. I thought it would come in handy dodging guys. You know.”
He winked at Shadoe and they both giggled.
“Anyways,” he continued, “I came here because I want to be able to disappear for a while. Those dark suits will more than likely still be looking for me, so I need to disappear. And in this case, fashion is my friend.”
“Not in your case kiddo!” Shadoe laughed, “you have a style all your own!”
Damien smiled, “look who's talking!”
“Well big sister is here to help you. We can get a few little things here but I have an entire second bedroom in my apartment that I devote to clothes,” Shadoe beamed while obviously eyeing Damien up and down, “and we're about the same size. I'm a little bigger up top but we can work around that. It's no biggie.”
“Hey,” Damien smirked, “don't get personal!”
They both broke into giggles once again.
They spent a few hours both trying on clothes and Damien getting 3 tops and Shadoe kicked in an extra twenty dollars to get a few skirts and pants for Damien.
“You'll need to totally remove yourself from who you used to be and that means wearing things you've never considered before,” Shadoe told Damien, “Now take the money, you can always pay me back whenever you can.”
Damien looked at the pile of clothes, then back at Shadoe for a moment, then, in a burst of pure emotion, Damien hugged Shadoe tightly, “You have no idea what this means to me. I really needed this help. As of today I really can't go back to who I used to be.”
“Wow, how true can you get?” Damien smirked inwardly.
He couldn't allow any suspicion to fall upon him. If word got out that a certain Tracey Uxbridge was acting unusual those assholes in the dark suits would be back.
He would have to start thinking, acting and actually being Trace. No, not Trace as the dark suits were looking for her. He would have to become Tracey Lynn Uxbridge.
“Wait,” he wondered suddenly, “how the hell did I know her middle name?”
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 4
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Tracey followed Shadow down the hallway stopping at a door. Shadow opened the door and motioned Tracey inside, “So when was the last time you showered?”
“Oh heck I can't remember,” Tracey replied honestly, “Why, do I...?”
She paused indicating her right armpit.
“Oh no, it's nothing like that, I just thought if you wanted to, you could feel free to grab a shower. I live alone so no one will bother us,” Shadow explained.
Tracey looked down at herself once again. No matter how many times she looked down at herself did it ever get any easier. It was always a shock to her eyes.
But the offer of a shower was far too enticing. The late afternoon turned into a never ending nightmare complete with foot races and Tracey needed to remove the emotional weight of the day.
“Or you could have a bath instead,” Shadow offered, “just relax and unwind a bit. I'll be in the kitchen cleaning up and maybe we can burn one after you get out.”
Tracey looked around the apartment. This was definitely not something she'd expect from anyone that was on the street, but then again it had been a few years since she'd met Shadow. Many things could have changed since then.
“This place is fantastic! You must be doing really well down on the strip,” Tracey commented.
“Oh yeah, I do pretty good with the gramming down there. I have about a half dozen middlers going everyday for me but I have other pursuits as well. I mean we all have our sugar daddies right?”
Tracey smiled and agreed, “Oh yes but some are not so affluent.”
“Oh well mine come from a higher ranking in the social order,” Shadow smiled slightly, “and I always keep a few on the line for emergencies.”
“Anyway, you go take your bath and help yourself to the oils and bath bombs. Pamper yourself! I'm sure it's been a while since you've had such opportunities,” Shadow replied as she turned toward the kitchen.
Tracey stepped into the bathroom. It was huge. There was enough room within it to put an entirety of a local hotel room within it and still have room for more.
The bathtub was a reissue of the classic clawfoot tubs of the early twentieth century.
As she was checking out the room she heard Shadow approach the door. Shadow tapped on the door then entered with a white terry cloth robe over her arm, “You can change into this after your bath. You can toss out your underwear too. I have a few things you can have.”
She looked at Tracey and smiled apologetically, “but I'm afraid I have no bras in your size though.”
Tracey blushed slightly, “Well admittedly I am not wearing one at all. I guess I really don't need one consider my size and all.”
“Well I didn't want to be the one to say it like that, but you're right. Back when I was B cup I didn't bother with a bra at all. You are so lucky that way,” Shadow said.
“Okay thanks,” Tracey replied as she turned on the bath water.
“I'll leave you to it then,” Shadow said then slipped out of the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her.
Tracey was still appalled. In all the years she had spent on the streets, she had never seen anyone with such a home. Even her own family didn't have such things.
She looked down at herself and sighed. It was just a matter of time before she was going to have to become acquainted with Tracey's body and the time was nigh.
She pulled off the pink teeshirt, now slightly soiled from squeezing out of the abandoned building, freeing up the girls.
Seeing them like this was a totally new experience.
As Damien, she had only ever seen boobs from the third person point of view. This was a very new and very different situation.
They stood out firm in their conviction to be the harbingers of female identity.
She ran shaky hands over them, avoiding touching the nipples entirely. She wasn't sure what to expect from them and didn't really want to find out too soon.
Then there was all that sort of stuff below. Was she really ready to go there?
As Damien, she would have loved to see Trace this way but this was more intensive than she ever expected.
She could feel what was down there. She was aware of everything, from the tips of her toes and on upwards.
“Shit, what's the difference?” she said aloud to herself testing the water in the tub and shutting off the flow, “I can feel it anyways, and I do need a bath. Hmm. What about those bath bombs?”
She looked around and found a series of clear glass containers on a shelf. One had oil beads of varying colours, another had bath bombs and still others contained various powders and articles she couldn't readily identify.
She grabbed one red oil bead and one red bath bomb and dropped them in the water, watching with interest as the bath bomb bubbled and fizzled in the water.
It only took a few minutes before it stopped and by then the water had also gained from the effects of the red bath bead, which was cherry scented by the smell of it.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Trace announced to herself as she slipped out of the black tights, discovering a pair of matching black underwear beneath. She stepped out of them without looking at her nether regions.
She was putting it off. Surely she would have to give in and look.
“Come on, you are just being silly,” she told herself aloud, “it's just a matter of time before you have to deal with it and that is eventually going to be far more intimate than just disrobing!”
She took a deep breath and took a tentative look down.
“Holy crap, I can barely even see it at all!” she commented.
Tracey was a girl who was into personal landscaping though. She had maintained a specific look to her parts. Damien had always referred to such things as 'a relocated Hitler moustache'.
She smiled at the irony, as she gingerly stepped into the soothing hot waters.
Shadoe's voice sounded from behind the bathroom door, shattering Tracey's quiet solitude. She realized that she had fallen asleep, such was the relaxing effect of the bath.
“Hey! Are you still alive in there?” she called, “It's been almost an hour and I was getting worried out here!”
Tracey stirred, suddenly aware that the bath waters had grown colder, “Oh I'm sorry, I got so relaxed that I must have drifted off, I'll be right out. Sorry about that!”
Tracey stepped out of the bath, no longer worried about any of her new body parts, unplugged the stopper and reached for the white robe Shadoe left behind.
She had barely had time to put it on her shoulders when Shadoe opened the door. In reflex Tracey rushed to get her arms in and her front covered up.
Shadoe chuckled, “Seriously girl, you don't really think you have anything I haven't seen before?”
Tracey felt herself blush and responded, “Oh yeah, sorry. It's just my reflexes.”
She tied up the robe by the sash and followed Shadoe out the door.
As she entered the livingroom she heard music from a local rock radio station and could smell cinnamon and apple in the air.
“I heated up some apple pie added some whip cream and poured a couple glasses of wine for us”, Shadoe smiled proudly, “I thought maybe I could entice you out.”
Tracey smiled in response, “you sure know the way to my heart!”
“Oh I've known that for a while now girl!” Shadoe laughed, “Apples and cinnamon, Trace's kryptonite.”
“I appreciate it, but do me a favour,” Tracey replied, “After today's events I'm not so sure that I can ever use my street name Trace anymore. So much has happened that I think that I should leave that behind as well. Just call me by my real name, Tracey.”
“Okay, Tracey it is then,” Shadoe smiled, “So obviously you didn't get the nickname from any artistic endeavours?”
Tracey chuckled, “oh no, I can barely draw a conclusion never mind being able to draw anything on paper!”
“Cute saying, I've got to remember that one,” Shadoe answered picking up a freshly rolled joint, “Now lets sit down for some pie and wine! I have dessert all ready!”
“Hey wait a minute,” Tracey asked, “Isn't the pie the dessert?”
“Not in this case, babe!” Shadoe laughed.
“You seem to be pretty shaken up over all that shit downtown today, what for?”
Shadoe asked after she cleared off the two dessert plates from the table.
“Oh well I've never been one for chases. I'm definitely not the person everyone seems to think I am.”
“Oh trust me, girl, no one is,” Shadoe said, “I mean you didn't expect this kind of place from a street chick like me, did you?”
“Was it that obvious?” Tracey asked feeling a bit nervous.
“Oh hell, I'd have thought the same way too if I were you,” she replied.
If I were you. Those words stuck out in Tracey's mind.
“If you only knew,” she thought.
“Well, after we smoke this joint we can go into my closet and you can pick whatever you want!” Shadoe smiled, “but first, the inspiration!”
She pulled out a bic lighter and lit up.
Ten minutes later they stood at the door to Shadoe's 'closet'.
Shadoe grinned as she paused to open the door, “Well, hold on to your panties girl, for here they be dragons!”
Trace smiled, “I can't, I don't have any on!”
Shadoe giggled, “Yeah well we can fix that in here too!”
Shadoe opened the door to reveal a rather large bedroom that was stocked with numerous portable clothing racks as well as three dressers and two portable wardrobes.
Despite Shadoe's reputation for wearing all black all the time, there was a virtual rainbow of colour all around.
“Oh my god!” Tracey whistled, “I haven't seen stores with this amount of stock!”
“And all our size!” Shadoe beamed proudly, “well minus the boob size and even that isn't a major issue really. So anyway, we need to give you a whole new look and I do believe we have most of the gear to do it here too!”
“I don't know, this pixie haircut might be an issue,” Tracey sighed, “unless you have a wig or two somewhere in all this.”
“Well no, I don't have any wigs, but I have a lot of hair stuff, including extensions!” Shadoe told her.
“Well I don't suppose you have them in my hair colour?” Tracey flicked her hair for emphasis.
“Of course not!” Shadoe replied, “but you could use a hair colour change anyways, and I happen to have some black hair dye in the bathroom!”
Tracey pondered the idea for a moment.
She needed to hide. The dark suits would be looking for a punk girl with short brown hair in pink and black so she couldn't look like that and a hair colour change could only help her out.
Besides which she wasn't a big fan of short hair. As Damien, she always thought Trace was cute with her look but now that she literally wore her shoes, she really didn't want it short.
“Well, it's definitely a good idea,” Tracey admitted as both girls casually started looking through the multiple racks of clothes.
“Hell, everyone has been doing the hair colour thing anyways, I'm kind of surprised you haven't, being a punker and all.”
“Well not all punks go for the coloured hair look,” Tracey replied then added, “besides which, I'm not really a punk, not really; I'm much more of a rocker. The punk look just got thrust upon me.”
“There's nothing quite like telling the absolute truth without directly saying anything,” Tracey thought.
“Okay so we start with the hair, then we can come back here and create your new look, okay?”
Tracey had to admit she did feel a little excited at the idea of a complete makeover, although didn't she just get something like that when she was forced into Tracey's body in the first place?
“Hell yeah, let's do this!” Tracey exclaimed, “you've always had the best fashion sense ever since I met you!”
“Oh well honey,” Shadoe replied with a cautious tone, “That really hasn't been that long now. I mean I first met you with Damien just about 6 months ago. I admit that at first glance I thought you might have been his girlfriend.”
“Damien's girlfriend?” Tracey half-gasped, “Oh no, trust me, that could never happen. Damien was just a friend. Someone I met when I came downtown.”
“Well, don't worry about it,” Shadoe smiled, “I'll admit I thought about him a few times that way but never thought we could work out around what I do and his music. He always seems to have his head buried in music.”
“Oh well, I suppose that is really all he has,” Tracey responded, “I mean he always seems so lonely out there. Sometimes he's there for hours and hours barely making a thing but he keeps plodding onward. He was part of a band project although after today, I don't think that will ever come of anything.”
“Yeah, he really didn't seem at all interested in music or even English that last time I saw him, handcuffed and shoved into a van,” Shadoe recalled.
Tracey felt a chill go up her spine. She suspected that she may well never see the face of Damien ever again. She knew that she should have been feeling bad about that, even angry but she just felt a little sadness.
Shadoe led her into the kitchen where she already had a chair set up and all the hair colour materials ready at hand.
Tracey looked at the layout and raised an eyebrow, “I see you are all ready for this?”
Shadoe smiled, “Yeah, I knew all along you'd go for it. This is going to be so much fun. It's like having a full sized fashion doll at my disposal.”
Tracey looked down at herself and sighed, “It's too bad about the boobs though.”
“Oh hell girl, you are still young!” Shadoe replied, “they'll get bigger in time, I know a lot of girls from high school that were still B cups in grade nine, a few short years later they graduated with D cups! Your time will come, don't worry about it.”
Tracey had a small battle of feelings with those thoughts. The part of her that was still Damien wanted to return to what he had always known, but the new, emerging part desperately wanted those bigger boobs.
She shook her head.
“What?” Shadoe asked as she motioned Tracey to the chair.
“Oh,” Tracey smiled weakly, “just trying to picture me with a rack like yours. Kind of hard to picture at this point.”
“Oh trust me, I've only had these puppies since I was twelve and I'm twenty-two now. I've only been a D cup since I was about your age, so I'm still not entirely used to them,” Shadoe smiled, “so anyways let's get this started.”
Shadoe mixed the dye together and Tracey put the protective cape on her shoulders.
“So exactly why is it you have black hair dye anyways?” Tracey asked, “Your hair doesn't look like it's ever been dyed.”
Shadoe laughed, “Oh no, it's not for me. Hell no, my hair is all natural! I got this for a friend that was going to go underground about a month ago but she ended up leaving town instead. That left me with black hair dye on my shelf. It's just lucky you came along and needed it. Otherwise I'd eventually have to toss it out.”
An hour and a half later Tracey's hair had been rinsed and dried and Shadoe went to work on attaching the extensions.
“You are totally not going to recognize yourself when we are done,” Shadoe said proudly, “and trust me, longer hair really does suit you and this colour is a knock out!”
“How much do you want for the extensions?” Tracey asked, “I'm not sure when or how but I promise I'll pay you back for all this help. You've been like a big sister to me.”
“Ah, don't worry about it kid,” Shadoe laughed, “You broke up an otherwise boring evening. I needed a break besides, helping you out in your time of need is a good way to seed my karma.”
“Seed your karma?” Tracey asked.
“Yeah, you know, whatever comes around, goes around?” she explained, “By doing people favours like this, I seed my karma for good to come back to me.”
“Wow, I've never thought of it like that!” Tracey replied, “I can't wait to see the end results.”
“Well I'm almost done your hair, but,” Shadoe paused, “We need to do your makeup to complete the look, Then we can grab you some clothes and I have a few ideas about that too. In fact I pulled a few outfits out for you while you were rinsing off the dye. They're on my bed.”
“Wow, hair, makeup and clothes,” Tracey said aloud, “are you sure you can afford all this?”
Shadoe responded by waving a hand, “Pfft! Don't worry your pretty little head about it girl. I can always get more. Clothes, I have no shortage of. The hair extensions, I actually get from a friend of mine who hand makes them for dirt cheap. And makeup? Please. I get that free all that time! Remember, sugar daddies?”
Tracey nodded, in which Shadoe slapped her head lightly, “hold still bitch, you don't want me to fuck this up!”
Then came the makeup.
Shadoe had an astounding amount of makeup. The case she brought out reminded Tracey of an old mechanics' toolbox that Damien used to have years ago.
There were numerous shades of everything from foundations, eye shadows, blushes and lipsticks galore.
Shadoe held up numerous shades of foundation to Tracey's face, finally finding one she could use.
“Do me a favour and tell me what you are doing and why as you do it?” Tracey asked.
“Are you serious?” Shadoe asked.
Tracey thought quickly, “Hey, I only ever learned one way and never used foundation or eyeshadow. In fact all I've ever used as mascara and eyeliner.”
“Oh well okay then, that makes sense,” Shadoe replied, “that would explain the one look you've had since I met you.”
Shadoe took her time, all the time explaining what she was doing to Tracey.
Forty minutes later Shadoe brought out a small pile of clothes. The top was a classy dark crimson coloured off the shoulder model. The panties were black and high hip cut.
For covering the lower half a pencil skirt that hugged Tracey's curves quite well was the answer. Between the panties and the skirt were a pair of textured black tights. The boots were not unlike Tracey's own boots but were in better condition and had a few metallic rings to highlight the design.
Shadoe led Tracey into her bedroom and faced her towards the closet door.
“Okay now, are you ready for this?” Shadoe enticed Tracey.
She then opened the closet doors that displayed a double wide full length mirror.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 5
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“Holy shit, I totally don't recognize her at all!” Tracey exclaimed.
“Excuse me?” Shadoe asked.
“Trust me when I say, that image in the mirror,” Tracey responded, “I have never seen her nor anyone remotely like her ever!
Tracey could just stare in disbelief at the mirror's image.
“How the hell could that possibly be me?” she asked aloud, “she's fucking gorgeous!”
“Hell, dressed like this you could definitely some pretty stiff opposition for me!” Shadoe exclaimed with obvious pride.
Tracey gave Shadoe a sidelong glance, “Opposition? Me? Just what the heck do you do on the side anyways?”
“I told you, I have a few sugar daddies. They phone me, ask me out on dates, buy me stuff, pay for my rent etcetera,” Shadoe explained.
“Shit, you're a hooker?” Tracey turned to her in shock.
“Oh no, it's nothing like that at all,” Shadoe defended, “I don't do anything sexual in the least. Every once in a while the occasion will call for a kiss or a hug but nothing more personal than that. It's called escorting. All you do is be a companion. But it's not always men. Every so often the client can be female. But like I said, I'm just a companion for the lonely and affluent.”
“I'm not sure I could do that,” Tracey replied suddenly remembering that this morning she started out as a male street musician.
“You have the looks,” Shadoe smiled, “With just a little bit of guidance I could set you up and in a few months you could be living like this!”
Shadoe motioned at the apartment around her.
Tracey was shocked on a few levels. As Damien, she had known Shadoe for four years but had never been to her home. Sure every so often Damien would walk Shadoe home late at night but had never accepted any invitations inside.
Damien had a few initial interests in Shadoe back when he first met her but over the years Shadoe became as a sister to him. He never suspected that Shadoe was doing anything more than selling grams of marijuana on the streets.
This new revelation did explain how Shadoe could afford the leather habit she had. Damien had seen her in all sorts of black leather outfits since meeting her.
She had jackets, vests, numerous different leather pants, shorts and skirts as well as some custom leather wristbands and a few collars – all in black leather.
Trace looked down at herself, then back up at the mirror. The image she saw there depicted a very pretty young lady with a look of astonishment on her face.
She watched her image as she spoke, “I really appreciate the compliment. I mean, I have never, and I mean ever thought of myself as pretty enough to be any kind of escort. I'm going to need some time to soak this in.”
“Not a problem. You can stay here as long as you need. Just clean up after yourself and if I have a client, then I'll need the place to myself,” Shadoe offered, “as you are now, no one will recognize you, well as long as you stay away from your usual habits. The best way to disappear is to be absolutely nothing at all like your normal self.”
Trace smiled wistfully. She had never known any version of Tracey save for pixie-punk persona she brought to the street. The image in the mirror was definitely not the same girl and Tracey began to feel guilty that the only version of Trace there was now was nothing like the original Trace ever was.
Trace was pretty, but Tracey was gorgeous. She also felt guilty for that. It took Damien's spirit and Shadoe's instincts to make this new look. She was sure that Trace would never even try to change just to hide.
Hiding was not part of who Trace was. She stuck out in the crowd and was proud of it. She was known on the street as a party hardy girl.
As Tracey looked in the mirror though there was no since of any party hardy girl. Here was a girl that could have any man anywhere, even Damien himself would have fallen prey to her charms.
“How the hell can I be that girl?” Tracey said aloud as she moved with Shadoe toward the door, “She is so very different than who I was.”
Shadoe smiled as she closed the closet bedroom door, “So no more rowdy chick? I can't believe that clothes alone could possibly effect that much of a change.”
“Oh trust me, I haven't felt like myself all night. At least now I can begin to relax,” Tracey replied.
“Speaking of relaxing,” Shadoe smiled as she pulled a pre-rolled joint from her cleavage as well as a bic lighter, “time to continue our journey to cloud nine point five.”
“Nine point five?” Tracey asked blankly.
“Yeah, nine point five,” Shadoe giggled, “Why stop at just cloud nine?”
“A very good point!” Tracey giggled as she pointed at Shadoe.
“Anyway,” Shadoe announced as she put out the second joint, “you can either bunk up with me or sleep here on the couch! The couch folds out to a double bed, or as I said before, you can join me on my bed, which is a mega-huge king size.”
Tracey smiled, “I'll bet you look so tiny in that huge thing!”
Shadoe smiled defiantly, “well that's it, you are so not sleeping on the couch! You are sleeping with me!”
Tracey's heart skipped a beat. It did not matter, of course what Tracey looked like, she was still a male street musician inside. The idea of sleeping with Shadoe got the interest from Tracey's only slightly submerged male mind.
The effect upon her made Tracey very grateful that she didn't have male parts at the moment. However there was still an unusual stirring of some sort within her.
They sat there and whittled away the rest of the night watching the movie Ghost with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore.
Later on just as the credits started to scroll down the screen Shadoe looked beside her and started giggling at Tracey.
“What?” Tracey asked defensively.
“You are such a pussy! Crying at at movie!” she laughed harder.
“Don't try to tell me that you didn't find that last part the most beautiful thing you've ever seen on film?” Tracey responded.
“Yeah yeah, I know, but this is you we are talking about! Man you really are nothing like who you are on the street! And I thought I was bad for that! Kudos! You are so relaxed and calmer; I never saw that coming. But hey if you can act like this out there,” Shadoe pointed out the window, “then you will be able to disappear for as long as you want! Just don't break character!”
“Oh trust me after today I am definitely not the same person as I was yesterday!” Tracey said with a forced smile, “I couldn't be that person again if I tried.”
Shadoe's attention was suddenly pulled away by a chirping sound from her cell phone. She got up and started moving toward her bedroom.
“well, hey remember how I told you I'd need the place for a while alone?” Shadoe asked as she looked at her phone, “Well I need tomorrow evening at seven pm to nine pm, so you will need to test out your new look. I highly suggest you totally avoid the downtown area completely. Try out Hamburger Mary's there is a good sized crowd to check out for you. It's not too lame and right up your normal alley.”
“That's tomorrow evening?” Tracey confirmed.
“Yup,” Shadoe replied, “anyway, I think I'll head off to bed now. You can come along now or watch TV for a while longer. Your choice,” Shadoe opened the bedroom door and pulled off her teeshirt and dropped her pants as she walked in, “Just a warning. I don't wear anything in bed.”
Shadoe disappeared into the bedroom. Tracey still looked on at the empty doorway when Shadoe added from out of sight, “And by that I mean I wear absolutely nothing, so be forewarned!”
Tracey felt that odd rush again. It wasn't a bad feeling but she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. There was something about it that carried a strange sense of dread and pleasure of some sort.
Tracey wasn't sure what to do. A lifetime of mental training to be a gentleman told her that she could not sleep with Shadoe. Male friends just never did things like that, not the honourable types anyways.
“But then again,” Tracey thought as she reconsidered the offer, “I am also a girl now, what could happen?”
She shrugged to herself and followed Shadoe in.
Shadoe had dropped her panties and tossed her bra aside and was just sitting on the side of the bed naked, wearing only a smile, “no entry with clothes though these are satin sheets girl!”
“Oh well, when in Rome,” Tracey replied as she proceeded to take off her clothes for bed.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 6
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Tracey woke up to the sounds of the local rock radio station and Shadoe singing along with Pat Benatar in the kitchen. Tracey's sense of smell told her that breakfast was being prepared.
The combined aromas of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee beckoned for her to wake up.
For a moment she found herself disoriented but then she remembered the previous day, “Oh yeah, still female,” she said quietly to herself as she sat up.
“Oh yeah and naked as a jaybird.” she said as she got out of bed and looked for a robe or something to cover herself up.
“You awake there, Trace?” Shadoe called in, then corrected, “I mean Tracey. Sorry.”
Tracey smiled now feeling slightly amused at her situation.
She looked towards the door and spied something white hanging on a hanger on the back of the door. She walked over and found it was a robe. Of sorts.
It was short, and only covered her down to just past the hips, and made of a sheer white fabric.
She reached out for it Thinking it was better a little coverage than none at all.
She looked around curiously, “Yeah, I'm awake and don't worry about it, I can't expect people to alter from the name they knew me by to Tracey,” Tracey replied barely wrapping up her nakedness and walked out into the kitchen.
“Wow, you look sexy as hell in that!” Shadoe smiled and winked as she flipped the bacon onto a plate with a paper towel on it.
“Where are my clothes at?” Tracey asked.
“Oh, I put them in your room,” she smiled.
“My room?!” Tracey gasped. “you're not serious?”
“Well for a while anyways,” I used to have a friend named Bunny that lived with me. She moved in with her new boyfriend and has her new life now, hence the empty room. It's furnished and now comes complete with your own clothes!”
“So why did I sleep naked with you last night then?” Tracey asked suspiciously.
“Ha ha!” Shadoe laughed, “Yeah I can understand how you could be feeling a bit weirded out here but I had to remove a bunch of Bunny's old stuff she left behind before you could use it. Still you have to admit it, sleeping on that giant bed of mine is far better than dealing with the couch. We actually were about three feet apart for most of the night.”
Tracey felt the tension leave her. Damien was still within her and he jumped at the very mention or insinuation of almost anything remotely sexual. Even possessing a female body she still clung to her male moralities.
“Oh okay,” Tracey smiled, “Is the coffee ready?”
“Definitely, “ Shadoe poured a mug, “the cream is in the fridge and the sugar on the counter just beside the fridge.”
Tracey mixed her coffee and looked into the livingroom. There were a few boxes on the couch and leaning against the wall was a black hardshell guitar case.
As a musician, Tracey's attentions had been stirred.
“If I can get back into music maybe this new life will be easier to deal with,” Tracey pondered to herself.
She checked the fingertips on her left hand and sighed, “There is definitely going to be a few tears shed before I can use these tiny hands very well. It'll be like learning all over again!”
Tracey took a sip of her coffee as Shadoe sat down at the table with her noticing Tracey's line of interests.
“Yeah that used to be Bunny's old guitar. She bought it when she was going out with a musician back when she first moved here. She wanted to be able to share his musical life but he ended screwing around on her. She left the guitar behind because she didn't want the memories,” Shadoe said.
“Really, some guys sure can be assholes,” Tracey responded still entranced by the guitar case.
“I didn't know you played guitar Tracey,” Shadoe replied.
“Well, I know only a little bit but I have been considering learning some day,” Tracey responded, “Could I look at it?”
“Sure, help yourself! It's just gathering dust here.” Shadoe said.
Tracey had to stop herself from running over to the case to open it up. Her professional curiosity was just that overwhelming.
She opened the case and found a rather serviceable Yamaha acoustic. It wasn't an overly expensive guitar as far as acoustic guitars went. It was a quality guitar for people on a budget and it was the perfect size for Tracey's smaller hands.
She pulled it out and forced her fingers to try a few chords. It was a forced sound, quite typical of a newbie. Despite having all the musical knowledge that Damien had amassed over the years, Tracey's body had never done it so it had to be taught.
On the plus side most of what she had to learn was just strictly physically based.
“Tell you what,” Shadoe smiled, “If you can get $30 you can have the guitar, case and everything!”
Tracey's heart jumped. Her reaction was to run over and give Shadoe a hug of appreciation!
“Wow, you really know how to show appreciation!” Shadoe smiled and hugged back, “Maybe when those assholes release Damien you can talk him into teaching you.”
“I don't know about that,” Tracey sat down once again with her coffee, “I have this awful feeling neither of us will ever see him again.”
“Aww don't talk like that, girlfriend,” Shadoe consoled her, “I'm sure he's okay. I mean he's been a fixture on the street for as long as I've known him and I doubt very much on this earth can keep him away.”
“Well you might be right there,” Tracey smiled weakly.
Tracey really did want to go back down to the strip but she was still a wanted person, she couldn't be seen anywhere near there nor any place remotely related to the street people.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Tracey said after finishing her coffee, “You have that date tonight? Do you have any suggestions on where I could go?”
“Well do you like rollerskating?” Shadoe asked.
“Hell yeah, but...” Tracey stopped for a moment and pondered.
Did Tracey even know how to rollerskate at all?” Tracey knew from her own experience that it wouldn't be too hard to learn but she was going to be there alone and would have no one at all to support her if she fell.
“I suppose it's been a while since I tried to skate at all,” Tracey replied, “but it does sound like fun!”
“I can set you up with a guy to go with you if you want,” Shadoe offered.
“Oh no, that's okay,” Tracey almost panicked at the thought of dealing with a guy right now. She barely knew who she was, never mind having to deal with meeting someone else on a personal level, and there is nothing impersonal about a date, and that was what Shadoe was insinuating.
“I need some time so mull about. You know, see how I far out there on my own with this new look,” Tracey smiled as sweetly as she could, “It could be fun.”
“You are definitely different, girl,” Shadoe grinned.
Tracey poured herself another cup of coffee and replied as she mixed it, “Trust me, I'm far more different than you may suspect!”
Tracey spent the day setting up her room and attempting to introduce the fine art of guitar playing to a body that had never done it before. After a mere 20 minutes she had to put the guitar down because the steel strings hurt so much.
“Still, no pain no gain as the weight lifters say,” Tracey said to herself.
She put the guitar down after 20 minutes, allowed her fingers to recuperate for a half hour or so, and picked it up again to practise another 20 minutes before the pain would influence her to stop again.
She did this on and off for most of the afternoon until around 4pm when she entered the livingroom where Shadoe had just finished a minor clean up.
“Hey, I was thinking of taking a shower and getting ready to go out for rollerskating tonight,” Tracey announced.
“Sure, not a problem. The master bedroom, mine, has a bathroom of it's own,”
Shadoe said, “After you finish your shower I'd do your makeup again. This time we will have the mirror in front of you. I'll go through all the techniques and wheres and what-fors again so you can reproduce it without my help. A girl should be able to do her own face after all.”
“Here, hold on for a second,” Shadoe disappeared into her bedroom and returned momentarily. She stepped behind Tracey and gathered up her hair, extensions and all up and clipped them up and out of the way.
“There you go,” Shadoe patted Tracey on the back, “That hair clip will keep your hair up while you shower. It would make life easier if you didn't get the extensions wet today, it would take far too much time and effort fix.”
“Oh. Why thank you!” Tracey reached up and gingerly felt the clip and smiled.
“Oh and after we're done your face, I'll do a little something with your hair as well. We may as well go all out for tonight. We're going to make you top model material tonight.”
“Well, remember that my aim tonight is entertainment, not to find companionship, so don't make me too irresistible,” Tracey smiled, “after all I have enough to deal with this new life, without adding a gir... err boyfriend to it.”
Shadoe smiled slyly, “oh my god, Tracey, did you just say what I think you said?”
Tracey got worried and backed off a bit, “What? What did I say? What do you mean?”
Shadoe pushed the envelope a bit more, “Did you just say gir, as in girlfriend? Do you like girls?”
For a moment Tracey couldn't think straight. Shadoe had her flustered. Damien had long had a minor crush on Shadoe and now Tracey felt her secrets would be uncovered if she was not careful.
But what was wrong with liking girls anyways? Damien had known a great many women over the years and the majority of them were either bisexual or outright lesbian. It was only natural for Damien to like girls but Tracey was a girl herself and now it was considered as a lesbian interest.
But was it natural for Trace as it was for Tracey? She took a breath and answered honestly without uncovering her other secrets.
“Well, now that you bring it up, yes, I do like women,” Tracey looked down at her feet, “But I have never had lesbian relations.”
It was true, for Damien. Damien was a man and as such could not have a lesbian relationship. Trace on the other hand could have but it was not known for sure if she did. Tracey did know that the interest was there, otherwise she would not have felt nervous being in bed naked with Shadoe. Something had to be there already.
“Don't worry about it girlfriend,” Shadoe gave Tracey a hug, “We don't spend all of our lives on our backs, do we?”
“Oh umm, no we don't of course,” Tracey replied.
Shadoe stepped back to admire her work and smiled, “Girl, you are such a fox! I don't doubt you'll find someone to chat to over the course of the evening.”
Tracey looked at the image in the mirror, “You really can do wonders! But I don't know, I'm almost afraid to go out like this. Oh and I am definitely not looking for someone to spend the night with, so I should be back later tonight. I don't trust very many people very easily.”
“Who does? It's the first rule of the street,” Shadoe smiled, “Trust no one except yourself and even then only with caution. But anyways, if you can't come back for some reason or another tonight you can use this phone. My number is programmed into it. I had this cell phone set up when Bunny lived here and it's on a family plan. Bunny didn't have much use for it after she met her current boyfriend. He bought her an iphone complete with calling plan.”
“So why did you keep it around? I mean Bunny got her own phone,” Tracey asked accepting the phone from Shadoe.
“As I said, it's on a plan. I can't opt out for another 5 months yet,” Shadoe replied, “So consider it an extra bonus! Oh and you can put it and all your other stuff, in this purse. You can keep the purse. We need to keep you away from who you used to be and let's face it kid, you were really notorious for having that waist pouch of yours.”
Shadoe handed Tracey a black suede purse with leather fringes. Tracey smiled, “Nice design. It looks expensive! Are you sure you want to part with this?”
Shadoe scoffed, “Pfft! I'm Native; I have family that churns this stuff out regularly.”
Tracey smiled, “Wow, really nice work and thank you.”
“The best thing is that it's black and black, as we both know, goes with everything!” Shadoe smiled.
Shadoe looked at the clock and took in a deep breath.
“Well, my friend will be here in about a half hour,” Shadoe smiled, “Inside the purse you'll find a bit of fun money and a five bus tickets. Don't bring any identification with you. That is a bad habit that you newbies do all the time. Especially if you happen to be on the run. Stash your ID in your room somewhere and leave it there for now. I'll give you the makeup we used as well a few extra brushes. Put that in your purse as well so you can do touch ups over the evening. It probably won't be necessary but your never know. It's better to be safe than sorry.”
Tracey smiled and hugged Shadoe tightly, “You really are a very good friend. I can't imagine what would have happened if I didn't run into you yesterday.”
“Now you run and get dressed,” Shadoe replied with a smile, “try that outfit we had you in last night. That really looked good on you.”
“Hey what if I fall on the rollerskates?” Tracey asked.
“Well put on a pair of those black tights instead of the fishnets,” Shadoe replied, “that should help to conceal anything that shouldn't be displayed in public. I put a few pairs in with your clothes.”
“Now run along, my friend will be here in just about a half hour,” Shadoe said playfully slapping Tracey's butt as she passed by.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 7
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Tracey looked out over the city from Shadoe's apartment balcony. The view of the city from the twenty-third floor with the mountains in the background was spectacular. The balcony had become her favourite spot, that is when it was not raining, which was a rarity for the area.
She sat down on one of the two the wicker lawn chairs and lit up a joint. It was her only retreat from all the craziness of the recent past.
Over the past two weeks she was unceremoniously uprooted from her old life as a thirty-four year old male street musician and dumped into the body of a seventeen year old female acquaintance that she barely knew.
Then she was saved from capture by a group of mysterious people in dark suits by a mutual female friend who had a safe place in which she was allowed to stay so she could hide out from the aggressive pursuers in dark suits and learn how to start a new life.
Then came five days of menstruation; an experience that, as a man, she had previously been totally free of. Now however things had changed rather drastically and this was going to be a fact of life for her every month for the next thirty or forty years.
Her only real comfort was the guitar. Within it she could hold all her pains, fears, loves and happiness and in playing it, helped her to release these emotions in a way that she was more attuned to
She was still painfully working on making callouses on the tips of her fingers on her left hand. Her finger coordination was improving on the fretboard and she was pleasantly surprised with her new singing voice.
As Damien, she had rather decent vocal range from the lows of Long John Baldry to the highs of David Bowie, but now her range was incredible!
As a vocalist she was ecstatic over learning her new range. Although she did lose a small portion of her low end, the gained almost a full octave on the high end. She could sing notes now that Damien could only fantasize about and the tone of Tracey's voice was phenomenal. She could sound like Pat Benatar, Joan Jett, Lita Ford, and as high as Joni Mitchell. This refuelled her love for music performance so she practised as much as she could without bothering Shadoe or the neighbours.
In the past few weeks though, Shadoe had Tracey leave the apartment six times and Tracey was running out of places to go that she hadn't been before. It was becoming a bit stressful for Tracey to have to create things to do by herself for anywhere from two hours to four depending upon the client.
During the first week, Tracey tried not to think about what was going on in her absence. She didn't need to know nor did she want to know. The idea of sex scared her.
It had taken her first menses to realize just how real this experience was. Her male life died in screaming agony with every cramp and every tear. The reality was, if she was ever going to have a sex life again it would definitely be as a woman.
She found her taste in music had shifted subtly too. Damien was the type of guy who never danced and often claimed he couldn't dance, so listening to dance music just didn't happen.
Tracey's natural likes of music included dance music and with her build it should have been no surprise. Tracey's style of clothing in the past thinly disguised a very trim and lithe dancer's build.
It was also in Trace's nature to dance. It was part of who she was, and now it was also part of who Tracey was. She didn't lose her like of the music that Damien liked however she did gain a liking for what Trace preferred.
This, of course also influenced Tracey's relearning of guitar. There were new techniques that she learned that Damien never knew.
There had been so many different things happening to Tracey over the past two weeks that it was easy to forget that her life was anything different from what it was.
Tracey was going through it all essentially, alone. Yes she had the constant company and help from Shadoe but Tracey could never mention to her precisely who she truly was. She wasn't quite sure just how she could convince Shadoe about it in any case.
In fact, there had been an increasing amount of days where Tracey woke up and started her day almost unaware of her past life. She generally snapped out of it anywhere from twelve noon to two o'clock in the afternoon. When this happened she tended to suffer from minor anxiety attacks.
She normally had to suffer these attacks alone, but today she was going to risk going for a leisurely walk to get the tensions out.
Maybe it was cabin fever combined with the identity questions but it did feel liberating to get out.
Tracey had settled in to who she was but was starting to feel restless. Re-learning the guitar did take up a lot of her time but she was feeling the pull of social life that all teenagers experience sooner or later.
Tracey felt very confident that she was never known in the neighbourhood that Shadoe lived in. She didn't know at all when she first moved there but now she felt sure of it.
She avoided the highly populated streets and kept her walk leisurely and confident. This was how Trace fooled the world that she had an abundance of confidence when she was actually more reserved in nature.
Tracey had developed a few habits of Trace's. They were subtle in nature; they ranged between personality traits, speech patterns and even subconscious body language.
One of them was Trace's tendency to stick out in the crowd.
Tracey felt an exhilaration she had never felt before, there was an ethereal happiness in her soul. Why she didn't know but she felt good.
As she walked along her walk changed to a happy skipping. The freedom of the streets were beckoning to her once again.
Tracey rounded a corner and spied a small outdoor farmer's market. She smiled as she headed towards the enticing sights, smells and sounds.
Tracey halted abruptly, spying something out of the corner of her eye that gave her a sense of foreboding.
Parked just a few metres from the entrance to the farmer's market were 2 identical black SUVs. Each had an identical dark tint to the windows.
Tracey's joyous skip vanished. She stood there for a moment, her long ingrained street senses perked up into action.
Her eyes scanned the crowds warily. Two dark identical SUVs parked side by side at this point only meant one thing to her.
She inspected each person with her gaze and finally found what she was fearful of seeing.
There were two people in dark suits watching her some distance away within the confines of the market.
“Okay now, “ she told herself, “play it cool. You've run from the cops more than a few times over the years. How bad can these jerk offs be?”
“To turn back now would only invite a chase,” Tracey reasoned so she continued onward her eyes scanning both sides of the street for any hidden options.
She strolled up to a sidewalk that led to the side of low level apartment building and just as she left sight of the street she started to run diagonally across the various lots, lithely leaping over the few fences in between.
Upon reaching the street she slowed only long enough to get her bearings.
As Damien, she had often walked the streets very late at night when he was homeless, looking for places to sleep. As a result of these wanderings he had come to know the back alleys and side streets a lot better than most.
There was no way she would risk going directly back to Shadoe's building though. No, there was no safety in bring these jerks to her very door.
Tracey checked around her and saw the front end of an SUV just coming into her view. They turned in her direction and started toward her.
Smiling, Tracey drew upon Damien's instincts and ran for the nearest alleyway.
The west end of town had an alleyway behind each and every structure and Damien knew all of them. She ran halfway down one, then cut across to the street, crossed the street and headed into the alley next block over by way of a sidewalk that led around a building to the alleyway behind. She repeated this trick numerous times until she had overshot her destination by a few blocks.
There she ducked into a back doorway and hid beneath the back steps of a local rooming house.
She crouched there for what felt like forever before she had regained her strength and felt that the coast was clear.
She had only two blocks to go to reach safety.
Tracey cautiously took a deep breath and came out of her hiding hole.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 8
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Tracey crept out cautiously. This chase game had become much too stressful. She had enough to deal with just with the change of body issue, never mind having to dodge these assholes in the dark suits.
“Peek a boo!” a male voice said from behind her causing Tracey to physically jump and scream.
“Oh shit, I don't believe I did that!” Tracey stated dryly then turned around to see a man with long dirty blond hair standing idly by the door. He was trim in build with a noticeably heavier build in his upper torso, and Tracey knew him on sight although she had to play dumb.
“Hiya, the name is Dwayne, and you look like you could use a break,” He smiled, “you can relax a bit here if you want. It's cool.”
Tracey desperately tried to hide a smile. The man smiling at her was her own drummer from the band she used to be in before all this weird body swap crap raised it's ugly head.
“But that was another life,” she thought to herself.
“Hi, the name's Trac...” she paused, wondering if it was smart to use her current name with a stranger.
“Cool. Trace; I like it!” Dwayne smiled, “A lovely name for such a work of art!”
Tracey was going to argue for a moment but got swept up for a moment in Dwayne's obvious flattery.
“What the fuck dude?” Tracey thought to herself, “why the hell should his words mean anything more to me now than they ever did before?”
Tracey allowed a giggle to escape.
“Oh well,I'm just going to have to watch that sort of stuff,” she reasoned.
'Well Trace really is a natural short form for my name though, which is Tracey. You know, Trace with a y,” Tracey giggled unconsciously.
““Oh shit, am I actually flirting with Dwayne?! What the hell is wrong with me?” she thought.
Tracey had to remind herself that there was no way at all that Dwayne would recognize who she really was. Her fears were just working overtime.
“Wow, you really are jumpy there, girl,” Dwayne replied thoughtfully, “you gonna be okay there?”
“Oh yeah, I just have issues with people in suits,” she replied after a heavy sigh.
Dwayne laughed, “Yeah I hear ya. They have absolutely no sense of fashion at all! Suits!”
Tracey couldn't help but to laugh. There was something calming about the familiarity of Dwayne's sense of humour that took down all her defences.
Dwayne reached behind the door, “Care for a beer?”
Tracey really needed this. She realized that she had caged herself in Shadoe's apartment over the past few weeks and avoided going out as much as possible.
Today really got her blood flowing there. The fear. The chase and the sudden shock of being discovered all added to her excitement.
Tracey shook her head. “No, don't be thinking like that! The thrill of the chase should be seen as a warning sign, not an enticement! Dammit Trace!”
“Yeah just one though,” she replied, “it is kind of early yet!”
“Early?” Dwayne laughed, “shit it's long past nine am!”
Tracey turned to join Dwayne beside the cooler.
Tracey had just turned when all of a sudden a hand landed lightly upon Tracey's shoulder, causing Tracey's blood to run cold. She let out a high pitched squeak of surprise.
“Holy shit girl, you tense or what?” Shadoe's voice remarked from behind Tracey.
Tracey sighed and tried to ignore the fact she knew she was blushing deeply.
It's the suits again,” Tracey replied feeling her heart begin to slow down once again, “I saw a couple cars at the former's market so I ran.”
Shadoe put her hands on her hips and sighed heavily, “and did you actually see anyone chasing you?”
“Well I did see this SUV driving slowly and then suddenly turn toward me,”
“So no, you saw no one actually chasing you then?” Shadoe smiled, “And this tells you what now? Yeah, we really need to work that tension out of you girl! I think I have a way too.”
Shadoe looked at Dwayne and smiled, “Hey little drummer boy! How ya doin' blondie?”
Dwayne visibly puffed himself up in response to Shadoe's flirtatious remarks. Tracey smiled.
Damien always had thought it funny how Dwayne could always fall prey to the flirtings of a pretty girl. Even if their flirtations were obvious covers for some ulterior motive.
Tracey saw this same man now in a whole new light though. She had caught herself flirting with him (and enjoying it) and enjoyed seeing Shadoe do the same to him.
Shadoe looked at Dwayne and went serious for a moment, “So have you dudes decided on what to do about Damien's disappearance?”
Dwayne looked up in obvious pain, “we all got together and talked it out for hours. We need to move on. I mean, yeah, I'm sure Damien would understand too. We have no idea where the hell he is, or if he can even contact anyone or what is going on. The government has put close on all references to him. It's strange shit happening there.”
Shadoe nodded, “Yeah he definitely didn't go willingly according to eye witnesses.”
“Yeah well now we need to find a new bass player that can learn everything Damien did.
Tracey's ears perked up. She looked at Shadoe inquiringly, “You say you have an idea that will help me? With going out and all?”
“Shit yeah,” Shadoe beamed proudly, “I am sure I can make you look totally different. You only need to co-operate a bit.
“Well I'm in for it,” Tracey smiled then turned to Dwayne.
“Damien and I have been pretty close off street. Everything I know is because of him. I am sure I could fill in for him. However, I don't have any gear at all.”
Trace smiled inwardly. She knew her old bass guitar, cables, pedals and amps were all stored in the practice space. She could rope her old gig.
Dwayne smiled slyly looking Tracey up and down suggestively, “Holy shit! She's sexy and cute, and she plays bass!”
Tracey grinned, “And play guitar and sing multi part harmony as well.”
Dwayne smiled, “Sure, we'll give you a shot at it! Damien was a background singer too so you got the total package! We'll definitely get back to you within the next few days,shit maybe even sooner! You have a number?”
Tracey looked to Shadoe for her silent opinion.
Shadoe gave a subtle nod and a smile.
Tracey pulled out a pen and pad of paper and scribbled the number to the cell phone she used.
“I think we should get right on this social issue of yours PDQ girl,” Shadoe said, “Perhaps we should head back to my place so we can get started?”
Shadoe gave Dwayne a peck on the cheek and Tracey, feeling a bit of peer pressure to follow suit, also gave him a peck on the cheek and they started off for the apartment.
As they walked Tracey's mind was churning. She was excited about retaining her position in the band, albeit as someone else but to retain even just that little bit of her old life helped to make everything else tolerable.
As they walked, Tracey had a thought then looked at Shadoe suspiciously, “Remember I am not doing any escorting. At least not yet. I don't believe that things have gone that way just yet. I'd sooner work on the musical end.”
Shadoe laughed, “Oh hell girl, it's nothing like that. But on that front if you ever want to get into it just ask me, I'll help you any way I can.”
Tracey smiled uneasily. She didn't want to get into boy girl relationships of any kind just yet. Besides which she still had a lot to learn about her new role in life as a teenager.
“I just noticed your roots this morning,” Shadoe replied.
“My roots?” Tracey wondered, “what the hell is she saying? Isn't this Trace's hair colour?”
“Shit girl, even the dye can't cover up your blonde nature!” Shadoe laughed, “shit has it been that long since you've seen your natural hair colour?”
“I'm a blonde...” Tracey said blankly.
Shadoe laughed and slapped Tracey playfully on the back, “and what a blonde! But that should be enough to toss any assholes off your scent! Just go back to your normal hair colour! And hey, we can take a trip to the mountains if your want for a few weeks, Just to get away from the bullshit for a while. You seriously need to chill for a while.”
Shadoe opened the door with her key card and led Tracey through the lobby past the security desk.
The security guard on duty, an older man of his mid fifties greeted them on the way by, “Good afternoon Miss Couldrey and Miss Uxbridge.”
Tracey waited until the elevator door closed, “the security here knows me?”
“Hell yeah, but don't worry about it babe,” Shadoe winked at Tracey, “he's on our side!”
She accented her words with a sultry shifting of the hips which wiggled her butt enticingly.
Tracey looked away. She'd been female now for over two weeks but there was still that over active male ego in the background of her mind. Damien had a crush on Shadoe years ago and it went unseen and inactive. Damien was relegated to close friend status with Shadoe and as such set his relationship with Shadoe at a fixed setting.
But Damien was no more. The last time he saw his body, it was running away from him. That incident did leave a bit of an emotional scar on him but it was not always easy to see now that he was Tracey full time.
Shadoe led them both back into the safety of Shadoe's apartment, locking the deadbolts behind her.
Tracey went straight to the bathroom though. She had to see these roots. All this time she was convinced that chestnut was Trace's actual hair colour, now of course she had to know for sure.
She looked at herself in the mirror up close. It was true. There was just over a quarter of an inch of new growth and it was a sandy blonde colour.
She furrowed her eyebrows and pulled back from the mirror, trying to picture that face as a blonde.
“Holy shit, I'm blonde,” she repeated softly to herself.
“You know you scare me sometimes, kid,” Shadoe remarked from the open door, “Ever since that weirdness downtown a few weeks back you haven't been yourself at all.”
Tracey smiled in spite of herself, “Well it was a bit of a stress show.”
“They did get a few of us though,” Shadoe said solemnly, “at least six people, including you, vanished off the strip, never to be seen again.”
“Including me?” Tracey asked.
“Yeah, I ain't telling no one where you're at. I don't need that type of heat on me,” Shadoe replied defiantly.
“Did they get anyone you know?” Tracey asked.
“Well Gremlin, Mouse and Little Janet are gone for sure,” Shadoe replied, then added with a sad sigh, “as well as Damien and witnesses say he was babbling in Chinese and trying to fight people, which is totally not like Damien at all.”
Tracey reached out to the wall to steady herself. Her knees felt weak. Finally there was confirmation. The body of Damien Leone was in the possession of the mysterious dark suits.
Tracey let out a heavy sigh.
Shadoe moved over to help support her, “Shit girl you gonna be okay? I didn't know you and Damien were that close!”
Tracey perked up a bit for a moment, “Oh yeah, we didn't hang out much together on the strip but he is directly responsible for everything I know in music! But we were just friends, you know. Like jamming buddies.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, “ Shadoe replied nostalgically, “I had a bit of a crush on him years ago when I first met him. There was something dark and sinister about him that attracted me. But over the years we just stayed as buddies.”
Tracey raised a surprised eyebrow, then remarked, “No boy-girl stuff with you either.”
“Yeah, he's never been one for relationships anyways,” Shadoe said, “Not that I could picture anyways. He's a musician; married only to his music.”
Tracey smiled, “Yeah, you could most certainly say that for sure! “Till death do we part!”
Shadoe smiled, “Okay here's the deal. We put your hair back to it's natural colour again. We have the colour professionally stripped from your hair.”
Tracey ran her fingers through her hair still a bit surprised to learn that Trace dyed her hair at all. She was more bothered that she had not noticed the colour of the roots that had grown in since she became Tracey.
“I just can't picture being blonde anymore I guess,” she suggested.
“Yeah well even I almost forgot had you not slipped up over the past few weeks. You usually keep right on top of the root issues.”
“Yeah I really haven't had my life together recently. It's like I'm grabbing desperately at what everyone has,” Tracey replied.
“Well your audition for the band with Dwayne will give you a direction to go in,” Shadoe replied, “Although I think if they do take you on as the bass player, they might have to change the band name from Doodz, because you'd be screwing that up.”
Tracey smiled, “Well they could always just use the name Dude! Instead. Damien told me that they actually did think of that as a name when they first formed; maybe they'll reconsider it, if I get the gig.”
“think positive girlfriend,” Shadoe grabbed her wallet and stuffed it into her purse, “okay let's hoof it bitch. I can get you in at a friend's hair dressing shop just a few floors down. We can get that hair stripped and set and not have to leave the building. She also sells hair extensions too and she can match the colours perfectly.”
“Oh but that's sure to run you up big time!” Tracey replied.
“Ah shit, what good is having all this at my fingertips if I never get to use it?' Shadoe slapped Tracey's butt as they headed for the apartment door.
Shadoe took them down the 3 floors and knocked. The door flew open wide displaying a short stocky black woman of middle aged years. She had a sparkle in her eyes and a wide smile. She placed a hand upon Tracey's shoulder and gently guided her in, “So you must be Tracey! Shadoe here told me of your problem and I am very sure we have a solution for you. Anyway, my name is Rhonda, and I am very glad to finally meet you.”
Tracey glanced to Shadoe with an inquiring look, “finally?”
Rhonda smiled, “Oh she's been here a few times since you joined us here. But don't you worry your pretty little head; we been friends for years now. Hell I even used to be her baby sitter years ago!”
“Oh okay,” Tracey forced a nervous smile, “it's just that so much has happened over the last while, I guess I have become a bit paranoid in some respects.”
Rhonda turned her attention to Tracey's hair, “Oh yeah I can do it all right and you are lucky. I am sure I have all sorts of extensions in this shade. We are going to make you look fabulous! How long you been dying your hair girl?”
Tracey smiled, “well it's been so long now. But it's been years now.”
Of that Tracey was sure. She didn't quite know how she was sure but she knew that Trace had been dying her hair since the onset of puberty.
If she tried though, she could recall faint images from the back of her mind of seeing the reflection of a young pretty prepubescent girl with long flowing sandy blonde hair.
“Well the procedure is a bit involved,” Rhonda explained as she led Tracey to her shampooing sink and sat her down in the waiting chair, “First we wash the hair; I have a gentle shampoo that's perfect for the job. Then I apply the stripping agent. Many people call it bleach but trust me, girl. It ain't bleach by any stretch of the imagination. It will help to remove the old dyes. Naturally we'll have to add a touch of colour to even things out but trust me, in two hours you are going to be a whole new woman!”
“Yet again,” Tracey thought with a smile.
“So what made you go for the pixie look?” Rhonda asked.
“You know I was wondering that too,” Shadoe added.
“Well to be honest with you both,” Tracey answered with a smile, “I can't remember exactly why. I guess it was just on a whim. And you know me, Shadoe. I do tend toward the whimsical.”
“That's for sure,” Shadoe laughed, “it is nice to see you settling down though. That chase down on the strip must have set your mind on a new path, which is a good thing I should think."
“Well,” Tracey smiled as she sat down and leaned back putting her head in the sink behind her, “I have rather mixed feelings about all that, but I guess a change of life was in the cards for me. Mind you I'd just as soon have it crop up without all the excess dramatics.”
“Well,” Rhonda laughed as she turned on the water, “some people have to have their ass whupped before they listen to reason. Shit, I used to be the same way when I was your age.”
Tracey smiled languishing in Rhonda's gently massaging of her scalp, “So there's hope for me then?”
Rhonda laughed harder, “With any luck girl, with any luck!”
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 9
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She just stood there, mouth agape stating back at the mirror with a strange mixture of wonder and shame on her face.
The person Tracey saw in her reflection had never existed to her before. Tracey had gotten into a regimen of hair styling and makeup every day for the past two weeks.
Shadoe spurred her on to try new things and develop her obvious talents in cosmetology. But today, with the shampooing, Rhonda also removed Tracey's make up. “It's all according to the plan,” she was told repeatedly.
“As you see, between a very minimal makeup style and employing a hairstyle in your actual natural hair colour, you see a totally new person and the best thing is that this is basically you, without all the bullshit. Take away the fake hair colour, make up and all those overly tight clothes. Yeah girl. I seen ya around the building enough!” Rhonda smiled, “And this, my pretty little one, is my finest hour! Ain't none of those assholes gonna recognize you now.”
“And upkeep is far easier than what you used to deal with before!” Shadoe exclaimed, “Very little makeup and no hair dye and shit. I could learn to love that life!”
Tracey smiled and the blonde angel in the mirror beamed back at her, “Yeah, I did try to teach you but you can't be taught! But yeah simpler is definitely better!”
“If you stay away from what you used to wear all the time and adopt a new style to your wardrobe you should be able to totally re-invent yourself.” Rhonda smiled.
“And I can totally help there too,” Shadoe smiled, “Hell I can easily give away half my wardrobe at home and barely put a dent in it!”
“And there you go girl!” Rhonda put her hands on Tracey's shoulders proudly, “And a star is born!”
Tracey's reflection was blushing very deeply and knowing she was blushing just made the blushing deeper.
“I really can't believe this!” Tracey replied, “I'm blonde! Even up close I don't recognize myself. I'd have never thought of this!”
“Now you need to learn to stop acting like the old Trace, the street girl, and embrace the new Tracey,” Shadoe nodded.
“Well that shouldn't be too hard then I suppose,” Tracey replied, “I definitely don't look like I used to in any way shape or form.”
Inwardly Tracey sighed. “If you two only knew...” she thought.
“I'm afraid that I don't know too much about hair extensions though,” Tracey admitted, “I mean I've been wearing them recently but only because Shadoe puts them in for me. If it were just me, I'd never know how to do it.”
“Well, you got no excuse now. You know where I'm at I'll be glad to show you all the ins and outs.” Rhonda told Tracey as she handed her a business card, “you got my phone number, you come on down tomorrow and I'll help you out with what you need to know.”
“I'd have offered to do it but you have pointed out my technique is an odd one and perhaps I shouldn't be teaching others my mistakes, right?” Shadoe said.
“Wow, you make it sound so altruistic!” Rhonda laughed.
“Yeah I know,” Shadoe giggled and curtsied, “I do have my talents don't I?”
Shadoe stood once more, in front of her 'closet' door, “Okay now remember there will be no such thing as the word no here. We need to get you away from your old styles and onto something totally different.”
Tracey looked on nervously, “I can't imagine where I could possibly go with my clothing tastes.”
“Oh trust me, we have a whole world of possibilities once you open up your mind and learn about what can be done and how,” Shadoe replied as she opened the door and turned on the lights, “to start with, we need to get you into something a bit more feminine and away from this boyish punk thing you had going there.”
“Aww you mean you don't like that?” Tracey smiled, “Geez I thought that was fun too!”
Well kid I know you are going to fight this because I've not seen you wearing anything overtly feminine since you've been here and trust me, you have lots to choose from, so we're here today to adjust that problem. You have got a gorgeous figure there. I simply do not see a need for you to disguise it with boyish clothes all the time!”
“Hey, I do wear tights a lot,” Tracey said in a weak defence.
“Oh come on,” Shadoe laughed openly, “they're merely a cheap attempt to hide your obvious tomboyishness. Trust me, the way you apply tights to your personal style, they are little more than a slightly girlish pair of tight pants! We need to get you into nice tops, skirts and dresses!”
“To be honest with you, I've never worn that sort of stuff!” Tracey replied.
“Well those dark suit asswipes are still looking, then they will be looking for that dark pixie cut skinny chick in the leather jacket, girly teeshirts and tights!” Shadoe pointed out.
“But hey look at me now!” Tracey brushed her hand to her shoulder length blonde hair, “I look nothing like I used to!”
“Oh come on!” Shadoe snapped showing a bit of irritation, “given time they will see past the hair and recognize you because of the clothes. You need to remove all clues that could lead them to you and in this case it means putting a major femming on your pretty ass. I already removed all pants and tights from your room. We're going to get you used to wearing skirts and dresses, and if that means I have to physically dress you then trust me young lady, I will do it!”
Tracey knew she would do it too. No, she would have to put up with all the attention if she was going to come out of this situation.
She wasn't happy about the idea of skirts and dresses but Shadoe was right. Trace had a clothing style that was very tomboy oriented.
Trace's style wasn't butch in the least; sure, there were no jeans and flannel shirts but there was a general absence of skirts, dresses and lace.
Trace never felt comfortable in such clothing. She saw it as giving in to the system.
“Wait... how the hell can I be so sure of that?” she wondered.
Shadoe pulled open a rather wide wardrobe. The contents were rainbow of colourful dresses. She opened the wardrobe next to it and revealed a rainbow of skirts of varying styles and lengths.
“You are going to choose stuff from these two wardrobes and you are going to be wearing them at home and out,” Shadoe pointed out, “I guarantee that we can successfully hide you away if we can change what you normally wear all the time. Hey at this point what harm could yet another change to your life do?”
“Well you do have a point there,” Tracey sighed as she started to go through the various dresses, “My life has been thrown into a blender big time; I'm looking forward to stopping the spinning so I can start getting things rolling and gain some sense of normalcy.”
Tracey desperately tried to keep an open mind. Shadoe and Rhonda were right. If Tracey was going to keep her freedom, she was going to have to change her ways completely.
Sure, the change from being Damien Leone to Tracey Uxbridge was one thing, but Tracey was sure that they were looking for Trace.
Luckily, she didn't really feel an attachment to looking a specific way in Trace's body. She did feel a but of an aversion to skirts and dresses though. To her they were the epitome of femininity.
Still, she had to do it. She knew her life as Damien was gone and Tracey's body was definitely built for the task. it was merely Damien's fading male pride that was in jeopardy.
She looked at herself in the mirror. So much had changed over the past few days. She had just about gotten used to her reflection in the mirror as it was.
Her hair, with extensions was wavy blond and hung down to rest upon to her shoulders. That alone was startlingly different from the pixie cut that Trace was known for.
The outfit was a classic sleeveless formfitting black dress that went down to mid thigh. Black panty hose covered her legs and a pair of crimson leather ankle boots with a matching three inch wide belt around her waist highlighted her shape.
Shadoe had taught Tracey a few different methods of makeup application but the look chosen for Tracey, was a natural look. It wasn't heavy but just enough to highlight Tracey's features.
“Wow,” Shadoe remarked from behind, “You really don't look anything at all like the little street imp named Trace that I knew just a few short weeks ago!”
“Trust me,” Tracey smiled at the image in the mirror, “I don't feel anything like her either. I am definitely an entirely new person!”
Tracey snickered to herself.
“You look pretty enough to be a model you know,” Shadoe smiled.
Tracey sighed, “I can't deny it and I don't mean to sound conceited in the least, but that girl in the mirror there is a knock out! I can't believe it's me!”
“And you've never looked better, Damien!” Shadoe chuckled from behind.
Tracey's blood turned cold.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 10
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“D-Damien?” Tracey asked as she turned around slowly to face Shadoe, “why did you call me Damien?”
“Don't treat me like a half wit,” Shadoe replied stone faced, “I have been speaking to a lot of people down on the strip about that day you had to run from the dark suits. Several people saw Trace run out of the book store, then run into Damien, knocking him over, then Damien got up and ran around the corner. Other witnesses reported that Damien stopped at a Chinese couple, touched the guy on the arm then the Chinese guy ran off. Later on. Damien got picked up but he was speaking Chinese; Damien may have known a few words in Chinese but he certainly wasn't fluent at it. Later on, someone said they saw the dark suits pick up the Chinese guy but he was crying, in English, that he wanted his mommy!”
Tracey swallowed hard and asked, “and so how does that make me Damien?”
Shadoe smiled, “Well kid, you are not dealing with a moron; I have an IQ of one hundred fifty-seven! When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth! Somehow you and the Chinese guy were swapped from one body to another. Trace ran into you, you got dumped into her body, the Chinese guy got dumped into your body and so on. I have no idea what happened to the real Trace. Apparently though she was swapped into the body of whomever it was that touched her in the book store. Hence, you are Damien or rather, you used to be.”
“So why did you wait so long to tell me you knew?” Tracey asked.
“Well to be honest, I didn't know until recently. You see, I've known you, as Damien for just over 4 years now. I've come to recognize your style of guitar playing. Every guitar player has his own style and I heard Damien's style while listening to you practise!”
Tracey felt her cheeks turn red.
Shadoe gave her a hug, “Oh don't worry, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I'm a bit hurt that you didn't confide in me but I suppose I can understand your reasoning.”
Tracey smiled weakly, “Well, you have to admit, it's kind of hard to believe, especially for me. I mean imagine waking up in someone else's body. Not only that but someone you actually knew; well sort of knew. You didn't tell Rhonda, did you?”
“What? Do you think I'm nuts? Who'd believe a story about body swapping?I only told her you were on the run from some government assholes and as she's a kindred spirit of the street so she agreed to help out. I must admit that you turned out really well!”
“It is a bit hard to take though,” Tracey indicated the dress and her hair, “all this is a bit much for me but, I will admit that it is necessary. I'd be a moron to think otherwise. I couldn't keep looking like Trace did and still keep my freedom and this is a really good disguise, whether I like it or not. I do wonder why Trace never went this way in her own personal style, though.”
“Well, Trace was a free spirit; a sprite of sorts,” Shadoe smiled nostalgically, “she was goth-ish but not quite a goth and almost a punk but not quite so she adopted a look combining both them. Apparently he hated her natural hair colour. She really went out of her way to avoid people seeing her roots. It was only after you became her that I actually saw her roots. Trust me I was as surprised as you. The way you reacted to your new natural hair colour was the clincher that told me that either Trace had forgotten her real hair colour – not likely by the way – or somehow someone else became her.”
“And so you believed the impossible?” Tracey asked, “I mean wouldn't it be easier to believe she forgot her hair colour?”
Shadoe looked at Tracey critically, “most girls I know have a very highly developed sense of themselves. Most women know themselves fairly well, unlike men that seem to always need some sort of acknowledgement from a woman. Trust me, Trace knew her hair colour well enough to be bothered by it all the time. You apparently never knew at all, hence your reaction.”
“She really was a beauty though,” Tracey replied thoughtfully as she peered at the reflection of her back in the mirror.
“She is a beauty; you are a beauty,” Shadoe replied stepping into Tracey's view in the mirror, now “that's your ass that you are checking out there. It's all you now.”
Tracey smiled and blushed.
“You don't look like Trace at all now. Sure, it's her face and body and all but what you see is not her style. That image is yours; not Trace's. I have a pic of her from before, take a look and compare!”
Shadoe stepped out of the room then reappeared in the doorway after a few moments holding a photo of Trace on the strip wearing her usual gear.
“Now take a look at the pic then at yourself in the mirror, you'll see what I mean.” Shadoe handed the photo to Tracey.
Tracey looked at the photo. It depicted Trace posing in front of the local McDonald's, she then looked up to the mirror again, “The makeup really does make me look so much different to start with. The hair is so very different though. I could barely recognize myself as her anymore just with those two changes. But by adding the wardrobe change to everything else, I really don't look like her at all! This is amazing!”
“Yeah but you have to continue on with these changes. Keep up with the wardrobe and makeup. In the meantime, let your hair grow out. Eventually you can go without the extensions,” Shadoe smiled placing a friendly hand on Tracey's shoulder.
“Yeah once it grows in a bit more I'll be sending the extensions back to Rhonda with a note of gratitude,” Tracey smiled as she brushed her hair back, “I figure that normal people's hair grows about three quarters to a full inch per month, so say three months from now I'll send them back. That'll give me another 2 inches of hair length and maybe I can have that styled into something that is not so Trace like.”
“Now you're thinking!” Shadoe replied.
Their conversation was disturbed by the ringing of Tracey's cell phone. A silence grew between them for a moment until Tracey picked up her cell phone, “It's Dwayne!”
Tracey answered the phone feeling a bit of excitement, “Hello?”
“Hey Trace with a y!” Dwayne's voice responded with a chuckle, “I spoke to the guys and they are totally willing to let you audition as soon as possible. You're going to have to work your ass off though. We have a gig in less than a month. It's a band contest and we are hoping for some press and maybe be able to make a few connections for more gigs. Hopefully one as a house band somewhere.'
“Well hey, I'm a bit busy tonight but I can do tomorrow afternoon for sure,” Tracey replied recalling that Jason, Dwayne and Randy were normally free at that time of day, “what did they say about using Damien's gear?”
“Well Randy had a few reservations about it but no one's seen nor heard from Damien for a few weeks, so I figure he wouldn't mind.” Dwayne replied, “so yeah, that's a go!”
“Okay just remember that I might be a bit rusty to start off with but I am pretty sure I can keep up. Like I said, everything I know is from Damien's influence,” Tracey replied barely able to contain her glee.
“Fantastic! We'll see you there! Do you need a ride?” Dwayne asked.
“Just a minute,” Tracey muted the phone and glanced at Shadoe, “it's set for tomorrow!”
Shadoe just smiled and nodded her head.
“Yeah sure! I'll meet you where we met about three thirty tomorrow,” Tracey said.
“Okay then, I'll be looking forward to it!” Dwayne said, “I'll see you then!”
Tracey hung up and let out a squeal of excitement, which actually startled herself.
“Holy shit girl, where did that come from?” Shadoe asked with a giggle.
“I won't lie, I have no idea!” Tracey replied with her hands over her mouth and a blush to her cheeks, “although I suspect that I have a bit more of Trace left in me than I suspected.”
“Pfft!” Shadoe laughed, “excuses, excuses! But this calls for a celebration!”
“Fine, I'll go get my papers,” Tracey replied.
“That's a good start but I have a bottle of red wine in the fridge,” Shadoe said, “this is as good a time to break it out as any!”
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 11
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Tracey closed her eyes to assist her in getting into the mood for performance. It was a form of quick meditation that helped her to focus.
"Holy shit," Randy replied, "You know Damien used to do that all the time before we started practice!"
Jason spoke up, "No shit! You really know his playing that well? Just how close were you two anyways?"
"Hey, cool out guys," Dwayne warned, "Give the girl a chance. She's got the background; let's see how she does!"
Tracey smiled, she expected some sort of response like this. She knew them all far too well.
"Like I told Dwayne, all I know I can directly attribute to Damien!" Tracey told them.
"Shit I didn't even know he had a student," Jason interjected, "I've been his best friend for years, and I didn't even know about you!"
Tracey chuckled, "Yeah but Damien never did really share a lot of his life with those that were not a direct part of it. He didn't tell me much about you guys, just as he didn't tell you about me."
"True enough," Jason admitted.
Tracey closed her eyes again and refocused herself, shifting Damien's bass on her shoulders, "Damn, this really feels different this way. I hope I can at least keep up! I didn't really consider how small my hands are now.”
“Okay, any time you guys are good to go,” Tracey said as she readied herself.
“Sure then, We'll do two covers to warm you up and then we'll do two originals. Just do your best and feel free to improvise on the originals.”
Dwayne counted them in. They played the two covers, “Stranglehold” by Ted Nugent and “Wicked Garden” by Stone Temple Pilots. They paused only for a moment after the cover songs, all three guys showing obvious signs of how they felt.
“Okay this first one is basically a pentatonic progression in A. Then the next goes into E major,” Randy coached her.
Tracey grinned inwardly.; she knew she had the gig long before she showed up. Sure she honestly struggled a bit having to use smaller hands than she was used to with the bass but she kept up despite it all.
Tracey went out of her way to add a few extra flourishes here and there to spice up her part in the songs. She didn't want to mimic her old style.
“Wow, you really have his influence, that's for sure!” Randy said. “I can definitely tell you've been taught by Damien. There is a lot of his style in the way you play. Even your playing with the originals is pretty reminiscent of his stuff.”
“You got that right,” Jason nodded, “I don't doubt you can fill his shoes. How about singing though? Can you do backup vocals with harmony?”
“Sure, not a problem!” Tracey grinned exceedingly happy to be able to use her new voice professionally.
Jason glanced at Dwayne for a moment, catching his eye then turned to catch Randy's eye then suggested with a nod, “Seven Bridges?”
Randy and Dwayne nodded back.
Dwayne counted them in.
“There are stars in the Southern sky,
Southward as you go
There is moonlight and moss in the trees
Down the Seven Bridges Road”
Tracey knew her craft well, she sang a higher part than she normally would but now she could pull it off easily. They all stopped singing together at the end of the first verse as if cued.”
“Fucking incredible!” Dwayne announced, still sitting behind the drums, “She plays bass, sings in harmony and looks good on stage!”
Tracey turned to look at him directly with a raised eyebrow and a look of surprise on her face.
“Yeah perhaps but I think her performance is more what we need. The looks are just a bonus,” Randy reminded them.
Tracey smiled at Randy. He always did have a sensible attitude. Jason was a bit of a natural showman but that was only on the stage, Randy was the serious, cerebral one of the group and then there was Dwayne. He was the joker.
Dwayne was also the one that was more likely to hit on any given girl that might cross his path. Tracey knew this all too well but never expected to have to deal so directly with it.
She sighed softly. Dwayne's comment about how she looked was his typical opener. Tracey, as Damien, had witnessed Dwayne at work many times She had to defuse him before he started to pick up steam.
“I'm only here to play and perform as a musician,” Tracey said, “I want my talents to speak for me, not my looks.”
“You got my vote!” Jason replied cheerfully.
Randy nodded, “Same here.”
Dwayne grinned and looked to Tracey, “Well that's all of us then! I guess we can't use the same name now, though. It kind of hard having a band called Doodz with a girl in it.”
Tracey grinned, “Well you can change it just a bit. Just call the band Dude!, with the exclamation mark.”
“Sweet idea!” Dwayne responded.
Randy and Jason nodded as well.
They continued chatting for the next hour setting up regular practice sessions as well as an accelerated practice schedule to get the band tighter for the contest gig.
Tracey couldn't believe it. She got her old position back, and even got the opportunity to get her old bass back, although she agreed to buy it off the band for a decent price.
She really didn't mind that part though. She was just happy to be able to get that bass back. She had gotten very attached to it as Damien.
Dwayne got up as Randy and Jason put their respective instruments down.
“Well there you go guys,” Dwayne smiled impishly, “Only in the band for a few seconds and she's already changing stuff!”
He laughed with Randy and Jason then added with a smile to Tracey, “Just kidding Trace with a y!”
“Trace with a y?” Randy asked.
Tracey laughed, “Yeah it's a joke based on the spelling of my name. I'm often referred to as just as Trace.”
Inwardly a part of her winced. Initially she didn't want to be confused with the original owner of her body but that worry was beginning to fade. She no longer felt alien in her new life; things were finally falling into place.
“You want a ride home there Trace?” Dwayne offered with a smile, prompting a pair of sighs from both Randy and Jason.
Dwayne looked at both of them with a sheepish grin, “What??”
Randy just shook his head but Jason replied, “oh, it's nothing... Casanova!”
The look upon Dwayne's face looked like a dog that got caught eating the Christmas turkey. Despite everything he just smiled and shrugged.
Tracey couldn't help but to giggle and replied, “Okay but I need to be dropped off on Robson Street near Thurlow; I'm meeting my roommate at the Black Angus.”
Dwayne pulled his old station wagon over to the curb, “Here you go. Remember, practice the day after tomorrow.”
Tracey nodded as she stepped out of the car.
“So, call me sometime?” Dwayne asked almost timidly, “it doesn't have to be band related either. Just to get together over a few drinks - or tokes – and maybe some dinner sometime?”
Tracey had never seen Dwayne acting so passively. Feeling a bit inspired she replied, “yeah, I'll give it some thought. See ya!”
Tracey closed the car door carefully, pulled her bass out of the back seat, throwing the gig bag strap over her shoulder and entered the restaurant to join Shadoe.
Shadoe was beaming when Tracey spotted her in the rear corner table. Tracey walked over, careful not to hit anyone with the bass.
“So I take it that you got the gig?” Shadoe asked, “not that I had any doubts of course.”
Tracey smiled, set the bass down in the corner and sat down, signalling the waitress for a coffee as she did so.
“Well, it was a bit of a stretch,” Tracey replied as she held her right hand out, “literally! These fingers are a bit shorter than what I started out with. But I know the bass well enough and I already had the bass part down. Although I had to throw in a few extras things to make it sound a bit different than how I used to play, but in the end I got it done!”
“So they gave you your old bass?” Shadoe asked nodding to the bass nestled in the corner.
“Hell no, they offered to sell it to me though. For dirt cheap actually. They've pretty much written Damien off now. Well actually buying it from them was my own idea. I've set up a payment plan for it and the rest of the gear Damien had to leave behind.”
Shadoe looked at Tracey with a mixed look on her face, “Written Damien off... the rest of the gear Damien had to leave. You are speaking of Damien as if he was someone else entirely!”
Tracey looked thoughtfully for a moment, “You know, in a big way I am beginning to think of Damien as someone else. I mean, yeah I used to be him but that seems so long ago now. His life and the life I have now are two different points in time and space. I am totally not the same person. I could hear it in my voice while singing and even my playing is a bit different now.”
Shadoe furrowed her brows a bit, “you already said your fingers are smaller.”
“Yeah but that's just the start of it,” Tracey smiled, “there's more to it though. Who I am now and my life as it is now all contribute to how I play and even though I try to play the same way, it feels more like an effort to recreate someone else's style than that of my own. I have my own feel to it now. I really can't explain it but it does appeal to the guys in the band and they want to keep my input.”
“So I saw Dwayne dropped you off and he had a pretty goo-goo look on his face,” Shadoe smiled slyly, “what was that all about?”
Tracey felt herself blush, “Well he asked for me to call him sometime for drinks or dinner. I've never seen him this way before.”
Shadoe grinned, “You're going to call him aren't you?”
Tracey paused for a few moments, “well, maybe. I don't know.”
Tracey felt the blush in her cheeks darken. Shadoe grinned triumphantly.
The Switcher: The Song of the Street - Chapter 12
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Tracey peeked through the curtains and looked out across the ballroom. In her former life, she had played many times just a half block down the street now it was her turn to stand upon the stage of the Commodore Ballroom. She couldn't help but to smile and shed a tear of happiness.
She had no doubt that her and the boys would take at least fourth prize. It took her some gruelling effort to get used to her bass again; these new, smaller hands were a bit of a challenge but she was positive she'd overcome it.
Even the guys in the band seemed to be thinking pretty positive.
Their gear was stowed just off stage mounted on a portable stage riser - each band used one of three risers. One was on stage being used, one was just off stage left and the other was just off stage right. As the bands came and went on stage the three risers were interchanged. One was centre stage, the other two were off stage, one on either side. Each side was both, for tear downs and set ups while the on stage band played.
She looked at their riser. Randy had spent the time and money to build a portable band logo backdrop especially for this gig.
Dwayne was double checking the placement of his drum kit while Randy and Jason were tuning up. Tracey had very little to do at this point but wait.
She had already tuned her bass just after they arrived and set up her bass amp and speakers. As a bass player, she really had the least issues with set up and that suited her just fine.
Tracey jumped slightly as she felt a hand upon her shoulder, “Just a little nervous are we, Trace?” Dwayne smiled.
Tracey turned around and smiled warmly, “Well I won't lie, I am a bit nervous. I've never been on a stage before.”
“Well not on a raised stage anyways,” Tracey thought, “and definitely never as a girl!”
“You'll get used to it after a while,” Dwayne smiled putting his arm around her shoulders, “you got used to me fast enough.”
Tracey chuckled, “True but I suspect biology might have played a bit part in that.”
“With the stage?” Dwayne asked with a grin.
“No, silly!” Tracey giggled, “with you!”
“Oh well okay then,” Dwayne replied, “Look the guys and I are going to spark one before hitting the stage. We are up after the next band. It should help with your meditation thing.”
“Yeah sure!” Tracey answered following Dwayne out the rear stage door.
Randy and Jason were already there waiting.
“So how you feeling there kid?” Randy asked Tracey.
“A bit tense but okay,” Tracey replied.
“Well I have a good treatment for stress,” Jason replied as he lit up.
“Yup, works every time!” Randy added.
“Guitar players,” Dwayne laughed.
“Hey, at least we're not the non-musician that hangs around musicians!”
Tracey laughed, elbowing Dwayne slightly, “Ooo a drummer joke!”
“Hey you guys behave or your musical asses will all be going home on the bus!” Dwayne replied with a sly grin.
“So Trace, we were thinking, you know all the words to Street Mode,” Randy said after recovering from his toke, “Jason said you do the melody better and it does sound better when you sing it.”
“It true,” Jason added, “that one time I came in late and I heard you fill in for me. You sounded fantastic! Sort of like a cross between Kim Carnes and Bonnie Tyler!”
“Who?” Tracey asked with not a small amount of surprise.
“1970's female singers,” Randy replied, “Kim Carnes did Bette Davis Eyes and Bonnie Tyler did It's a Heartache.”
Tracey nodded. She didn't compare what she sounded like when she sang. It was enough to get used to a girl's voice answering her everytime she talked or sang.
“Wow, I never thought of that,” Tracey smiled taking her turn.
She looked at Randy, then Jason then Dwayne, “But we're doing Street Mode as our closer. They're more likely going to remember us for that.”
“Exactly,” Jason smiled, “We need to be flexible in our sound and you certainly add that to our sound. Sure Damien was a great bass player and his harmonies were excellent but there is something extra about you that you bring to the table. You may have been tutored by him, and it shows mind you, but you definitely have your own style and sound. Besides I've been talking to the guys over the past week and I'm willing to step back into the background and let you take lead vocals if you think you can handle it and play bass at the same time.”
Tracey was flabbergasted but kept contained, “Wow guys, I never saw this coming at all! Well let's just get on with the show tonight and let tomorrow worry about itself shall we?”
“I believe they're coming up on their last tune now,” Dwayne noted, “we'd better get inside.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the last band has been over their fair share of hurdles recently, having lost their bass player and having to replace him in short order, and also had to alter the name of the band,” the hostess announced on the PA, “They were formerly an all male band called Doodz, they had to change the name because the chemistry changed with the addition of their new bass player – a woman. So let's hear it for Dude!!”
Tracey stepped out on the stage with a grin on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned across the hundreds of people in the ballroom. She adjusted her bass on her shoulders and took her place behind her microphone.
As the crowd's cheers began to die down Dwayne counted them in.
Dude! didn't win first prize at the contest but they did win second prize and were approached by an agency willing to work with them for promotion and a possible recording contract.
Trace, as she became known as, took on the position of lead singer for the band, changing the format of the band and in the process making them more main stream.
In order to round out the sound, Tracey actually talked Dwayne and Randy into adding some background vocals along with Jason. Dude! became known for their four part harmony in their alternative/70's rock sound.
Dwayne and Trace eventually became a couple and Damien became more of a memory for Tracey.
Oh and Shadoe? She eventually settled down with Jason and became the band's resident photographer and videographer.
The Virus
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©2011 — Foxxe Wilder
(Inspired from the short story by mittfh)
A computer virus can often carry many life jolting results, some more harsh than others. Not all antivirus software can effectively deal with this coding and it is impossible to remove once activated.
From: root @ novavitadata.com
To: clfox @ gmail.com :;
Subject: A True Life Changer!
Attachments: lifechangev2.0.pdf.vbs
CONGRATULATIONS!
Your life is about to change in ways some people only dream of!
That is what I read in the email, (minus the attachment) after waking up that morning. Like so many other emails I’ve received in the past it was, for the most part, ignored. There was also a link on the page.
Yawning sleepily, I checked my antivirus to assure it was up to date and running then dared to click. That was my second mistake. It merely showed me to an HTTP Error 503 Service unavailable Site. I logged out and pretty much forgot the email for a few days.
I had begun to see some oddities in my websites. The entire website was far more floral than I had designed and much of the information and the music tablature files I included on it were still there but the site’s look was distinctly feminine.
I always keep a back up of my website on my harddrive just in case the site is hacked or destroyed in one way or another.
I uploaded my local copy of the website to the server and refreshed the page but there was no change at all.
“What the hell?” I found myself asking aloud, noting my voice had cracked and sounded like I had some sort of strain of laryngitis. For the moment I shrugged it off; as a patient of chronic bronchitis it was not a new thing to me for my voice to bugger up.
I checked my local copy by loading it from the local files into the browser. It was identical to the online copy I’d found.
“Son of a bitch!” I croaked. I had coded that webpage entirely by notepad as I had found it easier to learn HTML coding rather than attempt to set up a cheesy webpage using some geek’s software with his/her templates.
Feeling both frustrated and overwhelmed I leaned back in my chair and thoughtfully stroked my chin.
“How odd; it feels like I’ve never ever shaved before,” I thought to myself idly.
Payday was just a few days previous so I logged into my bank account to check the balance and change the address on my bank account.
The balance was about what I had expected and I went on to the account info page and entered my new address. It was not much of a move; merely an upgrade from one apartment to another one in the same building.
Then I got to the overview page. The address read properly now and as I clicked the SAVE button I noticed something else that I’d almost missed.
My name and title changed from Mr. Christian Lee Fox to Miss Christina Lee Fox. If it were just the spelling of my first name that was wrong, I’d have just taken it up at a later time but there was the mention of the Miss title that bugged me.
There was nothing I could do online about that though, I’d have to go to the bank where my account was to change those things personally and I no longer lived in the same town.
In fact I’d not lived there for almost 2 years. As the bank location didn’t bother me very much I never thought that I’d actually need to transfer it to a local branch, Now I wish I had as I had no car and there was at least 5 hour ride on a greyhound bus to get there and I didn’t have that kind of time to go there over a mere title and name screw up. As long as it didn’t screw up my finances I would be okay.
Then there was the phone call from the temp agency I worked through. I was a bit of a hardware tech by talent and had received training in that field but as the colleges back in the final years of the 20th century had overkilled the industry, I had to take any small job I could.
“Hello Miss Fox I have a position for you today if you want it. It is in database entry and lasts for the week. It pays 12 dollars an hour and included paid lunch. Are you interested?” a chipper woman’s voice asked me on the phone.
I totally missed the greeting. My attention was more on the job description and less on the greeting. As I had just moved, I needed the extra money so I asked with my cracked voice, “When does it start? I mean this is Friday already.”
The woman from the temp agency replied, “It starts coming Monday and you will be paid at the end of the week for 8 hours per day and all weekdays of that week. They do have a rather conservative dress code so don’t wear anything too revealing.”
I was too overjoyed, to note that last part. It had been a month since I got any calls at all from the temp agency and my funds were low. I was just happy for the job.
“Sure, I’ll be there bright and early,” I croaked happily, “hopefully my voice will have recovered by then!”
She gave me the time and location details as well as a contact phone number, said her good byes wishing me good luck and hung up.
I was elated. Also suddenly quite hungry. As I had yet to have breakfast, I stood up a bit too enthusiastically and almost fell back in the chair as I had quite suddenly felt a bit dizzy and light headed.
I reached out with both hands to steady myself and waited until my head cleared. That was when I noticed my hands. They did not appear quite right. They seemed to be a tiny bit paler in skin tone and actually appeared almost manicured. I wrote it off for the moment as an after effect to the dizzy spell and walked into the kitchen. The day had definitely started out on an odd way.
I opened the cupboard and saw a fairly well stocked cupboard of food but mostly low fat, low calorie foods. Now I was getting a bit suspicious.
As I didn’t normally buy low calorie foods I was becoming more than just a bit worried. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to play with my head today. First there was the email, then the website and the bank info, now my food stock had been tampered with, or appeared to be. Was it possible that I had actually purchased all these diet items and just not noticed? I shrugged to myself; after all I had done stranger things before.
I had a breakfast of two scrambled eggs and a few strips of low sodium bacon with 2 slices of 7 grain bread and a green tea. The green tea was admittedly a new addition to my grocery list recently but I had found it irresistibly refreshing that morning.
The next stop was the shower. I stepped into it for my first shower in my new apartment and was a bit taken aback by the floral scent that greeted me upon my entrance.
I looked around curiously, shampoo and conditioner, beauty soaps, bath oils and bath beads were all over the place. The only razor I could see was a pink lady razor. There was definitely a growing pattern to things here. My bathroom appeared to be the bathroom of a girl.
I stood there for a few minutes just confused and thought to myself, “Well that’s it. I have to stop shopping when I’ve been drinking. Diet food and now this frilly stuff? What the hell was I thinking?”
I dropped my white robe and stepped into the shower turning on the water for a nice warm morning shower. I had never been one to have a lot of body hair. That genetic anomaly seemed to skip over me in my family as most of my brothers were rather hairy. But then again they were also going bald on the scalp and I was spared that fate
I allowed my wavy brown hair to grow to shoulder length. As I always kept it well groomed and clean there was never an issue with it. On the job I wore it back in a ponytail and no one ever complained.
I shampooed my hair and set the conditioner in it. I usually waited for a full five minutes before rinsing it out, in the meantime I soaped down the rest of me with the floral scented soap I found in the dish. I wasn’t particular, to me, soap was soap; it didn’t matter what it smelled like in the shower. Most of that would rinse off anyways.
What I did find was a slightly painful and itchy nodule under each nipple causing them both to poke out slightly from my chest wall. When I was younger I had read how ‘breast buds’ were common among teenagers, be they male or female but I was twenty-seven.
Sure I seemed to age slower than other people around me but many considered that a gift. Often though it had caused me unending problems in the clubs and bars; I was always getting carded upon entry to clubs where I was not known so I tended to keep going to the same places if not for any other reason but to maintain a regular presence for recognition.
I made a mental note to be careful with my chest as the buds under my nipples were uncommonly sensitive and painful if abused in any way. I increased the heat on the water’s stream and rinsed off the conditioner and all the soap from all over my body.
I towelled off and stepped out of the shower, slipped my robe back on and spent the rest of the day unpacking my small library of technical manuals and study books, at least they were not affected by all the oddity of the day.
Before I called it a day I proudly displayed on the wall, my certificates that I had received for my computer hardware training. If I had taken the time to actually read the name on them, I’d have noticed back then that each one of them bore the name Christina Lee Fox, not Christian Lee Fox.
I slept fitfully that night. Normally it was my habit to sleep on my chest but due to the sensitivity of my nipples I was constantly forced to roll over on my back. My dreams were of an odd nature as well. I kept dreaming of an oddly familiar young brunette girl but I could not get a good view of her.
She was everywhere I went in my dreams, in the club, out shopping, at home, it didn’t matter where my dream took me, that girl was always there just ahead of me as if to herald my coming. Despite being everywhere I was, she also seemed oddly aloof of my presence in the dreams. It was almost like I was not there at all.
Then there were the odd apparitions in the mirrors of the dream. Every time I looked in one I never saw anything clear at all; instead what I saw was a very hazy and out of focus basic image of myself. I could not make out any details but then it was a dream image. Wasn’t it?
I woke up on Saturday morning drenched in sweat and dead tired from the tossing and turning all night. I didn’t feel well at all. My head was fuzzy and the dreams of the previous night haunted me, (and who the hell was that brunette?). The sweat on my body made my skin feel itchy so I jumped into the shower to rinse off the excess salt and sweat from the night and started fresh.
The buds in my nipples were still there but they seemed a bit more pronounced now in that they appeared to be actually building up in size. Maybe it was the effect of the bulging out, but my nipples actually appeared larger in circumference as well. They were also still itchy and sore, actually a bit more so than the previous day.
My other parts also seemed to have been affected by all the oddities happening around me. My hair line normally could be traced up to my navel but now it seemed to just draw a straight line at the bikini line. It also seemed, well… bushier. The hair seemed to have been able to hide my other parts rather well now. I wasn’t sure that I liked the idea. It was so thick and long the organ could almost get lost within the hair itself. I shook my head. I was behaving ridiculously. Nothing could do that; I was just being paranoid. I attempted to brush the thoughts aside and turned to the mirror above the bathroom sink.
I inspected my face carefully in the mirror. Again there was no need to shave at all; it was like my facial hair just stopped growing all of a sudden. Oh well, all the better. I would not need to test that odd pink razor any time soon by the looks of it and I was never very good at shaving anyways.
There was something there that looked decidedly different. Maybe it was my cheeks or chin or my eyes. Was my face rounder? Precisely what it was I could not be sure but I actually seemed younger in looks somehow.
Was it my eyebrows? They did look a bit less bushy and actually trimmed somehow. Well such was my curse; I had long been mistaken for someone much younger in appearance and even from time to time when I was in my early teenage years I was often confused to be a girl. Such was my luck, I had a baby face. Sure the girls all claimed to think I was cute but few actually bothered with me on any boy-girl level. I was just the nice cute guy that the girls confided in.
“God I’m being paranoid.” I remarked aloud noting my voice had not improved at all. In fact it was a bit more breathy in effect and the sound although still horse hit a bit of a higher tonality. I sighed heavily and grabbed a pair of jeans (also noting they felt a bit snug around the butt and hips), and slipped on a tee shirt and sat down at the computer.
As I had nothing planned until Monday, when I was to start at the new placement the temp agency sent me to, I decided to do some internet surfing. I had almost forgotten the odd feminized look to my webpage and now even my desktop was of a floral design. There were programs installed there that I had no recollection of ever installing.
There were makeover programs and even a few games installed that I had never had before.
Yeah I know. You’re thinking, “Red flag dude! You have software on your system that you didn’t install? This is very suspicious!”
I thought that way too, so, I tested my antivirus software and checked the entire system for virii but found nothing at all. For safety’s sake, I double checked my system with an online system virus and spyware scanner but it showed the same results as my installed software. There was nothing detected at all that so I shrugged to myself and decided to check out the new programs. What was my reasoning? Well I thought about the email I’d gotten the day before regarding a change of life and figured it was some sort of free software promotion and I’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Normally I was not one for role playing games if I played any games at all. If I played any games at all, I could be found with racing games or first person shooters. Both genres didn’t take a lot of imagination and it helped my inner angers hash out my day to day irritations.
As they were installed the role playing games did intrigue me a bit. It was a chance to try to test out new waters and try a bit of acting.
Now you may be wondering, what with all the feminizing influences going on in my computer and stuff why didn’t I react to it? I am not even sure why myself. It was like, I saw that it was happening but instead of being threatened by all the strangeness, I felt more curious. Whatever was going on was turning my life from its boring, day to day existence into something to be explored. My curiosity was peaked.
Besides, everything about me was changing, my attitude, my way of thinking, and my environment. It was subtle at the start but as time went by I began to realize it for sure by early evening. That was when I looked down after 4 hours of role play gaming and found that the little buds beneath my nipples could be quite clearly noticed under my tee shirt as actual breasts. They were still rather small in size (merely a B cup), but compared to what I had 2 days previously, they were very noticeable.
I had also undone the snap and zipper on my jeans hours ago as they seemed to be just a bit too tight. When I saw the breasts poking out from under my tee shirt I stood up at my desk and glanced down at my waist. If I didn’t know for sure that I’d had those same jeans done up just a few hours earlier, you’d have wondered why I was attempting to wear jeans that were obviously almost a full 3 inches too small.
My pelvic bones actually seemed to have splayed outward a bit giving me for all intents and purposes, a female hip structure, plus the legs of my jeans seemed to have become a bit tighter. Frustrated with the bad fit, I dropped my jeans, walked into my bedroom and pulled open my underwear drawer. It was well stocked in Hanes brand tighty-whities.
I was never much for the baggy boxer shorts craze. My father wore those things and I had some rather nasty, undistinguished images in my head of him in boxers, so naturally I avoided them. Besides, I saw underwear’s function as fairly similar to women’s brassieres; to stop the unnecessary bouncing and movement; boxers could never do any of that.
I was oddly unperturbed with all the changes in my life. They just seemed to fit somehow. I felt absolutely no sense of panic at all.
As evening approached I only felt mildly hungry, and settled on a tossed salad with low calorie dressing with a cup of green tea.
Bored of video games, I turned on the television and spent the rest of the night watching a series of chick flick movies.
As was my habit, about 10 pm I logged onto the internet, checked my facebook page and a few other social pages (noting they had, like everything else, reflected the oddly familiar floral pattern that dominated my computer system.) There were chatrooms and chatroom software preloaded and presetup for me (under the name of Christina).
After two hours of chatting I logged out for the night, shut down the computer for the night and went to bed in my four poster bed.
My dreams that night were disjointed and hazy. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to anything save for one repeating image. Once again there were the mirrors and the fuzzy out of focus images within them but this time they were of a male that resembled me in most ways save for the fact that I couldn’t make out if it was my reflection or not. Again I was following around the brunette woman’s movements in the dreams. She went to various points of my past and visited my life’s memories but with every time period, the brunette girl’s age adjusted to the same age as I was at the time.
My sleep was not as fitful and my chest pains had subsided sometime over the night. As I slept more changes did occur to me but I was almost oblivious to them upon waking.
Upon waking I sat up in bed I found myself dressed only in a bra and panties, the bra fully supporting a pair of 36Cs. The panties were ladies’ Hanes brand, cotton bikini cut panties and, as was my habit, I pulled them off to change into a fresh pair. My underwear drawer in my dresser was now full of them in various colours as well as over a dozen different coloured and styles of 36C bras. As I put on the fresh pair of panties I took note to myself aloud, “I really need to get a waxing, perhaps a Brazilian. Hmm… my voice has cleared up finally. Cool!”
It had too, but the last voice I spoke in with any clarity was almost a full octave lower than my voice now, although I was not actually aware of it. (I speak of this only for a historical reference for to me, at the time, my new voice was the only one I remembered.)
Looking in the mirror of my dresser, I brushed my long wavy brunette chest length hair, applied a bit of morning moisturizer and grabbed a crimson tank top and a black skirt that went down to mid thigh and walked out into the kitchen to start my day with an extra strong cup of green tea.
I looked about the kitchen as I sat at the table idly listening to a local soft rock radio station and just soaked in the morning sun as it beamed in through the lace curtains of the kitchen window.
As I looked around my apartment I couldn’t help but to wonder, what was it I was missing?
To my mind everything was there, and there was nothing that seemed obviously out of place but I could not shake the feeling there was something about the whole place was different.
And what of those odd dreams? Who was that man that was following me around in my dreams? As my dreams took me to various times of my life, his hazy image seemed to follow me at every turn. I even recall looking in a mirror and seeing his hazy, out of focus image. The image of the stranger gave me a chill up my spine and made me worry. Was this man a stalker, or a warning of one?
Perhaps, I reasoned, the man was someone out of my past that had somehow slipped from my conscious memories. I vowed to myself that I would not worry about him; it was after all, only a dream.
Sundays for me were never very active. I was never a Christian church goer at all. I was never that type of person. I was not a bad person but then I again I never did anything that caused anyone to have issue with me. I was just your average girl that didn’t make waves.
I spent the afternoon visiting my mother, helping her with her housework and gardening. Our time together was something I had grown to enjoy over the years. My father had long since passed on leaving my mother to raise me alone and now I had the chance to return her love and kindness with my own in much the same way as she had raised me.
I got home about 9:30 pm and laid out my clothes for the job the temp agency set me up for Monday.
After checking my emails and chatting in the chatrooms for an hour I called it a night. I needed to be up and wide awake for the data entry position in the morning.
Sleep that night was almost dreamless but I awoke Monday morning very well rested.
I put on the clothes I laid out the night before. They were a rather conservative dark brown knee length skirt with a matching jacket combo as well as a light white cotton blouse, applied a light brown eyeshadow and eyeliner to my highlight my eyes, a bit of dark plum lipstick and looked in the mirror. I was a knockout, not too revealing or sleazy and very business like. Taking one last check of myself, I smiled, grabbed my purse and called for a taxi.
The taxi carried me directly to a tall building downtown with a logo that consisted of an odd silhouette of a man and woman’s body superimposed upon each other with the company name Nova Vita Data Systems beneath. This was the place.
I entered the building, met a rather pretty young woman dressed in a conservative pant suit and she led me to my computer terminal. She explained the job to me which was just simple data entry job. I was to take information of clientele that was recorded on paper documents, find the client’s name in the database and update the computer system’s databank.
I sat down and started to work. Oddly enough the name at the top of the list was a bit familiar to me.
I entered the information as I was instructed.
Client: Christian Lee Fox
Info: Client emailed and verified. Conversion 100 percent successful. Situation stable.
Current Status: Case Closed
I entered the information without a second thought and went on to the next name on the list.
To Cure a Beater
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To Cure a Beater
©2014 - By Foxxe C. Wilder
Deitre, or as his friends called him "Beater", had a chip on his shoulder ... the universe agreed it needed to be dealt with.
He was an asshole in most peoples' eyes. If you were black, he'd call you a nigger. If you were middle eastern, he'd call you a terrorist, or a sand nigger. Any oriental got the term gook or chink despite which race you might actually be. Native Americans were chugs, homosexuals were fags and lesbians (or any woman with short hair in jeans) were dykes. And of course anyone that might raise his suspicions as a transvestite (whether or not you actually were), were referred to as Trannies.
That is how I met him. He was just another belligerent drunken asshole, hammered to the teeth in the middle of the afternoon of the witches' new year's eve, sitting on the patio of a local tavern.
Now I am a practitioner of Wicca and as such I never, if ever wish ill upon anyone; the karmic backlash could be devastating. I am also a male to female transgender, so as such I 'walk between worlds'. To many peoples around the world we are regarded as holy people and gifted, after all, how many people get to experience both sides of the gender fence in only one life time?
His actual name was Deitre Carling but his friends called him “Beater”. He tended to try to live up to the moniker by being socially abusive and obnoxious and admittedly he was very gifted at being a jerk.
It was not one of my best days. I was low on cash, low on hope and low on patience; I didn't need some cowardly drunken jerk accosting me in public.
As I passed by the bar he loudly blurted out “TRANNY!”
I almost stopped in my tracks, tempted to give him a lesson in life by way of the assortment of martial arts training I've had as a kid. (I was a very petite child and as a result I tended to get beaten on so my parents sent me to learn martial arts to protect myself.)
But no, there was a better way to deal with this moron as the full moon was due this very night, I took off my pentacle ring, held it to the sky and I chanted silently, then I brought it down, touched the ground with it, then chanted again silently.
Then upon standing up, I touched him with my ring, and smiled as I responded to his abuse, “May the crone goddess, Hecate, deal with you fairly and justly,” then with a momentary pause I continued, “so mote it be, so mote it be, so mote it be.”
“Thrice spoken builds the charm, then released to do no harm.”
I put my ring back on my finger, spun on my heel and started away, having resigned the job of revenge to the Wiccan goddess of Justice to deal with. I could go on with my life without worry and trusting that the universe would take care of Deitre fairly.
I pretty much forgot about that day after that. I don't allow assholes to bother me, there are always bigger assholes in the world that would take care of those fools.
I was walking down the street actually passing that same tavern about a year later when I spied what looked to be a very effeminate man. At first I didn't recognize him but he knew me all too well.
At this point, he appeared to be a male to female transgender, within the first year of transitioning; that uncomfortable androgynous stage where you have attributes to both ends of the gender spectrum and neither one seems to be predominant.
He had a bulky sweat shirt on but even so, it could not hide the B cup breasts he sported beneath. His complexion was very smooth, hairless, and quite effeminate.
“You,” he hissed at me, “you caused this!”
I totally failed at hiding my smile and went directly into smart ass mode, intentionally feminizing his name, “Oh my god, Deirdre, is that you? Ha ha ha!”
“Oh, I can't accept the credit for this though,” I fought back my laughter, “No, this was in part your own making and the judgement of the universe. You can't hide from karma when you are an asshole for all of your life, buddy.”
“As for me, I'll finish my path soon enough,” I continued on, “but you, you will have to adapt to it as it will take you to the grave, either now or 50 years from now.”
“You accosted a transgender witch a year ago and now you have to pay the price for your deeds of hate and intolerance. I only opened the gates; you created the format, and the universe paid you your karma.”
“Now remember, it takes more balls to have them removed, than it takes to bad mouth innocent people,” I told him seriously, “Your future is up to you; embrace it as your just reward or terminate yourself, it is up to you. Just remember that reincarnation after suicide in this case could put you into the form of a woman next time or a truly transgender person such as myself. If you are smart you will adapt, and in doing so help other people in similar straights as you put me in a year ago. May Hecate walk and guide you. Good bye Deidre.”