“I hope I get a really cool trick, like Kerry’s,” Mildred said. “And I’d like to be taller and prettier, and I wouldn’t mind having exotic eyes, but...”

 

“But you don’t want to look like Kerry,” I said, and she nodded.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 1 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. I've tried to write it as a stand-alone, so you need not have read Morpheus's Twisted stories first, or recently, to enjoy it; some of his characters make cameo appearances, but I don't think it has significant spoilers for the stories they come from.

A somewhat different version was was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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Monday is proverbially the most annoying day of the week, but the Monday of this particular week was so great that it gave me unreasonable expectations for the rest of it. I got back two graded tests from the previous Friday, A- in Physics and B+ in Modern History, both of which were better than I’d feared. During the lunch break, I asked Sarah Kendall if she’d go out with me, and she said yes; we made a date for that Friday. And when I got home and found my favorite uncle sitting on the porch swing, I just knew it was going to be a great week. But past performance doesn’t guarantee future results.

“Uncle Jack!” I cried, and we hugged. “Where have you been? Is that your ride?” I asked, pointing to the beat-up old hovercar in the driveway. It had been expensive once, one of the earliest models of hovercar back when they were new and exciting, but the chassis was dented in several places and had rust spots where the paint had peeled off, so it probably wasn’t worth much as an antique.

“Yeah, Cyrus, that’s mine. I bought it in Oakland just after I got back to the States —”

“Where from?” I hadn’t seen Uncle Jack since last Christmas, and here it was early November; but that hadn’t worried or surprised me.

“I sold my old groundcar last January and bought a ticket for Dhaka,” he said, “and I backpacked through Bangladesh, India, Bhutan, and Tibet. Then I got a hankering to see some familiar faces, and I flew back to the States, bought that thing, and drove over to see our kinfolks in Spiral.”

“When was that? We went out there for Kerry’s wedding in June, that’s the last time I saw them.”

“Not quite a month ago. I stayed with Kerry and Jeff for a few days, and with Paul and Lynn for a few days more, and saw everybody else at least once, and then started meandering across the country; I stayed in Austin for several days, visiting with Tim, and I had some good long talks with Mindy too.”

“Oh,” I said carefully. “That’s good. How are they doing?” I hadn’t seen Aunt Mindy since before she and Uncle Jack got divorced, and hadn’t seen my cousin Tim since he was a baby.

“They’re doing great,” he said. “Tim’s doing really well in school, and he’s playing soccer, and he’s started collecting bugs. He showed me his collection, and how he preserves and mounts them; I promised I’d bring him some specimens next time. And Mindy, well — we’re still friends, don’t worry about that. She was just tired of traveling, and I wasn’t.”

And he wouldn’t ever be. Uncle Jack’s Twist made him a traveler; he couldn’t stand to stay in one place for more than a few days, and he had a constant hankering to see places he’d never seen before. And he has a couple of neat tricks that make him good at traveling; he has a magnetic sense of direction, like a migrating bird, and he learns new languages really fast. He already spoke twenty languages by the time I was old enough to know what his trick meant, and I expect it was nearer forty by the time of this story; last time I saw him, a few months ago, he told me he was learning his hundredth language. He’s a freelance translator, so he can work from anywhere in the world with a net connection.

“And she even agreed to send Tim out here for Thanksgiving, since he hasn’t seen his kinfolks here in so long. I’ll be picking him up at the Atlanta airport that Tuesday, and taking him back on Sunday.”

“Great!” I said, and then what he’d said sank in: “You’re staying here until Thanksgiving? Really?” That would be difficult for him, staying in one place for more than three weeks, but he cared about family almost as much as about traveling.

“Not every night,” he said. “I’ll take a few jaunts to Atlanta, Chattanooga, maybe Huntsville — probably in the middle of the week when y’all are busy with school and work, so I can be here on the weekends. And of course I’ll go see Wendy in Milledgeville.”

Just about then the middle school bus pulled up and my sister got off. I realized we’d been standing there on the porch for too long, and I was forgetting my responsibilities as host.

“Come on in,” I said, getting out my key. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Mildred came in while I was pouring Uncle Jack a glass of sweet tea, and we both neglected our homework until Mom and Dad got home, listening to Uncle Jack’s stories about east Asia and the latest news from our cousins in Spiral. Of course, we’d seen their social media posts, but it wasn’t the same.

Dad got home from work a few minutes before Mom. “John!” he exclaimed (he’s the only person who calls Uncle Jack “John”), “it is as always a pleasure to see you. I could only wish that you had given us a more precise idea of when you would arrive, that we might be better prepared to offer you our best hospitality.”

Dad talks like that; he can’t help it, it’s part of his Twist to always be formal and polite. He’s a little more relaxed when he’s alone with me — or, I gather, with Mom or Mildred or other people he cares about, but even one on one he’s more formal than most people.

“Sorry, Oswald,” he said. “But don’t fret about it; you know me. I can crash on the sofa tonight if you don’t have the guest bedroom all ready yet, and I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.”

“The guest bedroom is indeed ready,” Dad said, “and, though I am aware that you would eat the humble fare we had planned for our own evening’s repast without complaint, I am determined to offer you something better on this, your first night at home in many months.”

He called Mom and told her that Uncle Jack had arrived — apparently they’d been expecting him sometime before Thanksgiving, but had no idea, of course, when he’d get here — and proposed that we all go out to eat at Hanging Gardens, the best restaurant in town; Mom agreed, and Dad hung up and told me and Mildred to go get ready. We hadn’t changed out of our school clothes, so we didn’t have much to do, but we went. We had an idea that he wanted to talk to Uncle Jack by himself for a few minutes.

---

“I declare,” Uncle Jack said as we stood near the door of the restaurant waiting to be seated, “you kids have both grown six inches since I saw you last. Are you sure you haven’t gone through your Twist?”

He’d spared us that kind of talk when it was just him and us, but he seemed to know that it would gratify Mom and Dad. They smiled proudly as though the inches we’d grown in the last year were their personal accomplishment.

“I’m probably not going to,” I said. Mom wasn’t Twisted, so there’d been a fifty-fifty chance to begin with that I wouldn’t be either. And now that I was seventeen, the odds had dropped way down — I forget exactly what percentage, but well over half of all Twisted go through their Twist before they’re seventeen. Mildred still had a pretty good chance, though. Or a pretty bad chance; it could go either way, and our family had been really lucky overall, but that was no guarantee that she — or I — wouldn’t be one of the unlucky ones, with a disfiguring inhuman-looking Twist or a compulsion to do horrible things.

“I hope I get a really cool trick, like Kerry’s,” Mildred said. “And I’d like to be taller and prettier, and I wouldn’t mind having exotic eyes, but...”

“But you don’t want to look like Kerry,” I said, and she nodded.

“We’ll be here for you,” Mom reassured us, as she did at least once a month. “Either way, whatever happens, we’ll always be here for you.”

Dad nodded. “Your mother and I are fully agreed. Whether you Twist or not, and whatever sort of Twist you may go through, we will always support you.”

“Me too,” Uncle Jack said. “I can’t promise to be here when it happens, but I’ll try to come for a visit soon afterward, and help however I can.”

I knew they would. The worst Twist Mildred or I might go through could hardly be worse than Aunt Wendy’s, or Dad’s cousin Ryan’s. And Grandpa and Grandma had taken care of Aunt Wendy at home as long as they could, and after they’d had to put her in the hospital in Milledgeville, they and Dad and the rest of us had made sure that she didn’t go a week without getting a visit from somebody in the family. Somebody had gone to see Ryan every weekend the whole ten years he was in prison, too, and he’d always been welcome at Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings since he got out; he chose to live in Atlanta, though, where he could disappear into a crowd of people who didn’t know what he’d done or that he was Twisted. Back then, I still didn’t know exactly what Ryan’s Twist was or what he was sent to prison for; Dad’s generation kept quiet about that around us kids. But whatever it was, they’d worked out a way for him to keep his compulsions under control and stay straight.

The waitress led us to our table about then, and when we were seated, conversation turned to less serious subjects. “I meant to compliment you on your goatee earlier, Cyrus,” Uncle Jack said, “but you were so full of questions I didn’t have a chance. When did you start growing it?”

“Over the summer vacation,” I said. “I stopped shaving right after Kerry’s wedding, to see how much it would grow before school started. And there wasn’t much to write home about on the cheeks, but the chin was okay, so I shaved it down to just a goatee right before school started.”

“It looks great,” he said. “I hope it looks at least as good after your Twist.”

I would settle for still looking human enough to live in Trittsville. Of course, if I had to move to Spiral, I already knew plenty of people there, my cousins and my Dad’s cousins whose Twists made it hard for them to live anywhere else. But I’d much rather stay here.

---

There’ve been Harpers in Trittsville since about fifteen minutes after the Trail of Tears. That’s what Uncle Greg always says; Grandpa says there was over a year between the Cherokees being kicked out of this part of Georgia and our ancestors moving in, and it was several years later before Trittsville was officially incorporated, but “fifteen minutes after” sounds better. Harpers keep popping up in history wherever you look, as mayor, or city councilman, or pastor of a church, or sheriff, or owners of important businesses. We’ve even sent a couple of Harpers to the state legislature, though the one Harper who ran for Congress a hundred years ago didn’t get past the primary. The year of the Antarctic Flu epidemic, my great-great-grandfather was sheriff, one of his cousins was pastor of the First Baptist Church, and his brother was proprietor of the best furniture store in three counties.

My great-grandparents were nothing so important just then, the year they both caught the Antarctic Flu on their honeymoon in New Orleans and brought it home to Trittsville. My great-grandfather was working in his uncle’s furniture store and my great-grandmother was teaching elementary school when they got married. They barely survived the Flu, while their parents and several of their siblings and cousins died of it. But though nobody knew it at the time, their son Darren, born just over nine months later, had the distinction of being the first Twisted baby born in Georgia. Nobody figured that out until years later, after Darren and a lot of other kids born that year had gone through their Twists.

By the time my Great-Uncle Darren (who died when I was eight) went through his Twist and became a boy genius detective, solving two murders and exposing several scammers before he was out of high school, my great-grandfather was running the furniture store, his brother Aaron was a respected lawyer, and their cousin Silas was a judge. That helps explain why Uncle Darren, and his younger brothers and sister and cousins who went through their Twists in the next few years, didn’t suffer as much fear and hatred as the young Twisted in a lot of other places. It helped, too, that all of them still looked like normal humans, though better-looking and healthier than average, and none of the personality changes they got from their Twists were dangerous or particularly scandalous, unlike some unfortunate kids in other places. And Great-Uncle Greg’s healing trick, and the way he healed the mayor’s grandson right after he broke his spine in a soccer accident, didn’t hurt the family’s popularity any.

About the time Dad and the cousins of his generation were going through their Twists, some Twisted from other places heard about Trittsville, and how respected our family was, and thought this might be a good place to live. Our family tried to make them welcome. But they — at least, the ones who didn’t look human — soon found out that people in Trittsville weren’t quite as open-minded as they looked. They didn’t mind the Harpers, but we were their Twisted. We’d always been around, and if some of us had some odd tricks, well, they pretty much trusted us not to misuse them. Most of the less human-looking Twisted who’d moved in soon moved away again, some to Spiral, which was fairly new then, and some to big cities.

And when some of Dad’s cousins went through major physical Twists and couldn’t pass for normal humans, or had such extreme compulsions that they couldn’t function without accommodation from highly understanding neighbors, they moved to Spiral too, even though it was thousands of miles from the rest of the family. A few cousins of my generation had done the same. My cousin Kerry, Uncle Greg’s granddaughter, was the latest; she’d gotten green photosynthetic skin from her Twist, and she left town right after she graduated from high school. She lived with her uncle Paul and aunt Lynn for a year, until she satisfied the residency requirements and was able to attend Spiral State College at the local tuition rate. That’s where she met Jeff, whom she’d just married a few months before Uncle Jack arrived to stay with us until Thanksgiving.

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When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

I’d been there when my cousin Todd went through his Twist, when we were playing in Grandpa and Grandma’s back yard a few years ago, and he’d passed out completely, while the sparks shooting out of him burned off all his clothes and killed all the grass where he fell. I seemed to have burned a few holes in mine, but I was still decent, and still conscious.

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Twisted Throwback

part 2 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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I managed to find Sarah Kendall in the halls between Calculus and Modern History, and chatted with her for about thirty seconds before we rushed off to different classes. She hadn’t changed her mind about our date Friday. I was in a good mood when I sat down to listen to Ms. Rutherford’s lecture; she was talking about the presidential election the year after the Antarctic Flu.

“Many people wanted to make the CDC’s emergency powers permanent,” she said. “They felt that the epidemic might have been stopped sooner if the CDC had had the power to quarantine whole cities at the first sign of trouble, as it began doing a few months into the epidemic. Three of the candidates in the primaries proposed giving the CDC that or even more extreme powers...”

My mind wandered, thinking about Sarah Kendall. I’d broken up with my previous (and so far only) girlfriend, Laura Weller, a couple of months earlier — or rather she broke up with me. Her family had moved to Atlanta at the end of the last school year, when her father got a new job there; we’d talked on the phone every few days and exchanged net messages every day for a while there, but she sent me fewer and fewer messages, and I was always the one calling her... and then she called me and said she wanted to break up. It didn’t make sense for a couple of high schoolers to carry on a long-distance relationship, she said. She was probably right.

But Sarah Kendall’s family had been in Trittsville for a long time, though not as long as the Harpers, and that wasn’t likely to happen to us. Unless we went to different universities... I chided myself for thinking too far ahead; we hadn’t even been on our first date yet. I tried to focus on the lecture again.

“But the most historic thing about that election was that the Democrats nominated Erin Ann Pendergrass, the governor of Oregon. Who can tell me what was so important about that?”

I’d read far enough ahead in the textbook that I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that, but I didn’t raise my hand. Olive Sanchez did, and said: “She was the first transsexual presidential candidate.”

“Correct,” Ms. Rutherford said. “She didn’t win that year, but she paved the way for Kenneth Cho’s successful candidacy twenty years later...”

Later, at lunch, I looked around for Sarah but didn’t see her. I got my lunch tray and sat down next to my friend Lionel. Our friend Vic wasn’t there; I figured he was probably still out sick, as he had been Monday, and I was going to ask Lionel if he’d heard from him. But he was engrossed in a game on his tablet and not in the mood for conversation, so I pulled out my own tablet to do some reading.

Ms. Rutherford had said, a few weeks ago, that we’d need to do a term paper on some historical figure from the past hundred years. I’d considered several, but hadn’t made up my mind yet, and I really needed to start working on the paper soon. I looked up articles about two or three of the people she’d talked about during the last couple of days' lectures, including Simon Ortega, the director of the CDC who’d done so much to stop the spread of the Antarctic Flu, and Erin Ann Pendergrass. With her being transsexual, and having such a successful political career, it reminded me of my own family’s having so many Twisted, and our political history.

My Grandpa had served several terms on the Trittsville city council, like several of our ancestors, but when he’d run for the state legislature, too many people in the wider district didn’t like the fact that he was Twisted, and that was the end of his political career. (I’d actually asked Ms. Rutherford if I could write about Grandpa, or my great-great-grandfather the sheriff, but she’d said I couldn’t write about someone I was kin to.) And one of the reasons I was hoping I wouldn’t be Twisted was that I wanted to go into politics myself; but I didn’t plan to let that stop me, unless my Twist gave me a form so inhuman or compulsions so scandalous that I couldn’t hope to get elected dogcatcher. (People always say that, and I guess there must have been places that had an elected office of dogcatcher, but I don’t know where or when. In Trittsville the animal control people are just employees of the city council.)

I found several articles about Governor Pendergrass, including an interview she’d given when she was running for governor. I hadn’t known much — anything, really — about transsexuals before; Trittsville had a couple of dozen Twisted, most of whom were related to me, and thousands or at least hundreds of blacks and Hispanics and Asians and gay people, but if there were any transsexuals in town I didn’t know them. I’d had the vague impression that they had a sexual kink that made them want to change their sex — not that I objected; my parents raised me to be open-minded and tolerant. But I realized I was being tolerant about the wrong thing. Governor Pendergrass said in that interview:

“I didn’t change my sex, and never wanted to. I’ve always been a girl, and I’ve known it since I was a little kid, just barely old enough to know something (not much!) about how girls are different from boys. The operation just made my body match my mind better.”

That was well-said, and made me want to know more about her. I pulled up another biographical article about her, followed several links from it, and read another one and another.

Several things happened simultaneously. Lionel yelled “Yes!”, and gave a thumbs up — apparently he’d just beaten the game, and was right happy about it. I looked up from the article I’d been reading, startled, having nearly forgotten where I was. And a tingling feeling started up all over my body, like I’d touched an electric fence. It got more and more intense, and I had time for several thoughts. The first was: “I’m going through my Twist!”

The next was: “Great. I’m going through my Twist while doing extra reading for History; now I’m going to grow up to be a historian instead of somebody who makes history.”

The third was: “Oh shit, I can’t afford to buy a new tablet!” There were little sparks shooting off of me, from my arms, hands and (Lionel told me later) my ears, and when that started happening, my tablet gave an audible pop and its screen went black.

The electric-shock feeling got steadily more intense for a few more seconds, I think, though it was hard to judge the passage of time, I was feeling so weird; I shivered and shook, and I realized everyone at the table was staring at me. Then it faded, and I slumped over, exhausted, onto the table and half onto my tray — I got mashed potatoes all over my hand and forearm.

“Dude, are you all right?” Lionel asked.

“Not really,” I said weakly. “I think I just went though my Twist.”

But it wasn’t near as bad as some other Twists I’d heard about, and even seen. I’d been there when my cousin Todd went through his Twist, when we were playing in Grandpa and Grandma’s back yard a few years ago, and he’d passed out completely, while the sparks shooting out of him burned off all his clothes and killed all the grass where he fell. I seemed to have burned a few holes in mine, but I was still decent, and still conscious. So I hoped I’d gotten a fairly mild Twist, nothing that would show and hopefully nothing anybody who hadn’t known me really well before the Twist would even notice.

“Should I go get the nurse?” he asked.

“Maybe...” I sat up straighter and wiped the mashed potatoes off my hand with a napkin. “Let me see...” I stood up, or tried to stand up, but I felt dizzy.

“Yeah, you’d better go get the nurse,” I said, sitting back down.

He went, but before he got back with the nurse, rumors about what had just happened spread in waves over the lunchroom, and my second cousin Todd (a senior, Kerry’s little brother) came over, followed quickly by my first cousin Renee (a junior, my Aunt Rhoda’s daughter).

“You look rough,” Todd said, “but not as bad as Kerry after her Twist.”

“You don’t look any different,” Renee observed.

“That’s good to know,” I said weakly.

Other people were gathering around to stare at me, probably wondering if I’d show off my new trick (if I even had one) or what new compulsions or personality changes I might have. Then Sarah came hurrying up and looked at me in horror.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said. “Just a little tired and dizzy. Could be a lot worse.”

“You don’t feel anything weird yet?”

“Just the aftereffects of the Twist, I guess.”

Then Lionel came back with the school nurse. She shooed everyone away, except Todd, whom she drafted to help her get me to the office. The nurse supported me on one side and Todd on the other; I was strong enough to stand up and walk, but still a little dizzy. Lionel grabbed my backpack and my apparently ruined tablet and followed us.

Once I was laying down on a cot in the office, the nurse sent Lionel and Todd away, and checked my vital signs, and said I seemed okay except for slightly elevated blood pressure.

“That’s normal enough right after a Twist,” she said. She should know; she’d seen several of my cousins go through their Twists at school. “I’ll go call your parents.”

My Mom came to pick me up a little later. Meanwhile I tried to get my tablet to work, and to my surprise it turned back on. But the memory had been wiped; I’d have to fix all my settings and install my games again, and I’d lost the articles I’d looked up earlier, along with all the other things I had saved on it. I pulled yesterday’s homework assignments from the school website and started working on the things I’d neglected yesterday in favor of visiting with Uncle Jack.

I was trying to avoid thinking about my Twist. Renee had said I didn’t look any different, and the fact that my clothes hadn’t been destroyed by my change proved that I certainly hadn’t changed radically. But once the dizziness and bleariness I’d felt right after the Twist wore off, I started feeling weird and uncomfortable. I felt like I had changed physically and somehow nobody around me noticed. Maybe that was my trick, to make myself look like my old self even though I’d changed under the illusion...? Aunt Rhoda could do illusions like that, though she couldn’t keep them up for more than a few hours.

And I felt, too, like there was something I wanted to be doing differently, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Uncle Jack had described that feeling to me once, how right after his Twist he didn’t realize he wanted to travel, he just wanted to be doing something different, and he wasn’t sure what yet. Then he started going on long walks all around town and in the woods, and thought at first that was all he needed, until he’d explored the town and the nearby woods thoroughly enough that he needed to get out and see other places. He’d run away, and when the police found him and brought him home, Grandma and Grandpa realized they couldn’t keep him home for long because of his Twist. They arranged for him to finish high school with online courses while riding around the country with Great-Aunt Karen’s son Will, who was a long-haul trucker; once he turned eighteen, he started traveling on his own.

I still didn’t know what I wanted by the time Mom got there.

“I’ve already made an appointment for you with Uncle Greg,” she said. “And I’ll make an appointment with the Twist specialists in Atlanta as soon as I can. How are you feeling?”

“Antsy and uncomfortable,” I said. “I don’t look any different, do I? Renee said I didn’t, but I feel... I don’t know. Weird.”

“You look just the same, at least on the outside... Probably your Uncle Greg can figure out why you’re feeling this way,” she said. She looked uncomfortable, too, and worried; she’d known about Dad’s Twist since before they started dating, and when she married him she must have known there was a good chance she’d someday go through this with one or more of her children. But I could tell, looking at her, that expecting it didn’t make it easier.

“Can you stand up?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said, and I stood up. “I don’t feel dizzy anymore.”

We went home, and Mom made me go to bed right away, though I was feeling reasonably okay by then. I mean, I didn’t feel dizzy or nauseous or lightheaded or anything. Just vaguely uncomfortable. When I changed out of my burned clothes and into pajamas, I realized that I’d burned some holes through my underwear too, and if those spots had burned all the way through my pants, I’d have been indecent. Fortunately my pants were of tougher material than my underwear or shirt, and weren’t totally ruined, though I wouldn’t wear them to school again. After I’d changed, Mom brought me a sandwich and a glass of juice on a tray, and sat by my bed and felt my forehead and took my temperature, as though I had a cold or something; it would have been funny if I hadn’t felt so weird and uncomfortable.

Dad came home early, and came up to my room. “How are you feeling, Cyrus?” he asked.

For some reason I flinched when he said that; something wasn’t quite right about it, but I wasn’t sure what. “Uncomfortable,” I said. “And anxious to be doing something, but I’m not sure what.”

“You did not lose consciousness during your Twist, I gather?”

“No. I felt dizzy for a while afterward, but that passed in, I don’t know, probably half an hour.”

He nodded. “It was much the same when I went through my Twist.” He’d told me about that before, and he didn’t go into detail again now. He looked around at Mom’s arrangements and smiled. “I see that your mother has determined to treat this as an ordinary minor illness. Perhaps it is best if we humor her. Do tell me, son, if you begin to feel any more definite inclination. Whatever it may be —” He frowned, thinking probably of Ryan and Aunt Wendy. “It is much better if you tell us, son. To conceal any new desires you may have, through a sense of shame, could be harmful. Please be assured that we will not judge or condemn you.”

“Sure,” I said. “I promise I’ll tell you first if I, um... start wanting to hurt myself.” Like Aunt Wendy. “Or anybody else.” Like, I suspected, his cousin Ryan.

“Thank you, son. I will retire now, and allow you to rest.”

Several times when he’d been talking, I’d felt a twinge of uneasiness at what he was saying, but I wasn’t sure why — as though he were saying something wrong and I wanted to correct him, maybe? But I couldn’t figure out what he was wrong about; everything he’d overtly said, at least, I agreed with.

I did some more homework then, and ate the sandwich Mom had brought me. After a while I needed to go pee, and I did. The weirdly uncomfortable feeling I’d been having got worse as I was peeing, and slightly better when I was done. While I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror, and flinched. Did I really look like that? Had I always looked like that? What was I thinking when I grew that goatee?

Well, that was a problem I could do something about. After I washed my hands, I got out my razor and shaved it off. That made me feel slightly better, but still not right. I didn’t like the way I looked, and I couldn’t figure out what felt wrong, or what I wished were different. My memories told me I hadn’t changed at all, physically, and Renee and Mom and Dad confirmed it, but I felt, looking in the mirror, as uncomfortable with my appearance as Kerry said she felt when she turned green, or Paul when he got his permanent clown makeup.

I went back to my room, and tried to distract myself from all that by concentrating on homework. I got the homework for the afternoon classes I’d missed from the school website, and started working on that; I’d gotten through most of my Mandarin homework when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said, “I’m decent.” But I realized that I didn’t like other people looking at me any more than I liked looking at myself in the mirror. That was bad; but I wasn’t going to let it make me a recluse.

Uncle Jack came in; he looked sweaty. “I just got back from a long walk, and your dad told me what happened... Oh. You lost your goatee?”

“I shaved it off,” I said. “They say the Twist didn’t affect me physically, but I’m not so sure... anyway, at least part of the personality change is that I don’t like having facial hair, apparently.”

“Oh... well, it could be a lot worse. That’s a pretty harmless quirk.”

“Yeah. I think there’s more to it than that, but I’m not sure what yet. I don’t like the way I look, and so far the goatee is the only thing I’ve been able to pin down and figure out how I want to be different.”

“Hmm... are you thinking of tattoos or piercings? Some people I know in Spiral are like that.”

“Maybe.” I considered it for a few moments. “Yeah, maybe a couple of earrings would be nice... I don’t have a real craving for them though, and I don’t think I’d like any more than that. And I don’t think I want any tattoos.”

“Maybe you can look at a bunch of photos of different people and see if you can find someone you want to look more like.”

“That might help. Thanks.”

Just then I heard a pounding on the stairs, and Mildred poked her head in. “I just heard — oh, you lost your goatee.”

“I shaved it,” I explained again. “Just a mental Twist... I think.”

“So your Twist is that you don’t like having facial hair? Lame!” She stuck her tongue out at me, and I returned the favor. I didn’t explain to her that I felt uncomfortable about my whole appearance.

“What were you doing when you Twisted?” she asked. “Mom said you were eating lunch?”

“Yeah, and I was reading some stuff for Modern History on my tablet. Figuring out who I’m going to write my term paper about.”

“Huh. I can see how that’d make you more interested in schoolwork or just in history, but why would it make you want to shave?”

“You can’t always explain why people Twist the way they do by what they were doing when they Twisted,” I said.

After Uncle Jack and Mildred left me alone, I worked on my homework for a while longer. I saw a message notice, and checked; Vic said:

lionel told me you went through your twist today. you feeling okay? what kind of twist did you get?

I messaged back, telling him the little I knew so far: no physical changes, but the beginnings of some vague indefinable compulsions. Later on Lionel and Sarah messaged asking me basically the same thing, and I told them the same thing.

Not long after that, Mom came upstairs. “Your Aunt Rhoda called, and said she and Uncle Leland and Renee might come over if you’re feeling up to visitors yet.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m pretty much recovered from it, physically.” I didn’t like the idea of them seeing me like this — even though “like this” was exactly how they’d seen me any number of times. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from visiting with family.

“And mentally?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I haven’t felt any weird compulsions yet, so I think I’m okay. I hope.”

“Mildred told me you’d shaved...” She looked at me. “It looks good. Not that it looked bad before, of course.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” I said. “I know it looked silly. Thanks for being so indulgent.”

“I wasn’t pretending before,” she said. “I really did like the way it looked. I suppose your Twist has changed your tastes, but I think you look good either way.”

By suppertime, things had snowballed until it was not only Aunt Rhoda’s family coming over, but Grandma and Grandpa and Dad’s cousin Vernon (Uncle Darren’s son). I stayed up in my room doing homework (and finally writing a few opening paragraphs of my term paper for Modern History) until Mom told me that Aunt Rhoda and her family had arrived, then made myself put on some nicer clothes and a cheerful face and go downstairs.

Uncle Jack and I were the main focus of attention during supper; after I’d told everyone about my Twist, and the little bit I’d figured out about it so far, and said I had no idea what my trick was if any, they mostly listened to Uncle Jack tell stories about his recent travels. During the conversation after supper, I had several little twinges of that feeling I’d gotten while talking with Dad, that someone had said something wrong and I needed to correct them — but again I couldn’t figure out why.

I didn’t quite tell them everything — I said I didn’t like the way I looked, and wanted to change my appearance, but hadn’t figured out how yet, except that I didn’t like the facial hair and wasn’t keen on getting piercings or tattoos. That was all factually correct, but I downplayed just how revolted I was sometimes feeling at my own body, and how embarrassed I felt at them seeing me like this.

“People tell me I look just the same as before, and when I look in the mirror and compare my reflection to my memories I know they’re right, but I can hardly believe it; that face in the mirror doesn’t look right.”

Grandpa said, “Your Twist is a reverse of many Twists, yet causes you to feel the same discord. When I first changed and looked into the glass, I saw a face I’d never seen before. That feeling strange took many days to pass.”

(Grandpa Twisted during school, like me; he was in Literature class, and they were doing a group reading of Hamlet — I think he was playing Polonius. After his Twist, he started talking in blank verse, and he sometimes uses old-fashioned words to fit the meter, or stresses a word on an unexpected syllable.)

“But look at the bright side,” Aunt Rhoda said, “once you figure out how you want to look, and fix yourself so you look that way, you’ll be satisfied with your appearance. Some people who get a physical Twist and no mental changes to go with it never become happy with their appearance.”

“Poor Kerry,” Renee sighed. “I hope she gets used to being green eventually.”

“It looked to me as though Jeff has helped her a lot,” Mom said. “He adores her, and being loved always makes you feel beautiful.”

The conversation changed course then, as we talked about our kinfolks and other friends in Spiral we hadn’t seen in a good while, and Uncle Jack told us the latest news.

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

I got out my razor and shaving cream, and then paused, remembering the depilatory cream that Mildred used on her armpits and legs. She sure wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 3 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

The next morning I woke up early, but I let Mildred have the first shower, both because she needed to get ready sooner than I did, and because I was dreading having to look at my naked body for ten solid minutes. The brief glimpses of myself I’d had when I was changing clothes the day before, and when I had to open my fly to pee, had been the most uncomfortable moments I’d had since my Twist, and I wanted to put off my shower as long as I could.

I did the last of my homework from the last couple of days' assignments, and then picked up the novel I’d been reading. I had a hard time concentrating on it, and I wondered if it was an effect of my Twist — maybe I’d only be able to enjoy reading nonfiction now? Or it could be I hadn’t read a word of it in a couple of days, what with visiting with Uncle Jack all Monday evening, and then being distracted by my Twist and relatives coming over Tuesday, and I’d just forgotten who some of the characters were and what they were doing. When I heard noises from the kitchen, I put the book down and went downstairs.

Uncle Jack was up and fixing coffee. “Want some?” he asked.

“I don’t like coffee,” I said.

He smiled. “Are you sure?”

“No,” I admitted. “Pour me just a sip or two and I’ll find out.”

No, I still didn’t like coffee. That was one more bit of my old self I could hang onto. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and sat down to eat; Uncle Jack sat at the other end of the kitchen table and sipped his coffee meditatively.

“Do you remember what you dreamed this morning?” he asked suddenly.

“...No,” I said after thinking about it for a moment. “I did dream something, but it all slipped away the moment I got up. You know how it is.”

“Yeah. I just wondered... sometimes a newly Twisted person has really vivid dreams for a while, and they can help you figure out your Twist. Not always, and you want to avoid jumping to conclusions based on ordinary random dreams. But... I dreamed about being in far-off places a lot, the first couple of weeks after I Twisted. Places I’d seen in movies, or on the news. In one dream I was walking down a street in Paris, looking up at the Eiffel Tower, for instance. It turned out that actual Paris was nothing like that dream; they weren’t clairvoyant or precognitive or anything. But my dreaming mind knew I wanted to travel before my waking mind knew.”

“Do you still dream like that?” I asked.

“Well, sure. I mean, I’m always traveling, so it makes sense I’d usually be traveling in my dreams too. But I sometimes get dreams of being a boy, back home, just living here in Trittsville. And... since I saw Mindy and Tim last, I’ve dreamed a couple of times about them. In this dream I’m living there in Austin with them, and I get up and we eat breakfast together, and then Mindy goes to work and I take Tim to school on the way to work... it’s all really mundane, but completely impossible.”

We were silent for a while, and Mom and Mildred came downstairs about then. Mildred ate breakfast in a hurry and ran out to catch the school bus.

“Your father will take you to your appointment with Uncle Greg,” Mom said, as she ate her morning oatmeal. “He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“No hurry,” I said. We had over two hours.

“But it’s important to be there early,” she said. “Uncle Greg’s squeezing you in at the last minute, and he has a lot of other patients to see.”

I nodded. With Uncle Greg’s healing trick, and the way his mental Twist made him so caring and compassionate, he was the most popular doctor in Trittsville, and a lot of people from Rome, Cartersville, even Atlanta and Chattanooga came to see him.

Mom went upstairs to shower and get dressed for work, and then left. Dad came downstairs half an hour later, already fully dressed in a business suit and tie. He always wears formal clothes when other people are around, even when he’s mowing the lawn or cleaning the leaves out of the gutters. His trick keeps his suit from getting sweaty or dirty.

“Are you still not ready, son?” he asked, and again I had that feeling that he’d said something wrong — even though he’d asked a question, and hadn’t asserted anything. And he wasn’t wrong: I wasn’t at all ready, hadn’t showered or changed out of my pajamas.

“No, Dad; I’ll go on up and shower now.”

“Please do.”

We still had plenty of time, and I guess I’d been procrastinating my shower till the last minute. I picked some clothes out of my closet — I hesitated over it too long; somehow none of them really appealed to me, even my favorite T-shirts. I finally forced myself to pick something at random, and went into the bathroom. I turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature just how I wanted it before I took off my pajamas, and when I did, I tried not to look at myself any more than absolutely necessary. I got in the shower and once I’d soaked myself and shampooed my hair, I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until I needed a visual check to make sure I was thoroughly rinsed. Yep. I turned off the water and closed my eyes again, groped for a towel, and dried off before I opened them again to step out and find my clean clothes. I kept my back to the mirror until I was dressed and I needed to see to brush my hair and shave.

Even with all that delay and inefficiency, I was still ready to leave in plenty of time. Uncle Jack said: “I’m going down to Milledgeville to see Wendy; don’t hold supper for me. I’ll probably eat in Atlanta on the way home.” He drove out at the same time Dad and I did.

We got to Uncle Greg’s clinic a few minutes after nine, and sat in the waiting room for almost an hour. Since I’d caught up on my basic homework, I decided to do research for the term paper; I found and read a bunch of newspaper and blog articles about Erin Ann Pendergrass’s gubernatorial and presidential campaigns.

Finally the nurse called us back; she led us to an exam room, drew a blood sample, and then left Dad there and took me down the hall to the scanner room. I had to take off my shoes and outer clothes, everything with buttons or zippers, to step in front of the scanner; I was pretty uncomfortable with that, though it wasn’t as bad as if I were naked. Then I got dressed again and went back to the exam room, and waited with Dad for a while longer, reading more articles for my term paper.

Finally Uncle Greg came in. He doesn’t look his real age; he and his siblings age a little slower than most people, which is not uncommon for people with physical optimization Twists.

“Your mother told me you’d gone through your Twist,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Uncomfortable,” I said. “I don’t like how I look, and I don’t like people seeing me like this — even though most of them have already seen me like this. I know I didn’t change physically, but it feels like I did.”

“Hmm... you’re right, you didn’t change physically. Look here...” He did something with his tablet, and the holographic displays on the wall lit up with two scans of me. “The one on the left is from your last checkup in July. The one on the right is today. Overall, there’s no change that can’t be accounted for by a few months' growth, except in your brain —”

“My brain?” I asked, alarmed.

“No sign of illness — the changes are probably related to this uncomfortable feeling you describe, and perhaps to your trick — have you discovered a trick yet?”

“No.”

“I can’t be sure you have one, without more specialized equipment, but I think it’s probable.”

“Nice... I hope.” There was a slight chance my trick could be both dangerous and hard to control, but the news that I probably had a trick of some kind still cheered me up.

“And this...” He pointed to my left big toe on the scan. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh... a little, I guess. I stubbed my toe Saturday afternoon; what with feeling so uncomfortable all over after my Twist, I haven’t really noticed it that much.”

“Well, that proves it, then. Even a subtle physical Twist, that just changed things inside you without altering your appearance — your Aunt Rhoda’s more efficient heart and lungs, for instance — would have fixed the bruising from the stubbed toe along with everything else. Here, take off your shoe and sock and I’ll take care of that, at least.”

“Thanks,” I said. Normally he didn’t use his healing trick on injuries as minor as that, but I was family.

After he’d healed the remaining bruise on my toe, he sat down and said, “I’m going to ask your father a couple of questions, and then I’ll ask him to leave and you and I can talk privately.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s good.”

“Oswald, have you noticed any changes in Cyrus’s behavior or reactions since his Twist?”

Again I felt like he’d said something wrong, even though, again, it was just a question, not a statement. Dad stroked his chin thoughtfully and said:

“Nothing, I think, that he has not already mentioned. He shaved his goatee yesterday evening — I think he said that the only thing he was as yet certain of, concerning his dissatisfaction with his appearance, was that he no longer liked having facial hair.”

“No changes in his speech patterns?”

“None that I have noticed.”

(Neither Grandpa nor Dad, apparently, consciously noticed how they’d started talking differently until their parents or siblings pointed it out. I think it was Uncle Darren who figured out Grandpa was talking in blank verse — at first they’d just noticed that he was more verbose than before.)

“Well. If you’ll leave us alone for a bit, Cyrus and I will have a chat and perhaps learn something about his Twist.”

Again that feeling.

After Dad left, Uncle Greg asked me: “So, tell me more about the circumstances of your Twist. I gather you were at school when it happened — were you in class?”

“No, at lunch. I was eating and studying.”

“Not talking with your friends?”

“I was sitting with my friend Lionel, but he was busy with a game, so I decided to do some reading for Modern History.”

“Reading ahead in the textbook, or another book you were assigned for class?”

“No, research for my term paper. I was reading old news articles about different historical figures I was thinking about writing about.”

“Hmm. You were already a diligent student, so if your Twist made you more avid about schoolwork it might be hard to tell... have you noticed any evidence of that?”

“Maybe... I have been doing a lot of homework and term paper research in the last couple of days, but part of that is because I got behind over the weekend, and part of it is maybe just to distract me from this uncomfortable feeling. But after I caught up with my homework I read a few pages of a novel this morning, and I had a hard time concentrating on it, so maybe.”

“That’s unfortunate, in a way, but I’m sure you’ll get a lot of benefit from it as well. Try to pay attention in the next few days to your reading choices — if you find yourself procrastinating on homework for other classes to do extra reading for History, that might help us narrow it down. Or if, during the Christmas holidays, you find yourself still reading nonfiction in preference to fiction, that would tell us something else.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Now, let’s see if we can figure out more about this uncomfortable feeling. You decided to shave your goatee — when was that?”

“Yesterday afternoon — not long after I got home from school. The first time I went to the bathroom, and saw myself in the mirror.”

“How did looking in the mirror make you feel?”

“Awful,” and I gave a shudder. “It’s... it just wasn’t right. I could hardly believe it was my face. The goatee was the worst part, but I still don’t like looking at myself in the mirror. And when I showered this morning, I couldn’t stand to look at myself; I kept my eyes closed as much as I could until I dried off and was ready to get dressed.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Many Twisted go through something similar, but it’s usually because their bodies have changed and they haven’t become accustomed to their new appearance yet. Have you any idea how you would like to look?”

“No, that’s the worst thing! I know I don’t want hair on my face, and I know I don’t want piercings or tattoos. But other than that... I just don’t know. And — oh, I thought of something else. Several times when people were talking, I’ve felt like they’re saying something wrong and I should correct them, but I can’t figure out why. When I think about what they said, I can’t find anything specific to disagree with. I felt it several times when Dad said something, and once or twice with you, and several times last night during supper.”

“Have you acted on that urge — to speak up and correct them, I mean?”

“No. Mom and Dad raised me to be polite, and I guess the Twist didn’t change that. And even if I didn’t care about being rude, I just don’t know how I would correct them when I can’t figure out what they said wrong. A couple of times it’s happened when somebody was asking a question. How can a question be wrong?”

“Have you quit beating your wife?”

“What? — Oh. I see...”

“Perhaps you’ve become more sensitive to false or unwarranted presuppositions people make when they talk? I can’t be sure. But if you’ll try to write down what people have said when you experience that feeling, and compare those utterances, you might learn something.”

“I’ll try to do that.” I pulled out my tablet and started a new file, saying: “I remember a couple of them, at least I can’t remember the exact words but I know I felt it a couple of times when you were asking Dad about me. When you asked if he’d noticed any change in my behavior, I think.” I made a note about that and put the tablet away.

“Now — about your discomfort with your appearance. I know you don’t like to look at yourself in the mirror, but try to make yourself do it, when you get home. Stare at yourself for as long as you can stand it, and try to imagine yourself looking different in various ways. Perhaps you can pin down this feeling some more.”

“I’ll do that... and Uncle Jack suggested I try looking at a bunch of pictures of various people and see if I see someone I’d like to look like.”

“Have you done that yet?”

“A little. Not much.”

“Well, it’s a good suggestion. Try it. I normally don’t approve of plastic surgery, except in cases of dire need — when someone’s been disfigured by a fire, for instance. But if your Twist compulsion is making you miserable, and plastic surgery would satisfy that compulsion, it would be medically justified.”

“Man... I hope I don’t need it. But the way I’ve been feeling I’m afraid I might.”

“Have you noticed any other unusual feelings or desires?”

I thought about it. “This morning when I was getting ready to shower, I had a hard time picking out something to wear. Usually I don’t give it much thought — I decide if it’s a T-shirt day or a button-up shirt day and then I grab one of whichever kind at random. But I looked at my closet for about five minutes and couldn’t decide, and... I don’t really like what I picked out, it just seemed less bad than some other things.”

“It sounds like your Twist is making you want to dress in a particular way — like your father, or your Aunt Rhoda.” (Aunt Rhoda always wears white.) “I’m afraid you’ll have to buy some new clothes — just look around at the different options in the store, and see what you like. Hopefully you’ll be able to buy something off the rack, rather than needing custom-made clothes like a few Twisted I’ve heard about.”

“What do you mean? I know there are super-tall Twisted that need custom clothes...”

“Or pants with a hole for a tail, or extra sleeves for extra arms. But I’m talking about compulsions; one person I’ve heard of has to wear shirts with exactly seven buttons, for instance, and another has to wear sixteenth-century formal dress — hose and ruffs and so forth.”

“Oh... I hope it’s not like that.”

“When you’re looking at pictures of people’s faces, try looking for pictures of people in a variety of costumes as well. When you figure out what kind of clothes you need, we can help you file for a Twist stipend to help pay for the new wardrobe.”

We talked for a few more minutes about things like that, and then he called Dad back in.

“I think Cyrus will do well,” he said. “I’ve recommended some exercises to help him figure out his Twist, and probably the Twist specialist will have more suggestions.”

Dad was holding his phone and looking tense. “Thank you, Uncle Greg. We need — I —” I’d never seen him like that. “We must go to the middle school at once. The office just called me to say that Mildred has gone through her Twist.”

“Go,” Uncle Greg urged. “I can fit her in this afternoon, I think — I’ll have my secretary call you.”

---

I’d never seen Dad drive that fast before. I asked him what the office had said about Mildred’s Twist, and he wouldn’t say anything — it was almost like he didn’t hear me. We pulled into the middle school parking lot and he got out and ran toward the office, without locking the car; I locked the doors and hurried after him.

“I am Mildred Harper’s father,” Dad was saying to the secretary when I caught up with him. “Where is she?”

“In the clinic. Go on back... Just you,” she said, stopping me.

“She’s my sister,” I said.

“Wait here.”

So I waited. And waited. “What’s going on?” I asked the secretary.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I called both your parents. Your mother is on the way too.”

And she got there a few minutes later, carrying a large bag; she greeted me distractedly but didn’t stop to hug me or anything before the secretary showed her into the room where they had Mildred.

I found out later that she still hadn’t regained consciousness at that point. Since Dad and I were closer to the school, and the secretary had told Mom that Mildred’s new form was taller, she’d gone by the house first to pick up some clothes that probably wouldn’t fit her, but would temporarily replace the stuff that was destroyed by her Twist. She got some of her own clothes, and mine, and Dad’s, just to cover all the bases. Mom and Dad sat next to Mildred’s bed and waited for her to wake up, ready to talk her through the initial panic she’d probably feel at her Twist — unless she got mental changes that made her comfortable with her new body right away, like a few lucky people.

I sat there for forty-five minutes, reading old articles about Erin Ann Pendergrass, or trying to; I found myself reading the opening paragraph of an article about her plan for improving communication between various health agencies over and over again, unable to concentrate for worrying about Mildred. Then she walked out, leaning on Mom and Dad’s arms, wearing one of my T-shirts that was a bit too large for her, and one of Mom’s skirts that was the right length for her but looser in the waist than it was on Mom. I stood up and started toward them, but when Mildred saw me, she said “Don’t look at me!” and started sobbing.

I looked away, though it was hard; I thought about how uncomfortable I was with people seeing me and realized, after just a glimpse of her, that she was going to have it even worse. She was hairless, and her face and arms and legs were covered with iridescent scales, purple and pink and red in a complex repeating pattern. She had no nose or lips, and very small ears, and she was completely flat-chested. She was almost as tall as me, having grown about four inches.

I didn’t realize, there in the office under the fluorescent lights, how iridescent her scales were — not until we got outside and the sunlight played across the back of her scalp. Mom and Mildred got into Mom’s car, and Dad and I into his, and we went home.

When we got home, Mildred shut herself up in her room and hid under the blankets; she didn’t want any of us to look at her, and I didn’t blame her. I sort of knew what she was feeling, though I suspected she had it worse than me. Dad and I stayed out, and let Mom take care of her.

As Dad and I started fixing lunch, I asked him: “What was she doing when she Twisted?”

“I do not know, son,” he said. “She was so distraught when she woke up that we were unable to learn much... She said something about a snake, but it was not clear how the snake was involved. She was in P.E., out on the soccer field, when the Twist occurred; perhaps she saw a snake, or perhaps it bit her — but if so, the snakebite was healed by the Twist.”

I had that feeling again like I wanted to correct Dad. I got out my tablet and wrote down what he’d said as exactly as I could remember, and then had a better idea; I set it to start recording our conversation. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him, reluctantly, about the feelings I’d sometimes been having when people talked and what Uncle Greg had said to do. He frowned thoughtfully and said:

“If you detect in what I say any verifiable error, son, I will not only allow but encourage you to tell me — but not, I entreat, in front of strangers, and preferably when we are alone. Yet if your Twist compels you to speak up, I will understand.”

“It’s not a compulsion, I think — it’s been easy to resist the impulse to say something, especially when I can’t figure out why I feel like somebody’s wrong about something.”

Mom came down from Mildred’s bedroom about then, and looked at the soup we were fixing for lunch.

“I’m afraid Mildred’s tastes might have changed, maybe even her dietary requirements... but I’ll take her some of that and see if she can eat it. I need to take her to see Uncle Greg this evening, but I’m afraid I’ll have a hard time convincing her to go out in public. She’s so upset about her appearance, and I don’t blame her.”

I decided that wasn’t the time to remind her that I was feeling the same way. After we ate lunch, and Mom took a bowl of soup on a tray up to Mildred’s room, I went upstairs too.

I wanted to work on my term paper, but I remembered what Uncle Greg had said and I made myself go into the bathroom and look hard at myself in the mirror. It wasn’t easy, but it got a little easier after a minute or so.

“What should be different?” I asked myself. I started at the top. My hair was a little too short, I thought — well, I’d just have to wait for it to grow, and that problem would fix itself. Or maybe I could try a wig and see if it made me feel a lot better; that might be worth it. The dark brown was okay, I decided.

My blue eyes were okay too, though something seemed vaguely wrong about my eyebrows. My nose was kind of annoying, but I couldn’t express exactly what shape I wanted it to have; I didn’t have the vocabulary for nose shapes. I’d run into terms like “aquiline” in books, but I didn’t know exactly what they meant, guessing from context that they meant some kind of nose and not feeling any need to look them up for more details. The lips seemed a little too thin, but not as annoying as my nose.

I had a very faint trace of stubble from the last few hours, hardly enough for anyone else to notice even on my chin, and only visible on my cheeks if I leaned close to the mirror. But it was really annoying. I got out my razor and shaving cream, and then paused, remembering the depilatory cream that Mildred used on her armpits and legs. She sure wouldn’t be needing it anymore. I read the instructions on the package carefully, then applied it all over my cheeks, upper lip, chin and neck; that was taken care of for a few weeks now.

I looked away from the mirror when I was done, and even closed my eyes, leaning against the wall and recovering my composure after the nerve-wracking ordeal I’d just put myself through. Then I decided I might as well go a little further, if I could bring myself to do it. I took off my shirt and pants and stood there in my underwear, trying to figure out what was wrong with the rest of me.

After a few minutes' consideration, I used the rest of the depilatory cream to remove the hair from my arms, armpits and part of my chest. I’d wanted to do my legs too, but I’d need to buy a new tube of depilatory cream first.

There was still something else wrong with what I was seeing, but I couldn’t pin it down. I rewarded myself by getting dressed with my eyes half closed, then going back to my bedroom and reading for my term paper until suppertime.

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“Around fifty years ago, most developed countries added gender dysphoria to the list of things they test for and treat prenatally. Over the next few years, researchers’ attention shifted focus toward prenatal sex reassignment. Adult sex reassignment was done by fewer doctors and hospitals every year; no young doctors were going into a field where the supply of new patients had dried up. By now, I’m pretty sure all the surgeons, psychologists and endocrinologists with experience in that area have retired.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 4 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

I apologize for the delay on this chapter. I've had Internet connection problems.

---

---

Dad and I ate supper alone, as Mom and Mildred were at Uncle Greg’s clinic. They didn’t come home until after eight o’clock, and when they did, Mildred was wearing new clothes that pretty much fit her, and had a couple of bags of other clothes.

“We’ll need to do some more serious clothes shopping this weekend,” Mom said, “at the mall in Rome, maybe... And depending on how long we spend at the Twist specialist, we might have time to stop at a mall in Atlanta on the way home.”

“It won’t help,” Mildred said. “I’ll still be ugly however nice clothes I have.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” I blurted. “I mean... all those colors in your scales, and the patterns, especially in the sunlight...”

“Would you want to look like this?” she asked.

“No, but... I think that’s at least partly my Twist. It’s making me want to look a particular way — I’m not sure how yet. I think before my Twist, I’d much rather have looked like you than like Paul, or some of the guests we saw at Kerry’s wedding.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice,” she said, “and I appreciate it, but just don’t, okay?”

I didn’t say anything to that; I realized that this was just like me not believing Mom when she said she liked the way I looked with or without the goatee. I changed the subject instead, saying to Mom:

“Um... I hate to break it to you, but I think I’m going to need new clothes too.”

“What? Why?”

“I was talking with Uncle Greg about what I’d been feeling and thinking, and we figured out that I need to wear something different now. I’m not sure what, yet. I hope if I look around at a clothing store I’ll see something that clicks with me.”

She sighed. “All right, we’ll do that. Do you think you’ll need to dress more formally, like your father?”

“Maybe... I don’t think that’s it. At least I don’t feel any obvious desire to wear a suit and tie.” Now that I thought of it, I particularly didn’t want to wear a tie; I’d never enjoyed wearing a tie at weddings and funerals, but I could put up with it. Now I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to wear one at all.

Mildred and Mom ate some of the leftovers from the supper Dad and I had cooked, and we went to bed, or at least to our bedrooms. I stayed up a while longer, running the recordings from my conversations with Dad, Mom and Mildred through a speech-to-text program and then picking out the sentences that seemed inexplicably wrong to copy into the file I’d started earlier. I couldn’t see any obvious pattern to them yet.

---

After what Uncle Jack had said, I’d decided to write down as much as I could remember of my dreams. This is what I wrote that Thursday morning:

I’m at school, I think, though not any particular real classroom. And I’m wearing something ridiculously inappropriate — I can’t remember exactly what, but I think a swimsuit and a big hat and boxing gloves. Nobody notices, though.

Then the teacher — not a teacher I’ve ever actually had, or anybody I’ve ever met — calls on me, but he doesn’t say “Cyrus”, he says some other name I can’t remember now, and I answer the question, only I can’t remember the question or the answer now.

After I wrote that down, I went to the bathroom. It was occupied, so I waited a while, and then knocked on the door and said: “Can you hurry up? I really need to go.”

Mildred’s voice sounded weak: “Use Mom and Dad’s bathroom... this is going to take a while.”

So I knocked on Mom and Dad’s door, and Mom answered — she was still in her nightgown. “I need to go, and Mildred’s in our bathroom,” I said.

“Is it an emergency?”

“Yes!”

“All right, go ahead... your father’s in the shower. Oswald,” she called out, “Cyrus needs to use our bathroom.”

“Very well,” Dad called from behind the shower curtain as I hurried into the bathroom. “I shall stay in here till you finish.”

Something Mom had said had bothered me, and I tried to remember her exact words so I could write them down. I peed, and washed my hands, and went back to my room — Mom had already gone downstairs by the time I left the bathroom, and Mildred was still in ours.

A little later I found Mom and Uncle Jack downstairs drinking coffee and fixing breakfast. Mom was telling Uncle Jack about Mildred’s Twist.

“We’re going to the Twist specialists today,” she said to me. “I called them yesterday right after Mildred’s Twist, and they called back and left a message with an appointment time while we were at Uncle Greg’s clinic.”

“Good,” I said. “Maybe they can help me figure this thing out. And maybe they can help Mildred.”

“I hope so... she’s really upset. She doesn’t want to go back to school.”

Dad came downstairs, all dressed for the day, before Mildred left the bathroom. About that time Mom went to check on her, and returned with her fifteen minutes later. I’m not sure how I could tell that Mildred was embarrassed — she can’t blush anymore, and her facial features are so unusual that you can’t rely on the same cues you do with a norm. But I could tell.

“I think Mildred’s going to need a special diet,” was all Mom said. “Hopefully the Twist specialists can help us figure out what.”

A while later, after Dad left for work, the rest of us left to go see the Twist specialists in Atlanta. Uncle Jack said he’d keep us company while we waited, and go for a long walk around the neighborhood while we were seeing the doctors. And his stories about his travels helped distract me from my discomfort and Mildred from her misery, though we talked about other things as well, mainly our Twists and what we could do about them. Mildred wanted to move to Spiral — by herself if necessary, going to live with Kerry and Jeff or some other relatives and going to school there — or, if she had to stay in Trittsville, to home-school. Mom said she’d talk to Dad about maybe home-schooling her, but they wanted her to try going back to school first, and that if she was going to Spiral, so were the rest of us.

“And maybe we’ll wait until Cyrus graduates from high school — do you think you could wait that long, honey, so your brother can finish school here?”

Mildred shot me a resentful glance, as if that were my fault, and I hastily spoke up: “I don’t mind moving to Spiral in the middle of a school year if that’s what’s best for Mildred. And I don’t understand my own Twist very well yet; I might be in a hurry to move to Spiral myself in a few days.”

The Twist specialists our family uses are at the Emory Clinic, east of downtown Atlanta, right next to Emory University and to a beautiful neighborhood with houses a hundred and fifty to two hundred years old. Uncle Jack told us about some neat things he’d seen around there, including a monument that encouraged students to figure out what gravity is and how it can be controlled. We had a long walk from the parking deck to the clinic, and then a fairly long wait in the waiting room.

The Twist clinic’s waiting room was partitioned off from the waiting rooms for other clinics. There were several people waiting there when we arrived: a boy about Mildred’s age or a little older with grey, rocky skin, with a beautiful woman who acted like his mother but didn’t look old enough to have a son his age (not that that meant anything with Twisted), and a pretty girl about my age with a woman who seemed to be her mother. When we walked in, the boy was showing off his trick, juggling several pebbles without touching them, trying to impress the girl, and the girl was steadfastly ignoring him. She seemed to be embarrassed, whether at being hit on by a boy younger than her, or because she didn’t have clothes that fit her Twisted body yet; her blouse was way too tight.

When we came in and sat down, the boy came over to us and showed off his trick. “Do you have any tricks?” he asked us.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “My uncle thinks I probably do, but he’s not sure.”

“How would your uncle know if you don’t?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“What about you?” the boy said to Mildred.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Uncle Greg said maybe.”

The grey-skinned boy’s mother came over and started talking to Mom. The boy went on enthusing:

“Isn’t this awesome? I was hoping I’d be able to fly or teleport after I Twisted, but this is almost as good!”

“Have you ever heard of any Twisted that can teleport?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah; it’s pretty rare, and they can’t jump very far, but I’ve heard about a couple. I’m Bobby, what’s your name?”

I hesitated a moment before saying, “I’m Cyrus.” When Mildred didn’t speak up right away, I added: “And this is my sister Mildred. We both just Twisted.”

“Awesome! Like, at the same time? What were you doing?”

“It was on different days,” Mildred said. “He Twisted at school during lunch on Tuesday, and I Twisted yesterday during P.E. This guy in my class found a snake, and he said it wasn’t poisonous, and it didn’t look like the poisonous snakes native to Georgia we’d studied, and he was letting people touch it, and I wanted to touch it too, but it twisted around and I think it bit me. And just then my Twist started, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in the school office with snake-skin.”

“Awesome!”

“Are you kidding?” she burst out. “I could have gotten lucky like her,” pointing at the well-endowed girl who was ignoring us or at least trying to appear as though she were, “and I turn ugly instead.”

“You’re not ugly!” he said, surprised. “I mean, you’re not pretty the same way as her, I guess, but... she looks like a norm. Unless she shows off her trick, if she even has one, you wouldn’t know she’s Twisted. You’re... wow, I’ll bet there’s nobody like you anywhere, even any other Twisted.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Mildred asked, incredulous.

“Actually,” Uncle Jack put in quietly (he’d seemed to be half-listening to Mom’s conversation with Bobby’s mom, and half to us) “if I’m not mistaken, she’s as uncomfortable with her Twist right now as either of you.”

“How do you mean?” I asked. “She looks... yeah, I can see that she looks uncomfortable. But I’ll bet she’ll get used to being gorgeous a lot sooner than Mildred gets used to having snake skin.”

“She might take as long as that to get used to being female.”

I thought about that, and sneaked another couple of glances at her, wondering how Uncle Jack could tell. I’d heard of Twisted who changed sex, and even met one — the best man at Jeff and Kerry’s wedding had been a girl until he was fifteen. But it had never happened in our family, or among the few Twisted in Trittsville who weren’t related to us. It reminded me of Erin Ann Pendergrass; if this girl hadn’t gotten a mental Twist to go with her physical Twist, she’d be as miserable having a girl’s body as Governor Pendergrass had been before her... what did they call it? Transition. Still, at the moment I couldn’t really bring myself to pity her.

“I’d rather be like her than Mildred, though.” Mildred looked hurt at that, and I was sorry I’d said it, but I couldn’t take it back. To change the subject I said to Bobby: “You seem pretty pleased with your Twist. Being grey like that doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah,” he said. “It might be annoying sometimes, but I’d rather look weird and have a cool trick than look normal and have no trick, or a weird compulsion.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I haven’t even figured out what my compulsions are and they’re driving me crazy already.”

Just then one of the nurses came out and called Bobby back; his mother said goodbye to Mom and went with him. I thought about talking to the girl Uncle Jack thought used to be a boy, but she looked like she wanted to be left alone, so I worked on my tablet instead, processing and analyzing the recorded conversations from breakfast and the ride down here and so forth. I still didn’t see any obvious pattern in the sentences that seemed wrong to me, but I looked around on the net and found a tool for calculating word frequencies in a text, and used that. And then it popped out — at least part of it.

Besides the basic grammar-words like “the, of, he,” and so forth, the most common word in those sentences was “Cyrus.” That’s when I realized, and I said: “I don’t like my name.”

“What?” Mom asked.

“My name. I think... I’m not sure yet. I want to be called something different, but I’m not sure what yet.” It felt like I needed to discover my new name, I couldn’t just make one up.

“Just your first name?” Uncle Jack asked. “Do you still —?”

“Harper is fine,” I interrupted hastily. “I like being a Harper. I just don’t like ‘Cyrus’.” After a pause for thought, I added: “Or ‘Andrew’.” That was my middle name.

Mom looked at a loss. “I understand... I think. I’m sure your father will understand. Your grandpa Newell, well —”

Andrew was Mom’s father’s name. Her parents weren’t Twisted, and they might be less understanding of Twist compulsions than the Harpers. Cyrus was just a name Dad liked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t help it. Maybe I’ll let Grandpa and Grandma Newell keep calling me Cyrus Andrew and use my new name, whatever it is, only with people in Trittsville...”

“No, do what you need to do,” Mom said.

I thought about looking up a database of names and their origins and trying to figure out what my new name should be, but I decided to work on my paper instead. Half an hour passed; the nurse called for “Richard Lyell,” and the girl and her mother got up and followed her. Apparently Uncle Jack was right. I could sort of see it in the way she walked. There’s another person who’ll probably need a new name, I thought. I went back to work on my term paper, wondering if I could find anything about why Governor Pendergrass had chosen the name “Erin Ann.”

Then the nurse called for me and Mildred. Uncle Jack stood up as we did, and said: “I reckon I’ll go for a walk now; I’ll be back in a couple of hours, sooner if you call or message me and tell me you’re done early.”

“I think it’ll take at least that long,” Mom said. Uncle Jack left, and we followed the nurse back down the hall to a pair of neighboring exam rooms with a connecting door, ones they used for siblings of opposite sexes.

“You know the drill,” the nurse, Eileen, said. “Get into the hospital gowns and I’ll come and take you for your scans.”

Mom went in the left-hand room with Mildred, and I went in the other room and made sure the connecting door was shut. I changed into the hospital gown Eileen had left on the exam table, and sat down with my tablet to read for a minute before she opened the door and looked in.

“Ready? Come on.”

Mildred and I followed her down the hall to a couple of different rooms; we took turns standing in front of or laying down inside of different kinds of scanner, like the one in Uncle Greg’s office but fancier. Then she escorted us back to the exam rooms. When I was dressed again, I picked up my tablet and started reading again, but a minute later there was a knock at the connecting door.

“Are you decent?” Mom’s voice came, muffled.

“Sure,” I said, and she opened the door.

“Just checking on you,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I think I’d better stay in here with Mildred. She’s — not taking this well.”

“I know.” Mom went back into the other room, and I read another article for my term paper.

A clinical psychologist, Dr. Oldstadt, came in a few minutes later. He asked me to tell him about my Twist, and I told him how it happened and everything Uncle Greg and I had figured out about it so far. He gave me a series of psychological tests — to compare the results with the tests I’d taken at my last visit, almost a year ago. Then he left me alone, saying he’d be back to discuss the results of the tests after I’d seen some other doctors.

Dr. Yarrow, the thaumatologist — that’s what they call a trick specialist — came in a while later. He said that the scans indicated I did indeed have a trick, exactly one, and asked if I’d figured out what it was yet, and suggested some exercises for triggering it. He took me to a long narrow room, mostly empty with shielded walls and a target at the far end, and he stood behind a transparent shield and talked me through those exercises, instructing me to concentrate my attention on the target in case my trick turned out to be something destructive. But nothing happened. He said that was fairly common, that only certain kinds of tricks could be triggered by these exercises, and that I’d just have to discover mine the old-fashioned way, letting it activate unconsciously when I needed it.

Dr. Yarrow took me back to the exam room, and a while later Dr. Oldstadt came back with a woman who introduced herself as Dr. Wentworth, a neurologist.

“Dr. Oldstadt tells me you’re not happy with the name ‘Cyrus’,” she said. “What would you like me to call you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “You can keep calling me ‘Cyrus’ until I figure out what my new name should be.”

“Well, perhaps we can help you a little way toward that by the time you leave here. I’d like to go over the differences in your scans from your last visit, most of which are probably due to your Twist, and then Dr. Oldstadt will have some other things to talk to you about...”

She pulled up holograms of two scans, just of my head, and peeled back the skin and bone to show the brain, then started highlighting particular regions of the brain and talking about how they had changed. One of them she said was for managing my trick, whatever it was, and the others... well, she went on for a while and I can’t remember exactly what she said. The layperson’s summary was that I seemed to have a lot of small, subtle personality changes, and some major changes to my concept of my self, but that there didn’t seem to be any evidence that I was a sociopath or psychopath.

“That’s... good to hear. I mean, I don’t want to hurt anybody, but it’s nice to hear that I’m probably not going to start wanting to hurt people either. I’m still finding out things about my Twist, like until an hour or so ago I didn’t realize I didn’t like the name ‘Cyrus’ anymore.”

“That, and your dissatisfaction with your appearance, are undoubtedly related to the change in your self-concept that Dr. Wentworth mentioned,” Dr. Oldstadt said. “The differences in your psychological profile tests match up with her neurological analysis: many small changes, with no obvious pattern, except that you’re less pleased with your appearance and presentation than you were before your Twist. I have some ideas, however, which I’d like to confirm by doing some additional tests...”

“Great,” I said with a sigh. “Sure, let’s do them. I want to figure this out.”

So they took me down the hall to another room, sat me in a comfortable chair, and set up the sensors of another scanner all around my head. Then they dimmed the lights and showed me a long series of pictures — mostly people, both sexes and all races and ages, wearing all kinds of different clothes, mostly modern but a lot of them in old-fashioned clothes from various periods, or superheroes in costume from old movies, or military uniforms. Some of the pictures stayed up for several seconds, some disappeared and were replaced by others before I could consciously take in any details.

Then the lights came back up, and they told me I could get up and go back to the exam room. A little later Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth came in.

“So what did you find out, with that last test?” I asked.

Dr. Oldstadt said: “You’ll recall that we talked earlier about an exercise someone — I think your uncle? — had suggested: looking at various images of people, wearing various kinds of clothing, and trying to pin down these feelings that you ought to look somehow different.”

“Right. So that was what this was about? You could have told me what to look for —”

“That wasn’t necessary, and might have been counterproductive. We watched how various parts of your brain reacted to different images, and how your eyes tracked across them, what details they focused on first and which they lingered on longest. Here are some of the images you seemed to show the greatest interest in...”

He brought up an array of pictures on the wall display. One was an old painting of a young woman wearing a long blue dress with a lot of fancy ornamentation that I didn’t know the names of then. Another was a photo of a slightly older woman holding a baby; she was wearing a simpler but still pretty dress. Another showed a man and woman about Mom and Dad’s age, both wearing formal dress. At this date I don’t remember all of the pictures, but most of them were like that — there was a woman in almost all of the pictures, some showed just a woman by herself, and most of the women were wearing nice clothes.

“So... I spent more time looking at the pictures of women? That’s not surprising, I guess.” I could feel myself blushing.

“Yes,” said Dr. Oldstadt, “but... you spent more time looking at these images than at certain others. Do you recall there were several images of women in bathing suits, or short skirts, or otherwise wearing fewer clothes than most of these?”

“Oh... Yeah, I guess so.”

“Perhaps you should ask yourself: is it these women’s bodies that interest you, or their clothes?”

Realization dawned. I looked again at the painting of the woman in the blue dress, and said: “I’d really like a dress like that. Those, um, decorative things on the upper sleeves and so forth make it look really nice. But I’m afraid it would look silly on me.”

“If you could wear it without looking silly, would you?” asked Dr. Oldstadt.

“Yes!” More and more pieces were falling into place.

“Would you rather look like the woman in that picture, at least in some respects, than the way you look now?”

“...Yes,” I said slowly, and then: “I see what’s wrong now. I’m supposed to be a girl.”

Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth looked at each other for a moment, and then back to me. Dr. Wentworth said:

“There is a lot of variation between individual people’s brains. There is more variation between the brains of individual men, or individual women, than there is between the brain of the ‘average’ man and that of the ‘average’ woman. But whichever aspect of brain function or structure I look at — grey matter to white matter ratio, size of the corpus callosum, response of the amygdala to emotionally intense images — on all of the measures I’ve looked at, your brain is now more like the average female brain than it was before.”

“So I’ve got a girl’s brain, then.” Things were making sense now. Dr. Wentworth looked pained, and said:

“That is an oversimplification; I was trying to explain how there isn’t exactly any such thing as a male brain or a female brain, in the unambiguous way we can talk about a male or female reproductive system. But, to some extent... well, yes, let’s just say you have a girl’s brain.”

“It all makes so much sense now!” And then I thought of something, and got out my tablet. “Look, this is the list of things people have said in the last few days that seemed somehow wrong. Here’s one where Dad was calling me ‘son’, and another, and here’s one where Uncle Jack is saying something to Mildred about ‘your brother’, and here’s Mildred saying ‘my brother’... and, oh, I see, this one’s wrong because Mom’s talking about me and saying ‘he’ and ‘him’.”

“You sound... excited,” Dr. Oldstadt remarked.

“I’m like Archimedes jumping out of the bathtub and running down the street yelling ‘Eureka.’ I’ve figured out my Twist! Well, y’all figured out most of it, but... anyway, what do we do next?”

“What would you like to do next?”

“Well, I know that people who are born like this normally have to go through counseling for a while before they start getting hormones, and then they have to wait at least another year before they get surgery, but could I maybe skip some of that since this is part of my Twist and we both know I’m not going to change my mind?”

Dr. Oldstadt stared at me. “You’ve already thought this through, then. How much were you holding back when we spoke earlier? You must have already known or strongly suspected —”

“No,” I said. “I’m kicking myself for not figuring it out sooner, 'cause it seems obvious now, but somehow I didn’t put all the pieces together until you asked me what I liked about those pictures.”

“Then how is it you’ve already made up your mind to start hormone replacement therapy and get sex reassignment surgery as soon as possible?”

I thought about that. “It just seems like the obvious thing to do.”

“Hmm. I suppose your Twist accounts for your eagerness to move through your transition as quickly as possible. What I’m curious about is how you know all this... I would have expected you, at most, to be asking me what modern medicine can do to give you a more feminine appearance — not to tell me what specific treatments you’d like and when. If you didn’t know you were transgendered until a few moments ago, when and why did you learn all this?”

“Oh. I’m doing a term paper on Erin Ann Pendergrass — didn’t I say?”

Dr. Oldstadt slapped his hand to his forehead and sighed. “No.”

“I was reading for it when my Twist happened...”

“You might have thought to mention that detail! Who knows, it might be important!” Dr. Wentworth put a hand on his arm, and he took a deep breath. “Well. Never mind that. So, I gather that you know what the state of the art was ninety-some years ago when Ms. Pendergrass went through her transition...”

“Yeah... oh. They’ve got something better now, don’t they?”

“Yes and no. Around fifty years ago, most developed countries added gender dysphoria to the list of things they test for and treat prenatally. The technology for adult sex reassignment had improved a fair bit since Ms. Pendergrass‘ time, but over the next few years, researchers’ attention shifted focus toward prenatal sex reassignment, both neurological and physiological. After that, adult sex reassignment was done by fewer doctors and hospitals every year; no young doctors were going into a field where the supply of new patients had dried up. By now, I’m pretty sure all the surgeons, psychologists and endocrinologists with experience in that area have retired.”

Well, that was enough to kill my eureka. “So there’s nothing we can do?”

“Not ‘nothing,’” he said. “But it won’t be as easy as it would have been back when there was a regular infrastructure for handling cases like yours. I’ll make inquiries, and put you in touch with appropriate doctors, but it will take some time.”

Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth left then, and a little later Mom opened the connecting door and came in.

“How’s Mildred doing?” I asked.

“She’s getting some more tests done — she’s still pretty upset about her Twist, but she’s feeling a little more cheerful since she discovered her trick.”

“Cool! What is it?”

“I’ll let her have the pleasure of showing you later.”

And let herself have the pleasure of making me wait, I thought.

“What about you?” she continued. “Have they figured out much?”

“I definitely have exactly one trick, like Uncle Greg thought, but I still don’t know what it is.” I took a deep breath. “And apparently I have a girl brain, and that’s why I’ve been feeling weird and uncomfortable, because I’m supposed to have a girl body to go with it, but Dr. Oldstadt says he’s not sure they can fix me.”

She looked stunned. “And... you were talking about feeling you needed different clothes. I suppose you’ll want to wear girl’s clothes?”

“Could I, do you think? I know they wouldn’t look right on me until we get my body fixed, but... I think I need to.”

“We’ll figure something out, honey. Whatever you need.” She was silent for a few moments. “What about ‘Ursula’?”

That was her mother’s name. I didn’t want to make her feel bad, but I had to tell her: “That sounds better than ‘Cyrus’, but still not right. Thanks for trying to help, though.”

“We’ll figure it out... what about ‘Diane’? ‘Theresa’? ‘Bonnie’?...”

We were still talking about possible names when Dr. Oldstadt came back in. He told Mom what he and Dr. Wentworth had told me, about the results of the tests and the fact that nobody these days knew how to do adult sex reassignment. Mom asked a lot of questions, about what would be involved with the hormones and surgery if we could find a doctor willing to do them, and they had her fill out some paperwork so they could file for my Twist stipend, to pay for girl clothes and stuff. Dr. Oldstadt said he would call us after trying to find someone to help me, and a few minutes later one of the nurses brought Mildred back from whatever test she’d been getting done.

“Mom told me you found out what your trick is,” I said to Mildred. I wanted to postpone talking about what I’d found out about myself. Mildred grinned — the first time I’d seen her do that since before her Twist.

“I’ll show you later — maybe when we get home.”

Then a Dr. Carter came in and said he wanted to talk to Mom about Mildred’s test results; she and Mildred went back in other other room and closed the door, and I read for my term paper for another twenty or thirty minutes before Mom opened the connecting door and said we were ready to go.

Uncle Jack was in the waiting room, chatting with a pair of twin boys about Mildred’s age and their mother. He looked up at us and asked, “Ready?”

“Yes,” Mom said. Uncle Jack said goodbye to the people he’d been talking with, and we all set out on the long walk to the parking deck.

“So what did you find out?” Uncle Jack asked.

Mom gave me a speculative look, and when I didn’t speak up right away, she said: “Mildred is what they call an ‘obligate carnivore’. She apparently can’t digest much else besides meat and eggs now — that’s probably why she was sick this morning.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Uncle Jack said.

“And... she’s cold-blooded, now. I mean she doesn’t have a thermostat, she’s about as warm or cold as her surroundings. Uncle Greg thought so, but he wasn’t sure, and today Dr. Carter did some tests...”

I’m not sure what Mom said next because I was distracted by something moving in the corner of my eye. I turned and it was gone. Then Mildred was saying “...think I might hibernate if I don’t keep warm enough all winter,” and about that time I was distracted by something moving in an alcove with a water fountain and the entrances to a couple of restrooms. I stopped for a moment to look, but whatever it was was gone.

“Do you need to stop and use the restroom?” Mom said. “That’s probably a good idea, we’ll be on the road for a while.”

“Sure,” I said, and hesitated for a moment between the restrooms before reluctantly going into the men’s room.

When we’d all gathered in the hallway again, and started off toward the parking deck, I said: “I didn’t hear everything you said about Mildred’s Twist. About her being cold-blooded, and maybe hibernating?”

They started to explain again — how it was important for Mildred to keep warm enough and not get too hot, that it wouldn’t be enough for her to wear a coat and gloves and so forth in the winter, she’d need to stay indoors where it was heated as much as she could. I was distracted a couple more times by something moving disturbingly in the corner of my eye, and then I stopped short, yelling: “Where did that come from?”

There was a big coral snake, five or six feet long, lying in the middle of the hallway. Or was it a king snake? At the moment I was too rattled to look carefully at what order the stripes were in; I just took a step back, as did Uncle Jack. Mom looked at Mildred and sighed; Mildred looked from me to Uncle Jack and then burst out giggling. The snake vanished.

“Now that Mildred’s shown you her trick, perhaps we can talk about your Twist,” Mom said. I hesitated, and Mildred spoke up:

“What kind of snake did you see?”

“A coral snake, I think, or a king snake — it disappeared before I could check.”

Uncle Jack looked surprised. “I saw a cobra.”

Mildred nodded. “Maybe I’ll get better control of that. Wanna help me practice?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Not here, please,” Mom said, and kept us moving. A few moments later she asked me, “Honey, do you want to tell them what we found out, or shall I?”

“I’ll tell them... can we wait till we get to the car, though?” Some people on their way from the parking deck to the clinic were passing us.

Mildred looked at me curiously, and Uncle Jack uneasily, but nobody insisted. I waited until we were all buckled in and Mom had started the car before I said:

“Earlier Mom and I were talking about names. Other than ‘Cyrus,’ I mean, since that doesn’t feel right anymore. And I still don’t know what I want to be called, but I’ve narrowed it down a lot, and of the names Mom and I talked about, there’s one that’s not quite right but it’s a lot better than ‘Cyrus’, and I guess can live with it until I figure out something better. You can call me ‘Amy’.”

Mildred gasped, and said: “But that’s a girl’s name!” I couldn’t see Uncle Jack’s expression from where I was sitting in the back seat, but after a few moments he nodded. I went on:

“Yeah, I’m kind of a girl now. Not all over, but in my brain, they said — that’s why my body and clothes don’t feel right.”

Mildred stared at me, and I looked away, feeling more uncomfortable than usual under her gaze. Then she burst out: “You must be feeling just as bad as me! I didn’t realize...” And then she was hugging me sideways, as best she could with our seatbelts in the way. I started crying.

“Thanks,” I whispered. Her scaly skin was cool to the touch, but it felt nice. After hugging for a good long while, maybe as much as a minute, we let go and looked at each other.

Mom and Uncle Jack were quiet and left us alone for a few minutes. Then Uncle Jack said: “So... Amy. They can probably help you, can’t they? I mean, I know there are things doctors can do for people like you. I’ve met a few people who had a surgical sex change — they weren’t Twisted, but since your Twist isn’t physical, it should work for you, unlike somebody like Paul.”

“Did they try to fix Paul?”

“They did plastic surgery on his nose and lips not long after his Twist. It was a long shot, but it occasionally works... But no, just a few weeks after the surgery he was back to looking the same way. You, though... Did the doctors say what they could do?”

I told them what Dr. Oldstadt had said, about how there was hardly anybody like me anymore, and most or all of the psychologists who used to counsel people with gender dysphoria and the surgeons who did sex reassignment had retired.

“But Dr. Oldstadt said he would talk to people and call us,” Mom added. “I’m sure all the techniques are well documented in old medical journals and so forth, and they can figure out how to help Amy.”

“I reckon so,” Uncle Jack said. “Yeah, now that you mention it, everybody I’ve ever met who had a surgical sex change was at least a few years older than me...”

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

Then the real fun began, picking out skirts and blouses and a couple of dresses. I was eager to finally try on something that was right for me, but worried that, until I got my body fixed — and who knew how long that could take, if it was even possible these days? — this stuff wouldn’t look right on me, even if it felt right to my Twisted mind.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 5 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

On the way home, we stopped at a huge mall in Marietta. We ate lunch together at the food court, and then Uncle Jack parted from us as we entered one of the department stores, saying he’d join us later.

“I wouldn’t be much help right now, helping y’all pick stuff out,” he said. “But call me if you start accumulating so much stuff that you need me to help carry it.”

“I’m sure we will,” Mom said.

I was excited and apprehensive in equal measure as we made our way to the girls' and women’s clothing section. This was the stuff I was supposed to be wearing, I knew it. But... the salespeople and other customers would look at me and think I was a boy. Would they call mall security, or even the police, if I started asking to try those things on?

No, as it turned out, though I did notice a few raised eyebrows.

Mom said: “I’ve been thinking, honey... what size breasts do you want?”

There were a lot of aspects of this girl thing that I hadn’t thought through yet. “I’m not sure. In proportion to the rest of me, I guess? Not too big and not too small... I’ll have to talk to the doctors about that, when Dr. Oldstadt finds somebody who can —”

“Yes, I’m sure, but I mean now. You’ll probably want some sort of artificial breasts under your dress or blouse, to make things look right. I’m not sure what we should use for that — bags of birdseed, or something custom-made... but either way, something on the smaller side is less likely to cause problems, I think. Less likely to get messed up while you’re wearing them.”

“That makes sense.”

“So, probably a large A cup?”

“All right.” I was a little vague about bra sizes. I thought Laura Weller had been a B cup, but I wasn’t sure... still, I trusted Mom’s judgment.

“You could use my bras, I guess,” Mildred said. “It’s not like I’m going to be needing them anymore.”

“I think Amy will need some with longer straps, even if her cup size is the same,” Mom said, “but we can try and see.” She took us to the women’s underwear department and said to a saleswoman, “My daughters have just gone through their Twists, both of them, and they’re going to need all new things. Can we get them measured for their new sizes?”

“Your... daughters?” the woman said doubtfully, looking from me to Mildred with imperfectly concealed distaste.

“My daughters,” Mom said firmly. “Can you measure them, or direct me to someone who can, or should we go to another store?”

“Certainly I can measure them,” she said. “But... perhaps you would prefer to borrow the tape measure, and measure them yourself? Especially the, ah... young man. Your former daughter, I suppose.”

“Whatever she may look like, Amy is a girl,” Mom insisted. If she didn’t see a need to correct the woman’s assumption, I didn’t either. “But if you won’t measure her, give me the measuring tape and I’ll do it.”

So the woman gave Mom a measuring tape, and directed us to the women’s dressing rooms; Mom took me in and measured me. She had me take off everything but my underwear — it was horribly embarrassing — and wrapped the tape around me in various places and stretched it out along my arms and legs.

“I see you took the hair off your arms and chest too,” she said. “When was that?”

I told her. She nodded. “We’ll buy you some depilatory cream for your legs before we go home. Now let’s see about some padded bras, first thing, and... do you want to wear panties as well?”

“Yes,” I said impulsively, and then: “Maybe... I want to, but I’m not sure they would fit. I mean, I’m not shaped right — down there... would they fit?” I was blushing hotly all over.

“I’m not sure either,” she said. “I vaguely remember hearing about men wearing panties, so it’s certainly possible, though it looks as though it would be uncomfortable... Let’s get you just a few pairs today and let you try them and see if they work.”

So I got dressed again in those boy clothes, hopefully for the last time, and waited while Mom measured Mildred. When they came out, Mom said to Mildred: “Do you want to look around on your own a bit, honey? I think Amy’s going to need my help just now, a bit more than you do.”

“I’ll help too,” Mildred said.

So Mom and Mildred led me along to the underwear section, and got me one package of panties to try out, and a larger selection of padded bras in different colors. Then the real fun began, picking out skirts and blouses and a couple of dresses. I was eager to finally try on something that was right for me, but worried that, until I got my body fixed — and who knew how long that could take, if it was even possible these days? — this stuff wouldn’t look right on me, even if it felt right to my Twisted mind. Mom and Mildred pulled out and put back probably a dozen blouses, skirts and dresses — almost all of which looked wonderful to me — for every one they let me take to the dressing room to try on; they held them up and sometimes asked me to hold them up in front of me and then explained why they didn’t suit me. I listened carefully and tried to remember everything.

Finally I took a few things into the dressing room, along with the panties and bras which Mom had already paid for. Mom told me to get the panties on and then call her. Keeping my back to to the mirror, I stripped down to my socks, shuddering and half-closing my eyes when I saw the thing between my legs that I’d been so complacent about until a couple of days ago, and then opened up the package and pulled out a pair of panties. They fit over my legs easily enough, and over my butt, but getting them to fit over my thing wasn’t easy; I tried a couple of different ways to arrange them, and neither was comfortable, but I still felt better, emotionally, once I got them on. I called Mom and told her I was ready, and she came in and helped me with the bra — picking out a blue one that would match the blouse I was about to try on. It fit, in the sense that the straps reached around my shoulders and chest without stretching, but the cups just slumped there limp and kind of sad-looking.

“We’ll fill them with something plausible soon enough,” Mom said with forced cheerfulness. “Now let’s put something over them. First the skirt —”

A couple of minutes later, I was dressed, except for shoes. My excitement had reached a peak without the apprehension ever lessening by a jot. If anything, it had increased. Despite the nagging discomfort where my extraneous bits were shoved into underwear that wasn’t designed for them, I felt better than I’d felt at any time since my Twist. But at the same time, looking down at myself, at the limp crumply bra-cups under the blouse, the unfeminine hips, the hair showing on my legs between the hem of the skirt and my socks — I knew I had a long way to go before anyone would look at me and see the girl I knew I was.

When Mom stepped back and looked me over, and her mouth opened, and she didn’t say anything for several long seconds, I felt a little worse. Or a little less great, maybe — I was still excited and happy to be wearing clothes that were right for me, but also sad that I might not be able to wear them again — except maybe at home, with people who understood me — for a long while, until I got my body fixed.

“I look ridiculous, don’t I? It’s not going to work until —”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m just — surprised, that’s all. I didn’t expect you to look so good.” She hastily went on: “I mean, I knew you would look great once we got you fixed up — but I thought we’d need at least breast prostheses; I didn’t think just putting you in the clothes your Twist makes you comfortable with would make such a huge difference.”

“Thanks for being nice, Mom,” I said. “But I need you to be honest with me. Is this going to get me beaten up if I go to school like this? I think I could stand to just wear this around the house, and wear my old clothes to school, if I have to. Until the doctors get me on hormones and they start having some effect, I guess.”

“I’m not just being a mom. Really, you look great! Turn around and look at yourself in the mirror — huh.”

I did as she’d asked, hoping she was right — but I looked just as absurd as I’d feared, a boy in a skirt who hadn’t even bothered to stuff his borrowed bra. Mom looked from the mirror to me and back again, shaking her head. “That is really odd.”

“What?”

“Your reflection doesn’t look like you!”

“How’s it different?”

She paused, and finally said: “It looks — how you were afraid you would look, I suppose. But when I look straight at you — you’re more feminine. Not dramatically different, you’re still you, you’re the same height and your hair is about the same length — maybe half an inch longer, but it’s styled differently so it’s hard to tell. But your waist is just a little narrower and your chin just a little rounder and your breasts look real. Several small changes that add up... And your voice — you’ve been pitching your voice a little higher this afternoon, I’ve noticed, but in the last few minutes you’ve gotten it sounding a lot more natural. — Come on.”

And before I could protest, she’d opened the door and was pulling me out of the changing room. Mildred wasn’t where we’d left her; she’d gotten bored waiting on us and started looking through the blouses. Mom looked around, found her, and called her; she looked up and started toward us.

“What is it, Mom? Where’s — Cyrus? I mean, Amy?” She stared at me, her mouth open. “How’d you do that?”

“I just helped her with the fastenings,” Mom said. “I think she’s doing that herself.”

“Oh!” I said, realizing that I’d discovered my trick. Mildred stared at me for several more seconds, and started crying.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom said.

“I’m never going to look that pretty again,” Mildred said. Mom moved to hug her, but I was faster. I held her tight and whispered to her,

“Don’t say that. You don’t look like you did, but you’re still beautiful, maybe even more than before.”

“Stop lying, you’re just making it worse,” she said between sobs. Mom took her from me and led her toward the dressing room. I followed and called after her, “Bobby thought you were pretty, too. You don’t think he was lying, do you?”

Mom gave me a thumbs-up before she closed the door of the dressing room. I looked around and decided to check out the rack of blouses, to see if I’d learned anything from Mom and Mildred’s quick lesson. If I looked down at myself, I still saw the outline of those crumpled bra-cups, and the narrow hips and thick waist, and a few inches of hairy legs — but I knew from what Mom said that to everyone else I looked feminine, and from what Mildred said, even pretty. I felt wonderful, and my compassion for Mildred only put a slight dent in that wonderful feeling.

I stayed close to the dressing room, though, and when Mildred came out wearing the blouse she’d been looking at when I startled her, I swooped in and said, at random, “That looks great! The color really complements your scales.” I had no idea if it complemented or clashed, but I wanted to boost her ego, to repay her for the wonderful boost she’d given mine. Apparently I’d guessed right, because Mom said:

“I think solid colors like this will work better for you now, honey. We might can find patterns that work well with the pattern of your scales, but most of them won’t.”

Mildred hugged me. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Did Bobby really say I was pretty?” she whispered. “I thought he just said I wasn’t ugly.”

I tried to remember his exact words. “Maybe you’re right. But from the way he was acting, I think he thought you were pretty but he was too shy to say so outright. He couldn’t sit quiet and let you say you were ugly, though.”

“He couldn’t sit quiet, period,” she said, and giggled.

“Girls,” Mom said, with a smile, “we need to try on a few more things and go if we’re going to get home at a decent hour. Amy, do you want me to help you with the next set?”

“It might help. Thanks, Mom.”

I tried on several more blouses and skirts, and two dresses. All of them looked good on me, Mom said, if she looked straight at me; but I could tell, and so could Mom if she looked at me in the mirror, that a couple of them didn’t fit right. They fit even less well than the others, that is. Mom kept going back and forth from my dressing room to Mildred’s, giving her opinion of this and that. Then we moved on to the sleepwear department; I got a nightgown and Mildred got some pajamas that would fit her taller body. I got a cute purse that went really well with one of the dresses and okay with the other, and one new pair of formal shoes; I wanted to get new tennis shoes as well, but Mom finally balked, and talked me into getting some girly shoelaces for my old tennis shoes (which weren’t all that old, or all that masculine for that matter).

Finally Mom phoned Uncle Jack and asked him to meet us at the checkout counter and help tote our purchases to the car. Mom delegated me to return the measuring tape to the lady who’d been mean to me and Mildred; I enjoyed the look on her face when she saw me, and after puzzling over me for a moment, finally connected me with the apparent boy she’d seen a little while ago and had refused to take the measurements of.

---

Uncle Jack walked into the store while we were at the checkout counter. He looked around for us, and spotted Mildred first — she catches your eye at a distance. “Hey, Mildred,” he said, approaching us, and then, seeing Mom, “Hey, Kate. Where’s, um, Amy?”

Mildred and I looked at each other and stifled giggles. Mom smiled and said, “She’s around here somewhere. Oh, and she’s figured out what her trick is, but since Mildred got to surprise you with hers, I’ll let Amy do the same.”

“Great!” I kept quiet, and waited for him to notice me and figure out who I was. I was standing behind Mom and Mildred, and probably at first Uncle Jack thought I was with the lady in line behind us. I was wearing the blue blouse I’d tried on first, with a white knee-length skirt, which Mom had paid for earlier; only my shoes were the same, and he couldn’t see them from where he was standing.

It wasn’t until Mom finished checking out, and Uncle Jack hefted the heaviest of our bags and Mom, Mildred and I picked up the others, that he figured it out. He started to say, “Shouldn’t we wait for —” and then stopped short, and looked at me, and said: “Well. You clean up good.”

“Thanks,” I said, and Mildred burst out laughing; it was contagious, and I joined in.

He kept stealing sidelong glances at me as we headed toward the car, and then said: “So, your mom said you were going to surprise me with your trick...”

“I already did,” I said, and he nodded.

“That’s wonderful for you. Is it —” He looked around, and said in a lower voice: “Is it all better now? You aren’t going to need, um, those other doctors...?”

“No,” I said, “it’s an illusion like Aunt Rhoda’s.”

“Or mine,” Mildred added proudly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t work on my reflection in a mirror. But it’s still pretty neat.”

“So what exactly are you doing to make us see you like that?”

I shrugged. “How do you know which way is north? I didn’t even know I was doing it until Mom told me I was suddenly looking, um, a lot more feminine. And I still can’t feel anything different — I don’t even look different to myself, so I’m not sure what y’all are seeing.”

“Hmm. If it doesn’t work on mirrors, what about cameras?”

“Let’s find out...” But I thought I already knew. Mildred snapped a picture of me with her phone, and gasped when she looked at it.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” I asked. She shook her head.

“Then delete it without showing it to me, please.”

“Okay.”

“It looks like you’re affecting people’s minds,” Uncle Jack, “not the light bouncing off you the way Rhoda does. If you can get conscious control of that — you too, Mildred — it could be really versatile. You could probably affect the way people see your reflection, too, just for a start.”

We talked about ways to test our tricks and maybe get better control of them on the way to the car and for a few miles down the road. Then conversation lagged, and I got out my tablet and read for my term paper for a few minutes.

Mildred suddenly said to me: “Bobby’s Twisted.”

“So are we,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — probably the only guys who’d think I’m pretty are Twisted. And the only boys at school who are Twisted, or might turn out to be Twisted, are my cousins.”

I thought about that. “Maybe Twisted are more likely to see straight, and realize how pretty you are, instead of just going ‘ooh, snake.’ But I’m pretty sure some normal guys would, too. And — what about Bobby?”

She thought for a moment, and frowned. “Yeah, he’s kind of nice. But I don’t know his last name, or where he lives, and if I ask the doctors they won’t tell me, because of patient confidentiality and stuff.”

“They won’t just give you his phone number, but if you ask them to pass him a message, maybe they would.”

“You think?”

“It’s worth a try.”

We looked at the Twist clinic site on my tablet and figured out how to send a message to the secretary. Mom looked at Uncle Jack and said: “She only figured out she’s a girl a few hours ago, and she’s already giving her little sister dating advice.” I blushed, and Mildred would have if her scales didn’t give her an unfair advantage.

But that got me thinking, and I realized I was going to have problems of that kind too, maybe just as bad as Mildred’s. I needed to tell Sarah Kendall about this, and I had no idea what she’d think and say. Would she be grossed out, or just not interested in me anymore? And was I still interested in her the same way as I was before my Twist? I wasn’t sure, and trying to analyze my feelings didn’t help, not right away. I started drafting a message to her, but right about then we got into a rural area where Internet access was spotty, and it was just as well; I needed to think about that message more before I sent it. On second thought, it would be even better if I talked to her about it in person.

When we got into Trittsville, we stopped at the drugstore for more depilatory cream and some other things Mom needed. As we turned off the highway onto the street leading to our house, I started worrying: Dad was about to see the new me, and he hadn’t had any warning. As far as I knew... “Mom, did you message Dad about me being a girl?”

“No,” she said with a sigh. “I meant to, but... we’ve been kind of busy. I’m afraid he’s going to be — we were prepared for you to change drastically when you Twisted — at least, I’m sure he was, and I thought I was, but — changing like this two days after your Twist, well. He may be a bit shocked.”

“No ‘may be’ about it,” Uncle Jack said. “He’s as near imperturbable as anybody I know, but this will perturb him. At least a little bit around the edges. He’ll come round, though.”

My gut clenched as Mom parked and the others unfastened their seat belts. I sat there staring unseeing at the article displayed on my tablet for several seconds before my hand moved slowly to my seat belt.

“I’ll go first, and distract him,” Mildred whispered; she got out of the car and was up the porch steps and into the house like a shot, before I even had my door open. Mom opened the trunk and we got out several of our purchases, Uncle Jack carrying more than his share, before we followed her. I trailed along behind Mom and Uncle Jack; when Mom noticed that, she hung back and took my arm.

“It will be okay,” she said. We walked up the porch steps and followed Uncle Jack into the house.

Dad was saying, in a tense voice, “— to your room, Mildred — your uncle and I will take care of this. John, would you be so good as to — Katherine, please stay on the porch for the moment — or — wait, who is...?”

I couldn’t see the snake that Mildred was apparently making Dad see, but from the way he was standing and keeping his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor three feet to the left of the easy chair, his glance darting away briefly to Uncle Jack and Mom and me as we came in and then back to the spot on the floor, that’s probably where he thought it was. Uncle Jack couldn’t see it either, he told us later, but he played along with Mildred’s joke, and said, “Sure, Oswald — you want me to go out and get a hoe from the shed?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Uncle Jack set down the bags he was carrying, winked at us and walked out the front door. I wasn’t sure what I should say or do, so for the moment I said nothing. Mildred said: “But Dad, I haven’t finished telling you about —”

“Not now, Mildred; please go upstairs. Perhaps it will not molest you, due to — but I should not like to — oh. Where did it go?” He glanced around frantically, and said to Mom and me, “Please go out into the yard — I think it must have crawled under the chair or sofa —”

Mildred couldn’t keep a straight face anymore, and burst out laughing. “I was trying to tell you, Dad, I discovered my trick today. Watch!” And Dad reacted to the appearance of another snake visible only to him.

“Another one?” he asked, and then looked at Mildred. “Are you causing these creatures to manifest?”

“Keep your eyes on it,” she said, and then, when he looked back at the putative snake, “Presto!” He looked back up from the vanished snake and said:

“I congratulate you, Mildred, on discovering your trick. Your mother and I will discuss the appropriate punishment for using it in so inappropriate a way later, after supper.” He relaxed just a hair — he was still very formal, but the tension and worry was gone. “Good evening, Katherine. Who is — Cyrus? Is that you?”

“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I kind of figured out my trick, too.”

Dad stared at me for a moment, and said: “I suppose you have a great deal to tell me. Come, supper is on the stove and in the oven; let us begin eating before we talk.”

Uncle Jack came back in then; of course he hadn’t really gone for the hoe, he’d just stepped out of sight on the porch and listened to Mildred’s joke play out. We sat down to eat — Dad had made a roast and baked vegetables. Dad was obviously bursting with curiosity, but he didn’t say anything about our Twists while we were serving our plates and sitting down except: “Your mother informed me, Mildred, that you are now a carnivore; so I prepared this roast chiefly for you.”

Finally, when Dad had asked the blessing and we’d all eaten enough to take the edge off our hunger, Dad said: “If you would care to inform me of what you learned at the clinic today, I must confess I am curious.”

Uncle Jack, Mom and Mildred looked at me, and I took my time swallowing a mouthful of potatoes and carrots and taking a sip of tea, thinking about what to say. “Well, Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth figured out I have a girl brain now. And when they told me about that, I realized what all those vague feelings I’d been having meant, wanting to look different and wear something different. And about things people said being wrong. I need to be a girl physically, too, only that’s going to take a while because the doctors who used to fix people like me are all retired or dead, and I need to wear girl clothes. And it felt wrong when people called me ‘Cyrus’ or talked about me saying ‘he’ and ‘him’. I’m still not sure what my girl name should be but I’m going by ‘Amy’ for now because that feels, well, less wrong than any of the others Mom and I talked about.”

Dad took that in, and instead of asking me all the questions I was expecting right away, he turned to Mildred and said: “Mildred, your mother informed me that you are now a carnivore, and you demonstrated your trick. Did you learn anything else of note today?”

“I’m cold-blooded,” she said, looking away from him at an empty corner of the room. “They said I might go into hibernation if I don’t keep warm enough all winter. And I can’t go outside in the winter in just a coat and hat and gloves, I have to stay in warm heated places as much as I can. And I might get overheated in the summer, but that’s less likely than freezing in the winter; they think I can probably stand temperatures that would kill a normal human. Um, and if it wasn’t obvious, I can use my trick on one person or several people at once, and it doesn’t always affect all of them the same way — they might not all see the same kind of snake in the same spot.”

“I see. John, would you be so good as to help me inspect our insulation this weekend? Perhaps we should also install additional heaters in Mildred’s room, and the young people’s bathroom.”

“Sounds good,” Uncle Jack said. “I’m in.”

Dad was silent for a few moments, and then turned to me. “Ah, Amy. I gather that your mother took you shopping for clothes on the way home from the clinic?”

“We stayed under budget,” Mom said, and added under her breath, “barely.” And then: “We just bought a few days' worth of things today; we can wait until after their Twist stipends come in before we buy everything else they’ll need long-term.”

“I was afraid they wouldn’t fit,” I added, “the girl clothes I mean — and they don’t quite, but then I discovered my trick, and I can make it look like my clothes fit me better than they really do, so that’s pretty cool.”

“Indeed. A trick that ensures you are always well-dressed is a valuable thing to have.” He smiled. “But is that the only effect of your trick? It appears that — well —” He wasn’t at a loss for words very often, but for a few seconds there he seemed to be. Then he found the words he was looking for, and went on: “You seem to be different physically as well.”

“I’m not,” I said. “It just looks that way.”

Mom said: “It’s not so much that the trick makes it look like her clothes fit her, it’s more that it makes her look like she has the figure for the clothes.”

“And it doesn’t work on mirrors, or on me,” I said. “So I don’t really know what I look like to you, except from how you describe me. I’m not even sure if I look the same to everybody who sees me; it might be like Mildred’s trick.”

“Similar in what way?” Dad asked.

“If I make two different people see snakes, they might not see the same kind of snake,” Mildred put in. “We should test that later.”

We did some more tests after supper. Of course the camera couldn’t catch Mildred’s snakes either, not that we expected it to. She could make snakes appear in the mirror — but the “reflected” snake didn’t match the “real” snake’s coloration or movements. That was when Mildred realized she could make somebody see more than one snake at a time.

About that time, Dad told us we needed to get to bed. “I see no reason that both of you should not return to school tomorrow,” he said. “I spoke with the appropriate persons in each school’s office today, and tentatively planned to return you to school tomorrow, depending on what you learned at the clinic.”

“Do I have to?” Mildred said. “Mom said you might home-school me, or —”

“I said we would consider it, but that you should try going back to school first, at least for a few days,” Mom interrupted. “Please give it a try, honey.”

“I will meet with the assistant principal tomorrow and inform him of your dietary and thermostatic requirements,” Dad said.

“Are you going to talk to the high school about me?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted them to, or just wanted to deal with the teachers and the other students in my own way.

“I suppose we should,” Dad said. He said to Mom: “Katherine, dear, do you suppose you could take — Amy — to school tomorrow and meet with someone in the office before the day’s classes begin?”

“Sure,” she said.

When I got ready for bed, it was a relief in a way to get out of those panties that were too tight in the crotch, but I felt gross, seeing that thing between my legs even for a few moments. I felt a little better after I got into my new nightgown, but it still took me a long time to get to sleep, worrying about how people at school would treat me, and whether I’d ever be able to get rid of that thing down there.

---

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I'm planning to post chapter six next Monday. However, if I get more comments on this chapter than on the last few chapters -- let's say six or more comments from six different people other than me -- I'll post the next chapter a few days early, probably around Thursday (assuming Internet problems or other obstacles don't intervene).

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

I heard a guy sitting a row or two behind me say: “Aren’t guys who Twist into girls supposed to get a really nice rack? She’s not much to look at,” and I felt my face burning. Ms. Rutherford heard him, though, and wouldn’t stand for that; she assigned him a three-page paper on the persecution faced by first-generation Twisted, and sent him to the office on top of that.

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Twisted Throwback

part 6 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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This is what I wrote in my dream journal Friday morning:

“It’s one of those mundane dreams where you get up and eat breakfast and get ready for school, and then you wake up and realize you have to do it all over again. Only in the dream I’m a real girl, physically. And after I shower and get dressed, and go downstairs, Mom says: ‘Emily, are you really going to wear that?’ and I say: ‘What’s wrong with it?’ And we argue about it for a while — I can’t remember now what I was wearing or why Mom didn’t like it — and then I wake up.”

When I went downstairs, and found Mom and Uncle Jack drinking coffee and eating breakfast, I said: “I figured out what my name should be.”

“Oh?” Mom asked.

“Emily.”

“You’re sure? You aren’t going to change your mind like you did about ‘Amy’?”

“I don’t think so. ‘Emily’ feels right.”

“Good. I was worried you’d take several days to make up your mind, and by then the school would have changed all your records to say ‘Amy’ and they’d balk at changing them again so soon... Well, hurry up and get ready, we need to be at the school early.”

So I ate in a hurry and went back upstairs to shower just when Mildred came downstairs. Dad was ready by then, and we all left by seven-thirty.

Mom told the secretary in the school office why we were there, but neither the principal nor assistant principal were in the office yet, and when they came in, they had other things to do right away besides see us. I worked on Thursday’s homework assignments while we waited, and tried ignore the gnawing in my gut. It was well past eight when the secretary showed us in to the assistant principal’s office.

He was younger than Mom or Dad or even Uncle Jack. He smiled at us and said, “How can I help you?”

“My daughter Amy — excuse me, Emily — is returning to school after an absence of several days due to her Twist. We need to speak with you about certain... accommodations for her needs.” I blushed when Mom said my temporary name by mistake; I didn’t like the idea of trying to explain that. The assistant principal looked at his tablet. “What’s her full name?” he asked. “And yours?”

“I am Katherine Harper; my daughter’s legal name is Cyrus Andrew Harper, but we’ll be changing it to Emily — have you thought about a middle name yet, Emily?” she asked me.

“Um, not much.”

“We’ll sort that out later, then. Just put ‘Emily Harper’ for now, if you don’t mind — or do you need the legal name change paperwork before you can do that?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “This hasn’t come up before... Let me see. I gather that your Twist changed you into a girl?”

“Kind of,” I said, blushing again. “It changed my brain, but not the rest of me...”

“We are exploring options for correcting her body to match,” Mom said. “But even though she is, um, anatomically male — she’s dressing as a girl and thinks of herself as a girl, and it would be appropriate for the teachers and the other students to treat her as a girl.”

“I see... You don’t look at all like a boy, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly, blushing harder than ever. That made me feel a lot better. Hearing it from Mom and Mildred was one thing, but from him — well, I wasn’t sure why, but it made me feel a lot more confident that I really looked like a girl.

“What you say makes a certain amount of sense,” he said to Mom, “but... I’m afraid some of the other students, or their parents, might make trouble if the real situation were known. Perhaps it’s best if we simply tell people she became a girl when she Twisted, without going into details...?”

“I don’t think that will work,” I said. “I Twisted right here at school, in the cafeteria, and lots of people saw how I looked just the same afterward, physically.”

He looked at me again, obviously doubting that I hadn’t changed physically. I didn’t volunteer the information about my trick. “You’re that boy?” He tapped and scrolled through something on his tablet, probably my record in the student database, and said: “Hmm. I see. Well, we can explain further if it becomes necessary, but let’s start out by saying simply that you are now a girl and that everyone is to treat you as such.”

“Thanks.”

“Except... wait. I think that will work for the restrooms, but for the locker room and shower... I can’t see how you could use either the boys‘ room or the girls’ room without serious problems. I’ll have to meet with your P.E. teacher and perhaps the other coaches and see if we can work something out. You can just skip P.E. and go to study hall until we get that worked out.”

“Is there maybe a private teachers' bathroom Emily could use?” Mom asked.

“Probably, but I’ll have to talk to them and find out. I just started here a few months ago and I don’t know everything about the school yet. Now, about your other classes, and the restrooms... I’ll give you a note to show to teachers and staff, and I’ll send a memo around. Just a few moments.” He typed for a little while in silence, and then went down the hall to get something from the printer, and gave it to me.

“There you go. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Um, tell my teachers I might need a little extra time to make up the work I missed the last few days? And to reschedule any tests I missed?”

“It’s there in the note.”

Mom said: “Emily has... certain compulsions due to her Twist. We are still discovering their nuances; so far they all seem to be related to her dress and appearance, all about making her appear feminine — but there could be other aspects we haven’t figured out yet. Just keep that in mind.”

“I’ll mention that in the memo. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Mom and I looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” Mom said.

“I’d better get going,” I said, “it’s almost time for first period.”

On our way out, Mom hugged me in front of the secretary and a couple of troublemakers who’d already been sent to the office this early in the morning and were cooling their heels waiting for the principal to chew them out. That didn’t embarrass me like it would have a few days ago. Girls can get away with that.

It was late enough that I went straight to my first period class, skipping homeroom, and hung out in the hall for two or three minutes until the bell rang and the kids who had homeroom with Ms. Chen surged out past me toward their first-period classes. I stayed out of their way, and stepped into the room as soon as most of them were gone.

Ms. Chen looked up at me. “Hello,” she said. “Are you new, looking for your first-period class? I wasn’t told I had a new student — I’m Ms. Chen. Physics.”

“Hi, Ms. Chen,” I said. “I’m Emily Harper — before my Twist I went by Cyrus.”

“Oh!” she said. “Of course. I’d heard you Twisted, but not that particular detail... Now I can see the resemblance. Sit in your usual place, please.”

I showed her the note from the assistant principal. “He said he was going to send my teachers a more detailed memo when he had time,” I added.

Other students were already trickling in as I went to my seat. Ms. Chen didn’t bother to explain about my Twist before she started her lecture, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Several people were looking at me, not to say staring at me, probably trying to figure out who I was. Then Vic, who sat to my left and who had come in at the last possible moment so I didn’t have time to talk to him before class, suddenly gasped and looked away. Ms. Chen glared at him and went on without a pause. Then Vic started writing an unusual amount on his tablet — he usually recorded audio of the lectures rather than taking a lot of notes — and I saw a message alert in the corner of my screen. I looked at it briefly.

cyrus? your a girl now?! your message said you didn’t change!

I didn’t reply just then, but went back to my lecture notes and gave Vic an apologetic glance, nodding at Ms. Chen. The moment class was over, I turned to Vic and said: “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier — but it kind of snuck up on me, and then I figured y’all’d think it was pretty weird and it might be better if I told y’all in person.”

“Might think it was weird? It’s the weirdest Twist of anybody in town! And it’s even weirder, in a way, that you still look like you, just you as a girl... What’s it like?”

“I’ll tell you a little more while we walk,” I said, getting up and heading for the door, ignoring the people who were hanging around listening to us.

“So did it make you change gradually into a girl over a couple of days?” he asked. “I never heard of a Twist working like that — in the movies they’re always instantaneous, and I remember you telling me that part was accurate even when you were complaining about all the bad science in Twist League.”

“It’s kind of complicated,” I said, and sighed. “And yeah, ignore what you saw in Twist League. Nobody has as many tricks as Dr. Magnificent, and nobody stays conscious through a major physical Twist like Colossex, and —”

“Dude, stay on topic. What about your Twist?”

I started telling him about it as we went down the hall toward my Calculus class, but I hadn’t gotten very far when we got there. “I’ll tell you about it at lunch,” I said. “See you then?”

“Sure,” he said, and looked at me for a long moment before hurrying off to his next class.

I barely had time to show Ms. Reynolds the note before the bell rang; she nodded and said she’d seen the assistant principal’s memo about me, and when class started, she made me stand up and told everyone who I was and (approximately) how I’d Twisted. I heard people nearby whispering about me and tried to ignore them; Ms. Reynolds reprimanded a couple of the louder ones.

Ms. Rutherford introduced the new me before starting her lecture in Modern History, same as Ms. Reynolds. I heard a guy sitting a row or two behind me say: “Aren’t guys who Twist into girls supposed to get a really nice rack? She’s not much to look at,” and I felt my face burning. Ms. Rutherford heard him, though, and wouldn’t stand for that; she assigned him a three-page paper on the persecution faced by first-generation Twisted, and sent him to the office on top of that.

After class, I told her I’d picked a subject for my term paper. She nodded and said, “That’s good. I can see why you’d be interested in Governor Pendergrass, with your Twist affecting you the way it did.”

“Actually, it was the other way around,” I said, and immediately regretted revealing so much. There were a couple of other people hanging around waiting to talk to Ms. Rutherford too, and they were listening.

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“I, um... I think reading about Governor Pendergrass to prepare for the term paper was the reason I Twisted the way I did.”

Her brow furrowed. “That’s right, your Twist tends to be influenced by what you’re doing at the time, right?”

“And it tends to happen when you’re learning something new. So a fair number of us Twist at school, or in extracurricular classes like kung fu, or whatever. Anyway. So I’m doing my paper on Governor Pendergrass, and I’ve read a bunch of old news articles about her and several interviews. I haven’t been able to find an actual biography. So that’s okay, then?”

“Yes, it’s a perfectly good topic. Let me know if you want any further research suggestions, ah... Emily.”

---

After talking to Ms. Rutherford, I needed to use the restroom. I was nervous when I went into the girls' room, with its big mirror, but nobody said anything; there weren’t many girls there and none happened to be looking in the mirror when I dashed past it and into a stall. After I’d done my business, I felt even more nervous while washing my hands, hating the way my face looked in the mirror, and hoping nobody else would notice. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got out.

I was one of the last ones in line for lunch. When I got my tray, I looked around for Sarah; I’d promised Vic I’d talk to him during lunch, but I really needed to talk to Sarah if I could.

I found her sitting with Olive Sanchez and some other girls at a table near the big windows looking onto the soccer field. “Hi, Sarah,” I said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

She looked at me and seemed to recognize me. “Hi, Cyrus... oh, sorry. Olive told me you were going by, um —”

“Emily,” Olive and I said simultaneously.

“Right. Um. Yeah, sit down.” She looked nervous and uncomfortable, but not any more than I felt. I put my tray down in an empty space cat-a-corner from her and sat down.

“So,” she said, “I guess... what we had planned for tonight, that’s off.”

“I guess. I mean, I still —”

“Don’t say it,” she said. “I mean, I understand if you’re still into girls, that would make sense, but I’m not.”

“I don’t mean that,” I said. “I mean, I’m not even sure yet if — never mind. But if we could still get together and just talk, I’d like that. I don’t — I don’t know many girls just to talk to, except family. And I have a feeling things are going to be weird with my guy friends now.”

“You think they might be... interested in you?”

I thought about the way Vic had looked at me, and said: “Maybe. Or just so weirded out by it that we can’t talk about stuff like we used to.”

She looked at me for a moment more and said: “Yeah. You seem like a nice... person, and even though you’re not my type anymore, I’d like to get to know you better. I’m not sure we should, um, go out tonight, though — people might get the wrong idea. Why not just hang out at lunch and stuff?”

“I’d like that too, only — I promised I’d talk to Vic and Lionel during lunch. I need to go see them in just a minute. Can we do something tonight, or this weekend, please? Maybe not just the two of us, I see how people might get ideas from that, but maybe with your other friends — if they’re okay with that. Or with my sister or one of my girl cousins, maybe?”

Sarah looked at Olive and said: “Do you want to meet us at Delhi Deli tonight? Six o’clock? That’s where we were, um, going on our date.”

“I’d like to,” Olive said, “but I’ve got a date with Karl Nguyen.”

Another girl I’d seen somewhere but didn’t know spoke up: “I’ll come chaperon,” she said to Sarah. To me she said: “I’ll be honest with you — Emily, right? I’m not quite sure about you yet. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, treat you like one of us until you start acting weird and boylike.”

“Please cut me some slack,” I said. “I mean, I feel like a girl now, but I’m not sure the Twist broke all my old boy-habits at once. Some girl-things are coming natural to me, but other things I’ll have to learn the hard way.”

“Deal. I’m Morgan, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” Turning to Sarah, I said: “See you tonight? I’ve got to go talk to Vic and Lionel...”

“Six o’clock,” she said, and smiled. “Good luck.”

I picked up my tray — I’d hardly eaten any of it yet — and went over to the table where Lionel, Vic and I usually sat.

“There you are,” Vic said. “I was wondering if you’d stood us up.”

Lionel was staring at me. “Dude, what happened? You looked normal when I saw you last! And you didn’t say anything about it in your message!”

“I know,” I said. “It kind of snuck up on me. When I messaged you I hadn’t figured out what was happening to me yet, and then when I did, I figured I’d want to tell you in person.”

“So tell! Vic told me something but it didn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It’s complicated...” I collected my thoughts and started to explain. Lionel and Vic interrupted with a lot of questions, and I was nervous enough to not be thinking clearly, so I told things out of order and had to backtrack a lot. In all, it was about half an hour later that I said, “So that’s pretty much how it happened.”

Lionel and Vic were silent for a few moments, and then Lionel said: “Dude, if it’s just your trick making you look like a girl, why not turn it off?”

“I’d look silly in this blouse and skirt if I looked like a boy,” I said. “And I can’t consciously control it yet, anyway.”

“But why —”

“Dude, he wants to be a girl. It’s his Twist, he can’t help it,” Vic said. I winced at the “he”, but I was grateful enough that I didn’t correct him right away.

“Sorry, Cyrus,” Lionel said, and corrected himself: “Sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean to — it’s just so weird, it’s hard to wrap my head around it. I guess it’s even weirder for you, huh?”

“Kind of, but not the way you probably think,” I said. “It feels weird and wrong when people call me ‘Cyrus’. Or ‘he’. And it felt weird when I was wearing boy clothes, but now that I’m wearing girl clothes that feels normal. And — there are other things that feel weird too, but I don’t want to talk about them here.” I glanced around; it didn’t look like anybody was deliberately listening to us, but several people were sitting near enough to hear us.

“I don’t get it,” Lionel said. “But I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s all I can ask.”

I ate in silence for a few bites, and then asked them: “So, what’d I miss while I was out?”

“Not much,” Lionel said, but he went on to talk for several minutes about a prank that a couple of freshmen had played on Rory Chan, probably the most arrogant guy on the soccer team. I tried not to spray food all over him when I laughed; somehow I was pretty sure that wouldn’t be ladylike.

Lunch was nearly over when Renee came over. “Cyrus! I heard — well, I’m not sure I should believe what I heard. But it looks like you figured out what you want to look like, anyway. And you did a really good job of it, unless —”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was bugging me all day Wednesday and all Thursday morning, and then, at the Twist clinic, it suddenly all made sense. I’ll fill you in on the details later. My trick is helping me look right, but it doesn’t seem to work by itself, I kind of have to help it.”

“How do you mean...?”

“It’s kind of like your Mom’s trick, but less versatile — at least I don’t have a lot of control of it yet, and I’m kind of afraid to mess with it because I like the default way it’s working without my thinking about it. By the way, I’m going by ‘Emily’ now.”

She took that in. “Oh... I see. Good for you. I guess we’ll see each other sometime this weekend — Mom was talking about something at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, do you know what it is?”

“No, I haven’t heard. But — um, would you like to meet me and some friends at Delhi Deli tonight? Six o’clock? Just girls.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Sarah Kendall — she’s a senior, I have a couple of classes with her in the afternoon, and a friend of hers, Morgan something.”

“Sure they won’t mind a junior tagging along?”

“Sarah won’t. I can’t promise about Morgan — it’s actually because of her that I’m asking you to come. I don’t know her at all and I kind of want somebody there who’s on my side if Morgan takes a dislike to me and tries, I don’t know... to push me away from Sarah.”

“I’ll ask Mom and Dad if they’ll give me a ride —”

“If they say it’s okay, I’ll pick you up. Dad said I could borrow the car tonight.”

I finished up my lunch without talking, and walked to my next class, Mandarin. I showed Mr. Bao the note — he nodded without reading it and said he’d seen the memo — and he introduced me to the class in Mandarin. So the slower students were a bit puzzled by who I was, at first, until their neighbors translated for them.

I had a brief chance to talk to Sarah again before Literature, and told her about inviting Renee to join us, and asked if that was okay.

“Sure,” she said. “How old did you say she was?”

“Ten months younger than me... you’ll probably recognize her when you see her.”

“Cool. See you tonight.”

After Literature I would have had P.E., if I weren’t excused from it. I went to the gym anyway and showed Coach Guardini my note. Apparently he’d been too busy all day to check his messages, because he looked at me in surprise, read the note carefully, and said, looking uncomfortable, “Well. Miss Harper, go on to study hall, then, and I suppose we’ll work out something for you by the middle of next week. — Maybe as early as Monday; be sure to bring your new gym clothes just in case.”

So I went to study hall, and did all my Physics homework and half of my Calculus homework, and then went to the restroom before going out to the bus. There were several other girls in there, one washing her hands and another fixing her makeup and another chatting with the other two. I was torn, wanting both to listen to their conversation and maybe try to join in — would that be okay? I should ask Sarah about the etiquette of that. But I didn’t want them to notice the discrepancy between my direct appearance and my reflection, so I hurried into the nearest stall as though my bladder were twice as full as it actually was. I wasn’t quite fast enough; the girl doing her makeup startled suddenly as I walked behind her, staring at my reflection for a moment and then turning to look at me as I disappeared into the stall. What she saw seemed to satisfy her, though, because she didn’t remark on the anomaly to her friends, as far as I heard.

I stayed in the stall a lot longer than necessary, almost long enough to risk missing the bus. Nobody was around when I went out to wash my hands.

When I got home, Uncle Jack was sitting in one of the easy chairs, working on his tablet. “How was school, Emily?” he asked.

“Not too bad,” I said. “A little embarrassing, with teachers explaining to everybody who I was all day, but — actually seeing my friends and telling them what happened to me wasn’t as bad as I was afraid of. And a couple of kids made smart remarks about me, but the teachers wouldn’t let them get away with it.”

“Good,” he said. “I worried about you.”

“What are you working on?”

“A new job one of my regular clients sent me yesterday — a fifty-page owner’s manual for a new cleaning bot.”

“What are you translating from?”

“Indonesian. I was just there last year, so it didn’t take long to refresh my memory on it, but I’m having to look up a lot of technical terms... Oh, and your grandma messaged, saying she’s having everybody over for dinner Sunday afternoon.”

I sat down on the sofa and finished my Calculus homework. I was just starting the reading for Mandarin when Mildred came home on the middle school bus. She was in tears; when I saw her come through the door and heard her sob, I tossed aside my tablet, jumped up and ran over to hug her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked after I’d held her for a few seconds. Uncle Jack had gotten up and was standing near us.

“This snaky body of mine,” she said between sobs. “Everybody hates me.”

“Not everyone,” Uncle Jack said, and at the same time I said “Not me!” And a moment later I added: “Remember Bobby?”

“Okay, not everyone,” she said. “But everyone in Trittsville who’s not related to me.”

“Tell us about it,” Uncle Jack said. “Were kids making fun of you at school?”

“And on the bus. And even one of the teachers —”

Uncle Jack swore, and I hugged Mildred tighter. “We’ll have her fired before lunchtime Monday,” he said. “Just tell me the details so I can go to the principal and the school board.”

“It wasn’t anything you could point to and prove,” Mildred said. “It was the way he looked at me, and how he didn’t punish the kids who were making fun of me, except one kid who was so loud he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear him.”

“Come on, sit down,” I said, and tugged gently on her wrist.

“I want to go up to my room and lay down,” she said.

“Okay. Do you mind if I sit with you? I won’t say anything if you want me to be quiet...”

“Okay.” She went upstairs and I followed her after grabbing my tablet.

She didn’t turn on the lights, she just pulled off her shoes and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over her head. I sat in the chair by her desk and watched her for a little bit, then went back to doing homework.

Renee called me a little later. “Mom says I can go,” she said.

“Good. I’ll pick you up about five forty-five.”

“Who was that?” Mildred asked, pulling the covers off her head.

“Renee and I are going to meet some girls from school. Sarah Kendall and Morgan — um, I’m not sure what her last name is. At Delhi Deli.”

“Have fun. Oh — isn’t Sarah Kendall the girl you were going on a date with?”

“Yeah,” I said, glad she couldn’t see my blush in the dark. Or could she? Her eyes were a purplish-blue now, and a little bigger than before; she hadn’t said anything about being able to see infrared, but it might have seemed a minor thing one could overlook, besides being cold-blooded and carnivorous and, well. Not a mammal anymore, which is a bad thing for a girl in eighth grade to be when she was already self-conscious because her friends were developing faster than her. “I talked with her, and we kind of turned it into a girls' night out thingy. I said I understood if she didn’t want it to be a date, and didn’t want people to think it was a date, so we invited Morgan and Renee.”

After a silence Mildred said: “So... do you still like her that way? Or do you like boys now?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling hot all over.

“Didn’t Dr. Oldstadt figure that out with his psychological tests? He told me I was still straight.”

“We... didn’t get into that. I’m not sure why.” But then I thought about it, and said: “Well... he did say some stuff and maybe he thought the implications were obvious, but I had so much new stuff to think about that I didn’t notice them right away.”

“What?”

I tried to remember the details. “He said... when I was looking at pictures of various people, I didn’t spend much time looking at the girls in swimsuits and stuff, I spent more time looking at the women in elaborate dresses, and I seemed to pay more attention to their clothes than their bodies.”

“Ah. Yeah, so he didn’t need to say anything more, did he?”

“Maybe not.”

We heard distant conversation from downstairs; I went to see and found Mom and Uncle Jack bringing groceries in from the car. I pitched in, and Dad came home while we were working on that.

“Where’s Mildred?” Mom asked while we were putting things away.

“In bed,” I said. “She had a bad day at school — she came home crying, Mom.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” she said, and went upstairs. Uncle Jack, Dad and I finished putting away the groceries.

“How was your day, Emily?” Dad asked. “I trust that it was, if not easy, at least less difficult than your sister’s day.”

“It was nowhere near as bad as that,” I said. “Only one person made fun of me, and the teacher cracked down hard on it. And if some of my friends didn’t understand about my Twist right away, at least they didn’t reject me and say they didn’t want to talk to me again. Oh, and I still need to borrow the car tonight.”

“Ah, yes... you informed me on Monday that you had a date for tonight. I gather, then, that the young lady is still romantically interested in you following your Twist? You are very fortunate.”

I blushed. “Um, yeah, I’m pretty lucky, but not that way. And I’m not sure she was ‘romantically interested in me’ before, she just agreed to one date... but anyway, we talked, and she didn’t want to go on a date, but she invited me to hang out and talk with her and some other girls. Renee’s going to join us; Aunt Rhoda said she could come.”

“Be careful, Emily. I trust you will uphold the honor of your family. Please return by ten-thirty.”

“I will, Dad.” And I hugged him, and said: “Um, the keys?”

A few minutes later I was on the way to Aunt Rhoda’s house. When I pulled up in the driveway, Renee wasn’t on the porch, and she didn’t come out after I’d sat there a few seconds, so I got out and went up to the door.

“My, you do look different,” Aunt Rhoda said. “Come on in.”

“We told them we’d be there at six,” I said. “I can’t stay long. Hi, Renee.” She’d been sitting on the sofa, doing something on her tablet; she grabbed her purse and came to the door when I came in.

“Renee told me about you when I got home... I’d heard a little from Mother,” (my grandma), “but your parents haven’t told me anything.”

“We’ve been kind of busy,” I said. “I’m sure they’re planning to tell you, but —”

“And Renee said your trick is like mine?”

“You’re looking at it now. I can make myself look like a girl. I don’t know how I’m doing it, and I don’t know how to turn it on and off — not that I ever want to turn it off. But it seems to be always on when other people are around, at least.”

“We’ll talk more when we get home, Mom,” Renee said.

“Have fun, be safe, and be back by ten.” Aunt Rhoda stood on the porch watching as we drove away.

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I'd like to keep posting chapters twice a week when the comments are numerous, and once a week when they're sparse. But I can't guarantee I'll post anything at all in the next couple of weeks; I'll be away from home and I'm not 100% sure I'll have reliable Internet access. If I do have the chance, and I get seven or more unique comments in the next few days, I'll post the next chapter on Monday, otherwise next Thursday.

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“It’s what they call a mental Twist. Most of my body didn’t really change at all, but my brain... there are a lot of little changes there, because I have a kind of new personality. Basically, I have a girl brain.”

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Twisted Throwback

part 7 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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Renee asked me to fill her in on more details about my Twist and my trick, and I told her a little bit on the way over to Delhi Deli. I’d barely gotten as far as the brain scan and how I realized I was a girl when we arrived. Morgan and Sarah were sitting in a booth near the front, and Sarah waved at me; I went and sat down across from her and Renee slid in beside me.

“Hi, Sarah. This is my cousin Renee. Renee, this is Sarah Kendall, and Morgan — sorry, I can’t remember your family name, if you told me.”

“Don’t think so,” Morgan said. “I’m Morgan Stern. My dad named me for the author of a silly book he used to read to me when I was little. Are you a Harper, too?” she asked Renee.

“On my mom’s side,” she said. “My mom is Emily’s dad’s sister. I’m a Wilson.”

“Is it okay to ask if, um —”

“If I’m Twisted too? Not yet, but I will be. Both my parents are Twisted but I haven’t gone through mine yet.”

“You’re lucky,” Morgan said, “knowing what’s coming, or at least that there’s a good chance of it. Imagine how much worse it’d be if it hit you out of the blue.”

“How could it?” Renee said. “If at least one of your parents is Twisted, you might be; if they aren’t, you won’t be. No surprise... oh, I see. Unless you were adopted and didn’t know who your biological parents were, or something.”

“Or something,” Morgan agreed. She had a grim expression, and I wondered what it was about, but I had a feeling I ought not to ask. I tried to change the subject:

“So, Sarah... I kind of need to know some things about being a girl. I could ask my mom or my sister some of this stuff, but —”

“But it would be less embarrassing to ask a comparative stranger?” Sarah asked, smiling.

“When you put it that way, it seems weird. I was thinking more about asking a girl who’s closer to my age. But yeah.”

“Sure, I can answer questions. But I want some answers too. You didn’t really tell us much at lunch about how you turned into a girl, when you didn’t look any different right after your Twist.”

“She —” Renee began, and I put a hand on her arm.

“Let me tell it, okay?”

“Right,” she said, abashed.

“That’s kind of the problem. I only partly turned into a girl.”

“Oh...” Sarah looked curious and Morgan a little disgusted. I hurriedly went on:

“It’s what they call a mental Twist. Most of my body didn’t really change at all, but my brain... there are a lot of little changes there, because I have a kind of new personality. Basically, I have a girl brain. And it made me miserable at first, and it’s still not that great, because I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, I just felt like my body was wrong and I was wearing the wrong clothes and people were talking about me wrong. When figured out what was wrong — the psychologist and neurologist at the Twist clinic figured out most of it, really — I started dressing as a girl, and figured out what my girl name should be, and —”

“Hang on,” Morgan said. “How could you not be changed physically? I mean, I didn’t know you before, so I’m not sure you didn’t already have kind of a girly face —”

“He didn’t,” Sarah said.

“And you could make it look like you’ve got breasts and hips with falsies and a corset. But you don’t have an Adam’s apple. Guys who dress up as girls usually wear a scarf or a high-necked dress to cover their Adam’s apple, but you...”

“Let me finish, okay? Right when I started wearing girl clothes, my trick kicked in. And it makes me look like a girl.”

“It’s like my mom’s trick,” Renee put in, “only Mom can make herself look like anybody for a few hours, and Emily can look like a girl all day long, but — you can’t look like anything else, can you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So... you’re really a guy under that?” Sarah asked. She and Morgan both looked horrified. I cringed and said:

“Physically, yeah, pretty much. But I’m really a girl inside, in my head. I don’t want to have this body any longer than I can help it — the doctors are trying to figure out what they can do. You’re not mad at me, are you? I wasn’t trying to lie to you — only it’s so complicated, it’s so hard to explain...”

“I’m not mad,” Sarah said. “I’ll be honest, I’m a little squicked, but... I can see you need a friend, and I’ll try to be one.”

“Thanks,” I said, my eyes brimming with tears. Renee put a hand on my left arm, and a moment later Sarah put a hand on my right. Morgan didn’t move to touch me, but I thought her disgust was edging toward pity, which was progress of a sort.

“So,” Renee said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go order stuff.”

A few minutes later, we were back at the booth sipping lassi and eating samosas and naan. Sarah finished a bite and said: “So, Emily... you said you had a bunch of questions about being a girl. Ask away.”

“So... what’s the deal with having lots of shoes? I can’t afford many until my Twist stipend comes in, but if it’s a girl thing I want to do it...”

Sarah laughed, and started to explain. It was a long explanation with frequent interruptions from Renee, and led to a lot of other helpful advice on random topics. Even Morgan opened up a little and pitched in here and there. When Sarah said she needed to go to the ladies' room, I said I’d go with her — that’s what girls do, right? — even though I could have held it for another fifteen or twenty minutes. Morgan gave us a dark look I couldn’t interpret, and came along, and then of course Renee didn’t want to be left by herself.

The Delhi Deli has a small ladies' room, only two stalls. Sarah went straight into one of them, and since I didn’t need to go so urgently, I paused a moment to see if Morgan or Renee needed to go more than I did. Renee looked at me for a moment and went into the other stall.

Morgan and I looked at each other; it was a tense moment. I still had a feeling she didn’t like or trust me. I tried to break the tension by asking: “So... what do girls talk about when they’re waiting around in a restroom like this?”

She smiled a little. “Various things. In a situation like this, I guess, pretty much the same things we were talking about at the table — it might be different if we were with some guys, we might use this as a chance to talk about them, or about something else we don’t want them to hear us talking about.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say next, and we were silent. Her back was to the mirror, so she hadn’t seen my too-masculine reflection; I tried not to look at myself, but it was like not thinking of an elephant. I forced myself to look over Morgan’s shoulder toward the corner of the ceiling.

One of the toilets flushed, and Sarah came out. “Next,” she called, going to the sink to wash her hands. Then — she noticed my reflection, and gasped. “Cyrus?” I winced, and she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I — Emily — I just saw —”

Morgan had turned to look, and now she saw too. I did a cowardly thing then; I said, “Gotta go,” ran into the stall, and closed the door.

I could hear Morgan and Sarah talking, though not every word they said, as I fumbled with my belt and pulled down my skirt and panties, my eyes tearing up. Then the noise of my pee splashing in the bowl drowned out the rest of what they said; but before that I heard Morgan saying something like “He’s still a guy, you saw him!”

I sat there crying for a couple of minutes after my bladder was empty, hearing the other girls talking in lower voices, not quite able to understand most of what they said. Then there was a hesitant knock on the stall door. Renee’s voice: “Are you okay, Emily?”

“I’ll be out in a second,” I said. I got dressed and opened the door.

“What’s wrong?” Renee said. Sarah put in:

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Emily — it was just startling.”

“I know,” I said. I sidled around to where my back was to the mirror and I was facing the others. “Think how bad it is for me, though. You only have to look at that face when we’re both near the same mirror — I have to see it several times a day. And the rest of me — my trick doesn’t work on me, I see what I’m really like, how the skirt and blouse don’t really fit as well as they look like to you, and my hands are too big, and...” I gave a rasping sob, and Renee hugged me.

“Let’s get back to our booth before they throw our food away,” Morgan said.

“Y’all go on,” I said. “I’ll wash my hands and be out in a second.”

I washed not only my hands but my face as well. I wondered if the trick that made me look feminine had also concealed my tears; I didn’t think so, though nobody had commented on them directly. Could I use it to hide my emotions better if I got conscious control over it? Did I really want to?

I rejoined the others in the booth; they stopped talking when I arrived, and after a short awkward silence Sarah said: “So... I guess if that was awkward with us, when you’d already told us you were physically, um, still the same... then you’re going to have real problems when girls at school see you in the mirror.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I don’t know a lot about how tricks work, but — maybe you could try not relying on it so much?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, if you styled your hair for real the same way your trick is making it look, and used different makeup, and fixed the padding in your bra so it matches, most people might not notice the difference at a glance. They’d see your Adam’s apple and the difference in your nose and chin if they looked hard, but unless you give them a reason, they won’t look hard.”

“Thanks. I’ll work on that. It’ll be hard to make it match — I’ll need Mom or somebody to help me, looking at my reflection and at me and telling me when we match. I can’t see how my trick makes me look to other people, and the image I’m projecting is all subconscious. And I don’t know how I can get a stylist to fix my hair right when she can’t see the real hair through my trick.”

“I bet Mom can help you get better control of your trick,” Renee said. “We’ll work it out somehow.”

They suggested some more ways I could make myself look more convincing in the mirror, and in photos, and then I noticed the time. “I need to get Renee home,” I said.

“See you soon,” Sarah said. “Do you want to get together maybe Sunday afternoon?”

“We’re going to my grandparents' house Sunday,” I said. “And I think we’ve got errands to run tomorrow. But I’ll see you in school, and we can probably get together after school some afternoon or other.”

“Come over to my house and study with us Monday,” she suggested.

“Thanks, I probably will.”

I was going to let Renee out at her house and drive straight home, but Renee said: “I think Mom really wanted to talk to you about your trick. And I think she can probably help you with it, too. It’s not that late.”

“Okay, but I’d better call Mom and Dad and tell them I’m here.”

We went in, and after saying hi to Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Leland, who were watching TV, I called Mom and told her I was at Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Leland’s house. “I think Aunt Rhoda wants to talk,” I said. Aunt Rhoda had gotten up from the sofa and approached me; she nodded.

“Tell her not to keep you up too late,” Mom said. “We’ll see them Sunday at your grandparents' house, remember.”

“I heard that,” Aunt Rhoda said and, leaning closer to my phone, “I’ll send her home in half an hour or so.”

When I’d said goodbye and hung up, Aunt Rhoda said: “So, tell us what you found out at the clinic. What did they say about your trick?”

“Nothing, except they were sure I had one. I didn’t figure out my trick until later that afternoon, when we were shopping for clothes.”

“Hmm. — Leland, do you want to turn that off and join us?”

“Sure,” he said, and turned the TV off. “Have a seat, ah... Emily, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting on the sofa next to Renee. Aunt Rhoda sat down next to me.

“So... while you were shopping?”

“Yeah. My Mom and I were in the dressing room, and I thought I looked awful in this blouse and skirt I was trying on and Mom said I looked good, and then she noticed that in the mirror I looked about as bad as I said...” I told her everything we’d figured out about it so far.

“I think your Uncle Jack is right; it’s affecting our minds, not our eyes. You probably won’t ever be able to fool cameras, but if you get more conscious control of it you should be able to fool mirrors — or rather, fool people who are looking at you in a mirror.”

“That would be cool,” I said. “But... I’m a little worried. I mean, it’s working fine unconsciously, as it is, all the time — if I get conscious control over it, will I have to start thinking about it constantly to keep it from turning off?”

“That might be a problem at first, but I don’t think it will last for very long. Once I set up an illusion, I don’t have to think about it every moment, I can keep it going unconsciously until I get too tired and have to drop it. Other people I’ve talked to with similar tricks say the same thing.”

“I knew a guy in college with a trick more like yours than Rhoda’s,” Uncle Leland put in. “He could make people hear things — almost anything, once he learned how to control it. But sound recordings didn’t pick up the sounds he made, so they figured he was working on people’s minds directly. That also showed up in his limitation: he could only make about twenty or thirty people at once hear something, and only if they were within about a hundred yards of him.”

“Uncle Jack thinks I’m doing that with my voice,” I said. “And — oh. I wonder if I have that kind of limitation too? I think I must have projected the illusion to everybody in class at once, maybe as many as thirty-five people in some classes, and I might have projected it to everybody in the hallway between classes or everybody in the cafeteria. But I’m not sure, maybe I wasn’t working it on people way across the room who weren’t paying me any attention.”

“I noticed you sounded like a boy when we talked on the phone earlier,” Renee said. “I can help you test your range Monday; I’ll look at you from across the length of the cafeteria and see if the illusion breaks down. Or — we could do it in Grandpa and Grandma’s back yard Sunday.”

“Let’s go to the mirror,” Aunt Rhoda said, “and let you start practicing making me see your — your girl self, in the mirror as well.”

“Just for a few minutes,” I said, looking at the clock. I followed her to her bedroom, where there was a full-length mirror built into her closet door. Renee tagged along. When we stood in front of the mirror, Aunt Rhoda suddenly shimmered and appeared as an Asian girl about mine and Renee’s age; her white T-shirt and sweat pants became a white knee-length sundress. Her reflection in the mirror changed to match, of course.

“Now you try it,” Aunt Rhoda said. “Imagine yourself looking like this — or any other way you care to imagine yourself. Just imagine how you want to look, in as much detail as you can, and hold that image steady in your mind.”

I hesitated before complying. I wasn’t sure I wanted to mess with the subconscious way my trick was working — if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I certainly didn’t want to make myself look Asian or African or something and be unable to switch back without special effort, or at all... But I thought of something I did want, and tried that. I imagined myself as a girl, with a rounder chin and slightly thicker lips and smaller hands, and — this was the part Aunt Rhoda and Renee weren’t already seeing — my hair down to my shoulders, and styled in waves. I kept the same clothes I was wearing in my mental image, and I concentrated on the image, especially the hair, for I’m not sure how long; several minutes at least. Aunt Rhoda looked at me patiently; Renee watched me for a little while and then wandered over to her mom’s dresser and started fiddling with the jewelry, trying on necklaces and bracelets and looking at herself in the smaller mirror there. I tried not to let her distract me, and concentrated on my reflection in the mirror, mentally superimposing on it the image I wanted Aunt Rhoda to see.

“Well,” Aunt Rhoda said finally, “I didn’t expect immediate results. Don’t be discouraged; keep practicing at home. But I suppose your mother will want you home soon.”

“Yeah, I’d better go. Thanks, Aunt Rhoda.” We hugged, and I went out to the car and drove home.

Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jack were sitting around the living room when I came in; their conversation ceased as I opened the door. “How was your evening?” Mom asked.

“It was fun. How’s Mildred?”

Mom sighed. “She’s very upset about school. She wanted to drop out and home-school, and I finally talked her into trying it for a few more days. I’m going to talk to the principal Monday morning about the bullying and the teacher she said was winking at the bullies, and if I don’t get some action, I’m taking her home before classes even start for the day.”

“Please tell us something about the girls you had supper with,” Dad said. “I do not think I have met this Sarah Kendall you mentioned, though I went to school with some Kendalls, and I know Isidore Kendall, who runs Kendall’s Hardware.”

“I think that might be her dad or her uncle,” I said. “Her family’s been in Trittsville for a while, but I don’t know her parents' names. And Olive Sanchez, I think her family’s been around a while too; at least I’ve been vaguely aware of her since elementary school. The other girl, her friend Morgan Stern — I have the impression her family moved to Trittsville just a few years ago, I’m not sure when.”

I told them something about our evening, though not nearly everything, and quickly changed the subject by telling them what Aunt Rhoda had suggested about getting control of my trick. Dad and Uncle Jack approved. “Perhaps you could take lessons from her regularly,” Dad suggested. “She is the only Twisted we know with a trick similar to yours — except for Mildred, I suppose.”

“It’s not all that similar,” Uncle Jack said. “Your tricks function in completely different ways. But that doesn’t mean she can’t help you — more than your dad or me, anyway; we’ve never gotten conscious control of our tricks, they’re always on. Yours might turn out to be the same way, but it’s worth a try to see if you can control it.”

After I went upstairs and changed into my nightgown, I lay in bed reading ahead in my Physics textbook until I fell asleep.

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“You should stay here near the house,” Renee said to me, “and me and Todd will go way over to the far corner, maybe even a little way into the woods but not so far the trees block our view. And we’ll see if you still look like a girl from that distance.”

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Twisted Throwback

part 8 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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From my dream journal for Saturday morning:

We’re picnicking at Terrell Park, just me and Mom and Dad and Mildred. Mildred’s her old pre-Twisted self, a couple of years younger than she is now, and I’m younger too, but I’m a girl. There was more but I forgot to write this down right away, and I’ve forgotten it.

Since I didn’t have to get ready for school, I lay in bed drowsing for a while after I woke up, and then turned on the light and read for a while before I needed to pee and had to get up. When I came back from the bathroom I finally remembered to write down my dream.

Then I went downstairs, still in my nightgown, to eat breakfast. Mom was making pancakes, and Dad and Uncle Jack were sitting at the table talking about the new insulation and heaters they were going to install.

“Good morning, honey,” Mom said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Pretty well, yeah. That smells good. Can I help?”

“You can take over the pancakes while I make the sausages. Your sister can’t eat these.”

“Oh. Right.” I felt bad for Mildred. Did she miss being able to eat grains and vegetables and stuff? Or did she not miss that any more than I missed wearing boy clothes? I might ask her. Or I might just watch how she acted during breakfast.

Mildred still hadn’t come downstairs by the time the first batch of pancakes were done and the sausages were almost done. “Go wake your sister up and tell her breakfast is almost ready,” Mom said.

Mildred’s room was dark, her door slightly ajar. I knocked and called out: “Mildred, Mom’s making sausages for you and they’re about ready.” No answer. I went on in and turned on the light, which got no response, and then sat down beside her and shook her shoulder gently. Still no response. I panicked for a moment before I thought to verify that she was in fact breathing. She was just very sound asleep. I had to shake her for a couple of minutes before she drowsily mumbled and rolled over; then I had to talk to her and prod her for a little longer before she finally sat up and got going.

“For some reason I’m having a hard time waking up,” she said, yawning and staring into space. “Um. Is it cold?”

“Yeah, kind of.” I did feel a little cool, though I felt so nice and feminine in my nightgown that I had resisted the momentary impulse to put on my old sweat pants under it.

“That’s probably it. Maybe I need a hot shower to wake me up.”

She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the hot water; I left her alone and went back downstairs.

“Mildred’s going to take a hot shower before she eats,” I said.

“I fear that last night’s cold snap has affected her,” Dad said. “We really must get the house, and especially her room, insulated and heated better. What time do you suppose you will leave, Katherine?”

“Less than an hour, I hope. Go ahead and eat, Emily — you should shower pretty soon after Mildred’s finished, so we’ll be ready to go when she’s done eating.”

I got a plate of pancakes — Mom had made on another batch while I was waking Mildred — and sat down to eat. After a few mouthfuls I said: “We’re going shopping, right?”

“At the mall in Rome, and maybe some of the stores on Broad Street too.”

“Good. I really need new gym clothes. And — even though my trick makes me look okay without them — um —”

“Yes?”

I blushed, glancing at Dad and Uncle Jack. “I think I need fake breasts too? I mean, I know everybody else sees me with breasts, but I look at myself and I don’t look right. And when people see me in the mirror they notice right away that my reflection doesn’t look like me, and maybe that would help... Sarah suggested using makeup too, to make my reflection look more like me.”

“We can buy you some makeup, certainly. And... I’m not sure. We can find materials to make prostheses for you in Rome, but we might need to go to Atlanta, or order from a specialty store online, to get breasts that were designed as breasts —”

Dad got up from the table, though his plate wasn’t empty. “John and I are going to the hardware store,” he announced. “Katherine, do you wish me to warm up your car so that it will be ready for Mildred?”

“Yes, thanks.” She kissed him as he went out; Uncle Jack winked at us and followed him. When they were gone, Mom giggled.

“I think we embarrassed your father.”

“I know I embarrassed me...”

A little later Mildred came downstairs, looking more awake but still not perky. “Ready to go shopping?” Mom asked.

“Sure, soon as I get some food in me. That smells good.”

She tore into the sausages, and if she regretted not being able to eat the pancakes, I didn’t see any obvious sign. I went upstairs and showered, and by the time I got dressed Mom and Mildred were finished eating and loading the dishwasher.

It wasn’t that cold outside, still ten or twelve degrees above freezing, but it was colder than it had been since last spring. I shivered a bit when we stepped outside; Mildred didn’t react to the cold in the few moments it took us to get to the car, but once we got in the toasty car and on the road, she perked up more. I tried to do some reading for my Modern History term paper and for other classes, but Mildred wanted to talk, and I didn’t mind talking. She asked about last night, and I told her and Mom a little more than I’d wanted to say when Dad and Uncle Jack were around.

“I wish I could have gone,” she said, “but I guess you didn’t want your kid sister around —”

“That’s not so,” I said. “But — well, I wasn’t sure if it would be okay to invite you. Renee’s pretty close to our age.”

“Besides, it sounds like if Morgan was creeped out by your Twist, she’d hate me on sight.”

“...Maybe.” I wasn’t sure what to think of Morgan yet. “I might have given you the wrong impression about her... It seemed like she was trying to be nice even though she was weirded out by me being, um, like I am.”

When I brought up the subject of makeup and breast prostheses again, Mildred said: “You can have all my old makeup. It doesn’t work right on my scales; I tried Friday before school and it looked terrible so I washed it off.”

“Perhaps Emily had better buy some of her own, too. Her complexion isn’t exactly the same as yours used to be.” Mom’s darker than Dad, she has some Italian and Pakistani ancestors a few generations back, and I take more after her than Mildred does.

Than Mildred did, before.

When we got near Rome, Mom had me and Mildred look up some stores on our tablets, and before we went to the mall, we stopped at a craft store and a birders‘ supply store. Armed with several of our new purchases, we went into the ladies’ room at the mall, and before we left (after attracting some odd looks from a couple of other women, who were apparently too distracted by what we were doing to notice how my reflection didn’t look like me), I had small bags of birdseed pinned into my bra, which Mom and Mildred assured me made my reflection look a lot more like the real me that people saw. They made me feel a lot better too, when I’d glance down at myself or see myself in the mirror, though the latter was still not a fun experience, and I avoided it as much as possible.

From there we hit several clothing stores and a shoe store. None of them had the selection of the big store we’d gone to in Marietta, or so Mildred complained, but shopping as a girl was so new and exciting to me that I didn’t notice any deficiency. Mildred bought a lot more stuff than me, as her Twist stipend had been approved almost immediately; apparently the Medical Bureau had asked for more evidence that I really needed new clothes, while Mildred’s physical need for them was obvious. Still, by the end of the day, I had a couple of changes of gym clothes and two or three new blouses and skirts. I resisted buying pants and shirts, though, at first.

“They just seem too much like the stuff I used to wear,” I said.

“But they’re totally girly,” Mildred said. “Look at the embroidery on those jeans.” They had flowers all along the outside of each leg.

“I’m not saying I’d never wear them, but... not yet, okay?”

“You need some clothes for working in the yard or hiking,” Mom said. “And with winter coming on you’ll regret not having pants.”

“Maybe... I think in cold weather I’d rather wear warm stockings under a skirt. If the only time I’d want to wear pants is when I’m working and maybe getting dirty, why don’t we buy some used ones at a thrift store?”

We did that, later in the day after lunch and more shopping at the consignment stores and vintage stores on Broad Street, and an hour at an old bookstore that I loved to stop at every time we went to Rome. I realized only afterward that I’d spent a lot more time among the nonfiction shelves than the fiction, and that all the books I’d actually bought were nonfiction — more than half of them history, and most of the rest political science or economics. There was more evidence for one of Uncle Greg’s theories.

As we were on our way from the mall to the restaurant we’d picked out, Lionel called me. “Hey,” I said.

“Want to come over and hang out?” he asked. “The new game in the Phantoms of Phobos series was released today, and I just finished downloading it.”

“I’d like to,” I said, though a moment later I wasn’t sure I wanted to play Phantoms of Phobos V (or was it VI?). I did want to hang out with Lionel, though. “But I’m in Rome with Mom and Mildred, and it’ll be several hours before we get home. I’ll call you then and see if it still suits to come over.” I’d just remembered what Renee had said, about how I sounded like a boy over the phone, and I wanted to cut the conversation short.

“Sure. Or, you know, maybe tomorrow.”

“We’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house after church tomorrow — probably for several hours. But maybe in the evening. I’ll let you know.”

But when we got home, by the time we hauled in all our purchases and Mom and Mildred dragged me into a makeup lesson (they didn’t have to drag very hard), and Dad and Uncle Jack dragged me into putting on my new thrift-store girly jeans and pastel tie-died T-shirt and getting sweaty putting in new insulation in the attic and down into the spaces between walls around Mildred’s room, it was pretty late. I didn’t want to talk to Lionel on the phone if I could avoid it; I messaged him apologizing for not calling or messaging him sooner, and promising to let him know when we got home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house Sunday.

---

There’s no entry in my dream journal for that Sunday; I must not have remembered my dreams at all. I was up early, but Mildred was already up and showering before me. Apparently the extra heaters in her room had helped her wake up perkier.

After breakfast, and after we’d all showered, Mom helped me apply some makeup — we worked at the vanity in her and Dad’s bedroom, since I didn’t have one yet. “Yet another thing to buy,” Mom sighed. I still couldn’t tell what I looked like to Mom, except by listening to her descriptions, and Mom couldn’t tell what I looked like with the makeup on except by looking at my reflection; but after a few minutes we got to where my reflection looked reasonably okay. Except for the Adam’s apple, and my chin — a higher-necked dress might conceal the former, but probably only surgery could do anything for the latter.

I wore a long-sleeved light blue dress we’d bought Thursday, and Mom said I looked great in it; even I thought I looked better than I’d looked yet, with the birdseed-bra and the makeup, and I felt better as a result. When we got to church, of course, everybody was very interested in us, but I was pretty sure they were mostly looking at Mildred, and a lot of people were glad to see Uncle Jack again too; I didn’t feel singled out. With me being unpracticed at dressing up and putting on makeup, we were a little late, and didn’t have time to talk to many people before the service started. Most of them asked Mildred more questions than me, and I didn’t volunteer a lot of details of my Twist.

Ms. Taylor, who was a friend of Mom’s, came up to us and said: “I see both of your children have gone through their Twists.”

“Yes,” Mom said. “Emily, who used to be called Cyrus, went through her Twist on Tuesday, and Mildred on Wednesday. It’s been quite a week.”

Ms. Taylor looked at me. “You look nice, Emily. And you chose such a pretty name, too; it was my grandmother’s name.”

“I think it chose me,” was all I said.

“I know how hard this must be for you, Mildred... I remember when your cousin Paul went through his Twist, but I’m sure it’s even worse for a girl. We’ll be here for you, don’t forget that.”

“Thanks,” Mildred mumbled, looking away. I squeezed her hand.

“Is there anything we can do?” Ms. Taylor asked Mom.

“Not much right now, I think. Unless you have influence with the school board or the principal at the middle school — I think we may have a confrontation with them over the bullying Mildred’s going through, if they don’t take prompt action.”

Ms. Taylor looked angry and shocked. “We won’t stand for that. I’ll get on the phone to the school board members this afternoon —”

“Wait a bit, okay? I’m meeting with the principal tomorrow, and we’ll see if he takes prompt action. If not, I’ll let you know. And — Mildred’s cold-blooded now, so if the heating in the sanctuary gets erratic like it did for a few weeks last winter, she’ll have to stay home where it’s warm. We don’t want her going into hibernation in the middle of the sermon.”

Mildred gave a sour smile at that. The organist started playing the processional, and we hurried up and sat down.

After church, we spent a little more time visiting with various people, but not a lot, because we needed to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. A couple of guys near my age who I spent more time with at church than at school asked me what it was like being a girl, and I just said: “It feels like I’ve always been a girl. Remembering being a boy is what feels strange.”

When we got to Grandpa and Grandma’s house, Aunt Rhoda and her family were already there, and so were Uncle Greg and Aunt Karen. Grandma came and hugged me and Mildred, and so did Grandpa; he said to me: “You said you felt your image all askew, but knew not what was wrong nor how to change. Now as a lovely maiden you appear; is this the target aimed at by your Twist, or but a step toward another goal?”

“It’s a step, I guess. A big step. I want this — what you see — to be real. But right now it’s partly clothes and makeup, and partly my trick. Underneath it I’m still too much like my old self.”

Grandma nodded. “I knew a girl like you when I was in college, dear. She was taking supplemental hormones, if I remember right, and was going to have some kind of surgery when she’d saved enough money... I suppose you’ll be doing that eventually?”

“I guess so. But it’s not as simple as it used to be...” I told her how the infrastructure for helping transgendered people had gone rusty with disuse.

Then Uncle Darren’s son Vernon arrived with his twin sons Jerry and Carson, who were about a year younger than Mildred — he generally had custody of them on weekends, which was why they hadn’t been with him when he came over to our house Tuesday night. Todd and his parents, Faith and Ben, got there about the same time (Faith is Uncle Greg’s daughter, Dad’s first cousin). As Grandpa and Grandma started talking to Mildred about her Twist, I went to greet them.

“Hey... Emily?” Todd said. “Sorry, I missed a couple of classes and lunch to go to the dentist Friday, and it turns out I missed your girl-debut. How’d it go? Anybody treating you wrong?”

“Not bad,” I said, flinching as his mom took a photo of us. “A couple of smart remarks, but the teachers shut them down pretty fast. Mildred, though... She’s got it rough.”

Mildred was over at the other end of the room talking quietly with Grandma. “I imagine so,” Todd said, looking at her. “Maybe worse than Kerry...”

Faith meandered over that way, taking photos of Mildred and Grandma from two or three different angles. I sighed with relief. She got a photography compulsion from her Twist; she takes more photos at family gatherings than on other occasions, but she’s constantly taking photos at work or while out shopping or whatever as well. And she cares so much about the quality of her photos that she carries around an actual dedicated camera, with special lenses and stuff, instead of just taking pictures with her phone like other people. I like her, but I wasn’t looking forward to being around her after my Twist, with my trick’s weakness to cameras.

“Kerry only had two more years of high school to get through before she could run off to Spiral,” I said. “I don’t know if Mildred can stand six more months of middle school and four years of high school.”

Renee came over to us and said: “Did Emily tell you about her trick?”

“I heard something,” Todd replied. “It’s like Rhoda’s, right? You’re making yourself look like a girl even though, um.”

“I’m still the same physically. Yeah.”

“I guess that’s useful. For you, I mean, given your Twist.”

“Yeah, it’s about the best trick I could have. The only thing that would be better would be if I could fool cameras and mirrors — or, no, what would really be better would be if I could change myself physically.”

“That’s weird,” he said. “I mean, I read about all kinds of Twists, when I was worried about what mine might be like, and I read about a lot of kids who changed sex — physically I mean, and usually mentally as well. And there are some who get compulsions to change themselves — but it’s usually something small and achievable, like getting tattoos or piercings or exercising all the time to stay in shape.”

“I think I know why,” I said, and I told him what I’d been researching when my Twist happened. His eyes widened.

“That sucks.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I guess not.”

“Do you want to go out in the yard and test your trick some more?” Renee asked.

“Sure.”

About then Faith came back and took a photo of us; I turned away just as I saw her coming. “I need to talk to you for a minute,” I told her, and explained how our Twist-compulsions weren’t going to mix.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said. “I’ll delete those pictures of you, or maybe crop you out of them. And I’ll try to avoid taking more pictures of you, but if I do, I’ll try to delete them soon afterward.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Just then Grandma said it was time to ask the blessing; we all held hands and Grandpa prayed, and then we served our plates and dug in.

“What about you, Mildred?” Todd asked as we were standing in line in the kitchen, the old folks all ahead of us. “Have you figured out your trick yet?”

“Yeah,” she said, with a mischievous smile. I quickly put in:

“She’ll show you later, when we go out in the yard... Mildred, you know you’ll get in trouble if you use it in the house.”

“Is it messy or destructive?” Todd asked.

“It could be,” Mildred said meditatively. “If I use it right.”

I imagined her making Todd see several snakes in front of him when he’d already served his plate and was on his way to the dining table. “Yeah, I expect it could.”

But Mildred suddenly frowned, and said: “I don’t think I’d better go out in the yard with you, though. It’s too cold today.”

If we hadn’t been holding plates and silverware I would have hugged her then. “I won’t stay out long,” I said. “But Renee and I need to do some tests with my trick, see if it has a distance limit.”

Mildred’s eyes lit up, and I smiled, realizing what she was probably thinking. “Yeah, you should test that,” she said.

We served our plates and sat down, and for a while we were all too busy eating to talk much. Several of them hadn’t seen Uncle Jack since he arrived in town, and they wanted to hear about his recent travels; Faith and Ben and Todd especially wanted to hear about his visit with Kerry and Jeff. But of course Mildred and I were the main topics of conversation before long, with people asking us about our Twists and how we felt about them, and the older folks reminiscing about their own Twists.

“I remember how self-conscious I was when I started constantly folding origami,” Vernon said. He was making all the loose napkins on the table into cranes, boxes, stars, and flowers as he spoke; Grandma always set out extra when he was around. “But it wasn’t long before it started to seem perfectly natural and I didn’t care what people thought about it. I’m sure you’ll feel the same about wearing girl’s clothes before long.”

“I already do.” Did he understand that I really was a girl, inside, and didn’t just have a Twist compulsion to wear girl’s clothes? But before I could correct his possibly false impression, the conversation turned toward Mildred’s Twist.

“It’s not like that,” she said, responding to something I hadn’t heard clearly. “I don’t feel cold. Or hot, either. I haven’t ever felt cold or hot since my Twist. Only when it’s cold I feel sort of slow and sleepy, and I feel perkier when it’s warm.”

“I suppose Spiral will be extra nice for you, then, what with the climate out there,” said Faith. “Have you talked to Kerry since your Twist?”

“No, not yet... maybe we can go see them after Christmas?” she said, looking hopefully at Mom and Dad.

“It would be good for you to talk on the phone with her,” Mom said. “I don’t know if your father and I can take much time off work for another trip to Spiral so soon, though.”

“She could travel with us, if it suits,” Ben said. “We’ll be going to Spiral the day after Christmas and staying for two weeks. Todd’s coming back the day before school starts, and he could escort Mildred, but Faith and I will stay with Kerry and Jeff for a bit longer.”

“That may well suit,” Dad said. “Let us think upon it and discuss it further. Other changes of plan may make it unnecessary.”

“You mean we might be moving to Spiral ourselves by then?” Mildred asked.

“We have not ruled it out.”

After lunch, prolonged by a dessert of Grandma’s amazing apple walnut cake, several of us went out into the back yard. Mildred bundled up and stepped out to look at the thermometer on the porch; Mom came with us, and shivered.

“You’d better go back inside, Mildred,” she said.

“It’s warmer than when we left for church,” Mildred pointed out.

“But still too cold for you.”

“She’ll be okay for a few minutes,” I said. “I’ll make sure she comes inside in — say, ten minutes?”

“Make it five,” Mom said, and went back inside. Mildred followed me, Renee and Todd out into the yard; Jerry and Carson had already come out a few minutes earlier, and were playing on the swing set.

“You should stay here near the house,” Renee said to me, “over there, by the gate to the front yard, maybe — and me and Todd will go way over to the far corner, maybe even a little way into the woods but not so far the trees block our view. And we’ll see if you still look like a girl from that distance.”

“I see,” Todd said. “Maybe if...”

“We should all go off and look at her from different directions,” Mildred put in.

“Someone should stay with you and watch to make sure you don’t go into hibernation or something,” I said.

“It’s not gonna happen in five minutes,” she said, annoyed. But she was a moment slower to respond than I would have expected, and she spoke more slowly. The cold was already affecting her a little.

“Come on,” Renee said, taking her hand; “we can move around and look at her from different spots.”

Renee and Mildred went off toward the spot she’d first suggested, and Todd, after a moment, said: “I’ll take that spot first,” pointing to another not quite as distant corner.

“Okay. I’ll be over there by the gate.”

I was okay while we were walking around, but I shivered a little when I stood still. My church dress wasn’t as warm as the stuff the others were wearing, even with a coat over it. I started pacing back and forth, keeping an eye on Mildred and Renee. Then I suddenly stopped short, seeing a copperhead right in front of me.

It had to be one of Mildred’s, I thought. After that cold snap, wouldn’t the real snakes be going into hibernation? And what were the odds, anyway? Before Mildred’s Twist, we’d only seen snakes in Grandpa and Grandma’s backyard four times in all the years I could remember, and only one of them was a copperhead. But I stayed away from the snake anyway, just in case. I looked at Todd, who had reached his post and was looking back at me. Suddenly he startled, looking down at his feet, and backed away. I smiled; now I was sure the copperhead was Mildred’s. I looked toward her and raised my hand in a thumbs up; Mildred did the same. A few moments later she and Renee started back towards me, and I headed for the back porch, walking right toward the copperhead, which vanished as I approached it.

We met up near the back porch — at least Mildred, Renee and I. Todd, though he had started out nearer me than Mildred and Renee, had circled around a long way to avoid the snake he’d apparently seen, and then stopped suddenly and made another detour.

“What’s Todd doing?” Renee wondered. Then she glanced around uneasily, fixed her eyes on a spot nearby, and shrieked. Mildred and I couldn’t help laughing.

“You’d better let Todd alone,” I said to Mildred. “And get on inside where it’s warm.”

“We’d all better go,” Renee said, “there was a snake over there — maybe just a king snake, but maybe a coral snake, I only caught a glimpse of it. — Jerry! Carson! Come on inside — not straight toward me, go around through the gate to the front yard —”

“No, there isn’t,” I said. “Enough fun, Mildred, let’s go... Jerry, Carson, false alarm.”

“But...”

I looked back at Todd, who suddenly startled and made another detour on his way back to the house. Mildred giggled.

“Nice to know that a few minutes' chill doesn’t make your trick stop working,” I said.

“Will one of you please explain what’s going on?” Renee said.

“I make people see snakes,” Mildred said.

“That aren’t there,” I helpfully clarified.

“And apparently it works from hundreds of yards away, like Emily’s trick,” Mildred added with a satisfied smile. We went on in and waited in the foyer until Todd came in.

“I’ve never seen that many snakes on a day this cold,” he said.

“Wanna see a few more?” Mildred asked. “I can arrange that.”

He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “You little sneak! That’s why your dad didn’t want you showing off your trick in the house.”

“She did it to him as soon as we got home from the Twist clinic,” I said.

“Good for you, squirt.”

We went on in; the older folks were sitting around the living room, talking. Dad looked at us and said: “Are you feeling well, Mildred?”

“Sure,” she said. “Five minutes didn’t hurt me any.”

“Or make her trick stop working,” Todd said.

“Please have a seat, Mildred. You may wish to do so as well, Emily — this discussion concerns you as well.”

We all found seats, Renee and Todd too. Dad spoke again:

“Your mother and I have discussed this during the last few days, but we thought it well to seek the advice of our extended family before making a decision.”

“About how soon we’re moving to Spiral?” Mildred asked.

“Your question involves a presupposition which is, among other things, under discussion. Should we, in fact, move to Spiral because of your Twist?”

“But... the kids at school are so mean!”

“It was like that for Paul,” Uncle Greg said. “But it was much worse for him in the first few days, perhaps weeks, after his Twist than later on. He ended his high school career as a less popular student than he had been as a sophomore, but he was hardly a pariah, either.”

“And with Kerry, the real bullying didn’t last long,” Faith said. “The teachers and administrators came down hard on the bullies, and they pretty much left her alone after the first few days. She wasn’t as popular as before, but she didn’t lose all her friends — not more than one or two, really, and those she wasn’t very close to to begin with.”

“Kerry and Paul look a lot more human than me,” Mildred said sullenly. “And if it was so great for them in Trittsville, why’d they move to Spiral the first chance they got?”

“Mildred has a point,” Dad said. “And her welfare must be our primary consideration. But there are other considerations which we will take into account if we can do so without compromising her safety or happiness.”

Grandpa said: “Think too of generations yet to come, your children and the ones who’ll follow them. Among them there will be a few whose Twists give them an aspect singular and strange. By staying here a year or two or five, perhaps you’ll open many people’s eyes, and pave the way for others in their turn.”

“Please think about that, Mildred,” Dad said, “but do not fear that we will pressure you to stay and suffer for years to further the long-term welfare of future Twisted. If your situation at school becomes truly unbearable, we will take you out at once, and decide then whether to home-school you until the end of the semester, or the end of the school year, or move to Spiral as soon as possible.”

“But please try it for a few more days, at least, honey,” Mom said. “Give the teachers a chance to discipline the bullies, and give the principal a chance to discipline the teachers who aren’t doing their job, and give your friends a chance to get over their shock at your Twist.”

“Okay,” Mildred said. “A couple more days.”

“I said it before,” I said, “but I want to say it again — if Mildred needs to be in Spiral, it’s fine with me if we move in the middle of the school year or even the middle of the semester.”

“That is a possibility,” Dad said. “But it will be difficult to find a good place to live in Spiral before the end of the semester, in any case, even if we begin at once to search for housing online and ask our kin in Spiral to help. I do not think we will move in the middle of this semester, though we may take Mildred out and home-school her for the remainder of it.”

The discussion went on for a lot longer than that, but there weren’t any important new points raised. Grandma asked me how the kids at school were treating me, and I told them. Grandpa, Grandma, Uncle Jack and Aunt Karen all volunteered to help Mom and Dad with home-schooling Mildred in various subjects if they found the teachers and principal too slow or ineffective in stopping the bullies.

By the time we got home, it was a lot later than I’d expected. I saw I had a message from Lionel, and another from Vic, and I messaged them back, but it was late enough that it didn’t suit for me to go over and hang out. Mildred and I practiced our tricks on each other in front of the mirror in her room after supper; she was getting more control over what kind of snake I would see, but I still couldn’t get her to see the feminine me in the mirror, or to see me with longer hair or different-colored fingernails or anything.

---

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I'm planning to post chapter nine next Monday. But if I get comments on this one from eight or more people, I'll post the next chapter a few days early, probably around Thursday (assuming Internet problems or other obstacles don't intervene).

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“There’s someone I’m close to who’s Twisted, but my family doesn’t want anything to do with him,” Morgan said, and hurried on: “Not like you’re thinking. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my cousin. I haven’t seen him since his parents got divorced, which was right after his Twist, and because of it.”

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Twisted Throwback

part 9 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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---

Mom drove Mildred to school Monday; Mildred looked like she was going to her execution. I caught the bus not long after they left, and when I got to school, sat in my usual place next to Lionel in homeroom. We had Mr. Bao for homeroom, so he already knew about my Twist; and I think most if not all of the kids had already seen me or heard about me Friday. I could hear a few people talking about me, but there wasn’t as much overt staring and pointing there’d been in some classes Friday.

“How’ve you been?” I asked Lionel. “Sorry I’ve been so busy — I hope I can come over some afternoon this week.”

“Pretty well, I guess,” he said. “Nothing as interesting going on as what’s been happening with you. Vic came over Saturday and we started a game of Phantoms of Phobos; so far we’re just figuring out what’s going on...”

Before my Twist, I would have been either listening with interest, or crying “'Ware spoilers!” and asking him to be a little vaguer until I’d had a chance to play it. Now, I found my attention wandering, remembering my attempts to get better control of my trick, and Sarah and Renee’s advice about interacting with other girls socially, and especially my Modern History term paper; how was I going to structure it? I wasn’t satisfied with the draft opening paragraphs I’d written a few days before; I wanted to start in media res with Ms. Pendergrass’s inauguration as governor, or the beginning of her presidential campaign, or the day she was outed as trans by a reporter during her campaign for state senate — I wasn’t sure which, but not with her childhood as I’d done in that unsatisfactory draft... Then I realized Lionel had asked me a question, and I had to ask him to repeat it.

“So what about tonight?” he asked.

“Tonight?” I asked stupidly.

“Do you reckon you could come over and play tonight?”

I was about to say yes, more out of a desire to hang out with Lionel and Vic than a desire to play Phantoms of Phobos, but then I remembered my promise to Sarah, and I said: “I can’t — I told Sarah I’d come over to her house to study. Maybe tomorrow or Thursday night.” Wednesday we had church.

“You had dinner with her Friday, and you’re already going over to her house tonight? You’re moving fast.”

“We’re not dating,” I said, blushing a little. “She didn’t say exactly who, but some other girls will be there, I think Olive or Morgan and maybe some others. And Morgan and my cousin Renee were with us Friday.”

The bell rang then and we hurried off to our first period classes. Vic was barely on time for Physics, and we didn’t have a chance to talk before class, but after class, he walked with me to Calculus and we talked a little about this and that; I told him about our shopping trip to Rome, and he wanted to know what books I’d bought. I was a little embarrassed to tell him I’d bought only nonfiction; I let him infer what he liked from the fact that I only listed a few of the books I’d bought and then said I had to get to class.

Morgan waved at me when I walked in to Calculus, and it was only then that I realized we shared that class. I knew I’d seen her around school before, but I’d never really noticed her until Sarah introduced us. I didn’t have time to do more than say hello, though, because I’d stood in the hall talking to Vic until it was nearly time for class.

After class, Morgan came up to me as we were heading for the door, and said: “I wanted to apologize for the way I was acting Friday night... It’s just kind of weird, a kind of weird I’m not used to, and I shouldn’t have let it freak me out as much as that, but...”

“It’s okay,” I said, pushing aside the memory of sitting crying in the toilet while Morgan and Sarah argued outside. “People react instinctively when they’re surprised and shocked... I can’t blame you for it. When I first saw my sister after her Twist, or my cousin Kerry, I couldn’t help staring at them.”

“Thanks... You look good today, by the way. Are you doing something different with your makeup?”

“I wasn’t wearing makeup on Friday,” I said. “Mom and Mildred showed me how, Saturday. What you actually see, though... I don’t know. That’s mostly subconscious.”

I needed to pee before my next class, and I went by the girls' room on the way. Morgan followed me in. There was only one stall free, and she let me have it, watching my reflection as I went; to her credit she kept her face impassive, and didn’t say anything about it until later. When I came out of the stall, I didn’t see her, and nobody else seemed to notice a discrepancy between my two appearances while I was washing my hands.

After Modern History, Olive walked with me to lunch. “Sarah told me about your night out Friday,” she said.

“Oh? How was your date with, um —”

“Karl Nguyen. It went pretty well — that was our second date, and we kissed a couple of times during the movie, and again when he took me home. I think we’ll go out again. But I wanted to ask you — Sarah told me something about your situation, about your Twist, and it wasn’t entirely clear, but reading between the lines — are you a transsexual?”

“Yeah,” I said after a pause. “That’s it. The Twist just changed my brain, it left the rest of my body alone.” I looked at her apprehensively; was she going to freak out as bad as Morgan, or worse? But no, she was nodding.

“I thought that might be it. So how soon do they think they can get your body fixed?”

“They don’t know yet.” We walked into the cafeteria and got in line as we talked; I told her about how doctors normally corrected transsexuals' bodies prenatally these days, so they were rusty on how to fix a teenager or adult. w

“That explains it,” she said. “I was wondering why we didn’t hear much about transsexuals in history more recent than President Cho. I kind of thought it was because it wasn’t a big deal anymore and the books didn’t need to mention the fact somebody was born a different sex any more than that they had measles when they were a kid. Like they go on for paragraphs about how it was important that Booker T. Washington or President Obama were black, but when they come to Thucydides West they don’t even mention it.”

“No, there just aren’t any around anymore. Except some old people, and me.”

We kept talking as we served our trays and left the serving area, and the next thing I knew we were at the table where Sarah and Morgan were saving seats for us.

“Hi,” Sarah said.

“Uh, hi,” I said. I was enjoying talking to Olive, and I wanted to talk to Sarah again, but I’d planned to sit with Vic and Lionel at lunch; I’d hung out with the girls for several hours Friday, and was going to be with them again this afternoon, while I hadn’t had much time with Vic or Lionel since before my Twist. Before I could think of a polite way to say I was going off to sit with someone else, Morgan said:

“Your reflection looks better today. I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but... it’s a lot better.”

“Thanks,” I said, pleased. Olive sat down with her tray and asked:

“Her reflection?”

“My trick,” I started to explain, and sat down. “It makes me look more like a girl. A very limited illusion, not a very powerful trick, but useful for someone in my situation.” I’d been taught that if I Twisted and got a trick, I should be sure to downplay how powerful it was. That wasn’t hard in my case, but it would be important for Mildred. It was part of the same strategy that started when some brilliant mind of Grandpa’s generation thought of calling the powers we got from tapping into the Darrington Field “tricks,” to make them sound frivolous and therefore harmless. It didn’t counterbalance the bad publicity we’d been permanently saddled with when the term “Twisted” caught on, but it helped offset it a little.

“And it doesn’t work in mirrors,” Morgan said, and Sarah explained to Olive how they’d given me advice about making my reflection look more feminine, and I told them how Mom and Mildred had helped me with that over the weekend, and about our shopping trip; soon we were talking about clothes, and our meeting that afternoon at Sarah’s house, and before I knew it lunch was almost over.

“Ah, Emily?” I turned and looked, and there was Vic, looking uncertain.

“Hi, Vic,” I said. “Have a seat.” Some of the girls sitting near us had already left for their next class, and there was room next to me. Vic didn’t sit down, though; he looked at the clock and said, “I can’t talk long — I need to get to class,” and moments later Sarah, Olive, and Morgan were exclaiming over the time and rushing to bus their trays. I got up and trailed after them, walking with Vic.

“Sorry — I was going to sit with you and Lionel, but I got into a conversation with Olive waiting in line, and then...”

“It’s okay. I guess there are things you can talk about with them that you might not be comfortable talking about with us...”

“Or that you might not be comfortable hearing me talk about.”

“But don’t be a stranger, okay? We’re still your friends — it’s kind of weird seeing you like this, I won’t pretend it’s not, but we’re not going to drop you.”

“I care about you too,” I said. “I’ll probably come over to Lionel’s house tomorrow afternoon, if some family thing doesn’t interfere. Or if not then, sometime this week for sure.”

“That’s cool.”

I dumped my tray and silverware, and Vic and I hurried off in opposite directions to class.

About five minutes into Mandarin, while Mr. Bao was going over the measure words again (measure words were my bane, and the less advanced students were hopelessly lost), I heard a couple of girls whispering about me, how I wasn’t a real girl and they were sorry for the girls who had P.E. with me. I wasn’t sure if they knew my body was still male, or were just annoyed that I used to be a boy before my Twist. Mr. Bao didn’t seem to hear exactly what they’d said either, or pretended he didn’t; he walked toward them and said (in Mandarin, of course): “Girls, I perceive that you have important news. Please repeat it more loudly, in Mandarin, so that everyone may share it.”

I turned around to look at them, as did almost everyone. One of the girls, whose name I couldn’t recall, stammered something ungrammatical and barely coherent about how it was a private matter; the other, Tracy Esmond, said in reasonably good Mandarin (about as good as mine, nowhere near as good as Uncle Jack’s): “She was asking me about the use of ‘céng’; she did not hear your earlier explanation clearly.”

I thought for a moment about whether I should expose her lie; it wouldn’t do any good unless someone else who’d heard them backed me up, and looking around at the people sitting near them, I didn’t think anybody would stick their neck out for me... But I was wrong. Rob Dyer, a guy I’d known since middle school though I’d never been close friends with him, spoke up and said: “On the contrary, they were expressing their jealousy and frustration that though Emily has been a girl only since her recent Twist, she looks prettier than they and wears more elegant clothes.” He said “Twist” in English; Mr. Bao hadn’t taught us the Mandarin word for “Twist.”

“Is this so?” Mr. Bao asked, looking around at the kids who were sitting near enough to have heard them.

“I did not hear all they said,” I put in, “but I did hear them speaking in disparagement of me.” I smiled gratefully at Rob.

Mr. Bao looked from one to another of us for a few moments, perhaps waiting to see if any more witnesses would speak up. Then he said: “Miss Esmond, Miss Inman, each of you is to write an essay of three hundred characters on ‘Respect for one’s fellow students.’ Use at least five of this week’s vocabulary words in an appropriate context. It is due on Friday.”

He returned to the front and resumed the lesson on measure words, and there wasn’t any gossip about me or anybody else in his class for a good long while.

After class, I waited for Rob Dyer, and said to him: “Thanks for telling Mr. Bao about what Tracy was saying... if it had been just me, he might believe me but he couldn’t punish them without another witness.”

He smiled at me again, and I felt a tingling along my left side. “I didn’t want to repeat all the mean things they said — just the part that made you look good and them look bad.”

“Thanks,” I said again, and headed off for Literature, which went pretty routinely. After that I went to P.E., but Coach Guardini told me they hadn’t gotten things sorted out yet, so I went to study hall for the last period instead. I checked my messages before I settled in to doing homework, and saw one from Mom:

The Twist clinic secretary called me to tell me Dr. Oldstadt has referred you to another psychologist, Dr. Underwood. I talked to Dr. Underwood’s secretary and made an appointment with you for Thursday afternoon — that’s in Stone Mountain. And I told them you’d figured out your trick, and they want you to come in for more testing, so you’ve got an appointment with the Twist clinic the same day. Not sure if it will be your father or me or Uncle Jack who takes you to those appointments. I’m going to pick you up after school tomorrow and take you to the courthouse to file your name change. Have you thought of a middle name yet? What about ‘Ursula’?

‘Ursula’ would be okay as a middle name, I decided, and it would make Grandpa and Grandma Newell happy. I replied, telling her so, and reminding her I was going over to study at Sarah’s house after school.

After the last bell rang, I went looking for the number fourteen bus, as Sarah had told me, and showed the driver the note Mom had given me. Sarah was already sitting near the back with Olive; I sat in the empty seat across from them.

“Morgan’s going to join us later,” Sarah said; “she’s going home to do some stuff first.”

With the noise of other conversations around us, and the noise of the bus itself, we didn’t try to talk about anything very serious until after we got to Sarah’s house. Sarah unlocked the door and let us in, and offered us snacks and drinks; a few minutes later we were sitting around her bedroom, which was fairly large, with our tablets on our laps and bowls of nachos and dip on Sarah’s desk.

“We usually work on Modern History,” she explained, “which I need help with and Olive is pretty good at, and Algebra II, which Olive needs help with and I’m okay at. Morgan’s way better at algebra, but she needs help with history too, and she helps us with Literature and Biology when we need it.”

“I’m taking Calculus; I can help you with algebra. And I think I’m better at history since my Twist, or at least more interested in it, but it’s too early to show a big difference in how much I actually know, except in the period I’ve been studying hard the last week or so. Are either of you taking Mandarin?”

Neither of them were. Sarah had gotten her language requirements out of the way by taking Spanish her freshman and sophomore years, and Olive was taking Arabic. So we worked on algebra until Morgan got there, and for a while afterward, and then history. Mr. Kendrick’s history class, which Morgan and Sarah were in, wasn’t quite as far along as Ms. Rutherford’s class, but we quizzed each other on events and people all through the mid twenty-first century. Once we’d covered everything that was likely to come up in lectures or quizzes for the next week or so, we started chatting about other things, and wandered downstairs to get something more to eat.

Sarah’s mom came home while we were scrounging pretzels and dried fruit, and Olive was telling us about her date with Karl Nguyen. “Hi, honey,” she said to Sarah. “Who’s this?”

“This is Emily Harper. Emily, this is my mom.”

“Harper,” she mused. “I went to school with Wendy Harper, and Vernon Harper — are you kin to either of them?”

“Wendy is my aunt,” I said. “Vernon’s my dad’s first cousin.”

“Oh... I haven’t heard anything of Wendy in years, since her parents took her out of school after her Twist.”

“We go see her pretty often. I last saw her, um, three weeks ago?” Dad, Mom, Mildred and I had gone to Milledgeville and spent a few hours with her. She was in a straitjacket, to keep her from hurting herself, but she could talk sense on any number of topics. Only you had to nerve yourself against her asking you once in a while to bring her a knife next time you came, so she could cut off her remaining big toe, or if you wouldn’t mind sticking a few needles through her left cheek — just if you happened to have any needles on you, of course, she didn’t want to be a bother — in the same tone of voice she used to ask you to put a little more salt on her mashed potatoes or to move her king’s bishop to queen three.

“How was she?”

“Pretty well, I guess. She beat me and my sister at chess, playing both of us at once.”

“Yeah, Wendy was always smart, even before her Twist. Will you girls be staying for supper?”

Olive said she could; Morgan said she’d better get home soon. I said I should probably go as well — Mom and Dad might have said I could stay for supper if I’d asked, but I didn’t want to impose on Ms. Kendall the first time I met her. And I was a little nervous about the topic of my Twist coming up in conversation with her. “I guess I’ll call Mom and Dad and tell them I’m ready.”

“Or I could give you a ride home,” Morgan suggested.

“Would you? Thanks!”

A few minutes later, Morgan and I went out and got into a hovercar a few years newer than Uncle Jack’s car, but still older than me or Morgan. “Is this yours, or are you borrowing it from your mom or dad?” I asked.

“It’s not much, but it’s mine,” she said with a look of satisfaction as she cranked it up. “I bought it just before school started, after working weekends all last year and two jobs during the summer.”

“Cool,” I said. “I worked bagging groceries during the summer, but my parents don’t want me working during the school year.”

“That kind of makes sense. My grades are good, but they might be better if I wasn’t working...”

We didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Then Morgan said: “I wanted to apologize again for the way I was acting Friday. It’s... it’s not just the way your Twist made you, I mean — it’s me, not you. But it’s not the way you’re a girl in your head and a boy everywhere else, it’s — I’m just not sure how to relate to Twisted. I have — my family has a complicated history with them.”

“We’re just people like anybody else,” I said, feeling tense. She’d said she wanted to apologize, but then she immediately started making excuses, and I was afraid she was going to say something worse in a minute. “We just... go through changes at puberty, like anybody, but all in a minute or two instead of spread out over years.”

“Yeah. I know that, theoretically, it’s just... I never met anyone who’s Twisted — already Twisted, I mean — until we moved to Trittsville, and since then I haven’t really hung out with any except you.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” I said with a weak smile. I suddenly realized I hadn’t actually told Morgan where I lived, and I was about to speak up when she started talking fast, nervously — I was almost scared to interrupt, but I kept an eye on the road to see where she was taking us. We were driving around the safe, residential parts of Trittsville, and closer to my house than we were when we left Sarah’s, but not getting there by any direct route.

“There’s someone I’m close to who’s Twisted, but my family doesn’t want anything to do with him,” Morgan said, and hurried on: “Not like you’re thinking. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my cousin. I haven’t seen him since his parents got divorced, which was right after his Twist, and because of it.”

“One of them couldn’t handle him being Twisted?” I asked. “That must have been awful.”

“It wasn’t the Twist by itself, I think, it was what it meant. Uncle Ed wasn’t Twisted, and neither was Aunt Rose. So when Uncle Ed found out Jason was Twisted... he knew Jason wasn’t his son.”

“Oh. That’s really awful.”

“Yeah. He left them right after he found out, and filed for divorce, and never had anything to do with them anymore. And my dad didn’t want anything to do with the woman who’d betrayed his brother, and it didn’t matter that I was never going to see my favorite cousin again.”

“Couldn’t you message him?”

“I was eight years old when it happened. Net access restricted down to the ground, no messaging anybody except Mom and Dad and Grandma. A few years later, when they weren’t supervising me so much, I tried to look him up and message him, but I couldn’t find him... it’s like he disappeared not long after his Twist.”

“You looked for him under, um, your Aunt Rose’s maiden name?”

“Of course.” She gave me a withering look, and I said:

“Sorry. Of course you’d think of that... By the way, I don’t think I mentioned before, but I live at 61 Honeysuckle Lane.”

“Oh! Sorry. Thanks.” She turned left at the next intersection and right at the next, and I was relieved to see we were going the right way.

I thought a little more about what she’d said, and asked: “What was his Twist like?”

“I don’t know. Nobody would talk about it — when it happened, all my parents told me was that Uncle Ed and Aunt Rose were getting divorced. And I was just old enough, and had enough friends at school with divorced parents, that I knew to ask when Jason would be staying with Uncle Ed, on the weekends or in the summer? And they said never, and I started crying... It was years before I found out about Jason being Twisted and his parents divorcing because of it. I overheard a bit here and a bit there and put it all together.” Her shoulders were tense, both hands so tight on the wheel her knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry. That’s horrible. My family is so — so together, I have a hard time imagining what it’s like to have your family break up over something like that. I mean — I don’t want to judge your uncle, but it seems weird he would just divorce her in a heartbeat because he found out about an affair she had ten or fifteen years ago. Was she still seeing the guy?”

“I don’t know — nobody told me about this, remember? I just know the bits I overheard the adults talking about. But I’m guessing they were already having some kind of problems, and finding out about the affair, and Jason not really being his son, was just the final straw.”

Something occurred to me, and I said: “I guess you tried just looking for your aunt’s name, too, right?”

“Yeah, no recent hits for her either. I’m guessing she remarried, and has a different name.”

“And... just maybe Jason has a different name now, too.”

“Why...?”

“Like me.”

She gaped silently for a moment. “But if he’s a girl now... his new name could be anything!”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m not really being helpful, am I?”

“You’re listening. That’s better than my parents.”

“He’s probably not a girl, there could be other reasons you can’t find him. Probably his mom remarried, like you thought, and he has his new dad’s surname.”

“Probably.”

“I wonder, though... if he got a weird-looking Twist, maybe he and his mom moved to Spiral. I could ask my cousins who live there if they know him. It’s a long shot, but...”

“Would you? Thanks!”

“I’ll need to know a little more... what’s your aunt’s maiden name? How old was he when he Twisted — what year was that?”

She told me, and later that night I messaged Kerry:

Hi, it’s Emily, formerly known as Cyrus. Sorry I haven’t messaged since my Twist, things have been insanely busy here. I’m guessing you heard about it, though, from Todd or somebody. Anyway, I need to ask you a favor. A friend of mine (she’s not Twisted) lost contact with a cousin of hers who is Twisted, after his parents got divorced and her uncle quit having anything to do with his ex-wife and son. She’s having trouble finding him on the net, and I thought there was a slim chance he might live in Spiral, or that somebody there knows him even if not.

I gave her the facts about Jason that Morgan had told me. A couple of days later she messaged me:

That’s not a lot to go on, but I’ll ask around. Don’t get your hopes up, though. You might know every Twisted in Trittsville, but I don’t know a hundredth of the Twisted in Spiral. And Spiral might have more Twisted than any other city, but it’s still only about one in ten Twisted in the U.S. who lives here.

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

I gave in. I was annoyed at how overprotective he was being, but another part of me was secretly pleased about it, too — that it showed he really thought of me as a girl.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 10 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

Once she started going in a specific direction instead of driving around randomly, Morgan got me home pretty quickly. I thanked her, got out and went inside.

“Hi, honey,” Mom said, looking a little surprised. “I just messaged you a while ago asking when you wanted me to pick you up.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see it. We studied for a while and then we hung out and talked, and Morgan gave me a ride home. Where’s Mildred?”

“In her room... the rest of the house is a little too cool for her right now.”

I went up and knocked on her door. “Come in,” she said.

“How was school?” I asked. It was really warm in her room, probably over eighty degrees.

“Maybe not quite as horrible as Friday,” she said, glancing up from her tablet. “But that’s not saying much.”

“Kids still being mean?”

“Yeah, only more careful to whisper mean things where the teachers can’t hear them. The principal has somebody randomly checking on Mr. Tate, so he’s on his best behavior for now, and Mom thinks I should stay a while longer, but I don’t trust him.”

“What about Natalie and Irene?”

She gave a little sob. “Natalie’s trying to be nice, but... she’s deathly afraid of snakes. She can’t stand to be near me. In the classes where I was sitting next to her, she begged the teachers to separate us, and they moved me to the front corner near their desks where nobody wanted to sit. And she’s messaged me a couple of times, but...”

I sat next to her on the bed and hugged her.

“And Irene’s just being really weird about it. She was kind of grossed out about it Friday, and didn’t want to sit with me at lunch — or maybe she just wanted to sit with Natalie more than she wanted to sit with me. Today she said she was sorry, and she was acting a little nicer, but she keeps staring at me, and it makes my skin crawl. My scales. Whatever.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I get a lot of staring too. Probably not as much as you, but a lot. And some mean comments, but the teachers have been better about shutting them up than at your school.”

“So... you went over to Sarah’s house, right? What did y’all do?”

“We studied for a couple of hours, and then we just hung out and talked, and ate too many nachos.”

“Huh. I used to like nachos, but now they just seem kind of bland. Not that I’ve actually tasted any since my Twist, but I don’t really want to.”

“Kind of like me and boy clothes.”

“Kind of.” She smiled a little.

Mom called us to supper then. “Where’s Uncle Jack?” I asked as we served our plates.

“Your uncle messaged me this morning,” Dad said, “informing me that he would be camping tonight in Cloudland Canyon.”

“Remember I’m picking you up after after school tomorrow,” Mom added; “don’t forget and get on the bus.”

“Why?” Mildred asked, and Mom told her about the name change.

“And then, once we’ve got the name change processed, we’ll need to take you to Rome to get a new driver’s license.”

I realized: “Oh, no! My new driver’s license photo won’t show what I really look like!”

Dad looked bemused. “That may be a problem. There are special driver’s license annotations for Twist accommodation, however; very likely someone from the Twist clinic can advise us.”

“I’ll have to wear a high-neck blouse and a lot of makeup the day of my driver’s license photo,” I fretted, “and get my hair done... Do you think a stylist could fix it the way it already looks, looking at me in a mirror to see what she’s doing?”

“I hope so,” Mom said. “It seems difficult, but it should be possible. I’ll take you to the salon tomorrow or Wednesday.”

“Not tomorrow, please — I promised Lionel I’d come over tomorrow, and I don’t want to put him off again.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds in that telepathic way parents have. “Be careful, Emily,” Dad said. “For a young lady to visit a male friend’s house, and be in his bedroom, even if you are only playing VR games or enjoying pleasant conversation — it is not fitting, as it was before your Twist. It would be best if you remain in the living room or other common areas, where his parents can chaperon you.”

“I’m not going to be alone with him,” I said, “Vic’s going to be there. And his game system’s set up in his bedroom.”

“I am sure he can move it to the living room, perhaps with assistance from Vic or his parents. I will speak with his father or mother directly.”

I gave in. I was annoyed at how overprotective he was being, but another part of me was secretly pleased about it, too — that it showed he really thought of me as a girl.

---

Tuesday after Calculus, I told Morgan I’d sent a message to Kerry, and promised I’d let her know if Kerry found out anything.

“And — I’ll see you again later in the week, I reckon. I’ll probably be spending a lot more time with you and Sarah and Olive if you’re okay with that, but I need to eat lunch with my old friends today.”

“That’s cool,” she said. “Like that guy that wanted to talk to you yesterday, what’s his name, Nick?”

“That’s Vic — Victor Gordon. We’ve been friends since elementary school.”

“He’s was in some of my classes last year, but I don’t really know him. He doesn’t speak up much.”

“Not in class, anyway. But he’s cool.”

I told Olive the same as we were leaving Modern History, and I looked around for Lionel and Vic when I got through the lunch line. They were in their usual place, and I sat down next to them.

“Hi,” I said. “Sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s cool, man,” Vic said. “It’s not like we own you or anything.”

“Dude, what did you tell your dad about what we were planning?” Lionel asked me. “I don’t know exactly what he said, but he called my mom and talked to her for like half an hour, and then she grilled me for half an hour about you and your Twist and stuff. And then she told me I had to move my game system into the living room if I wanted to play when you came over, cause you weren’t supposed to go into my bedroom.”

“Yeah, my mom and dad are kind of protective now that I’m a girl, I guess. Dad was saying a young lady shouldn’t be in a young man’s bedroom, even if they’re just playing VR games.”

“But you aren’t really a girl,” Lionel said, and I was too stunned to react, too hurt to think of anything. Before I recovered my wits, Vic said:

“Dude, leave her alone. She thinks like a girl, she wants us to think of her as a girl.”

“Sorry,” Lionel said, but it was obvious he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be sorry for. “But — it’s weird they’d be so suspicious. I mean, if I brought my girlfriend home, if I had a girlfriend right now, I can see how they wouldn’t want us alone in my bedroom, but you — does your dad really think I’d —?”

I interrupted, not wanting to know how he planned to finish that sentence. “It’s not you in particular, I think. It’s just — he doesn’t think we’d do anything, but he wants to make sure nobody else thinks we did anything, either. Does that makes sense?”

“Sure,” Vic said, but Lionel took a big mouthful of pizza and didn’t say anything for a while. Then we started talking about Phantoms of Phobos, and books and movies, and the tension I’d felt after Lionel’s obliviously hurtful remark gradually faded. A different kind of discomfort took its place: I was reminded that I hadn’t played a VR game, read a novel, or seen a movie since my Twist. I hadn’t even read any short stories except the ones assigned for Literature. How much did I have in common with my lifelong friends anymore?

After Literature, I went to the gym again. Coach Guardini saw me and said: “This way, Miss Harper,” and led me through the coaches' office and down a hall to a door marked WOMEN’S SHOWER.

“Always knock and make sure no one’s in there before you go in — the coaches have agreed to let you use it for a few minutes at the beginning and end of sixth period, but on game days visiting coaches might be using it, or other staff members who don’t know about the arrangement. After you’re done showering today, stay a few minutes until the boys' locker room is clear, and I’ll escort you in there to get your old things.”

I knocked, and called out: “It’s Emily Harper, here to change for P.E.” Nobody answered, and after a confirming glance at Coach Guardini I went in.

I changed into my gym clothes, feeling nervous, and realized with dismay that I should have brought a couple of good clothes hangers to hang my blouse and skirt on. I’d always stuffed my boy clothes into the locker during P.E., but these I cared about not getting wrinkled. I tried to spread them out smoothly on the bench, and set my book bag and purse on top of them.

By the time I got done, almost everyone else had finished changing and was sitting in the bleachers listening to Coach Guardini talk about the rules of basketball. Most of the kids in my P.E. class had seen the new me in one class or another, but not quite all; and none of them had seen me in a halter and shorts. As I found an empty seat near the edge, I heard several guys commenting on me:

“— turned out pretty hot, right?”

“Cute, maybe — I wouldn’t say hot, but definitely cute.”

“Dude, that’s really a guy, are you gay?”

“Nah, 'course I wouldn’t do her, but she’s nice enough to look at.”

I looked around but couldn’t tell who it was that thought I was hot and who thought I was just cute. Even the latter comment made me feel really good, almost enough to insulate me from the insults and mean comments of several others, both boys and girls.

After the last stragglers from the locker rooms had joined us, and another five minutes of lecture, Coach Guardini split us into four teams and had us play two games of half-court basketball. I wasn’t any better at it than before my Twist, but not any worse either, not like people who’d gotten a physical Twist and weren’t used to their new bodies yet. I managed to make one goal in the first quarter, and successfully blocked several passes and what probably would have been a goal if I hadn’t gotten in the way.

If the other kids in class hadn’t seen me in shorts before, and some of them liked what they saw — what my trick made them see — I hadn’t seen them in shorts since my Twist, either. The evidence from Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth’s tests suggested that I probably wasn’t attracted to girls anymore, at least not as much, but I hadn’t until now felt a strong attraction to guys either. Looking back, it seems obvious that the only guys I’d spent much time with were my cousins and a couple of old friends who were almost like brothers — and, in class, I was more narrowly focused on the teachers and what they were saying than before my Twist. Now, though, I was surrounded by guys wearing shorts and sweat-soaked sleeveless T-shirts; and some of them were clearly paying attention to me for reasons that had nothing to do with whether I had the ball or was likely to stop them from passing it. I found myself looking at them, too, and focusing more on the tall, handsome guys like Ted Jackson, Rob Dyer, and Rory Chan than on whoever had the ball.

They were nice to look at, but at the same time, it was a little scary to feel that visceral evidence of another way my Twist had changed me. And before long, both the pleasure of looking at hot guys and the apprehension that this pleasure entailed were overshadowed by something more immediate: the painful pressure from where my unwanted bits were tucked away in my panties. That wasn’t the first erection I’d had since my Twist, but the others had been right when I woke up, when I was wearing a nightgown and nothing under it; a disgusting reminder of how wrong my body was, but not nearly as painful as this one. Between the pain and the disgust, I was too distracted to either notice the hot guys around me, or to concentrate on the game.

I was glad when it was over and I could go shower and change. I knocked at the door of the women’s shower and called out, and nobody answered, so I went on in, undressed — in a hurry to get out of my panties — jumped into the shower, and turned on the cold water without the hot. I shivered under the cold water for a minute or so, until that horrible thing was thoroughly subdued, before I turned on the hot water and washed off. I kept my eyes closed through most of it.

I dried off and dressed in a hurry, hoping nobody would come in. If they did, would my trick make them see a naked girl? Or did it only work when I had girl clothes on, since it had started working when I first tried on girl clothes? I didn’t want to find out the hard way. Once I was dressed, I went and looked for Coach Guardini.

“I think there are a few boys still in the locker room,” he said. “Sit and wait a few minutes.”

I got out my tablet and checked messages, and worked on my homework for Mandarin. After a few more boys came out of the locker room, the coach stepped in to look around, came back out, and said the coast was clear. I went in and got all the stuff out of my old locker, looking at it with distaste. I almost threw it in the trash on the way out, but I decided all except the underwear could go to Goodwill along with the other boy clothes at home.

Mom’s car was waiting in front of the school when I got out there; I went over and got in, and after sitting for a few minutes in school traffic, we were on our way to the courthouse. We had a bunch of paperwork to fill out, and then a long wait before the judge was ready to see us. He glanced over the paperwork we’d given the clerk, then asked Mom if Dad knew about my name change and approved of it, and she said yes — she showed him a letter Dad had written and signed. Then he told us I’d have to wait four weeks for the change to be finalized.

“It’s just a formality in your case,” he said, “but with adults, we have to check and make sure they aren’t using a name change to evade debts or something. We’ll post your intention to change your name on the county website for a month, and when nobody objects — it sounds like nobody could have any reason to do so — I’ll sign your paperwork and you’ll be done.”

“So I can’t get a new driver’s license until then?” I asked.

“I could write a letter to the Department of Driver Services for you; maybe they’ll let you get a new license right away. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they insist on waiting.”

“Please do,” Mom said.

After that, Mom dropped me off at Lionel’s house. I went up the porch steps and rang the bell, and his mom opened the door after a few moments.

“Cyrus?” she asked, looking uncertain.

“I’m going by Emily now,” I said, trying not to show my discomfort at being called ‘Cyrus’.

“Hmm. Yes, Lionel told me about your Twist...” She turned and walked past the sofa, where Lionel and Vic were sitting wearing VR helmets and gloves, and pushed the pause button on the VR console. “Lionel! Your friend is here.”

Lionel and Vic pulled off their helmets and looked at me. “Hi, Emily,” Vic said.

“Hey!” Lionel said. “Ready to join us? We’ll save that game and start another one, let you get started designing your character. Have you seen the character design demo?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Lionel,” his mom said, “you should offer your guest something to eat first.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Uh, Emily, do you want anything?”

“Sure,” I said. “I just spent two hours at the courthouse, and haven’t eaten since lunch.”

Vic and Lionel took off the gloves and we went into the kitchen, where we looked in the refrigerator and cabinets for snacks and drinks. I knew my way around Lionel’s kitchen as well as my own, I’d spent so much time at his house over the years, but it was obvious his mom wasn’t sure how to deal with me; she followed us into the kitchen and asked me if I needed help finding anything.

“No, Mrs. Ellis,” I said. “I remember where everything is.”

“So... Lionel tells me that you weren’t affected much by your Twist at first, but after two or three days you started dressing up as a girl?”

I glared at Lionel for a moment. What had he told her? Did he not get it? “The Twist gave me a girl brain,” I said, “with all the little personality changes that go with that. I didn’t understand it at first, I just knew I wasn’t comfortable with my body or the clothes I was wearing; it took me a couple of days to figure out I was a girl and how I needed to dress and act.”

“Ah... I see. I’m afraid Lionel didn’t explain it very clearly. Your father’s explanation was a little unclear, as well.”

“Oh. Well, I’m pretty much a girl now.”

There was an awkward silence. I wondered when Mrs. Ellis was going to leave us alone, but she made no move to leave the kitchen, and when we took our bags of chips and bowl of popcorn into the living room, she followed us, sitting in a chair at the other end of the room while Lionel, Vic and I plopped down on the sofa.

I was sitting between Vic and Lionel, and after what I’d discovered that afternoon in gym, I felt a little awkward about that. Not that I was particularly attracted to them, as I’d been to some of the well-built guys in gym — Vic looked nicer than Lionel, but neither was in great shape, nor was I to be honest. We all spent too much time reading and playing games — or at least I’d spent too much time playing games before my Twist — to get as much exercise as we should. But still, sitting a few inches from them on a sofa, instead of in separate chairs in a classroom or lunchroom... it felt a little too close.

Lionel started telling me about the character creation process, in between bites of popcorn. “It’s mostly like in Phantoms of Phobos IV, but there are a lot of new skills to choose from, and more template characters to customize from...” I remembered how the Phantoms of Phobos games had a set of template characters, each of whom had a different backstory that would affect how they interacted with the humans and aliens and ghosts they met on Phobos, but you could customize them with different skills. I wasn’t as interested in the game itself as I’d been before, I was really here just to spend time with Lionel and Vic, and I decided I’d take one of the female template characters as-is and not do any customization.

“Just tell me about the female template characters,” I said. “Is Kiera Yossarian still there?”

“Yeah,” Vic said, “and all of the girl characters from the previous game except for Idris. Then there’s Rita Quinn, she’s a hotshot pilot, and Doreen Minh, who’s the niece of Tran Minh from the first game in the series...”

“I think I’ll play Kiera,” I said. “I’m ready whenever y’all are.”

I’d never allowed myself to play a woman or a nonhuman in any VR or tabletop RPG before, knowing that I might be Twisted. I’d heard horror stories about kids who’d Twisted while playing and turned into their characters, physically and in at least one case mentally; I was scared of that happening to me, even though I knew the odds were really low. Now that I was a girl, I wished I had Twisted while playing a girl character, so I might have gotten the kind of body I desperately wanted now — but would have done anything to avoid, back then. Kiera Yossarian seemed, from what I remembered, to be the most realistically feminine of the template characters in Phantoms of Phobos — not a guy with boobs or an exaggerated sex object like too many of the female characters in games designed by men.

Vic and Lionel talked about what characters they were going to play, and when we’d eaten as much as we cared to, we put on the helmets and gloves and started. I picked Kiera from the character list and skipped through all the customization steps as fast as I could, and moments later I was in the viewport lounge of a space liner making its final approach to Phobos. I looked around, and recognized one character from a previous game among the strangers. I started talking to him, but it was soon obvious he was neither Vic nor Lionel. Then there were a couple of flickers and two guys appeared over near the coffee machine. One was Peter Tsung, whom Lionel had said he might play; Vic hadn’t said he was going to play Oscar Theron, but I knew that had to be him since he was the only other one who’d flickered into being like that. I suddenly blushed when I remembered how Kiera and Oscar’s backstories were connected...

“Ms. Yossarian,” Lionel-as-Peter said. “We meet again.”

“Good evening, Mr. Tsung,” I said. “It’s good to see you again, Oscar.”

“You look as lovely as ever,” Vic-as-Oscar said. I was suddenly much more interested in the game, and more nervous about it, than I’d anticipated.

---

---

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; things have been hectic. I hope the next chapter will be more punctual (or even early if there are lots of comments) but I can't promise anything for sure.

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

Another girl stepped out of one of the stalls just then and went to wash her hands, looking warily at me. Tracy said to her: “This pervert is using some Twisted trick to make us think he’s a girl, so he can sneak in here and spy on us.”

“No, I walked in here openly so I could empty my bladder.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 11 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

A couple of hours later we saved the game and pulled off our helmets. “Man, your Kiera kicks ass!” Lionel said.

“Thanks,” I said.

“And... you and Vic really got into the Oscar and Kiera thing, didn’t you?”

“It was just good roleplaying,” Vic said, and I looked away from him.

“I’ve really got to go,” I said, and pulled off my gloves and dashed into the bathroom. I wondered why Vic, knowing I was planning to play Kiera, had chosen to play Oscar? But if Lionel asked him that, they were done talking about it by the time I got out of the bathroom, and I didn’t have the nerve to ask him myself.

Vic needed to go right after me — Lionel was using the bathroom in his parents' suite, we all needed to go pretty urgently after two hours in VR. I wandered back into the living room and picked up the neglected bowl of cold popcorn, nibbling a couple of pieces as Lionel came back. “You were really great as Kiera,” he said again. “I’ve played a couple of the girl characters in some of the earlier games, just to unlock parts of the game that the guy characters can’t get into you know, but Kiera seemed kind of wussy and I didn’t see any point...”

“I used to think so, before.”

“Are you going to always play girl characters now, like you always played guys before?”

“I haven’t thought about it. Maybe once you really get it through your head that I’m a girl now, not just dressing up as one, I might play a guy once in a while... but I don’t think I’m going to be playing as much as I did before.”

“Part of your Twist?”

“Yeah. You know how my tablet’s memory got wiped by the electrical surge from my Twist? I still haven’t gotten around to reinstalling any games on it — haven’t touched the games on my home system either.”

“Huh. That sucks... you were really good at it, and you still are.”

“Thanks. I enjoyed playing with you and Vic, I just don’t think solo games interest me anymore.”

Vic came back from the bathroom then, and our eyes met for a moment before I looked away.

“I guess I’d better get home,” I said, checking my tablet and seeing there was a message from Mom. I picked up my bag and was about to leave when Vic said,

“Want a ride home?”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.” I’d walked from my house to Lionel’s and back any number of times over the years, but it was a bit of a trek, especially dressed the way I was — I’d worn my dressier shoes this morning because of the appointment at the courthouse.

“See you tomorrow,” Lionel said, and his mom, who’d been in the kitchen fixing supper, came out and said goodbye as well.

I got into the passenger seat of Vic’s car and rode toward my house in silence, at first. After a couple of minutes he said: “So, what have you been reading?”

I sighed. “Almost all stuff for school, the last week or so. Either reading for classes, or research for term papers.” Mainly my Modern History term paper, but I’d done a little work on my term paper for Literature as well. “I started reading Kurt Randall’s new political thriller a few days before my Twist, and still haven’t finished it — I’ve barely read five pages of it since then.”

“Huh. You think that’s 'cause of your Twist, or just being busy?”

“By now I’m pretty sure my Twist made me obsessed with school. I don’t know how that’s going to affect me after I get done with college... maybe I’ll just be reading nonfiction in all my spare time, or maybe I’ll have to get a doctorate and go into academia.”

“Or you could stay in school indefinitely,” Vic helpfully suggested, “keep changing your major, and use every loophole the student handbook to avoid graduating, like that guy in Doorways in the Sand.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll take it under advisement... Anyway, I’m not sure if it’s made me less interested in fiction, or just more interested in nonfiction, or more obsessed with school per se... maybe I’ll go back to normal during the holidays.”

“Man, I hope so.”

We were already turning onto my street; a few moments later he pulled into my driveway, and I got out.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we could finally hang out.” I stood there for an awkward moment longer before I turned and went into the house.

It had warmed up a little in the course of the day, and Mildred was in the kitchen helping Mom with supper; she was getting the roast out of the oven when I walked in. “Can I help?” I asked.

“This is almost done,” Mom said. “But you can set the table, and then go tell your father and uncle supper’s ready. They’re in the back yard.”

A few minutes later we were all sitting round the table, and Dad was asking the blessing. When that was done, Mom said to me:

“I did some looking around, and I found a salon in Little Five Points that caters especially to Twisted. Uncle Jack’s going to take you there on Thursday, after your doctors' appointments.”

Little Five Points is a neighborhood in Atlanta, east of downtown and west of Emory Village; it’s home to more Twisted than any other neighborhood in Atlanta or other nearby cities.

“Great,” I said. “Did you tell them about my trick and stuff?”

“Yes, and they said they can work with it.”

“Thanks, Uncle Jack,” I said.

“You know I’m making a great sacrifice,” he said with a mock-solemn expression. “Walking into an estrogen-soaked place like that, even for a few moments... I might step out and go for a walk while you’re getting your hair done, though.”

“If you can’t stand the estrogen, stay out of the salon,” I said, but I wondered: how long was it going to be before I got the estrogen I needed? How much more damage were my unwanted male glands going to do to my body before I could safely get rid of them?

“John,” Dad said with a serious expression, “I trust you are joking. Little Five Points is not an unusually dangerous neighborhood, yet I am sure you would not leave Emily alone there merely from a distaste at spending time in a women’s salon.”

“Of course I was joking,” Uncle Jack said, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think he’d leave me alone there after that warning, anyway.

Mildred and I spent a little time practicing our tricks that evening. I still couldn’t get her to see the real me in the mirror; she could get me to see the particular kind of snake she was thinking of a little more than half the time.

---

Wednesday morning, the sky was sunnier than it had been since Friday; I hoped it would warm up a lot during the day and be good weather for Mildred. She’d told us last night that the bus wasn’t heated well enough, and she’d gotten all sleepy and sluggish on the way to school and even to some extent on the way home. So today Mom drove her to school, after Dad started her car to heating up twenty minutes before Mildred got in it. I took the bus as usual.

I needed the bathroom between Physics and Calculus, but when I walked in, there weren’t any empty stalls. I thought about going to the other girls' room in the east wing, but I figured by the time I could get there one of these stalls would empty.

Tracy Esmond was adjusting her makeup; she saw me over her shoulder in the mirror and shot me a venomous look. “Pervert. What are you doing in here?”

“I’m a girl. This is the girls' restroom. You took Biology last year, right? There are these organs called the kidneys, and they —”

“I know enough biology to know a boy doesn’t belong in the girls' room!” Another girl stepped out of one of the stalls just then and went to wash her hands, looking warily at me. Tracy said to her: “This pervert is using some Twisted trick to make us think he’s a girl, so he can sneak in here and spy on us.”

“No, I walked in here openly so I could empty my bladder.” I stepped into the empty stall and closed the door, but I could still hear Tracy and the other girl talking for a few moments.

When I came out, Tracy and the girl she’d been talking to were gone, and there were a couple of other girls washing their hands and adjusting their makeup. I washed my hands quickly and left.

During lunch, I sat with Sarah, Olive and Morgan; when I joined them Sarah and Olive were talking about something that had happened in their second-period Algebra class. I half-listened to them while I ate and read some background articles on early twenty-first century Oregon politics for my term paper.

“So, Emily, how are your old buddies treating you?” Sarah asked when they’d exhausted that bit of scandal. I looked up at her.

“Pretty okay, I guess. Lionel still doesn’t get it, I think, but he’s trying. Vic understands better — understands I’m really a girl, I mean. We had a good game session last night.”

“What kind of game?”

I told them a little about Phantoms of Phobos V; I was too embarrassed to go into detail about how my character and Vic’s used to be lovers, and how we’d roleplayed that romantic tension between them, and the parts I did feel comfortable talking about didn’t make it sound very interesting to Sarah and Olive.

“I played one of the earlier games in that series, I think the third one, with my boyfriend Cory a year or so ago,” Morgan said. “It was pretty fun, but after he broke up with me I haven’t had much chance to play that kind of game. Sarah and Olive aren’t into it.”

“I’ve played some historical simulation games,” Olive said, “but the sci-fi games don’t interest me.”

I wondered if I might be more interested in historical simulation games than I used to be. “I’d be willing to play one of those with y’all sometime, maybe,” I said. “And, Morgan, if you want to join me and Lionel and Vic for Phantoms of Phobos sometime, they’d probably be okay with it.”

“Maybe...” she said hesitantly. “Let me think about it.”

During Mandarin, Tracy and her friend gave me angry glares several times when Mr. Bao’s back was turned, but they didn’t say anything. As I was getting up to leave after class, Rob Dyer came over and gave me a smile. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” I said.

“You look really nice today. Every day since your Twist, really. I don’t want to offend you by making bad assumptions — I know Twists affect people in all kinds of different ways — but if you don’t have any plans for Friday night... would you like to have dinner, maybe see a movie?”

I gaped at him for I’m not sure how long. He was asking me on a date! I remembered how he’d looked in shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt yesterday during gym, and I saw how sharp he was dressed today, in pressed white slacks and a light blue button-up shirt, and before I could think through whether it was really a good idea, I said “Yes!” Then second thoughts immediately crowded in, and I stammered for a moment before I managed to add: “I mean, I’d like to... I should ask my parents if they’ve got some kind of family thing planned Friday. And, um, we haven’t really talked about dating and stuff since I Twisted, and I’m not sure... I mean, I’m seventeen so they ought to let me but I’m not sure what my curfew will be or anything...”

“So, talk to them and let me know?”

“Yes. I will do that.”

“And think about what restaurant you’d like. See you in gym.” And with another glorious smile he turned to go. I somehow managed to gather up my things and get to Literature barely on time.

I wasn’t sure what to think or do. I liked Rob; he was easy on the eyes, and he’d stood up for me when Tracy and her friend were talking trash about me, and he was pretty smart. But I didn’t know him well; when I was a guy our interests had never been similar and we’d moved in different social circles. And once I thought about it, I was pretty sure it would be a bad idea: my feminine appearance was apparently nice to look at, to judge from the comments I’d heard, but it wouldn’t stand up to physical contact — maybe not even holding hands or a light kiss. On the other hand, he was bi, so maybe the discrepancy wouldn’t bother him. (Maybe it was even part of the attraction. That thought made me squirm; I hoped not.)

I should probably beg off, tell him we had a family outing Friday and I couldn’t go out with him then. But then he’d just suggest another day; I had told him, truthfully at the time, that I’d like to go out with him.

Despite all that, my Twist-obsession with school stood me in good stead and within a couple of minutes of Ms. Muir beginning her lecture, I was able to put my uncertainty about Rob — and dating in general — aside and focus on the story she was talking about.

“What do you think the attitudes of the characters in ‘Bread and Bombs’ tell us about the War on Terror that was going on at the time the story was written?” Ms. Muir asked. “Remember, you can’t assume that the author agrees with any particular character’s opinions, even if they’re the main character...”

After class, I talked to Sarah on the way to gym. “How much do you know about Rob Dyer? Have you ever gone out with him, or known anybody who has?”

“Not me,” she said. “Olive went out with him a few times freshman year. She said he was a nice enough guy but they didn’t click.” Then her eyes widened. “Did he ask you out?” She must have learned what she wanted to know from my expression, before I could say anything: “He did! Did you say yes?”

“I kind of said maybe.” I told her some of the excuses I’d made for why it might not suit for us to go out Friday.

“Be careful,” she said. “I mean — he might get mad when he finds out you’re not all girl yet.”

“I’m going to tell him before I definitely agree to anything. But I think he might already know — certainly some people know who I haven’t told.” I started telling her about Tracy, but we got to the gym before I finished, and went different ways, to the girls‘ locker room and the women coaches’ shower.

Today Coach Guardini gave a lecture on different muscle groups and the types of exercise that affect different ones, and then taught us different warm-up stretches for use before different types of sport or work. We were spread out in a kind of grid across a large part of the gym, and Rob was in the row ahead of me a little to my left. I tried not to stare at him, but I kept glancing at him again and again, and a couple of times he turned and saw me, and smiled broadly and winked. I turned away, but a minute or two later I found myself looking at him again.

Then the coach set us to running laps around the field for the last twenty minutes or so. It had warmed up a good deal, and I hoped Mildred would enjoy the weather after school — her P.E. period was late morning, and it might have been cool enough then that she had to stay inside even if the other kids went out on the field. I kept pace with Sarah, though I could have outrun her if I tried my hardest, and after a few minutes Rob passed us, slowing down for a moment to smile at me as he did so.

“He is nice to look at,” Sarah said to me between pauses for breath.

“I just noticed that yesterday.”

After that, we went off to the showers. When I walked past the door of the girls‘ locker room toward the coaches’ office, one of the girls called to me: “Why aren’t you changing with the rest of us?”

Another said: “Didn’t you hear? His Twist didn’t really make him a girl, it just made him want to dress like one. They’re letting him use a private room so the boys won’t beat him up for it.”

I turned back and said: “That’s not exactly right. My brain is all girl, I think like a girl, but the Twist didn’t change my body all at once.”

The first girl looked me up and down curiously. “How much did it change you?”

“Enough that I can’t shower with the boys, not enough that I can shower with you. Yet.” I turned and went through the office to the women’s shower.

When I got home, I found Uncle Jack sitting on the porch with his tablet, working on a translation assignment.

“How’s life treating you, Emily?” he asked. “Nice day today.”

“It is,” I said.

I went upstairs and changed into more comfortable shoes, then did homework until Mildred came home a few minutes later. I stepped out of my room to see her coming up the stairs with a plate of reheated sausages from breakfast; she looked as chipper as I’d ever seen her since her Twist.

“Guess what!”

“What?” I asked.

“Bobby sent me a message!” She went into her room, and I followed her. I think she’d programmed her heaters to turn on an hour before she got home from school; it was pretty toasty in there. She put down the plate of sausages, bit off a large chunk of one of them, and chewed it while she pulled her tablet out of her backpack and tapped through to the net messages. She swallowed a mouthful and said: “I won’t let you read it, but I’ll read you part of it... Here, he says: ‘The secretary at the Twist clinic told me you wanted to talk. Yes, I remember you. Your Twist looked pretty awesome; have you figured out your trick yet? I found some new things I could do with mine, like turn switches on or off without touching them, or...’ Um, and then he says he lives in Woodstock. That’s not all that far!”

“It’s a little closer than Atlanta, anyway. Still a couple of hours away, but you might could get Mom or Dad or Uncle Jack to give you a ride to have lunch with him or something.”

“They don’t want me dating yet, but maybe if I frame it as two kids with weird Twists helping each other...”

“That might work.”

“And he sent me a picture, and he asked me to send him a picture of me!”

“I told you he thought you were pretty.”

“And, um... he kind of asked about you too. Whether you’d figured out your trick or your Twist compulsions yet. What do you want me to tell him?”

“Tell him we figured out from my brain scans that I have a girl brain, and that I’m going to get the rest of my body changed to match it eventually.”

“And I’ll tell him your trick is to look pretty.”

“What did he say about how the kids at school are treating him?”

“He didn’t, exactly. But... I think they’re being kind of mean to him, ‘cause he says his parents are talking about moving at the end of the school year or the end of the semester. His dad wants to move into an apartment in Little Five Points, so they won’t have to get new jobs or move far away from his family, but his mom wants to buy a house in Spiral — I guess they can’t afford a house in Little Five Points as nice as the one they have in Woodstock — partly ’cause she has relatives out West and wants to live closer to them.”

“I hope they can work it out. And I hope you can meet up with Bobby sometime... How are the kids at school treating you?”

“...Maybe not quite as bad as last Friday. But still not good. Irene sat with me at lunch, and we talked about normal stuff, but most of the girls I used to hang with are avoiding me when the teachers are listening and making snarky comments about me when they aren’t.”

“I’m sorry... I hope it gets better. I’ve got some news too.”

“What is it?”

I told her about Rob asking me out, and my confused, vacillating response. “What do you think I should do?”

“He sounds pretty nice, but... what does he think about you being, you know, not physically a girl yet?”

“I don’t know! I should have talked to him about it then and there, but we didn’t have a lot of time to talk between classes, and besides I was... in shock. I didn’t think anybody’d ask me out, not the way I am. And I’m not sure if he knows yet — some people do, but not everybody...”

“You should tell him before he finds out from somebody else.”

“I will, if it’s not too late. But I think he might be okay with part of me still being male. He’s bi... do you remember Charles Kreutz?”

“Vaguely.”

“Yeah, you were pretty little when me and Vic used to hang out with him. We kind of drifted apart as we got older, but we’d still say hi when saw each other at school... He and Rob were an item for a couple of years, before his family moved to Raleigh.”

Uncle Jack knocked at the door, and Mildred said: “Come in.”

“Hey, girls. Your mother wants us to fix supper before she and your dad get home, so we can eat before church.”

“Sounds good,” I said, and we went downstairs and started getting ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator.

When Mom and Dad got home, we ate supper in a bit of a hurry and then went to church; Mildred wasn’t hungry after her snack, and I noticed she hadn’t finished her sausages either. She told Mom and Dad about the message she’d gotten from Bobby (she didn’t tell them as many details as she’d told me), and kept glancing at me, apparently wondering when I’d get the nerve to tell them about Rob asking me out. I was wondering the same thing.

During prayer meeting, Dad prayed aloud for the school board, the school principals, and the teachers — I knew he was thinking about Mildred and her problems with bullying, and maybe about me, but he didn’t mention us directly. Ms. Taylor prayed specifically that the teachers at the middle school would crack down on bullying, and that the bullies would repent and change their ways — I felt Mildred squirming in her seat next to me. I didn’t pray aloud, but I asked God to help me figure out what to do about Rob — and what to tell Mom and Dad about him.

When we got home, I said: “Dad? Mom? There’s something I forgot to mention during supper...”

“What is it, dear?” Mom asked.

I took a deep breath. “A guy asked me to go out with him Friday and I haven’t said yes or no to him yet but if I say yes would it be okay and how late could I stay out?”

Dad blinked. “Who is this young man? Do we know him?”

“Rob Dyer. No, I don’t think so. I’ve sort of known him since middle school, but never very well.”

“And now that you are as you are, he is romantically interested in you.”

“Uh, yeah, apparently. He said I looked nice since my Twist, and would I like to have dinner and go to a movie Friday.”

“I’m worried,” Mom said. “Does he already know about your... condition?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I was kind of too flustered to think of it right then, and we didn’t have time to talk for very long anyway.”

“Do tell him,” Mom said. “Or — if you turn him down, you wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“He’ll hear from somebody anyway; I’m going to tell him whether I agree to go out with him or not... So is it okay?”

“Let us discuss it,” Dad said.

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“I have another question for you. What does it mean to you to be a girl?” After I’d been quietly thinking for a while, Dr. Underwood said: “I’m not your Social Studies teacher, asking you to define gender. What being a girl means to you might not have much to do with what it means to someone else. Just say what first comes to mind.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 12 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

The next morning, when I went downstairs for breakfast, Mom said: “Your father and I talked about it, and we decided you can go out with this boy Friday, if you really want to... But I wouldn’t advise it. You’re still so new to being a girl, and I’m afraid...”

“I’ll think about it today,” I said. “We forgot to exchange addresses, so I can’t talk to him until tomorrow anyway.”

Uncle Jack and I left for Atlanta before Mom or Dad left for work. It had warmed up more overnight, and there was no trace of the clouds that had covered the sky yesterday morning. Rush hour was past by the time we hit Atlanta traffic, but it was still almost eleven by the time we got there. We talked about things for a little while, and then I studied during most of the drive, but I was a little less focused on it than usual, thinking about what I might be going through today, and what I might find out.

Dr. Underwood’s office — or rather, I soon found out, the office where Dr. Underwood was meeting us — was in the town of Stone Mountain, just west of the park surrounding the mountain. In the last mile or so of the drive, we caught glimpses of the mountain in between the taller buildings. Once we got closer, we had an almost uninterrupted view of it; Uncle Jack said they zoned things so you couldn’t build anything taller than two stories east of Main Street.

“Wish we had time to go into the park,” Uncle Jack said. “We’re early, but not early enough for that. You want to park a ways away and walk to Dr. Underwood’s office?”

“Let’s park at the office, and then walk around from there. Then we’ll be able to drive straight to the Twist clinic after my appointment’s done, without walking a long way to the car.”

“Good idea.”

We found Evergreen Counseling without too much trouble, a big brick mid twenty-first century house that had been turned into offices some time ago. Uncle Jack’s beat-up old hovercar looked out of place among the fancy new cars parked in that neighborhood. We walked around for a while, over to Main Street and down it for a short distance, then back along another couple of side streets to the one the office was on.

“That’s three streets I’ve never walked on before,” Uncle Jack said with satisfaction as we walked up the porch steps to the office door. “I’ve been in Stone Mountain a few times, but haven’t explored it anywhere near as thoroughly as Trittsville or Spiral or some other places.”

We signed in with fifteen minutes to go until my official appointment time. I barely had time to bring up my calculus textbook on my tablet and read a couple of paragraphs before the secretary called out: “Emily Harper? Dr. Underwood is ready to see you.”

I got up and walked toward the door; Uncle Jack remained sitting. “Good luck,” he said.

The secretary showed me to a room furnished more like a den than an office; there were a couple of straight-backed chairs, two easy chairs, and a sofa, along with bookshelves and several framed paintings, but no desk or filing cabinets, no diplomas or certifications or awards on the walls. A man sat in one of the straight-backed chairs; he rose as I entered. He looked older than Grandpa or Uncle Greg, and was bald except for a few tufts of gray hair behind his ears.

“Good morning — it’s Emily, right? I’m Dr. Thomas Underwood — you can call me Tom, or Doc.”

“Hi.” I looked around. “Do you want me to lie down on the sofa?” It didn’t look like a prototypical psychoanalyst’s couch, more like an ordinary sofa.

“If you like. Or you can take any other chair. I need this one,” pointing to the chair he’d just gotten up from; “my back complains if I sit on something that soft for too long.” He sat back down and I took the easy chair nearest his.

“Let me tell you a little bit about myself, and then you can tell me about yourself,” he said. “I was born with a female body, and started transitioning in my late teens. I studied psychology, and worked as a clinical psychologist specializing in gender dysphoria for a little over forty years. I worked with a few Twisted who were having trouble adjusting to their changed bodies, but mostly with ordinary people with some form of gender dysphoria. I retired about fifteen years ago, but I still meet occasionally with a few of my old patients, and a few days ago I got a call from Dr. Oldstadt at the Twist clinic.”

“About me.”

“Yes. Dr. Oldstadt told me a few things, but why don’t you tell me in your own words?”

I told him about my Twist, what I’d been doing when it happened and how I’d felt so uncomfortable and weird until I finally realized I was supposed to be a girl.

“So do you think you can help me? I mean, I know you’re a psychologist and not a surgeon, but can you get somebody who did this kind of surgery to come out of retirement too, or get some young doctor to do something he’s never done before?”

“I’m sure we can work that out one way or another, if you should decide to go that route,” he said. “Doctors do experimental procedures all the time; reviving old, well-documented techniques should be a lot easier. There are some other things we should talk about first, though. Before your Twist, did you ever feel any dissatisfaction or discomfort with being called a boy, or treated as a boy?”

“No.”

“Or with your male body?”

“No, not until my Twist.”

“Or feel any inclination to wear feminine clothes?”

“No.”

“And it was about two days between your Twist, and your decision to think of yourself as a girl?”

“Yeah. It was when Dr. Oldstadt and Dr. Wentworth showed me those pictures and asked me why I liked them. I realized I liked this fancy blue dress the lady in that old painting was wearing, and wished I could wear something like that — and then I realized why I didn’t like to see myself naked, and why I didn’t like having a goatee, and why I didn’t like the name ‘Cyrus’. It was because all this boy stuff was wrong for me now; I’m a girl.”

Dr. Underwood looked thoughtful. “Was it immediately after that that you began presenting as a girl? I mean, wearing feminine clothes and prosthetic breasts and using the name ‘Emily.’”

“I know what ‘presenting’ means. Yeah, it was just a couple of hours later — we went out to lunch, and then we went shopping for clothes. Me and Mom and Mildred and Uncle Jack. Mom and Mildred helped me pick this stuff out,” gesturing at the skirt and blouse I was wearing. “And I wasn’t sure at first what girl name to use — Mom and I talked about different names, and I tried out ‘Amy’ for a while, but by Friday morning I’d decided on ‘Emily’.”

He nodded. “You’re presenting very well for someone who’s only just realized their previously assigned gender identity doesn’t fit.”

“Thanks... but it’s mostly due to my trick.” I told him about how it had kicked in when I first tried on girl clothes, and the testing and practicing I’d done since then. “I don’t really have any conscious control over it, at least not yet. People tell me I look like a natural-born girl, unless they look at me in a mirror, but I don’t look right to myself.”

“That is a useful trick — I suppose the limitations must be frustrating to you, but I would have considered it a Godsend when I first started presenting as a man. I’ve dealt with a few Twisted in my career, but never I think with a trick like yours.” He was silent for a few moments, and I wondered if I should say something, but before I could think of anything definite he asked:

“So, tell me more about how you’ve been presenting since your discovery. What all have you been wearing?”

“Blouses and skirts every day except Sunday, when I wore a dress. And Saturday evening, I was helping Dad and Uncle Jack work on the attic insulation, and I wore jeans and a T-shirt — but they were girly jeans,” I added anxiously, “with little hearts embroidered on the pockets. Oh, and in gym I wore a halter top and shorts. Both of them pastel green.”

“And you’ve been asking people to call you Emily?”

“Yeah. We filed papers to legally change my name, but it’s not final yet. Emily Ursula Harper. Ursula’s my grandma’s name, my mom’s mother.”

“How are other people treating you?”

“My family’s been great about it. They’re mostly Twisted, and they’re used to people changing in strange ways, even though I’m the first person in the family to change gender. People at school, well — my friends were kind of weirded out by it, but they’re still good to me. And I’ve made a couple of new friends, girls, who are helping me adjust. A few people have made snarky comments about me, but only one or two have insulted me to my face — not like poor Mildred...”

“Your sister, right?”

“Yeah. Did Dr. Oldstadt tell you about her? She Twisted right after me — less than twenty-four hours later. And she looks kind of like a snake or lizard — more like a snake, except she still has arms and legs. The kids at the middle school are being really mean to her.”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned fourteen last month — she’s about three years younger than me.”

“Are you especially close to her?”

“...Yeah. Even more now than before, but I think we were closer than most siblings three years apart even before our Twists.”

He asked me some more questions about my family and friends, and then I remembered something else I hadn’t told him yet. “Oh. And, a guy asked me out on a date yesterday — I told him yes, and then I backpedaled and said I wasn’t sure if my parents would be okay with it, and I’d check with them and tell him later.”

“And what did they say?”

“They said it was okay but they didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know him real well, but he seems like a nice guy, and —” I blushed. “He’s really hot. And he’s bi, so I think he’ll probably be okay with me being trans, but I’m not sure — he probably already knows, but I want to make sure... And then, if we do go out, I’m not sure how far I want to take it. Not very far, 'cause I don’t think my trick will hold up if we do any more than hold hands and maybe kiss — if he puts his hands on my breasts he’ll be able to tell they’re bags of birdseed...”

“There are more realistic breast prostheses available, though they’re harder to find and more expensive than they were before we started preventing gender dysphoria and breast cancer prenatally. Still, your parents are probably right to advise caution. You might wish to get to know this young man better in mixed social settings before being alone with him.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Let me ask a couple more questions. You said you find this boy attractive — were you ever attracted to boys before your Twist?”

“No.”

“To girls, then? How strongly?”

“Pretty much like any straight teenage boy... I dated a girl, Laura Weller, for about a year, and we were — intimate, a few times.” Maybe more than a few, depending on how you define “intimate” and where you draw the line between “few” and “lots.”

“And have you felt attraction toward girls since your Twist?”

“Not much, anyway — not that I can tell. Did Dr. Oldstadt send you the results of that test he did? When he showed me pictures of people and saw how my brain reacted to them?”

“Yes, but I’d like to hear about how you are experiencing things in your own words.”

“Well, I haven’t really been turned on by girls. During gym the last couple of days, I was looking at the hot guys, not the girls like I would have before.”

“How do you feel about this?”

“...Um, excited and scared, I guess? I mean, I’m a girl and it’s typical for girls to be attracted to guys, that’s not unusual, but — but if I get too close to a guy, before I get my body fixed, it would be — without my clothes and fake breasts and stuff I’d look like a guy. I think I’d be too disgusted with my own body to be interested in his, even if he were bi and liked me either way.”

“Hmm. You said you’ve only worn pants once since your Twist?”

“No, I wore pants for the first couple of days after. I mean I haven’t worn pants but once since I figured out I’m a girl.”

“Oh, yes, right. Skirts and blouses, or a dress, then, except when exercising or doing chores?”

“That’s right.”

“What about at night?”

“I have a really pretty nightgown, with lace at the sleeves and hem...”

He smiled indulgently. I realized suddenly that for him it must have been the other way around, for however long it took him to get sorted out — maybe his parents gave him nightgowns like that to wear and he hated it, but couldn’t figure out why at first?

“I have another question for you. What does it mean to you to be a girl?”

That flummoxed me. Ever since I consciously realized why I was interested in that painting — that I wanted a dress like that for myself, that I wanted to be the kind of person who would look good in that dress — I’d thought of myself as a girl, or at least as partially a girl. But I hadn’t consciously thought out what that meant, in all its ramifications. The first several answers that came to mind all seemed flimsy and inadequate or outright wrong.

After I’d been quietly thinking for a while, Dr. Underwood said: “I’m not your Social Studies teacher, asking you to define gender. What being a girl means to you might not have much to do with what it means to someone else. Just say what first comes to mind.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I couldn’t think of anything that’s true about all girls. The obvious, um, biological things have exceptions like me, and — and, well, all the other stuff I’ve thought of —”

“What it means to you, remember.”

“Okay. Um, so the kind of girl I’d like to be wears things like this,” fingering the sleeve of my blouse, “and listens to people, and pays attention — she knows what to say to make sad people feel better.” I was thinking mainly of Mildred there. “And she’s kind and gentle, and she cares about doing a good job at whatever she’s working on but not about outdoing other people. And — and she’s not a showoff, or vain, but she doesn’t mind when people take photos of her or see her in a mirror. And she doesn’t feel vaguely guilty when people say she looks nice, like she’s deceiving them. And,” my voice broke and it was several seconds before I could say anything more, “and she’s comfortable with her body, she doesn’t shudder with disgust every time she has to shower or change clothes or use the bathroom...” I was crying now, and Dr. Underwood handed me a box of tissues from the little table next to his chair.

He waited patiently until I stopped crying. Then he said: “I have high hopes that you can be that girl, though it will take time and work.”

“So you think we can get my body fixed, even though the people who used to do it are all retired?”

“Very likely, yes. But there are a couple of things I’d like to talk about before we discuss how to proceed with that.

“Your case is unusual; I’m not sure how much my previous experience will apply here. Certainly you resemble a person with gender dysphoria in many respects, but... Your being Twisted may complicate matters. Dr. Wentworth at the Twist clinic sent me your brain scans and her analysis of them, along with some blood test results that you may not have heard yet. There is essentially no change in your genome since before your Twist. Specifically, there are none of the genes that are found in people with various kinds of gender dysphoria. But your brain is, if anything, even more typically female in structure than that of an untreated male-to-female transsexual. Dr. Wentworth’s latest analysis even suggests that you have the nerve structures that would, in a genetic woman’s brain, be used to control the vaginal muscles.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. Your Twist specialists and I have searched the literature and found no case quite like yours. There are many Twisted who have physically changed sex; in many though not all cases, their gender identity changed to match, but most of them did not experience such a total change in sexual orientation as you seem to have — most retained their original orientation, or became bisexual, but predominantly attracted to the same kind of people as before. And there have been several varieties of gender dysphoria identified, associated with different genes, different ages at which a person first experiences dissatisfaction with their assigned gender, different degrees and kinds of dissatisfaction with one’s assigned gender, different sexual orientations, different brain structures... But you don’t quite match any of them.

“Still, you are clearly experiencing severe distress at having a male body. And you have already taken the initiative to begin living as a girl full-time. I’m going to go ahead and refer you to an endocrinologist — not to begin full hormone replacement therapy just yet, but to get tested for conditions that might make hormone replacement problematic, and to start an appropriate dose of certain drugs to prevent male puberty from continuing while we decide what else to do.”

“I already know what I want to do.”

“I know. Believe me, I sympathize; by the time I got to this stage in my own transition — presenting as a boy, telling my family I wanted to be called ‘Thomas’ and treated as a boy — I was sure I knew what I wanted and when. And if my psychologist had had a time machine to talk to my future self and make sure I still felt the same way ten or twenty or seventy years later, she could have started full hormone replacement therapy right away. Most of the gender-dysphoric patients I’ve treated over the years were as sure and as stubborn about what they wanted as I was, or you apparently are... But over the years I’ve seen a few patients who changed their mind after a few weeks or months of living in their desired gender, or even later, after being on hormone replacement therapy long enough to experience irreversible effects. I want to be cautious here, especially since your situation is not quite like any other I’ve ever dealt with.”

“My being Twisted makes it less likely I’ll change my mind about this. Maybe impossible. Ask Dr. Oldstadt.”

“I’ll be talking with him, and Dr. Wentworth, and your endocrinologist regularly. I think it’s possible that with your unique situation, we can cut short the three months of real life test that we used to require before beginning full hormone replacement therapy, or the year we required before surgery. But you’ve only been living as a girl for a week, yet. I know it’s difficult, but please, try to be patient.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’d like to talk to your uncle as well... Do you live with him? Is he your guardian?”

“No, he’s just taking me to my appointments today because his work is flexible and Mom and Dad’s isn’t. They both took days off work last week because of mine and Mildred’s Twists, and they had several sick days last month.”

“Well, I’d like to talk to him anyway. And I want to meet your parents as well, before we begin hormone replacement therapy.”

A minute later the secretary showed Uncle Jack in. Dr. Underwood — Tom — introduced himself, and Uncle Jack said: “I’m Jack Harper, Emily’s uncle.”

“Your niece is a very courageous young woman,” Dr. Underwood said, which made me blush.

“We’re all really proud of her,” Uncle Jack said, which made the blush worse.

“I’d like to talk to you briefly about what we’ve decided so far,” Dr. Underwood said, and he told Uncle Jack about starting me on hormone blockers right away but waiting a while on the other stuff. “I’ll be sending a message to Emily’s parents with these recommendations, and a list of endocrinologists in north Georgia who can handle Emily’s treatment. I don’t know if there’s one in Trittsville, but you can probably find one closer than Atlanta. And I would like to meet Emily’s parents — I know it may be difficult for them to take a day off work to come, but my own schedule is flexible now that I’m retired, so if they would prefer to come on Saturday or Sunday, or whatever day they have off, I can work with them. I would offer to meet them halfway, but I’m afraid I can’t drive anymore, and a journey of an hour or more on public transit wears me out — I rarely go farther from home than this nowadays.”

Uncle Jack looked pained, and I could figure out why: he was sympathizing with Dr. Underwood’s limited mobility, and worrying that his own Twist-compulsion to travel would outlive his good health. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I’ll tell Oswald and Kate what you’ve said, though I guess it will be redundant with the message you’re sending them... Thanks for taking good care of our Emily. When do you want to see her again?”

“Weekly would be ideal, but I understand if that may be difficult to arrange, given the distance involved. I’d like to try to meet at least every other week.”

“Hmm... I’d talk to the secretary and make an appointment now, but I guess Oswald and Kate will want to arrange it so one or both of them can come next time.”

“That will be fine. Have either of you any more questions for me?”

I remembered something he’d said earlier. I was embarrassed to ask him what I wanted to know in front of Uncle Jack, but it seemed too trivial to ask Uncle Jack to leave again, so I swallowed my embarrassment and said: “Um, you said I could get better fake breasts than the bags of birdseed Mom used... where would I buy them?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s been a long time since any of my patients needed them, and some of the companies that used to make them have gone out of business or stopped making them... I’ll look up my old records and send you a list, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Good day.”

As we walked out to the car, Uncle Jack asked me: “What did you think of him?”

“He knows what he’s talking about, I think. And he seems like a good man. I’m a little frustrated that he’s not starting me on hormones right away, but he said he might do it sooner than three months, so that’s better than I expected.” I didn’t tell him that Dr. Underwood was trans; I wasn’t sure it was public knowledge.

---

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“This sometimes happens with Twist compulsions,” Dr. Oldstadt said. “They are vague at first, and easy to ignore, but once they become more definite, they are harder to resist and one suffers more distress when trying to resist them. I’m sorry we did not realize that wearing feminine clothes was a Twist-compulsion for you, and not just an expression of your altered gender identity.”

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Twisted Throwback

part 13 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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We drove into Atlanta; as we approached the Emory campus, since we had some time left before my appointment at the Twist clinic, Uncle Jack took a much more meandery, scenic route than Mom had taken, along twisty streets lined with huge old oaks and elms. We emerged out of that historic neighborhood onto a straighter, busier road lined with tall buildings, mostly part of the university-hospital-clinic complex, and found one of the parking decks — not the same one we’d used last time. “The walk from this one’s nicer than from the other one,” he said, and it was, though it was even longer — it took us across campus through the quadrangle surrounded by two-hundred-year-old buildings, through a couple of tiny nature preserves of an acre or two, and past the gravity monument Uncle Jack had told me about.

IT IS TO REMIND STUDENTS
OF THE BLESSINGS FORTHCOMING
WHEN SCIENCE DETERMINES
WHAT GRAVITY IS HOW IT WORKS
AND HOW IT MAY BE CONTROLLED

“The guy who donated that was kind of a crackpot, and that monument was apparently an embarrassment to the science department for a while. They hid it in an out-of-the-way place for a while, and stashed it in storage for a awhile before displaying it again... But now I hear they’re doing real research on gravity control, trying to reverse-engineer tricks like your friend Bobby’s.”

I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the shortest path from the parking deck to the Twist clinic, but it was fun, and it got us there on time. There were a few kids in the waiting room who weren’t obviously Twisted, and some of whom were probably too young to have gone through their Twist yet; they were probably here to get baseline pre-Twist scans and personality tests so when they did Twist it would be easier to figure out what had changed. Of the three moms and one dad (probably) waiting with them, only one was obviously Twisted, a woman with light purple hair. I’m not sure what made me think that her hair was natural — or at least Twist-natural — rather than dyed; maybe because we were at a Twist clinic, maybe because it was tied up in a bun that didn’t seem a likely hairstyle for someone who’d dye their hair an unnatural color. Uncle Jack chatted with the man and a couple of the women while I worked on my term paper.

After a while the nurse called me back.

“Do I need to change into a hospital gown?” I asked anxiously.

“No, not yet anyway. I just need to check your vital signs, and then Dr. Yarrow will see you.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Yarrow came in.

“Good afternoon. It’s Emily now, right?”

“Yes — I started going by that name last Friday, and filed the name change paperwork on Tuesday.”

“And your mother told me you’d figured out something about your trick not long after you left here last week...?”

“That same afternoon, yeah.” I told him about the incident in the dressing room at the department store, and the experiments I’d tried since then to test my trick’s range, and see if I could get conscious control of it.

“Hmm. It first triggered when you tried on feminine clothes for the first time?”

“Yes.”

“And as far as you can tell, it’s been on all the time since then?”

“Nobody’s commented on it being off. It might be on only when other people are around... actually, if it’s working on people’s minds instead of light waves, then I guess it can’t work when nobody’s around, right?”

“Yes... it sounds like you’ve done a good job of home testing, but I’ll start by verifying those things. Give me a few minutes to set things up.”

Twenty minutes later Eileen, the same nurse I’d had last time, escorted me from the exam room to the trick testing range, with its target and transparent shield. A full-length mirror had been set up near the target. She had me stand close to the mirror, and looked at me, and at my reflection, back and forth, as she made notes on her tablet. Then she took several photos of me from different angles, directly and in the mirror. Then she had me stand on one side of the shield and looked at me through it, and had me back up slowly along the test range until I was next to the mirror. Finally she told me I could relax, and left; she returned with Dr. Yarrow a few minutes later.

“Our tests so far confirm all the tests you did at home, except for the distance test,” he said. “We’ll do another, more robust distance test in a little while — I’m waiting on some other equipment. Also, the shielding we use to protect our researchers against the more destructive tricks doesn’t block your trick — that’s not surprising; it rarely has an effect on tricks like yours.”

“Like mine, how?”

“Those that appear to affect the minds of other people directly, rather than the input to their senses. I’d like to do some other tests now. Since the trick first manifested when you wore feminine clothing for the first time, and no one has seen you wearing anything else since then... is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Nor unclothed?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d like to test the parameters of that — first with you wearing something androgynous, one of our more modest styles of hospital gown, and then in masculine clothes, and then unclothed. Eileen here will assist you.”

He left, and Eileen took out a hospital gown.

“Can I keep my underwear on under it?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Let me check... Go ahead and keep your underwear on, and change into the gown. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She returned a minute or two later, at which point I’d gotten the gown on, and said: “Dr. Yarrow said let’s do tests both with and without underwear. Ah, I see.”

“Do I still look like a girl?”

“Yes. Now take everything off, and put the gown on again by itself.”

She turned her back, and I did as she’d said, squinting my eyes to keep from having to look at my out-of-place parts. “I’m ready,” I said.

She turned around. “Oh.”

“Does it still work?”

“Not quite as well... Now the masculine clothes.” She turned her back on me again.

They’d asked me to bring in a change of my old boy-clothes with me for trick testing, so I’d suspected what they were planning, and been dreading this moment. I got them out of my bag and, after staring at them with distaste for a few moments, took off the gown and changed into them. It took me the better part of a minute to force myself to put the jockey shorts on, and I finally succeeded only because looking at my horrible boy-parts for another moment began to seem even worse. It was the hardest thing I’d done since my Twist, and I felt horrible when I was done, ashamed to have anyone see me — I was glad Uncle Jack wasn’t there.

“Look quick and tell me if it’s okay so I can get into my own clothes again,” I said frantically.

She turned. “Oh, dear, you’re shaking like a leaf... Get out of those. We still have a couple more tests to do. I’m going to give Dr. Yarrow a piece of my mind after this...”

“Do I look sort of okay?” I asked, as I started to undress.

“You look like your old self,” she said, turning her back again. “Ah... for this next test, do you want me here, or Dr. Yarrow, or both?”

“What’s the next test?”

“Seeing if your trick works when you’re unclothed.”

“Oh... you, I guess. But just for a moment, okay?”

“No more than necessary. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I stripped out of those clothes as fast as I could, though being naked was not really any better, and stood there. “Okay, I guess I’m ready.”

She turned and glanced over me, then turned away again. “You can get your own clothes on now.”

I did, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when I got my panties and bra on, then getting into my skirt and blouse and so forth in a bit less of a hurry. “I didn’t look right then, either?”

“No, not the way I suppose you want to look. Let’s return to the exam room.”

She led me to the exam room, and left, and I sat down to work on my term paper again. It was half an hour before Dr. Yarrow returned, accompanied by Dr. Oldstadt.

“Good afternoon, Emily,” Dr. Oldstadt said. “I understand you saw Dr. Underwood this morning?”

“Yes. He seems like a really nice guy, like he knows what he’s talking about.”

“He’s the most experienced gender dysphoria counselor I could find who was willing and able to see a new patient. I won’t ask you about what passed between you; I just wanted to see if you were happy with him.”

Dr. Yarrow said, “I suspect the anomalies and limitations we are seeing with your trick are partly psychological. That is, I’m almost sure you can train yourself to overcome most of those limitations — not to fool cameras, of course, which would require a completely different type of trick, but all the others we’ve seen: that you can’t yet affect the way people see you in mirrors, and that wearing less feminine clothes, or none at all, disrupts your trick.”

“Eileen said you were suffering great distress when wearing masculine clothes, even for a few moments,” Dr. Oldstadt said, with a severe glance at Dr. Yarrow. “We would like to apologize. You were wearing masculine clothes at clinic last week, and said you were uncomfortable but did not seem to be quite so distressed as you were today...”

“It’s okay,” I said, not really meaning it. “I mean, I understand I have to do some uncomfortable things to figure out the limits of my trick. And last week, well, I didn’t like the clothes I was wearing but I didn’t know what else to wear. Now... a few minutes ago it felt a lot worse than it did the first couple of days after my trick.”

“This sometimes happens with Twist compulsions,” Dr. Oldstadt said. “They are vague at first, and easy to ignore, but once they become more definite, they are harder to resist and one suffers more distress when trying to resist them. I’m sorry we did not realize that wearing feminine clothes was a Twist-compulsion for you, and not just an expression of your altered gender identity.”

“I like wearing girl clothes,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like something’s forcing me to wear them.”

“Not all Twist-compulsions do; it varies from person to person. But compare it to something else you enjoy doing, both before and after your Twist — some favorite food, for instance. You enjoy it, but do you feel distress when you aren’t eating it, or when eating something else?”

“No, not like this.”

“Well. Dr. Yarrow says, and I bow to his thaumatological expertise, that there is no inherent reason your trick should stop working when you are unclothed or wearing androgynous or masculine clothes.”

“There are things that can make a trick stop working, temporarily or permanently,” Dr. Yarrow put in; “a head injury, or brain surgery to remove a tumor or cure some neurological disorder, or various drugs, or simple fatigue. But not wearing different clothes.”

“It seems far more likely that your unconscious deployment of your trick depends on you feeling a certain level of confidence in your feminine presentation. You convince yourself, to some degree, that you look like a girl, and your trick takes it the rest of the way, making you look feminine to other people as well. Wearing masculine or androgynous clothes, or nothing, undermines your confidence, and you unconsciously stop using your trick.”

“So if I get more confident about being a girl, maybe it will work even when I’m undressed or wearing — other stuff?” I couldn’t see any reason to wear boy clothes, even if I could make myself look like a girl while wearing them. But there might be times when I’d want to look like a girl when not wearing much of anything.

“I suspect so. Building your confidence will not only make your trick more effective, but make you happier overall; it’s important even if it does not affect your trick. And there are other techniques we can use to help you gain conscious control over it.”

“Aunt Rhoda suggested some stuff, and I’ve been trying it, but it hasn’t worked yet.”

“Keep practicing. It may take some time. And here are some other techniques that may prove useful...”

They taught me several exercises to use, and I went through them a couple of times, but still didn’t get any immediate results. I felt a lot more hopeful, though.

Then they had me read a short poem aloud into a microphone, and played it back; it sounded to me pretty much like my recorded voice used to sound, except maybe slightly higher pitched, but Dr. Yarrow was surprised, saying it sounded exactly like when he listened to me reading directly. He took the recording into another room and listened to it again and came back, and said:

“When I listen to it when you’re not in the room, your voice sounds more masculine. I think your trick is affecting not only the way we hear your voice, but the way we hear recordings of it, if we are within range of your trick.”

That might be useful, I thought, but probably not. If I was talking on the phone with somebody, they’d always be out of range.

“Now for the distance test,” Dr. Yarrow said. “About how large would you say your grandparents' back yard is? You were standing in one corner and your cousins in the far corner, correct?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s a hundred and fifty or two hundred yards long on that diagonal.”

“I think we can test a greater distance. Wait here; Eileen will escort you to the next testing site.”

A few minutes later Eileen opened the door and said, “You ready?”

“Sure,” I said, putting my tablet in my bag and standing up. “Where are we going?”

“Outside, and a fair walk across campus. I’ll show you.” I followed her out of the clinic into the waiting room. Uncle Jack stood up when he saw me.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Not just yet,” Eileen said. “We’re going for a walk, if you want to join us.”

“Sure.”

Within a couple of minutes Uncle Jack and Eileen were chatting like old friends. We left the clinic by the back doors and walked across campus — not quite the same way we’d come, but in the same general direction. Soon we arrived at the deck we’d parked in.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Up to the roof. Most of the buildings around here, the roof isn’t accessible without jumping through a lot of hoops with the maintenance department, but the roof of the parking deck is accessible enough.”

Once we were on the roof, Eileen led us over near one of the walls and we looked over the railing. We could see a fair way in that direction. She got out her phone and called someone. “We’re in position. Okay, let me know.” She hung up and said, “Now we wait.”

“For someone to look at Emily from a good ways off?” Uncle Jack asked. “One of those buildings over yonder?”

“I can’t tell you yet,” Eileen apologized. I stood there looking at the campus spread out below us for a minute or two, then got out my tablet and worked on my term paper.

A few minutes later Eileen’s phone rang. “Yes... just a moment.” She lowered the phone and said to me, “Walk back and forth next to the railing here a couple of times. As far as that blue car and back again.”

I did, and then she said: “Okay, stand here, and look over at that building there — no, that one — you see that tower? Look at the second row of windows from the top... then the, um, the fourth window from the left. Dr. Yarrow’s watching us from there.”

The window wasn’t transparent from this side at this distance, but I waved at him. Eileen, still listening to her phone, said, “Huh. Is that all, then? Okay.” She hung up and said: “Well, back to the clinic now.”

“Did he say whether Emily’s trick works at this distance?” Uncle Jack asked.

“It didn’t work until I told her where he was watching from.”

“Huh.”

We returned to the clinic, and Eileen told Uncle Jack to come on back to the exam room with me. A few minutes later Dr. Yarrow came in. He told us what Eileen had already told us, about my trick not working on him at that distance — a little over a mile — until I knew he was looking at me and where he was. Even though I couldn’t see him (it turned out he was using a borrowed telescope to look through that window at the parking deck roof), I could still use my trick on him once I knew about him.

“That suggests one more test I’d like to try before you go,” he said. “But first, let me tell you about the exercises I’ve given Emily to use. She should do them every day, if possible...”

A few minutes later, I was sitting in a chair in the trick testing range with a heavy black sleep mask over half my face. I was still wearing my own clothes, for which I was thankful, but the blindfold made me a little nervous, even though I trusted Dr. Yarrow and Eileen.

“Is that secure?” Eileen asked me. “You can’t see anything around the edges of it?”

“No. It’s pitch black.”

“All right. We’re going to leave the room for about five or ten minutes, and then we’re going to come back. Just sit and relax.”

“I’ll try.” I sat there and thought about the articles I’d been reading, figuring out which details were important enough to use in my term paper. I heard distant sounds, muffled voices, footsteps — none very close, none in the same room. Just before they’d blindfolded me, Dr. Yarrow and Eileen had propped the door of the testing range open, but set up a privacy screen just inside it so someone walking by in the hallway wouldn’t be able to see me.

I lost track of time, of course. After thinking about my term paper for a while, I started wondering if they’d forgotten about me, or gotten busy with an emergency. Maybe I should just take the mask off and go. We wanted to be out of Atlanta traffic by dark, if not already home. How much longer should I wait? I decided to count to three hundred; that would be about five more minutes.

I’d counted to eighty or so and gotten distracted thinking about Rob when a sudden voice startled me: “Emily?” It sounded like Dr. Yarrow.

“What is it?”

“We can take off the mask now.” I reached up to remove it, but someone was already untying the straps behind my head, and I lowered my hands. Moments later Eileen lifted the mask off.

“Well, that was interesting,” Dr. Yarrow said. “When we entered the room, you looked like your old self. Only when I spoke up did you suddenly look like — your new self. Eileen?”

“It was the same for me. She looked like a boy until you spoke up, and then instantly like the girl she is now.”

“Great,” I said. “Now I have to worry about people spying on me...”

“The exercises we gave you may help with this as well,” Dr. Yarrow said. “But I’m not sure. Even after you have conscious control of your trick, you may not be able to affect everyone who is perceiving you, if you aren’t aware they are doing so.

“I suppose that’s all we have for you today. Keep doing those exercises... Do you have any more questions for me?”

“Yes... how are you going to describe my trick for my driver’s license? I mean, I’m going to look even more unlike my driver’s license photo than most people.”

“Yes, there’s a code for that, for people whose appearance may not match their photo. Someone can scan the bar code on your license and look up the relevant details.”

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

Ingrid said: “I’m not going to ask you about your Twist. You’ve told me more than you really need to tell a stranger, already. But if you want to listen I’ll tell you about mine.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 14 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

A little later Uncle Jack and I were on our way. It wasn’t far from Emory to Little Five Points, but traffic was heavy. “Keep an eye out for the salon,” he said as we turned onto Moreland Avenue; “I think it’s on the left.”

I soon saw it, but there was no parking to be had there. “No problem, I know where there’s a parking deck a little way further on.” We drove through the heart of Little Five and another half-mile further south, then turned onto a side-street and into the deck. The sidewalks and the café patios were crowded with people, many of them with body modifications or unusual clothes nobody could get away with in a small town like Trittsville, and several with obvious Twists. From the deck we walked north along Moreland, not in any hurry, looking at the shop windows, the murals, and the people.

“Some of these murals are over a hundred years old,” Uncle Jack told me. “They’ve been touched up over time, of course, the original paint’s weathered away and been replaced, but they used reference photos to keep them as much like the originals as possible. A few of them were originally graffiti, or started out when a mural artist worked some pre-existing graffiti into their painting.”

“I’m getting kind of hungry,” I said. “Do you want to eat something before we go to the salon?”

“Sure.” We stopped at a Korean place with a fenced patio; Uncle Jack spoke with the waitress in Korean, of course, and ordered for us. We ate on the patio, people-watching and not saying much.

“Maybe Mildred would be okay here,” I mused as I saw a woman with shaggy fur walk by. “Instead of in Spiral, I mean. What do you think?”

“I think Mildred would find a few kids like her in the schools here, but your parents would hate it. Spiral is more open-minded than most cities of that size, but it’s not outright countercultural like Little Five Points.”

I thought about that. “If I go to Emory or Georgia State, I could live here, and Mildred could live with me and go to high school here with other Twisted kids.”

“Again, I don’t think your parents would go for it. You can make the offer, if by the time you graduate and go to university they haven’t already decided to move to Spiral. But I wouldn’t mention it to them just yet; no sense getting in an argument about something that may or may not ever be feasible.”

As Uncle Jack was paying for our lunch, I noticed a community bulletin board. That gave me an idea, and I found a slip of paper and wrote a short note:

Jason, your cousin Morgan hasn’t seen you since you Twisted and your parents divorced, and she’d like to see you again.

And I gave a net address I used as a spam trap, and put that on the board. Maybe Jason lived here, or somebody who lived here knew him.

Then we walked the rest of the way to the salon. There were four women at work on four other women’s hair, and three sitting and waiting, reading books or tablets. One of the women cutting hair called out cheerily: “Welcome to Twist and Braid! Sign in on the tablet there,” gesturing toward the counter with the hand that wasn’t holding scissors.

I signed in, and then wrote out another personal ad for Morgan and put in on their bulletin board, and looked for a seat. Uncle Jack was looking at one of the women who was sitting and reading, apparently trying to catch her eye; she had light brown skin and patchy hair of at least four different colors and lengths and textures, black, blonde, and two shades of red. Her blonde hair was a lot longer than her black or red hair, and covered her right eye. I went over and sat near them, and as I did so the woman looked up and said: “Jack!”

“Hi, Ingrid. What are you doing in Atlanta?”

“What are you doing in North America?” She laughed and patted the seat next to her. “Tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing!”

“I’m staying in Trittsville, where my family is from, at least until Thanksgiving. I’ll probably leave the country again before New Year’s...” He scooted over to the seat she’d offered him, and told her a little about his recent travels in east Asia, and then said: “I’m forgetting my manners. Ingrid, this is my niece Emily — she just went through her Twist a little over a week ago. Emily, this is my friend Ingrid; we met on a train in Austria a few years ago.”

“Are you a traveler like Uncle Jack?” I asked.

“Hon, nobody’s a traveler like your uncle Jack. He’s been more places than Mercator ever heard of. But I travel around North America for work, and sometimes around Europe for pleasure. I’m here teaching folks at my company’s Atlanta office how to use some new software we’re rolling out, and stopped by here after I got done with today’s training sessions — this is the second-best place in the country for Twisted hair.”

“You have really cool hair,” I said.

“Yours looks pretty too, hon. Looking to change your style? It looks great how it is.”

I blushed. “It’s, um, kind of complicated. My trick makes my hair look better than it really is. But it doesn’t fool cameras or mirrors. It’s kind of a mess, actually; I need to get them to make it really be how it looks.”

“Ah.” And of course she looked around — there were plenty of mirrors in the place — and saw my reflection, and nodded slowly. “Not just your hair, I guess.”

“No.” I averted my gaze from her and the mirror.

Ingrid and Uncle Jack were both silent for a few moments; I heard the snip-snip of scissors and the quiet chatter of some of the customers with the ladies doing their hair. Then Ingrid said: “I’m not going to ask you about your Twist. You’ve told me more than you really need to tell a stranger, already. But if you want to listen I’ll tell you about mine.”

“...Okay,” I said.

“When I was thirteen, I developed a case of Alopecia universalis. That’s where your immune system goes haywire and attacks your hair follicles; all the hair on your body falls out. It’s pretty mild as immune disorders go, not life-threatening, and it’s pretty rare; between those two factors hardly anybody had ever put much research money into curing or preventing it. But it was embarrassing enough for a kid who’s having trouble fitting in already. At thirteen I didn’t have a lot of body hair yet, but I was proud of the little bit I had.

“Once my parents found out there was nothing we could do about it, medically, they decided they’d buy me the best wigs they could afford. We lived in a small town in Kentucky; we drove into Louisville one day to shop for wigs. Given my age, I’d need have to have them custom-made, but I tried on a bunch of them there in the shop, some near the same color and texture of my original hair, but a lot of others too, just for fun, imagining what I’d be like with hair like that. And when I’d about made up my mind to have them the same length and a little lighter than my original hair, I started being silly and putting on two wigs at once. I think it was one like this,” brushing her long blonde hair away from her eye and tucking it behind her ear, “and one like this,” touching her tight curls of black hair.

“And then my Twist happened. When I woke up, I had more hair on my head than I knew what to do with, though I still didn’t have any anywhere else. That wasn’t what concerned me most, though. The manager of the wig shop had found a blanket somewhere to cover me with, after my Twist destroyed my clothes, but it fell off me when I sat up, and as soon as I brushed this hair out of my eyes, I kind of went into shock at the other stuff I’d lost, and gained.

“My Dad was there, with the manager of the shop; they tried to calm me down, but I was in too much of a panic; once I’d seen my new breasts, I grabbed the blanket and covered up again, not just my chest but my face too, and huddled in a corner hyperventilating for I don’t know how long. My dad was talking, but I wasn’t following what he was saying. The next thing I knew I heard my mom’s voice, saying she had something for me to wear.

“Once she’d seen how I’d changed, she took charge — I found this out later — and borrowed a tape measure from the shop manager, measured my new body while I was still unconscious, and then left my dad with me while she went around to a couple of stores and bought me some new underwear and clothes. When she got back, she managed to calm me down and get me to put some clothes on — she’d gotten me sweaters and jeans, things that weren’t too girly, but weren’t so loose and shapeless I could pretend I hadn’t changed either.”

“Did you get used to it?” I asked. The moment the words were out of my mouth, I thought it was a silly question, given where she was, and how long her hair was, and the clothes she was wearing now, a green blouse with puffy short sleeves and a long flower-patterned skirt.

“Yeah, hon, and it didn’t take long. I stopped feeling weird when I looked in the mirror by the end of the first week, and I started experimenting with girlier clothes and jewelry a little after that. It took me a while longer to get used to being treated like a girl; having guys look at my chest instead of my eyes when they talk to me, or hold the door open for me... things like that. But all that felt normal after a few months or a year. What about you?”

“I’m — not like other Twisted who change gender,” I said, looking away again. “It didn’t change my body. Just my brain. I have a girl brain, and dressing as a girl and acting like a girl feels right, but seeing myself in the mirror is horribly wrong.”

“Oh, that must be rough. Can’t the doctors do anything for you?”

“Yeah, I’m seeing a doctor who used to treat people for gender dysphoria, back before they started fixing it prenatally. He says they can probably start hormone replacement therapy soon, and maybe surgery not long after that... or it might be over a year. Or longer if he has trouble finding a surgeon who’ll do it.”

“Are you talking to any other Twisted about this? People like us, I mean?”

“No... there aren’t any others in Trittsville. I’ve met one or two in Spiral, when I was out there visiting kinfolks, but I don’t know them well.”

“Here,” she said, picking up her tablet and tapping through to the web, “take a look at this. It’s a forum for gender-changed Twisted — I wish it had been there when I first Twisted. I help moderate it now, and try to help out young people who are going through something like what I went through.”

I got out my tablet and she sent over the address for the forum. It looked tolerably busy, with a dozen or more posts in the last week. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll check it out.”

Just then one of the stylists called Ingrid, and she got up and went to the empty chair. I spent a few minutes reading the recent posts in the forum she’d shown me, and started drafting a post about my own situation, but didn’t send it right away; I went back to working on my term paper.

Then another of the stylists finished with her current customer, and called my name. I left my tablet and purse with Uncle Jack and went over to the chair she’d indicated.

“Hi, I’m Jenny. What do you want me to do for you today?”

“Hi, Jenny. I’m Emily. Um — take a look at my reflection in the mirror...”

She did, and boggled for a moment. “Okay... so your Twist makes you look different straight on or in a mirror?”

“Yeah. The mirror shows what I really look like; I’d like you to make my real hair,” pointing to my reflection, “look as much like this,” pointing to my hair, “as you can.”

“Hmm,” she said, running her fingers through my hair and glancing back and forth from me to my reflection. “That’s a tall order — your hair looks longer than it is. But I can style it like this, anyway.”

“Just do what you can.”

It was a fairly long process, at least compared to getting my hair cut when I was a boy, and probably compared to similar hair-styling jobs on women with hair as short as mine. She started by leaning me back and shampooing my hair, then rinsed and went to work on it, going pretty slowly, it seemed to me, and constantly glancing back and forth between me and my reflection.

“Huh... you’re looking different now. I mean, straight on. It’s like you and your reflection are converging, at least your hair is.”

That made sense, as much as anything about my trick did. And a while after that she said: “There. They look pretty much the same to me, now. Take a look.” And she swiveled the chair around — she’d been working on the hair in back — and I saw my reflection, and I just about cried for joy. My nose and my chin and especially my Adam’s apple were all still wrong, but my hair looked better than I thought it possibly could until it grew out a lot longer.

“Thank you,” I said. “Can you tell me how to take care of it so it stays looking like that as long as possible?”

She did, and I listened carefully. A minute later I got Uncle Jack’s attention — Ingrid had finished getting her hair done a little while earlier, and was sitting talking with him again — and he came and paid for the hair styling. Then he said: “I know we just ate, but Ingrid hasn’t yet. We’re going to join her for supper.”

“Sure,” I said. They’d already decided on a restaurant, a nice sit-down place around the corner on Euclid Avenue; we walked down there and waited a few minutes for a table. They’d been talking about their recent travels when I rejoined them, and they kept talking about that as we walked, but then Ingrid told me some stories about her first few weeks and months as a girl, and I opened up a little more and told her about some of the things I’d been going through.

She shook her head when I told her about Lionel and Vic. “Yeah, dealing with your old friends can be weird after any kind of Twist, but especially a gender change. Your whole social dynamic is different, almost everyone relates to you differently. One of my closest friends started treating me like I was made of glass, he didn’t feel comfortable horsing around and cutting up like we used to... and another started hitting on me in the most blatant possible way, asking if he could see my breasts or touch them. I’m not sure which was worse. It sounds like your friends are better than that — of course it helps that you’re all more mature than we were when I went through my Twist.”

“Yeah, none of them have been that bad. Lionel doesn’t seem to really get that I’m a girl now, he’s trying to pretend like nothing’s changed, and Vic — he’s trying to treat me like a girl without being too formal or distant, I guess. He doesn’t always get it right, but he’s trying.”

“And we were both lucky our friends didn’t just drop us when we Twisted. That’s happened to a lot of people I know online, and a couple I know personally. One of the moderators of the group I told you about actually got run out of town by a mob; her whole family had to leave for Spiral in the dead of night after their house was vandalized and she was beaten up by the police.”

I was shaken. The worst we feared for Mildred, the worst that Paul or Kerry had suffered from small-minded neighbors and classmates, was nowhere near that bad.

“Man, that’s horrible! Where was that?”

She frowned. “I can’t remember. She told me once, I think, but I’ve forgotten... some small town that escaped the Antarctic Flu and had no Twisted until she came along. She was adopted and nobody knew one or both of her parents were Twisted until she changed.”

Uncle Jack put in, “Trittsville had more Antarctic Flu victims than some towns our size. And a lot of their descendants have stayed there, unlike a lot of Twisted from small towns who moved away to big cities or Spiral. We’ve had a few kinfolks who moved to Spiral because they thought they’d stand out less there, but most of the ones who still look human — and don’t mind staying in one place — still live there.”

“Maybe I’ll come for a visit sometime, next time we’re both in Georgia,” Ingrid said. “I’d like to stay longer, but I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow morning and I promised my niece I’d watch her play Pocahontas in the school Thanksgiving pageant Saturday.”

Uncle Jack asked after her family, and she told us about what her sister and brother-in-law and nieces had been up to in the couple of years since she’d last seen Uncle Jack. While they were talking, I glanced at my tablet and saw a couple of new messages, one from Mom and one from Vic.

Mom said:

How are your appointments going? What time are you going to be home?

I wrote back:

Still in Little Five, eating supper. Home in 3 hours maybe?

Vic said:

Want to hang out tomorrow after school? Terrell Park, my house, yours?

I didn’t reply right away, figuring I could do that in the car on the way home; I tried to focus on what Ingrid and Uncle Jack were saying. I was thinking mainly about Rob, and whether I should turn him down as Mom and Dr. Underwood advised. Hanging out with Vic and maybe Lionel would be... less stressful, certainly. Not necessarily more fun.

Ingrid and Uncle Jack kept talking long after Ingrid finished her meal and Uncle Jack and I finished our appetizers, and I had the impression that if he hadn’t been saddled with me, he would have spent the night at Ingrid’s hotel. Of course, if he hadn’t been chauffeuring me around today, he wouldn’t have run into Ingrid at all. Finally, sometime after eight, Uncle Jack said we had to leave; he and Ingrid promised to keep in touch, and Uncle Jack said he’d come to Chicago to see her after Thanksgiving. When we got back to the car, I called Mom and told her we were finally on our way home, and then chewed over the message to Vic for a while, before replying:

Got something tentative planned for tomorrow night — if it falls through, I’ll hang with you. If not, we can do something Saturday or Sunday.

Dad was sitting in the living room reading when we got home; Mom and Mildred had gone to bed. Dad insisted that I go to bed right away, but I think he and Uncle Jack stayed up talking for some time.

---

---

If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“There you go. He doesn’t care about you as a person; he just wants you because you’re pretty.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 15 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

Friday morning during breakfast, Mom and Dad and Mildred wanted to hear about our day in Atlanta. Dad had heard some of it from Uncle Jack, but they wanted to hear from me about what Dr. Underwood and Dr. Yarrow had said.

“If I understand correctly, then, this drug he recommended you start using will prevent your male glands from causing any further masculine development?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. And then later they can start me on female hormones. I don’t know how much later; probably three months, but hopefully sooner. He said he wanted to meet you or Mom or both first.”

“That is sensible of him. We would have gone with you yesterday, if it were possible.”

“He said he could meet you on a Saturday or Sunday.”

“Then I think we will try to meet with him next Saturday.”

The weather had warmed up a bit and Mildred was feeling perkier, but when I asked her how school had gone yesterday, she scowled and said: “Some girls put a new lock on my locker while I was in the shower after gym, and they hid my towel... I had to stand there naked and wet and beg people to tell the coach, and she got some stuff from the lost and found for me to wear while the maintenance guys were breaking the lock off.”

“I’m going to meet with the principal again after work today,” Mom said. “This is too much. It’s dangerous for her to not be able to dry off quickly... she loses heat from evaporation and can’t replace it like we can.”

“By the time the coach got me a towel and some clothes I’d already cooled way down... I didn’t feel cold, but I was sluggish and stupid all through my next class.”

I squeezed Mildred’s hand. “I’m sorry. Do you know who put the lock on?”

She shook her head. “Somebody must have seen them do it, but nobody’s talking.”

Soon after that we were off to school. In homeroom, I told Lionel some about my trip to Atlanta Thursday; but I could tell he was uncomfortable hearing about my visit with Dr. Underwood and the referral to the endocrinologist. (I wasn’t even going into much detail!) So I changed the subject, and told him about the trick testing, glossing over the clothes tests and telling him about Dr. Yarrow looking at me with a telescope from a mile away.

“And they gave me some exercises to work on to get conscious control of the image I’m projecting, so maybe eventually...”

“You could look like anybody you want to? Cool!”

“Maybe. Right now I’d settle for being able to make people see the real me in the mirror.”

He looked puzzled for a moment at my reference to the “real me,” and then boggled when he figured it out. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that would be nice.”

After Physics, Vic walked with me to Calculus, and asked me if I knew yet whether we could hang out after school.

“...Maybe,” I said. “See... Rob Dyer asked me out, and I kind of told him maybe so, if my parents said it was okay and we didn’t have something going on, and I should have made sure he knew I only had a mental Twist, but I was too flustered to think of it and we didn’t have long to talk just then. So —”

“Wait, what? Rob Dyer?”

“Yeah — yesterday, I mean Wednesday, right after Mandarin.”

“And you’re seriously thinking about going out with him?”

“Sure,” I said defensively. “Maybe. It depends on how he reacts when I tell him more about my Twist. I think he already knows, but I want to make sure.”

“But he — you — He never had anything to say to you before your Twist, did he?”

“No... I guess not.”

“There you go. He doesn’t care about you as a person; he just wants you because you’re pretty.”

I flushed; Vic wasn’t the first person to tell me I was pretty, but it was always nice to hear it.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean that,” I said. “I mean — it’s different when you’re dating. I didn’t have anywhere near as much in common with Laura as I do with you and Lionel, but we still had fun.”

He looked at me. “Are you ready for that kind of fun?”

I blushed brighter. “No... not really. Not until I get my body fixed. But — it doesn’t have to go that far. It’s just one date, so far anyway.”

“Don’t,” he urged. “Even if he’s still interested when he finds out... he’s not good enough for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. I went in to Calculus, and Vic went on down the hall toward his next class.

After Calculus, I talked briefly with Morgan. Sarah had told her about Rob asking me out, and she wanted to know if I’d decided or told him my decision yet — I said I hadn’t quite made up my mind. “What do you think? Do you know him?”

“Not really. Olive thinks he’s nice but not her type. He’s not mine either; you’re welcome to him if you want him.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

After Modern History I pumped Olive for information about Rob on the way to lunch.

“He’s a nice enough guy,” she said. “He listens, and he’s got good taste in movies, and he really gives you his full attention when you’re on a date...”

“But?” I could tell there was something she was hesitant to say.

“He’s a little pushy. No, not about sex — at least he wasn’t with me; I went out with him four or five times, and we didn’t go very far, and he didn’t push me to go farther than I wanted. But... well, after our first date he told me what movie we were going to see next time, and he assigned me a couple of old movies to watch at home first so I’d understand it.”

“It was a sequel to something and he recommended you see the others first?”

“No. It was like, this one was riffing off motifs in the others or homaging them or something, and he didn’t think I’d fully appreciate the one we were seeing if I hadn’t seen the others. And he prodded me a couple of times, asking if I’d seen those other movies yet, and telling me where I could download them. And then the day before our next date, he told me he liked the skirt I’d been wearing a couple of days earlier, and he wanted me to wear that on our date... Things like that. He’d tell me the blouse I was wearing didn’t suit my coloring, and recommend I wear something else specific.”

“He does know how to dress well.” Better than Olive, I thought, though it was hard to compare a guy with a girl in that way; their range of options and the principles for deciding among them were so different.

“Yeah, he’s sharp. And I like dressing up on special occasions as much as any girl, but I got tired of him insisting I always wear my nicest things on ordinary school days. If he’s okay with you being, well, not quite all girl yet, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go out with him once or twice and see for yourself.”

“Maybe. I’m — I want to. But I’m a little nervous about it.”

“What about we make it a double date? You and Rob, and me and Karl. I’ll talk with Karl and I’m pretty sure he won’t mind.”

“That’s good. I’ll let you know after I talk to Rob.”

I’d been planning to eat lunch with Lionel and Vic, but after the way Vic had acted when I told him about Rob asking me out, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit with him just then. I went through the lunch line with Olive and sat with her, Sarah and Morgan. Olive took out her tablet and worked on it while she started eating; Sarah and Morgan asked me about my day in Atlanta, and I told them more than I’d told Lionel, including about getting my hair done and meeting Ingrid.

Then I saw Rob coming toward our table, and my heart pounded. He looked sharper than ever today; he’d had a haircut since I saw him Wednesday, and he was wearing black dress pants with a long-sleeved dark blue shirt and a tie with red and black fractal patterns.

“Good afternoon, ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting anything; if it suits, I’d like to talk to Emily for a moment?”

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no, you’re not interrupting. I want to talk.”

“Have you had a chance to check with your parents about tonight?”

“They said it’s okay,” I said, which was more or less true. They hadn’t forbidden me to go out with him, though they’d advised against it. “But there’s something else I need to tell you first... Um, you want to sit down?”

Olive scooted over and Rob took an empty chair and pushed it in between me and Olive. “Go ahead.”

“I, um — you should know more about my Twist, I think, before you go out with me. It’s not quite what it looks like — it’s a mental Twist, I have a girl brain but I haven’t changed physically yet. And my trick makes me look good in girl’s clothes, but it’s going to be months before I start looking like a girl without my trick, and maybe a year or more before I get my body fixed all the way.”

“I’d heard some of that — I wasn’t sure how much was true, I’d also heard other contradictory rumors. But that’s cool with me. So, do you want to see The Left Hand of Darkness tonight at the Magnifico? It’s the 2058 version filmed in Greenland, starring Ferdinand Ishiguro and Jocasta Flynn. Seven o’clock. We can eat at the Tower of Hanoi beforehand, say five-thirty, or somewhere else if you’d prefer.”

“Tower of Hanoi is fine,” I said. “Did you bid on that movie?”

“Yes — cost me two weeks' earnings but it was worth it if you’re willing to see it with me.”

The Magnifico was an auction-style theater. You could bid on a time-slot, asking them to show a particular movie; once the auction for a time-slot was ended, they’d announce the movie and sell other tickets to anybody else that wanted to see it. If Rob had placed the winning bid for a movie about aliens who change sex with a Twisted lead actress, he was pretty serious about making me happy — even if he didn’t know me well enough to do it particularly well. I was pretty sure that, even if the 2058 version was a lot better than the remake I’d seen a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t enjoy it as much now because of my Twist making me less interested in fiction. But I wasn’t going to tell him that, not now when he’d paid two weeks' earnings to screen it for me.

“That sounds great,” I said. “But, um, Olive had an idea —” I looked past him at her and gave her a pleading look. She looked up from her tablet and said:

“Karl says it suits him... What about a double date, me and Karl and you and Emily?”

“Sure,” Rob said after a brief pause. “That’s cool. Since I was the high bidder, I can get up to five friends in with me. Does Tower of Hanoi suit you and Karl?”

“He’s coming over now,” Olive said, and a moment later Karl approached our table. He bent over and kissed Olive on the cheek, then said:

“So what’s the plan?”

“Dinner at Tower of Hanoi at five-thirty, The Left Hand of Darkness at seven at the Magnifico,” Rob said.

“Never heard of the movie, but I trust your judgment. I’ll pick you up at five-ten?” Karl said to Olive.

“That’s good. See you then.”

“I’ll pick you up about then as well,” Rob said to me. “You live in the big white house on the corner of Lafayette and Stephens, right?”

“No, that’s the old Harper home place — my Aunt Karen lives there now. I live at 61 Honeysuckle Lane.”

“All right,” he said, making a note on his tablet. “I’ll pick you up at five-ten, and we’ll meet Karl and Olive at the restaurant.”

“Sure.”

“I look forward to a lovely evening, Emily. See you in Mandarin.” He stood up, and he and Karl walked away, talking.

Morgan looked at me and shook her head. “You’re jumping in with both feet, aren’t you?”

“I guess so. I’m glad Olive’s going to be there, though — I’m excited about it but really nervous too.”

“I imagine so.”

Sarah reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’ll do fine, I’m sure. Watch Olive and do what she does — well, more or less; this is her third date with Karl and your first date with Rob, so you shouldn’t let him do more than do anything more than hold your hand and kiss you — and he shouldn’t kiss you until near the end.”

“I don’t think I want to do any more than that on the tenth date, until I get my body fixed.”

“You’ll probably be okay with Rob,” Olive said, “but he won’t be the last guy you go out with, and some of the others probably won’t be as well-mannered. You need to be prepared to rebuff them gently at first and be ready to call for help if they won’t take no for an answer...”

After they’d given me some more advice of that kind, I sent Mom and Dad a message about my impending date, stressing that it was a double date and I wouldn’t be alone with him.

When I got to Mandarin, Rob was already in his seat; but he rose and bowed to me as I approached mine. I blushed and attempted a curtsy in return; I heard people talking about us until Mr. Bao brought the class to order and drafted Tracy Esmond to read a passage from the textbook. Thanks to my Twist I was able to concentrate pretty thoroughly on the lesson, for a while; until Mr. Bao asked Rob to read another passage, and I became so focused on the sound of his voice that I wasn’t thinking about the content at all... fortunately I’d read it a couple of times in preparation for class, and when Mr. Bao asked me a question about it I was able, after a few moments' thought, to answer more or less correctly.

During gym, Coach Guardini had us playing basketball again, and Rob was playing in the other game at the other end of the court. I wasn’t quite as overwhelmed by the sight of the hot guys around me as I’d been a few days earlier, and that thing tucked between my legs remained pretty manageable.

I checked my messages just after I got on the bus, before starting to do homework, and saw one from Mom:

Your father and I will try to be home before five, but if we’re not home by the time Rob comes to pick you up, don’t leave yet. We want to meet him.

I belatedly remembered to message Vic and tell him I couldn’t meet him that afternoon, but we could probably hang out Saturday or Sunday.

When Mildred got home, I told her about the change in plans, and asked her help picking out what I should wear for my date. She enthusiastically went through my whole wardrobe — which wasn’t very extensive yet — commenting on every possible permutation, it seemed, and why they would be good for some situations but not ideal for this one, before recommending that I wear the other dress I’d bought the previous Saturday, the one I hadn’t worn to church: an ankle-length sleeveless dress in solid dark green.

“You should wear this other dress on your second date, unless you have a chance to buy something better by then.”

“Okay,” I said. “Can you help me with my makeup too?”

Mom found us working on it, in front of the vanity in Mildred’s bedroom, when she came home a little early. “You look really nice, honey.”

“Thanks to Mildred,” I said. “She’s helping me get ready.”

Mom gave me a strange look. “I hope this works out... You told this Rob about your Twist? How you’re still physically male?”

“Yeah, and he’s okay with it.”

Mom shook her head. “I’m glad you made it a double date. I’m a little worried... I know you’re seventeen, but this is your first time dating as a girl, and I feel like I haven’t prepared you well enough...”

“Morgan and Sarah and Olive had a lot of advice for me,” I said, “but I’d like to hear what you have to say too.” She smiled and sat down on Mildred’s bed, and started telling us stories about the guys she’d dated in high school, before she went off to college and met Dad.

Some time later, when Mildred and I had finished my makeup, and we were still listening to Mom’s stories, we were startled by the doorbell. I jumped up. “That’s Rob!”

“Wait here,” Mom said, “or in your room... I’ll go meet him, and call you and tell you he’s here, but give me a minute or two to talk to him before you come downstairs.”

“Okay,” I said, and forced myself to sit back down. Mildred gave me an encouraging smile.

A few seconds later Mom’s voice came: “Emily, Rob is here.”

“I’m almost ready,” I lied, and then set a stopwatch timer on my tablet. When two minutes had gone by I got up.

“Wish me luck,” I said to Mildred.

“You’ve got it.”

I went downstairs. Rob was standing near the front door, talking with Mom and Uncle Jack.

“Good evening, Emily,” he said.

“Rob says the movie should be over within a few minutes of nine,” Mom said. “Be back by nine-thirty.”

“Okay,” I said. That was earlier than they used to require me to get home after my dates with Laura — earlier than they’d asked me to get home after hanging out with the girls last week — but now wasn’t the time to argue about it. I hugged her, and then Rob extended his hand and I took it, and started to follow him out the door —

But just then Dad got home, and of course he wanted to meet Rob and talk to him. It was nearer five-twenty than five-ten when Rob and I got into his car and drove off. It was newer and nicer than Morgan’s car or Vic’s, though not new.

“Your parents are pretty cool,” he said. “And your uncle. Does he live with you?”

“Not permanently — he’s just staying with us until Thanksgiving.” I told him a little about Uncle Jack’s Twist, and my dad’s, and he asked me a couple of other questions about my family, and told me a little about his.

We found Karl and Olive already seated at a nice table near the west window; the sun was just setting, turning the sparse clouds red and purple. “Hi,” Olive said. “We ordered spring rolls already.”

“So tell us about this movie,” Karl said.

Rob proceeded to do so, telling us about the book (which I hadn’t read, though we’d read one of Le Guin’s short stories in Literature) and the previous attempts at a movie, including a half-hour fanvid from the twenty-twenties and a project that got as far as casting and filming a few scenes just before the Antarctic Flu broke out.

“Then Antarctica was closed off, and they couldn’t do the location filming they’d planned on, and several of the cast were down with the flu and that was the end of it.

“Then in 2057 when Jocasta Flynn made it big with John Dough and the Cherub, and was talking to a couple of directors she knew about producing a project especially for her, Radhika Martinez suggested The Left Hand of Darkness. She thought Jocasta would be perfect for Estraven, with the way her Twist made her androgynous and her trick to temporarily become male or female.”

“I’ve heard about her and seen one or two of her movies,” I said, “but never this one.”

“It’s her best,” Rob said. “Ten times better than that remake a few years ago...”

The waiter brought the spring rolls Karl and Olive had ordered and took our entrée orders about then, and the conversation turned to other subjects. I asked Rob what he was planning to do after he graduated, and he said he wanted to go to the USC School of Cinematic Arts in Los Angeles. “But if I don’t get in there, I’m also applying to several other film schools.”

I told him about my own tentative plans to major in political science at UGA or GSU, or even Emory if I could get a good enough scholarship. “But since my Twist, I’m thinking I might do history instead... and if we end up moving to Spiral, I might go to school in California somewhere.”

“Why are your parents thinking of moving to Spiral?” Rob asked, and I told him about Mildred. She hadn’t come downstairs while he was around, so he hadn’t seen her. Karl’s eyebrows raised.

“My little brother said something about a girl at his school who went through a Twist and looked like a snake. I figured she was probably one of your cousins; I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“I hope he’s not one of the kids who’s been picking on her,” I muttered darkly. “She’s having a really hard time.”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ll give him a talking to about it.”

“Thanks.”

Karl and Olive were touching a lot; nothing indecent, but they were holding hands whenever they didn’t need both hands free for eating, and a couple of times he put his arm around her shoulders. I glanced at Rob frequently, wondering when he might start to do the same. We’d held hands on the way to the car, but he hadn’t touched me since then.

He took my hand when we stood up to leave the restaurant. “It’s a nice evening; why don’t we walk to the theater?”

“Sure,” I said, and Karl and Olive agreed. The Magnifico was only a couple of blocks from Tower of Hanoi; Rob and I walked in front, holding hands pretty much the whole way, until we got to the box office and he took out the pass showing he’d won the auction for the seven o’clock timeslot. That got all four of us in.

“I need to visit the little girls' room before the show,” Olive said, and I followed her.

“What do you think?” Olive asked me when we were in the ladies' room. I stood with my back to the mirror and thought.

“He’s pretty much like I expected, from what you told me... Polite, but opinionated about movies.”

She nodded. “He’ll probably kiss you during the movie, but not till near the end, if it’s like the first time I went out with him.”

My heart pounded. “I do need to go,” I said, and went into one of the stalls as another woman came out of it.

A few minutes later we found Karl standing near the entrance to theater number three holding a tray of drink cups and a tub of popcorn.

“Rob’s inside saving seats for us,” he said, and we followed him in, Olive putting her arm around his waist since his hands were full. Rob had gotten seats on the third row. I slid in next to him, and Olive next to me. There were only a few other people in the theater, and none were sitting in front of us. The theater was showing a series of still advertisements for local businesses, mildly annoying but less obnoxious than the advertisements disguised as pre-show entertainment you get in big-city theaters.

Rob took my hand. “I’m glad you came,” he said quietly. “I was a little worried you might not want to date yet, having just been a girl for a few days. But you’re so confident, so... so joyful. You look like you’re having fun being a girl.”

“...Thanks,” I said. “I’m... glad to know I look more confident than I feel.”

The last of the advertisements disappeared and the screen went black for several seconds before the MGM lion roared. Then a spaceship descended from orbit into an icy landscape, to land in a muddy field surrounded by glaciers and snow-capped mountains...

I confess my mind wandered a lot during the movie. Even my pre-Twist self would probably have considered it too slow-paced, and now, with my greatly diminished taste for fiction, it just couldn’t hold my interest despite its seeming relevance to my situation. I found my mind wandering to what Rob had told me about his plans to go to film school and work in movies, eventually becoming a director, and to what I’d heard about the Twisted lead actress, Jocasta Flynn, and then, inevitably, back to my term papers and other projects due in the last few weeks of the semester. My hand and Rob’s, fingers entwined, grew sweaty after a while, and I discreetly disengaged mine for a moment and wiped it off on my dress before putting it on the arm of my seat, where Rob could take it again or not. He did, a few minutes later.

I was aware of Olive and Karl making out on my right; she was leaning into him and had her face turned toward him more often than to the screen. I wanted to lean over against Rob, to feel him against me — but I didn’t want it to go any farther than that, and I wasn’t sure how he would react, whether he might take that as an invitation to go further than I was ready for. I sat back in my seat, holding his hand, and thought about everything except the movie.

Then something in the movie caught my attention. It was the big romantic scene near the end, where Jocasta Flynn’s character goes into heat, and because she’s trapped in this snowed-in cabin with an Earth-human who’s always male, Ferdinand Ishiguro’s character, of course she becomes female, and she’s begging him to have sex with her and he’s chivalrously refusing to take advantage of her when she’s not in her right mind, which Karl commented afterward showed that he wasn’t paying any attention when the Gethenians explained about their biology. Anyway, I’m not sure what happened after that, because right about then Rob leaned over toward me and gently cupped my chin in his left hand. I turned toward him, but he didn’t lean any closer, and I understood: he was going to let me take the next step, if there was going to be a next step.

I leaned toward him, and we kissed. It was a little awkward; our noses bumped and I was distracted with worry that he’d feel something wrong, that my nose and chin weren’t shaped the way they looked. But we tried again a few moments later and it was better, though not great. Then he leaned back and smiled at me for a long moment before returning his attention to the screen. I kept looking at him for the rest of the movie.

When it was over, Rob wanted to sit through all of the credits. I sat with him while Karl and Olive went to the restrooms; we kissed a couple more times, and it was a little better than before. He didn’t put his hands anywhere too scary, or too exciting. When the credits ended, we walked out, still holding hands, and found Karl and Olive talking in the lobby.

“Want to stop at Ormond’s for milkshakes?” Karl asked us.

I checked the time; it was already fifteen after nine. “I’ve got to get home right away,” I said. “Sorry.” Karl didn’t look sorry to have some time alone with Olive after parting from us.

“We can walk back to the cars together,” Rob said, “that’s on your way to Ormond’s.”

Rob and Karl talked about the movie as we walked, four abreast with me and Olive on the outside of the boys. When we got to Tower of Hanoi, Rob and I turned aside into their parking lot and Karl and Olive kept walking.

“See you Monday,” Olive said. “Are you coming to Sarah’s house after school?”

“Probably,” I said.

Rob unlocked and opened the passenger door for me, and kissed me once more before I got in. When he got in and started the engine, he said: “I had a wonderful time tonight. I’d always — well, I hope you won’t take this wrong...”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were pretty cute even before your Twist. But I knew you were straight, and there was no point in asking you. When you Twisted, and looked even better, I wondered if you might be interested in guys now, and I did some research and couldn’t find out anything definite... but it seemed like some people change orientation when they Twist, even if it’s not very many, and I thought I should take a chance. I’m glad I did.”

I had mixed feelings about that. I’d known he was bi, but knowing that he’d already been attracted to me before — that he liked this body I hated — well, I wasn’t sure what to think or feel about it.

“I had a good time too,” I said, exaggerating slightly. Should I tell him now how little I’d enjoyed the movie? Not just yet, I decided. I had something else to tell him that he might not want to hear, that might mean he wouldn’t want to go out with me again — and in that case he didn’t need to know how the Twist had changed my tastes in entertainment. “But — I’m really not comfortable with my body. I don’t know how long it will take to get it fixed — maybe months, maybe years. And until I get it at least partly fixed, I’m not comfortable going any further than we went tonight — holding hands, and kissing, but nothing else. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I enjoy being with you. To be honest, I haven’t gone a lot further than this with anybody, even Charles.”

He was almost to my house before I worked up the nerve to ask, “What happened with Charles?”

“After his family moved away, we wrote back and forth for a while; but it didn’t really work as a long-distance thing.”

“Yeah... it was the same with me and Laura.” He hadn’t exactly answered my question the way I’d meant it, but I didn’t want to ask more bluntly.

When we got to my house, Rob walked with me up the porch steps. Through the living room window I saw Mildred sitting with Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jack, apparently watching something on TV. But when she saw us coming up the steps, she got up and went upstairs before I got the door open.

Mom got up and came to the door. “Good evening. Did you kids have a good time?”

“Yes,” I said.

“It was an honor to enjoy the company of your daughter tonight,” Rob said. “I hope I may have the privilege again sometime.”

“That would be great,” I said. “Um, sometime next week?” I glanced at Mom and Dad.

“Let’s figure out what our schedule is,” Mom said. “We’ll let you know and you can arrange a suitable time with Rob.”

“Good night, then.” Rob pressed my hand, but didn’t kiss me again in front of my parents.

After he left, Mom wanted to know more. I told her how far we’d gone, though I may not have told her the exact number of times he kissed me, and that I’d said that was as much as I wanted to do, and how Rob said he was okay with that. Dad listened but didn’t say much.

Before I went to my room, I knocked on Mildred’s door.

“Come in,” she said.

“Hi,” I said, opening the door. She was curled up in bed reading. “I, um, noticed you left the room when you saw us coming... are you okay?”

“I just didn’t feel like dealing with your boyfriend right now,” she said. “He’d probably be okay with me if he’s okay with you, but if he was weird about me... I didn’t want to deal with that right before going to bed. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No... and, he’s not really my boyfriend. I mean, maybe he will be, but we’ve only gone on one date.” I sat down in the chair at her vanity, after carefully swiveling it so my back was to the mirror.

“What’s he like?”

I told her about what he’d said and done during supper and the movie, and the ride home. She sighed. “I wonder if I’ll ever get to do that.”

“Sure you will!”

“Don’t hold your breath. I’m not. There might be a few guys who think I’m pretty, like Bobby... but how likely is it they’d want to actually kiss me, not just look at me? You might think a tiger or a deer is pretty, but you don’t want to kiss it. And they’re at least mammals.”

I got out of the chair and sat on the bed beside her, and hugged her. As toasty as it was in her room, she still felt slightly cool to the touch. “Don’t give up on yourself that easy! There’ll be somebody for you. Maybe not in Trittsville, but somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” she repeated dully. I held her for a while longer before I went to my room, where I changed into my nightgown and studied for a while before going to bed.

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“Vic, it’s just a game. And I’m not exactly Rob’s girlfriend, not yet anyway. Besides, when me and Laura were an item, that didn’t mean my character couldn’t flirt with girl NPCs... or even with other players. When Lionel was playing a girl alien in Schwarzschild Radius II —”

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Twisted Throwback

part 16 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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Saturday morning, after a quick trip to the bathroom, I went back to bed with my tablet and had a relaxing morning studying and doing homework. It may sound absurd, but it was relaxing for me, post-Twist. I saw messages from Lionel and Vic; Lionel said he had to help his dad with some yard work today, but he’d probably be finished by lunchtime and we could play Phantoms of Phobos or just hang out. And Vic suggested I come hang out with him for a while before we went over to Lionel’s house. Rob had messaged too, thanking me for the lovely time he’d had last night. I smiled at that, and went back to studying. I’d caught up with most of my homework by the time I smelled breakfast cooking and went downstairs.

“Morning, Emily,” Uncle Jack said. “Got any plans for today?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I might go hang out with Vic and Lionel later.”

“I was thinking of going for a long walk after breakfast.”

“I might go with you.”

Mildred, still in her pajamas, and Dad, already in his suit and tie, came downstairs a few minutes later. Uncle Jack repeated his proposal.

“I may very well accompany you, John, after we clean up the breakfast dishes. Emily, Mildred, would you care to join us?”

“No thanks,” Mildred said.

“Come on,” I said. “You can’t sit in the house all the time. This might be one of the last warm days before winter really sets in.”

“I might go out in the back yard,” she said. “But not out on the sidewalk where everybody can look at me and freak out.”

“We could drive to Terrell Park, and walk there,” Uncle Jack suggested. “There might not be many people on the trails this time of day.”

“...Maybe. Let me think about it.”

Mom encouraged her to get out and about as well, and said she’d come with us. By the time we finished breakfast and had the dishes washed, Mildred had given in and agreed to come. I messaged Vic and told him we were going to Terrell Park to walk the trails, and he could join us there if he wanted.

I hesitated a long time over what to wear — I wanted to wear a skirt, but knew it didn’t make sense for today — and finally put on the jeans with hearts embroidered on the pockets I’d worn while helping put down insulation the previous Saturday, and one of the few old T-shirts from my boy days that I could still stand to wear, a solid green.

We all rode in Mom’s car, since it had a little more room in the back seat than Dad’s or Uncle Jack’s. Mildred sat between me and Uncle Jack. Terrell Park was over on the other side of town, a couple of miles outside the city limits, around two hundred acres of woods with trails of various lengths snaking through them, and a soccer field, picnic tables and grills in the cleared area near the parking lot. There were only three or four other cars in the lot when we got there, and none of them were Vic’s.

We set out on one of the longer trails as soon as we got out of the car; Mildred led the way, wanting perhaps to get away from the group of people setting up on one of the picnic tables, a couple of whom were eying her curiously. I caught up with her and walked beside her, and Mom, Dad and Uncle Jack trailed a little way behind.

“It’s good to get out, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yeah... I just hope we don’t meet too many people.”

When we first set out, the morning sun was shining on our backs through the trailhead from over the parking lot. As we got deeper into the woods and were constantly in shade, Mildred slowed down a little; and when we got to a clearing where the trail crossed the stream over a little bridge, and were in direct sunlight again, she paused and seemed reluctant to go on right away. I took the hint and wandered a little way off the trail, looking into the stream. Its surface was too roiled by water splashing over the rocks to reflect a clear image, which suited me fine.

Uncle Jack, Mom and Dad hadn’t caught up with us. “There’s nobody else around,” Mildred said slowly, turning her face toward the sun and closing her eyes.

“Yes... it’s nice and quiet.”

“And it’s not like I have anything to hide anyway. Not even nipples like a little girl...”

“What do you mean —?” But she was taking off her T-shirt, leaving her in shorts and sandals. Of course she had no bra on under it, nor any need of one. My momentary qualm was banished by my reaction to the sunlight glistening on her scales, making different patterns as she turned this way and that to warm her sides and back. She was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time. I stood there and looked at her for a long moment. I heard voices back along the trail, and said: “You might want to put that back on.”

She started to do so, but hesitated, wanting to soak up as much sun as possible, and Uncle Jack, Mom and Dad wandered into the clearing while she was standing there with her T-shirt over her head and arms, her chest bare.

“Mildred Katherine Harper! What are you doing?” Mom barked. Mildred finished putting her T-shirt on and stammered; I said:

“She’s basking in the sun. I think she needs direct sunlight more than just being outdoors.”

“Oh...” Mom said. “You should do that in the back yard, honey. Not here.”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” she said. “People let babies run around with no shirt on, and I don’t even have nipples like they do.”

“Still, people will talk...”

“Your mother is correct, Mildred. It is perhaps true that the ordinary reasons why girls should not expose their chests do not apply to you, yet we cannot expect everyone to think clearly and understand that.”

“People are more easygoing about that in Spiral,” Uncle Jack said. “Or in Little Five Points, for that matter — not on Moreland Avenue, but on a couple of side-streets where they have a local exemption to the public decency laws.”

“And it’s sunnier in California,” Mildred said.

“We will take all that into consideration,” Dad said. “Shall we walk on?”

We crossed the bridge and continued along another shady part of the trail for a good distance. After a while we came to a place where three of the trails intersected, and there was a water-fountain and a restroom. Vic was sitting on the bench outside the restroom.

“Hi, Emily,” he said. “Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Harper... You must be Mildred. Emily told me about your Twist.”

“Hi, Vic,” I said. “Which trail are you doing?”

“The Waxwing trail,” he said — that was a three quarter-mile trail that would have given him a shortcut to this point from the parking lot. “But I’ll go with y’all from here if that suits.” He stood up.

Dad and Mom glanced uneasily at Mildred, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake suggesting that Vic meet us here.

“Suit yourself,” Mildred said, and went on along the Whippoorwill trail. Uncle Jack followed her. I smiled nervously at Vic and said:

“Sorry. She’s a little touchy today... she’s been having a hard time at school.”

“I imagine so,” he said. I looked at Mom and Dad.

“Maybe Vic and I should take another trail and let Mildred be alone for a bit?”

“That may be a good idea, Emily. Katherine, shall I walk with Emily and Vic, and you follow John and Mildred?”

“Good plan,” Mom said. She kissed Dad and hurried off down the Whippoorwill trail.

“Shall we follow the Waxwing or the Cardinal?” Dad asked.

“The Cardinal’s longer,” I suggested. Vic started off that way; I walked beside him and Dad followed us.

“So...” Vic said. “The kids at school have been picking on her, I guess.”

“Yeah. Some of them have been really mean. And... I guess she’s nervous now about meeting anybody, worrying if they’ll act the same way.”

“I won’t.”

“No, but you were kind of staring at her.”

“Sorry.”

“I know. It’s hard not to... the way the sunlight reflects on her scales, and all. But it makes her uncomfortable, so try to control yourself.”

“I will.” We walked on in silence, stopping now and then to look at a spiderweb or an interesting moss formation. After a few minutes he said:

“You planning to come over to Lionel’s house this afternoon?”

“Probably so, yeah...” I turned and asked Dad: “Do you think it suits?”

“I do not see any reason why not.”

“Sure,” I said to Vic.

“Cool.” Then he was silent for a good while longer. At last he said: “So... um, last night — you went out with Rob?”

“Yes. It was a double date, Olive and Karl were with us.”

“Oh.”

He looked uncomfortable, and didn’t say anything for a while. Finally I said: “Vic, I thought you understood this — better than Lionel, anyway. Better than most people. I’m a girl now, and I like guys.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I understand you’re a girl. I just — I think you can do better than Rob.” He glanced back at my Dad.

“Probably eventually,” I said. “When I get my body fixed, I’ll have a wider range of options... But the way I am right now? I was pleasantly surprised to find out that anybody would be interested in me like this. And Rob’s not just the only guy who’s shown any interest in me since my Twist, he’s a really nice guy; he’s not going to push me to do more than I feel comfortable with, and he’s fun to hang out with... I think I’ll probably go out with him again.”

Vic didn’t say anything until we got to the end of the trail, back at the parking lot. His car was parked next to Mom’s.

“Want me to give you a ride to Lionel’s house from here?”

I looked at Dad. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, you may go to visit Lionel. Remember what we spoke about a few days ago.”

Not being alone with Lionel in his bedroom. Check. “Sure.”

“I think I shall meet your mother and the others. I shall see you back at the house — shall we say, suppertime? Six o’clock?”

“I can give her a ride back by then,” Vic said.

Dad set out on the other end of the Whippoorwill trail, which Mom and Mildred and Uncle Jack were probably still walking. Maybe they’d stopped to rest in a clearing and let Mildred get more direct sunlight. Vic opened his passenger door for me and I got in, and a few minutes later we were at Lionel’s house.

He and his dad were trimming the hedges in the front yard when we pulled up. “Almost done,” he called out when we got out of the car. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“Want some help?” Vic asked.

“No, we’ve only got two sets of clippers, and there’s not much more to do. Go in and help yourselves.”

We went inside, and found nobody around — Lionel’s mom’s car hadn’t been in the driveway. We got drinks and chips and sat down on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” Vic said. “I don’t mean to get on your case about Rob — it’s just —” He shrugged helplessly.

“I guess it’s kind of weird for you, seeing me like this...”

“Yeah, kind of. I see you, and even though you’re a girl now you’re obviously the same person I’ve been friends with for twelve years. And I want to still be friends with you, but I see how annoyed you get when Lionel treats you like you’re still a guy — and I’m not sure how you want me to be.”

“You’re doing pretty well — way better than Lionel, anyway.” Actually, I thought the overprotective way he was acting toward me was kind of sweet, if sometimes a little annoying; I was afraid Lionel would react very differently to me going out with Rob, when he heard about it — if he hadn’t already.

I was right. A little later Lionel and his dad came in. “I’ll be right there,” Lionel said.

“You should wash up first,” his dad said.

“Yeah, okay.” He disappeared into his bedroom, and came back ten minutes later wearing clean clothes. “Um, Emily — what’s up with you and Rob Dyer? Vic told me you’d gone on a date with him — for real?”

“Yes, for real.” I rolled my eyes. “He asked me out, and I checked with my parents and they said it was okay. And Olive and Karl went with us and made it a double date. We had dinner at Tower of Hanoi and saw The Left Hand of Darkness at the Magnifico.”

“Didn’t we see that a couple of years ago?” Vic said. “It wasn’t very good — nothing like the book.”

“This was the 2058 version,” I said. “Rob specially recommended it —”

“Dude, never mind the movie,” Lionel said. “Are you seriously interested in Rob?”

“I’m not pining for him to propose to me, but I’ll probably go out with him again. I had a good time last night.”

“Huh. I read about girls like you — guys who Twist into girls, I mean — and it said most of them still like girls after they Twist.”

“Every Twist is unique. Mine more than usual. Yes, I like guys now.”

“Weird.”

“Kind of. But there it is. Are you okay with it?”

“I guess I have to be, don’t I?”

I rewarded him with a smile. “Yes, you do. Do you want to play something or just hang out?”

“I thought we’d continue that game we started Tuesday. Me and Vic played another game with different characters Thursday and last night, but we left the game we saved Tuesday alone until you could join us again.”

“Thanks.”

We put on the VR gear and became Kiera, Oscar and Peter for a couple of hours.

---

“Gotta go,” I said as I peeled off my gloves. I dashed to the bathroom, barely noticing that Lionel’s mom was sitting at her desk in the living room, having come home sometime while we were in the game. When I returned, I found Vic looking at something on his tablet. Lionel was probably gone to the other bathroom.

Vic looked up as I returned. “What are you reading?” I asked.

“Um — it’s the new book by Sven Fowler. I guess you wouldn’t be interested in it, now...”

I sighed. “No, I probably won’t be interested enough to actually read it, not until school’s out and maybe not then. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about it.”

He summarized the plot so far. It sounded like something I would have enjoyed before my Twist, and I said so. Then I said: “It seemed like... like Oscar wasn’t as interested in Kiera as before.”

He looked away. “Yeah, I... I kind of thought, what with you and Rob...”

“Vic, it’s just a game. And I’m not exactly Rob’s girlfriend, not yet anyway. Besides, when me and Laura were an item, that didn’t mean my character couldn’t flirt with girl NPCs... or even with other players. When Lionel was playing a girl alien in Schwarzschild Radius II —”

“Oh, God, don’t bring that up again,” Lionel said, walking in and sitting down next to Vic. “I should pay you back for that sometime, now that you’re playing girl characters. Not this game, of course, but when you’re least expecting it.” He gave me an evil grin.

“Depending on who my character is, I might make the first move. It’s all in the roleplaying.”

“So... do y’all want to play another session?” Vic asked. “Emily doesn’t have to be home until six.”

“Maybe,” Lionel said. “But not as long this time... Or we could just hang out and talk. I’m kind of tired from working in the yard all morning, and I stayed up too late last night; I’m going to take a nap in a little while. Y’all are welcome to stay and use my system as long as you like.”

We sat and ate and talked for half an hour longer until Lionel got sleepy. Vic and I left then.

“We’ve got a few hours till you have to be home,” Vic said. “And those chips didn’t fill me up. You want to go somewhere for lunch?”

“Sure,” I said. “Delhi Deli?”

He headed in that direction. After a minute or so he said, “So, next game session... you think Oscar and Kiera should get closer?”

“Probably,” I said. “Let’s see how it develops. It makes sense, given their backstory and all.”

We ate at Delhi Deli, chatting about the game and about things we’d read and seen lately — I told him about the articles and books I’d been reading for my Modern History term paper, and what I could remember of The Left Hand of Darkness, and he told me about the Twist League: Boston spinoff series he’d just started reading.

Then he took me home. “You’re welcome to come in and hang out for a while,” I said as I got out of the car.

“Sure,” he said. Then I wondered if Mildred would be annoyed at me bringing him home; but I was pretty sure he would be good for her, someone outside the family who treated her like a normal person. I thought he’d be okay after I’d talked to him about her that morning, but I warned him anyway: “Try not to stare at Mildred, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Mildred wasn’t in the living room when we came in; Uncle Jack was sitting on the sofa working on his tablet.

“Hi, Uncle Jack,” I said. “You’ve met Vic, right?”

“Not recently, but I think so. Good afternoon.”

“Where’s Mildred and Mom and Dad?”

“Your dad’s taking a nap, I think — your mom and Mildred are in the back yard.”

“Okay.” I turned to Vic: “Help yourself in the kitchen, okay? I’m going to step out in the yard and tell Mom I’m home.” And tell Mildred that Vic was around, in case she wanted to avoid him — but I hoped she wouldn’t.

I found Mildred wearing only shorts, and Mom wearing shorts and a bikini top, lying on beach towels near the back porch. Mildred seemed to be asleep. “Hi, Emily,” Mom said. “Want to join us?”

“Um, probably not. I just wanted to let you know I was home. Vic gave me a ride home from Lionel’s house, he’s in yonder with Uncle Jack... I was going to hang out with him until he needs to go home for supper, if it suits.”

“Oh... I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“You don’t need to —”

“I haven’t seen Vic in a while, not since before your Twist. And remember what your father and I told you —”

“Not in my bedroom, right. Living room or kitchen only.”

I went back inside. Vic was in the living room, chatting with Uncle Jack about his travels; I sat in the other easy chair, listening to them. Mom came in, and said: “Hi, Vic. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Harper.”

“I’m glad to see that Emily’s friends are supporting her with her Twist. I’m afraid Mildred’s friends haven’t been so helpful.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Mildred’s a good kid.”

“Her best friend — former best friend — has a phobia of snakes,” I put in. “And her other friends haven’t been that great to her either. None of them’s come over here or invited her to their houses since the Twist.”

“That’s rough.”

“You’re welcome to stay for supper if your parents don’t need you home anytime soon,” Mom said. “Let me know in the next half hour or so if you’re staying...” She went upstairs, and came back a few minutes later wearing a T-shirt and jeans. That reminded me I was still wearing the jeans and T-shirt I’d gone to walk in that morning, and I excused myself to go shower and change clothes, leaving Uncle Jack telling Vic a long story about a con artist he’d double-crossed in Tangiers a few years ago.

I came back downstairs wearing a blouse and skirt, feeling a lot more comfortably girly. Mom was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables.

“Can I help?” I asked.

“There’s no hurry with this; go visit with your friend.”

Vic looked at me in surprise when I returned to the living room. “Why are you all dressed up?”

I shrugged. “I just felt like changing into something nicer.”

“Today — in the park — that was the first time I’d seen you wearing jeans since your Twist...”

“Yeah. I don’t really like jeans, but a skirt’s not good for walking in the woods.”

“Is it a Twist compulsion?”

“Kind of. I mean, I have a compulsion to wear girl clothes — I couldn’t have worn those jeans if they were boy-cut or didn’t have the hearts embroidered on them. But I prefer wearing skirts.” Maybe to remind people — especially myself — that I was a girl.

“Emily, go check the thermometer on the porch, would you?” Mom called.

I did. “It’s down to sixty-eight,” I said.

“Go tell your sister to come in.”

“All right.” Vic started to follow me, but I told him to wait. “She’s sunbathing — or she was; she might not want you to see her.”

Mildred was asleep on her beach towel, the sun still playing off her iridescent scales. I wanted to take a picture of her, but I knew she wouldn’t like it. I knelt and shook her gently until she woke.

“What is it?”

“Mom says you need to come in — it’s getting cool.”

“Oh. Sure.” She put on her shirt and followed me into the house.

“Vic’s here,” I said.

“You brought him here?” She sounded dismayed, and stopped just inside the back door.

“Yes. He’s okay, remember? He never picked on you half as much as Lionel, and I think he’ll be fine with your Twist.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at me in the park.”

“He was just startled. You’ve got to cut people some slack — almost everyone’s going to stare a little when they first see you, you’re so beautiful in such a surprising way. But the nice people will treat you normally once they get over their shock. Give Vic a chance, okay?”

She came into the living room with me.

“Hi, Mildred,” Vic said. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” she said. “Got turned into a snake, lost half my friends, counting the days till we can move to Spiral.”

“Sorry... I guess both of you got a raw deal out of being Twisted. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“You could help Mildred practice her trick,” I suggested. That might cheer her up. “And I need to practice mine, too. — Mom, is it okay if we go upstairs and use one of the full-length mirrors?”

“All right,” she said.

“What’s your trick?” Vic asked, interested. “Emily didn’t tell me.”

“I’ll show you,” Mildred said, grinning. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Vic and I followed Mildred upstairs to her bedroom, which had a full-length mirror on the back of the door. I flinched at the sight of my too-masculine reflection; Vic looked startled, too — I don’t think he’d seen my reflection since my Twist.

“In the mirror you look kind of like your old self — except for your hair, and your goatee... hmm. I’m not sure what else is different.”

“My reflection shows what I really look like without my trick,” I said. “I’ve been exercising to try to get people to see the real me in the mirror, too.”

“Be quiet and let her concentrate,” Mildred advised. We all stood there looking at the mirror in silence for a while. I started doing the exercises Dr. Yarrow had taught me, relaxing, taking deep breaths, concentrating on my image in the mirror and mentally superimposing on it the image of girl-me that I wanted Vic and Mildred to see...

“Hey, Mildred,” Vic said, interrupting my concentration, “weren’t you going to show me your trick too? Do you need a mirror for it?”

“I’ll show you later,” Mildred said. “Shh, let us concentrate.”

“Okay, sorry.” Vic stood there watching our reflections.

After a while, as he was starting to fidget, he suddenly looked carefully at the mirror, then turned and looked behind him. I smiled and tried to keep concentrating on my exercises. Vic turned and looked back at the mirror. A minute later he jumped, turned around and looked at where he’d been standing. “Watch out,” he cried.

“There you go,” I said. “You wanted to see Mildred’s trick.”

“What?” He kept looking around. “You mean... Mildred made me see it?”

“What did you see?” Mildred asked.

“A snake — I saw it right behind me in the mirror, but when I turned around I couldn’t see it.”

“Cool!” she said. “What kind of snake?”

“I’m not sure — could have been a copperhead, or something harmless with similar coloring. I didn’t get a clear look at it.”

“Just right, then,” she said.

“What do you mean, just right?”

“That’s the kind of snake I wanted you to see... Sometimes it doesn’t quite work, somebody sees a different kind of snake than I was thinking of, or in a different place. And getting you to see it in the mirror but not when you look straight at it is cool; I haven’t done that before.”

“Good for you,” Vic said. I was trying to keep concentrating on my exercises while they talked, and it finally paid off.

He looked back at the mirror as he said: “So, can you make people see anything, or just snakes...?”

“So far just snakes,” Mildred said. “They said I could maybe make people see other things but it will take a lot of practice, and I should get more control over the kind of snakes people see and what they’re doing first.”

But Vic was looking closer at me in the mirror, and he said: “Mildred, does she look a little different to you?”

Mildred looked back and forth from me to my reflection. “Oh, yeah. Emily, your Adam’s apple is gone!”

I put my hand instinctively to my throat. I could still feel it. And I could still see it in the mirror... but apparently Mildred and Vic couldn’t. I grinned, jumped up and down, and hugged Mildred, then Vic.

That was when Mom opened the door. I let go of Vic, who was probably even more startled and embarrassed than I was.

“Look in the mirror!” Mildred said.

“What?” Mom asked.

“Close the door so we can see the mirror; Emily’s got us seeing her in the mirror!”

“You do? Honey, that’s wonderful!” Mom hugged me, and Mildred closed the door. We looked into the mirror — it was getting crowded in the space near the door, and Vic moved away toward Mildred’s desk.

“It’s not quite a perfect match,” Mom said, after carefully comparing me with my reflection, “but it’s definitely closer. Good work, honey.” She looked up at Vic. “Thank you for helping her practice her trick.”

“And Mildred’s,” Vic put in with a sardonic smile. “I’d better call my Mom and see if it’s okay to stay for supper.”

But it turned out that it wasn’t; he left a few minutes later. After I’d shown Dad and Uncle Jack my new reflection, I studied for a while before supper. When I’d caught up with all my homework, and turned to the Modern History term paper, I read something about a transsexual support group Erin Ann Pendergrass had been part of, and that reminded me of the forum Ingrid had told me about; I looked at it again. This was the most recent post:

From: Rachel396
Date: Saturday 14 November 21—
Subject: Compulsions

Since I went back to school after my Twist, things have been just awful. I got suspended for a couple of days because my compulsions weren’t letting me adhere to the dress code, and that was kind of a relief, but then Dad’s lawyer made the school give me an “accommodation,” which means I have to go to school again and let everybody see my boobs practically popping out of blouses that are too small for me. And of course the guys are staring at me constantly. How do y’all deal with that?

I re-read the post I’d drafted Thursday evening about my own Twist, revised it, and was about to send it when I thought of something else. I added this postscript:

P.S. I have a friend who lost track of her cousin Jason when he Twisted and his parents divorced right afterward. She doesn’t know what he’s like after his Twist or whether his name might have changed. (They lived in Douglasville, Georgia before he Twisted and his parents got divorced.) If you know him, tell him to get in touch with his cousin Morgan through me.

While I’d been reading recent posts and writing my own, someone had replied to Rachel396's post:

From: RainbowHead
Date: Saturday 14 November 21—
Subject: Compulsions

There was a girl like us at school with me, a grade or two ahead of me, with compulsions somewhat similar to yours — she wore revealing clothes, and once in a while she would pretend to have a wardrobe malfunction. My own compulsions aren’t the same — mostly a kind of impulsiveness that comes over me at times — but my counselor I saw for a while after my Twist gave me some exercises to help keep it under control, to help me slow down and think before I act. Have you tested the edges of your compulsions? Do you have to wear blouses too small for you, or could you wear something with a lower neckline that fits you? That might satisfy a compulsion to show off your breasts, without making you physically uncomfortable — it won’t help with the staring, though. Or can you grit your teeth and wear better-fitting clothes during the school day, and satisfy the compulsion by putting on a tight blouse when you get home from school?

But most Twisted actually enjoy acting out their compulsions, once they get used to them. Try to relax and enjoy it, if you can — people appreciate looking at you, and that can be a source of power if you learn to use it. If it’s that kind of compulsion, you’ll probably find that the discomfort of your clothes being too tight goes away or doesn’t bother you anymore after a while.

If that doesn’t work, if your compulsion is making you miserable, talk to your doctor — there are drugs and procedures that can help with harmful compulsions, but they don’t like to use them if it’s not absolutely necessary because of the side effects.

I didn’t have any useful advice to give Rachel396. I thought about asking Dad how Ryan got his compulsions under control, but I decided he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it. I went back to work on my term paper until time for supper, and again afterward.

---

---

If you're enjoying this novel, why not check out some of my other books?

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The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

Mildred getting in trouble for using her trick was serious business and I knew I wasn’t supposed to encourage her, but I couldn’t help laughing.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 17 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

Now that I’d had a week of practice at dressing and doing my makeup, I was able to get ready for church in time for Sunday school. I was feeling more cheerful and confident now that I’d gotten my reflection looking more like me. That feeling didn’t last all morning, though.

I went to the Sunday school classroom the older teens used. The youth minister, Ray Evans, had seen me and Mildred last Sunday, and most of the kids there had already seen the new me, either at school, or last Sunday or Wednesday here at church, except for a few who went to the Denby Academy. Ray and a couple of the kids said “Hi, Emily,” as I walked in; but then Terry Madder said:

“Hey, um — I heard somebody saying you didn’t actually change into a girl, you just had a trick that makes you look like one. Is that true?”

“Kind of not exactly,” I said. “It’s complicated... my trick makes me look more feminine, but I really am a girl. Only in my brain, though, not all over.”

He stared at me. “What does that even mean? You’re still a guy?”

“Only physically.”

Ray was staring at me too. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo either — well, I guess we hadn’t gone out of our way to explain my Twist, since most people were more interested in Mildred’s. And everybody had heard of physical gender Twists even though there’d never been one in Trittsville, so they assumed that was what I had. A couple of the kids who went to Denby Academy were staring at me too, and Iris Dodd said: “Cyrus? Is that you?”

“I used to go by Cyrus, yeah.”

Ray asked me: “Let me see if I understand this right... You didn’t physically transform, you just got a compulsion to dress and act like a girl?”

“No,” I said, annoyed. “It’s not a compulsion.” Then, thinking of how I’d reacted when forced to wear boy clothes for a few minutes and what Dr. Oldstadt had said, I hastily amended: “Not just a compulsion, I mean. The neurologist said my brain is just like a girl’s.”

“I see,” he said doubtfully, and it was obvious that he didn’t. “If this is bothering you... it’s almost nine-thirty. Let’s get the lesson started. Everyone turn to Ephesians chapter five...”

Afterward, Terry and Iris and several others followed me from the Sunday school room to the sanctuary, asking questions; I answered some of them and refused to answer one or two that were too personal, then found Mildred, Mom and Dad and Uncle Jack and sat down with them.

After the worship service, as people were circulating and talking, I listened to Mom and Ms. Taylor talking about the situation at Mildred’s school. “The teachers seem to be doing what they can,” Mom said, “punishing the bullies whenever they have evidence and witnesses... but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

Nearby, Uncle Jack was telling a couple of old friends he’d gone to school with about his recent travels, and Dad was listening with amusement. Mildred was still sitting in our pew, reading. Mr. Richie came up to Dad and talked to him in a low voice, and Dad moved a little away from Uncle Jack and his listeners to talk with him. I didn’t pay any attention at first, being more interested in Mom and Ms. Taylor’s conversation, but then I heard their voices raised a little, and then my name — my old name, ‘Cyrus.’ I unobtrusively sidled a little toward them while still keeping my eyes turned toward Mom and Ms. Taylor. It wasn’t eavesdropping if they were talking that loud in the middle of the sanctuary.

“— his compulsions aren’t as obviously dangerous as Ryan or Wendy’s, sure — but that doesn’t mean there’s not some less obvious danger. I’m not convinced they’re harmless, like yours.”

“You may well be grateful for my compulsions,” Dad said evenly, “for they are helping me to keep my temper when I hear you speak that way about my daughter.”

“All right, I’ll back off. But just think about it, please. I’m afraid you’re doing more harm than good by working with this compulsion instead of helping him resist it.”

“I see no evidence that Emily’s behavior is dangerous. And I will thank you to refer to her as ‘Emily,’ please, as she is distressed when she hears people use her old name.”

“I can’t bring myself to do that,” Mr. Richie said. “But I’ll shut up about — your oldest child. Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“I am always thinking of my children’s welfare.”

I moved a little closer to Mom and Ms. Taylor.

That afternoon, after lunch, Mildred basked in the sun in the back yard. I didn’t feel comfortable stripping down like she did, but I kept her company, sitting next to her doing my reading for Mandarin and Literature. Later, Mildred and I practiced our tricks on each other; Mildred told me my reflection was even more feminine than before, though still not quite like my direct appearance.

---

The temperature dropped sharply during the night, and Mildred was grumpy Monday morning. “Sunbathing’s the only thing I’ve found to like about my new body, and that’s probably it for this year. Unless we move to Spiral?”

“Possibly,” Dad said. “I think it very likely you will be able to visit Spiral after Christmas with Faith and Ben, even if all of us do not go just then.”

“Maybe Santa Claus will bring you a tanning lamp for your bedroom,” Mom mused. Mildred brightened a little at that.

Mildred seemed to be itching; she was scratching her scalp a lot during breakfast. Mom said she’d take her to Uncle Greg’s clinic after school if it kept up.

I rode the bus; Dad gave Mildred a ride to school so she wouldn’t have to wait for the bus in the cold. Morning classes went pretty routinely, though I heard some snide comments from people in the halls between classes. I ate lunch with Lionel and Vic, since I’d eaten with Sarah and her friends the last couple of school days and was going to see them again after school. We chatted amiably until Rob came over to our table. Vic got a sour look on his face, and Lionel suddenly took an intense interest in something on his tablet.

“Hi, Emily. I had a lovely time Friday evening; would you like to go out again some evening this week?”

“I’ve got stuff going on tonight through Wednesday night, but Thursday and Friday are free. Yeah, I’d like to go out.”

“What about dinner at Hanging Gardens at five-thirty Friday, and something at the Magnifico at seven? They’ve already announced they’re showing Little Nemo, but if one of the auction winners that hasn’t been announced yet turns out to be more interesting we could see that.”

“...Actually... what about if we just eat supper and talk for a while afterward? Maybe walk around downtown? I don’t think I want to see a movie this time... unless maybe one of the auction winners is a documentary.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “We could do that.”

“It’s my Twist,” I explained hurriedly. “I think it’s made me less interested in movies than I used to be. I think I might like documentaries but I’m not sure, I haven’t seen any since my Twist.”

“Hmm... I can’t afford to bid on an evening slot at the Magnifico again anytime soon, but I might be able to get a documentary shown for a matinee on a weekend in December or during the Christmas holidays. Or if you don’t mind seeing them on a smaller screen, I have a lot of good documentaries at home...”

Vic was seething. I hastily said: “I don’t think my parents would be okay with me coming over to your house. You could bring a documentary to my house and we could watch it there, maybe... I’ll have to check and make sure Mom and Dad aren’t having company over that night.”

“All right. Let’s explore our options and talk again later in the week. But we’re definitely on for dinner at five-thirty Friday at Hanging Gardens, right?”

“Sure.” I smiled at him, and melted at his return smile. He bowed slightly and walked away.

Vic, Lionel and I sat there in silence for a minute. “Well?” I asked Vic.

“I’m not going to say anything. I’ve already said what I have to say about Rob, and I know you don’t agree, and... I think we’d better not talk about it.”

“All right.”

Lionel looked back and forth at us in confusion, but he didn’t say anything about it either.

Morgan drove Sarah, Olive and me to Sarah’s house after school for our study group. Mrs. Kendall invited me to stay for supper, but when I called to check if it was okay, Mom said: “Not tonight, honey. I need you here. Do you need a ride?”

“Let me check.” I held the phone away from my ear for a moment. “Morgan, are you staying for supper?”

“No, I need to get home.”

“Can you give me a ride on your way?”

“Sure.”

A few minutes later Morgan let me out at my house and drove home. Dad and Uncle Jack were working on supper, and they looked grim.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Where’s Mom and Mildred?”

“They are in Mildred’s room,” Dad said. “It seems she is shedding her skin, and it is... not a comfortable process.”

“Should I go up there...? Can I help?”

“I think not. But perhaps you could knock on her door and ask.”

I went upstairs and listened for a moment before knocking at Mildred’s door.

“Don’t come in,” Mom called out. A few moments later she opened the door slightly and peeked out. “Oh, hi, Emily. Did your father tell you...?”

“That Mildred’s shedding her skin? Yeah.”

“Well, she needs some privacy. I’m mostly keeping my back turned, except when she needs my help. We’ll be down for supper when she’s done... however long it takes.”

“All right. Good luck,” I called out inanely. Mildred’s voice came back, a little weak: “Thanks.”

I helped Dad and Uncle Jack set the table for supper, and then studied for a while. We kept supper waiting for Mom and Mildred. Finally, at fifteen past seven, they came downstairs. Mildred was wearing a bathrobe and looked exhausted, but her skin — her scales — were shiny and as beautiful as I’d ever seen them in indoor light.

“I hope I don’t have to do that very often,” she said. “If it’s anywhere near as often as my period, it will really suck.”

“I guess that’s what your itching this morning was about?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sorry I was so grumpy. Kind of like having your period, I guess.”

“But... you look really nice. Your scales are shinier than ever.”

“Thanks.”

“Let us eat before we discuss the other issues,” Dad said. We sat down and he said the blessing. I wondered what the “other issues” were; I found out when we’d finished eating.

“Mildred, I have not told your sister yet about your issues at school today. I will allow you to tell her yourself, if you wish.”

“Oh... um.” She looked down at her plate, and said: “I got suspended.”

“What for?”

“For using my trick on those girls who hid my towel and locked up my clothes last Thursday.” She looked up and smiled. “It was worth it. They screamed and ran out of the locker room naked and soaking wet.”

Mildred getting in trouble for using her trick was serious business and I knew I wasn’t supposed to encourage her, but I couldn’t help laughing. I noticed that Uncle Jack and Mom were smiling a little too.

“So... how’d you find out? You said nobody knew who did it.”

“Irene heard them talking about it, and she told me.”

“You should have gone to a teacher or the principal with this evidence, Mildred,” Dad said.

“I was going to — I asked Irene if she’d tell them what she told me, and she said okay, we’d go tell them during lunch. But then P.E. was next period, and I was so cranky because of all the itching, and then in the locker room after P.E. I heard them — Josie and Tara — talking trash about me, and I got so mad... I waited until they were in the shower and I made them see snakes coming out of the drains and vents and heading for them. A lot of snakes.” She smiled.

“Tara and Josie did wrong,” Dad said, “and yet, now that you have punished them yourself, it is unlikely that the school officials will punish them much more for their prank on you. Certainly not as severely as they are punishing you for your prank on them. Further, by using your trick without sufficient provocation — so most people will see it — you have probably strengthened your classmates' prejudice against Twisted, and against you in particular.”

Mildred hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Your mother and I have discussed this, and we have decided to ground you for the three days you are suspended.”

“Okay. It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyway.”

“You are not to watch television or play games, or to use the Internet other than for studying. And then — we shall see.” He looked toward Mom, and she said:

“We’re thinking about taking you out of school for the rest of the semester and home-schooling you.”

“Would you?” Mildred’s face lit up.

“Probably,” Mom continued. “We’re not sure how to handle it... We can’t afford for either of us to quit work right now. We’ll have to teach you in the evenings, and let you study on your own during the day. For now you can stay with Uncle Jack, but after he leaves, maybe you’ll spend the days sometimes with Grandpa and Grandma or Aunt Karen... they offered to help with this, but we need to talk to them again to work out details.”

“And then we’ll move to Spiral before next semester, or next school year?”

“It is too soon to tell,” Dad said, “but we are considering it.”

“Ah... there’s another thing you need to keep in mind, if you need me to stay with Mildred while you’re at work,” Uncle Jack said. “I went to Atlanta Thursday, but I’ve been here ever since, and I’ll need to go somewhere before the weekend. Should I call Mom and Dad and drop Mildred off at their house, if I find I have to get on the road for a while? Or is it okay if I take Mildred on a field trip to a museum or historic site?”

“Let us discuss that when the time comes,” Dad said. “You will be able to give us a few hours' notice, I hope?”

“I hope so too, but sometimes it comes over me all at once and I have to get moving.”

“You can get some road time in tomorrow,” Mom said. “Dr. Underwood messaged me this morning, and I talked to one of the endocrinologists on his list, and made an appointment for Emily tomorrow afternoon. One of us needs to pick her up at school at lunchtime and give her a ride to the endocrinologist’s office in Rome — can you do it?”

“Sure. I’ll bring Mildred with us, right?”

“Remember she’s grounded. No shopping or movie while you’re in Rome, just the endocrinologist’s office and a place to eat. And we made another appointment with Dr. Underwood — we’ll be going down there Saturday.”

I smiled at the thought of finally getting the hormone blockers I needed. I hoped we could get back in time for gaming at Lionel’s house, but I wasn’t going to push Uncle Jack to hurry.

Later, after Mildred and I had practiced our tricks on each other and I was getting ready for bed, someone knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I said. Mom opened the door.

“Hi, honey. I just forwarded you a message Dr. Underwood sent me — he’s recommended a couple of places to buy prosthetic breasts. I didn’t want to tell you in front of your father and uncle.”

“Thanks,” I said. I looked at the message on my tablet, and followed the links. It looked like the customized prostheses I really needed, to be sure the color matched my skin tone exactly and so forth, would cost more than I could afford right now. But after my Twist stipend came in...

---

I told Lionel, Vic and Morgan about my endocrinologist appointment between morning classes. Vic listened and said: “So... that’s the doctor who’s going to fix your body?”

“Just barely starting,” I said. “Dr. Underwood — my psychologist — hasn’t ordered full hormone therapy yet. But I’m supposed to start getting the drugs to keep my body from developing any further... in the wrong direction.”

Vic looked at me and nodded. “I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around this. But I know this is what you want; I can see how strongly you care about it... I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks.”

After Modern History, I went to the school office to check out. Uncle Jack was waiting for me.

“Where’s Mildred?” I asked. “I thought she was coming with us?”

“She wanted to wait in the car,” he said with a sad little shrug.

We joined her and were soon on the road to Rome. “Do you want to get something to eat on the way out of town, or wait till we get to Rome?” Uncle Jack asked. “Either way we’ve got enough time before your appointment.”

“I’m not hungry,” Mildred said. Her appetite was a lot less since her Twist.

“I could wait a while,” I said. “And there’s more restaurants to choose from in Rome.”

We talked for a few minutes and then quieted down. I worked on homework for that morning’s classes, then on my term paper. Before long we were in the outskirts of Rome.

“See anywhere you want to stop?” Uncle Jack asked. I looked up from my tablet and saw we were passing some fast-food restaurants and a diner.

“Isn’t there a Fresh Air Barbecue closer to downtown?” I asked.

“I probably won’t be hungry until suppertime,” Mildred said. “Don’t stop at a barbecue place just for me.”

“Oh... then what about Mrs. Annabelle’s Porch?” That was a home-style place just east of downtown that we liked to stop at sometimes.

“That suits me fine,” Uncle Jack said, with a glance in the rearview mirror at Mildred. So a few minutes later we were parked behind the restaurant, a converted late twentieth-century house.

“I might stay in the car,” Mildred said.

“No, you should come in with us. If anybody gives you any hassle, I’ll have Mrs. Annabelle throw 'em out, and if Mrs. Annabelle gives you any hassle, we’ll walk out and shake off the dust from our feet. But you don’t need to sit in the hot car by yourself that long.”

“I’ll keep the windows rolled down slightly,” she said, “and I can stand higher temperatures than a normal human. And I can hit the alarm if anybody tries to mess with me.”

“No. Come on in.”

She gave in with bad grace and followed Uncle Jack, dragging her heels. I squeezed her hand and smiled encouragingly at her.

The waitress who seated us was shocked at Mildred’s appearance and didn’t try to conceal it. But she didn’t say anything mean or condescending; from a transcript of her actual words you wouldn’t have guessed there was anything odd about us. Uncle Jack and I looked at the menus for a couple of minutes and ordered different assortments of vegetables with fried chicken; Mildred just asked for a glass of water without ice. She was quiet and subdued, looking nervously at our waitress and the other diners. I felt terrible for her; if I didn’t have my trick making me look okay, I’d be just as shy and embarrassed about being seen in public, the way I’d been for the first couple of days after my Twist.

When our waitress brought our food, Uncle Jack got into a conversation with her. She was from Flovilla, a tiny little town in middle Georgia less than a tenth the size of Trittsville, and was a junior at Berry College; she liked Rome and was thinking of staying there after she graduated, if she could get a job that suited her.

I remembered that Vic had said something about applying to Berry, and I asked her what she thought of it — would she recommend it? Did they have a good political science or history program?

“I know a girl who’s majoring in history,” she said; “she seems happy with her professors, but I don’t know how it compares to other colleges in Georgia. I’m majoring in Early Childhood Education, and they’ve also got really good nursing and music programs...”

“How do they treat Twisted?” I asked. She looked thoughtful.

“I’m not sure... I think there are some Twisted students, but I don’t know any myself. I’m pretty sure there’s nobody like, um...”

“My sister?” I asked, nodding at Mildred.

“Yeah. If there are Twisted around, they probably look normal, or I’d have noticed them.”

Mildred winced at that, but I don’t think the waitress noticed.

---

---

The ebook edition of my novel Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes has a map, list of characters, and other supplementary material that's not in the free version that was posted here on BigCloset. It's available from Smashwords and Amazon.

“— trick to make herself look like a girl, she could look like a supermodel, and instead —”

“She looks fine,” Vic said. “Better than fine. And I think her trick’s mostly subconscious — she’s making us see the girl she thinks of herself as. A girl next door, not a model. I respect that. And I don’t think Rob does.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 18 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

The endocrinologists' clinic was a couple of miles from Mrs. Annabelle’s Porch, near the hospital. I signed in and sat down in the waiting room next to Mildred and Uncle Jack. We were still a few minutes early.

There was a heavily overweight lady sitting near us who was staring at Mildred — she wasn’t the only one who looked, but the others, except for a couple of little kids who didn’t know better, looked and then got over their shock and remembered their manners. Finally Uncle Jack got fed up and said to her: “I’ll thank you, ma’am, not to stare at my niece like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should know better, only — well, I’ve never seen or heard of that kind of ailment.”

“It’s not a disease,” Mildred said defiantly. “I’m Twisted.”

(That was a big argument sixty or seventy years or so ago when the children of Antarctic Flu survivors started going through their Twists: should being Twisted be considered a disease? Doctors finally decided it wasn’t, but that the costs of dealing with it should be covered by the same programs that covered pregnancy and immunizations. Problems caused by Twists have their own separate diagnoses — for instance, I found out later that Dr. Underwood had classified me as having “Twist-Induced Gender Dysphoria,” and I think Aunt Wendy’s problem is called “Twist-Induced Self-Injury Disorder.”)

“I’m the one here to see the doctor,” I said, hoping to draw some fire off of Mildred. “I’ve got a hormone imbalance because of my Twist.”

“I see,” she said, though of course she didn’t. She picked up her tablet and started reading, but she kept glancing at us pretty frequently. I squeezed Mildred’s hand and smiled at her, and went back to studying.

After a while a nurse called me back, and drew a couple of vials of blood, and had me undress and lie under a scanner. She showed a little surprise when I took my clothes and my fake breasts off; I asked: “Didn’t you know why I’m here?”

“I knew, yes — but I was surprised at how... I mean, with your clothes on you look perfectly natural as a girl, and now...”

“It’s my trick,” I said. “Let’s get this over with so I can get dressed.”

She ran the scanner and told me I could get dressed and go out to the waiting room again. “We’ll call you when the doctor’s ready,” she said.

It was half an hour more before they called me again. The nurse led me to an exam room and left me, and a couple of minutes later an Asian woman younger than Uncle Jack came in.

“Good afternoon, Emily. I’m Dr. Park.”

“Uh, hi. I guess Dr. Underwood told you what I’m here for?”

“Yes; your mother forwarded me his referral message, and I talked to him on the phone yesterday. I understand your Twist resulted in a kind of gender dysphoria, and he wants you to start a puberty blocker regimen, assuming no contraindications?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve seen the scans, but I’ll need to examine you as well... and, um, if you could turn off your trick so I can see what you actually look like, that would help.”

“It turns off by itself when I undress,” I said, starting to unbutton my blouse. Dr. Park was putting on plastic gloves. I’ll gloss over the exam — it was embarrassing and uncomfortable, but didn’t last long.

“Are you shaving or using depilatory cream?”

“Depilatory.”

“How much facial or chest hair did you have before?”

“Enough to grow a goatee, but not a full beard...”

While I was getting dressed again, Dr. Park made some notes on her tablet, and then said:

“I’ll need to see the results of the blood tests, which may take until tomorrow afternoon, but if there are no problems there, I’ll call your pharmacy after I see the results and order a couple of drugs for you. One you’ll take once a day, with meals, and the other twice a day...” She explained more about the side effects to watch out for and so forth, and I made notes.

“Have you any more questions for me?” she asked.

“Yeah, actually... Do you have any experience at hormone replacement therapy? You look kind of young...”

“I’m thirty-four; I graduated from medical school when I was twenty-five, younger than most people. No, I’ve never treated a transsexual before, but some of the treatments I do for women with hormone imbalances are not all that different from what you’ll need, assuming you and Dr. Underwood decide to proceed with it. And I’ve done a lot of research in the last few days, before figuring out what to prescribe for you — and I’ll do a lot more before we move on to synthetic estrogen supplements and so forth.”

“Okay. Yeah, I trust you if Dr. Underwood recommended you, I just wanted to know.”

The nurse brought Uncle Jack back to the exam room, and Dr. Park told him some of what she’d told me. Then we made an appointment for a couple of weeks later, the Monday after Thanksgiving — this time I was able to get an appointment at four-thirty, so I wouldn’t have to miss any classes. After that, we drove home.

It was past four when we got back to Trittsville. I’d messaged Lionel and Vic once we were out of Rome traffic and I had a good idea when we’d get home, and Lionel repeated his invitation to come over and game after I got back. I told Uncle Jack, and after checking with Mom, he dropped me off at Lionel’s house before returning home with Mildred.

“Hey, Emily,” Lionel said, letting me in. “Vic’s in the can; we’re about ready to get started. You want to eat something first?”

“A little something, yeah.”

We snacked and chatted for a couple of minutes, until Vic came back from the bathroom. “Hi, Emily,” he said. “How’d the doctor visit go?”

“Pretty good. She’s waiting on some blood test results — if they look okay, I’ll start getting my medicine tomorrow.”

Lionel shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the medicine that’ll make you a girl? I mean, physically?”

“No,” I sighed, “not yet.” I explained about the puberty blockers. “Hopefully in a couple of weeks I can start getting hormone replacement therapy. But it might be up to three months.” Or never, if the blood test results showed something wrong... but I shied away from that thought.

“I hope it’s soon,” Vic said.

“Thanks... I guess I’d better go use the restroom before we start playing.”

I went and peed, but something was wrong with the toilet and it didn’t flush as normal, just gradually diluted the pee-water with a thin stream of clean water. I shrugged and washed my hands, intending to tell Lionel or one of his parents about it, though they probably already knew.

As I returned down the hall to the living room, I heard Lionel talking:

“— trick to make herself look like a girl, she could look like a supermdel, and instead —”

I paused. With the toilet not working right, they hadn’t heard it flush and didn’t know I was finished.

“She looks fine,” Vic said. “Better than fine. And I think her trick’s mostly subconscious — she’s making us see the girl she thinks of herself as. A girl next door, not a model. I respect that. And I don’t think Rob does.”

“You’re on about that again? If you don’t want Rob taking her out, why not ask her out yourself?”

“I can’t — I mean — I’m all mixed up about her...”

I couldn’t stand to hear any more. I went back down the hall toward the bathroom, took a deep breath, and returned, making more noise. The conversation broke off before I got close enough to hear what else they were saying.

“Hey,” I said, “your toilet’s not flushing right.”

“Yeah,” Lionel said, “Dad’s supposed to pick up some parts at the hardware store so we can fix it. You about ready?”

“Sure.” I forced a smile, sat down on the sofa next to Vic, and put on my helmet and gloves.

---

As Vic was driving me home after the game session, he said: “I thought you said Kiera and Oscar should get closer?”

I shifted uncomfortably and glanced at him. “Well, yeah. Maybe not quite as fast as that.”

“Hmm. You were kind of giving mixed signals there. I wasn’t sure if — are you sure you’re okay with this? Our characters being involved in the game, while you’re involved with Rob in real life?”

“I’m not involved involved with him,” I said, and fell silent. I wanted to say: “If you want me, I’d rather be with you than Rob.” But I couldn’t.

When we were almost to my house, he said: “Well, we can play it either way. I just want to make sure you’re really okay with it.” He parked the car and I opened my door.

“You want to come in for a few minutes?” I asked.

“I’d better go, my mom’s expecting me home for supper. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Mom and Dad wanted to hear more about what Dr. Park had said, though Uncle Jack had already told them what he’d heard. I told them everything twice, in answering their redundant questions.

Mildred and I practiced our tricks for a few minutes after supper, and then I studied until time for bed.

---

Wednesday after Physics, Vic walked with me to Calculus as usual. He told me about a book he’d started reading last night — a biography of Thucydides West. I perked up and listened.

“I might like to borrow that when you’re done,” I said.

I ate lunch with Sarah, Olive and Morgan. I was quiet, thinking about Vic and Rob. What had Vic meant, exactly? Sarah noticed, and asked: “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, um... It’s about my friend Vic.”

“The guy who came over to talk to you last week?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah, him. I think — I overheard him talking with our friend Lionel yesterday. I didn’t hear much, but I think he’s attracted to me. And probably jealous of Rob.”

“That could be hard. You’ve been friends with Vic for a long time, right?” Sarah asked.

“Since elementary school. I don’t want to do anything to mess up our friendship — but I don’t know what would be worse, to keep going out with Rob, or go out with Vic once or twice and find out we don’t click romantically.”

“What did you hear him say?” Olive asked, but Sarah glared at her.

“We don’t need to know that,” she said. “Just think about what he said and think about what else it might mean; are you sure you’re not misinterpreting it? If you’re sure he’s into you... well, do you like him or Rob better?”

“Rob’s a lot better looking. And he’s affectionate without being grabby, and attentive and considerate... But I have a lot more in common with Vic, there’s more stuff we can talk about. And he’s not much to look at, but he’s dependable — I know I can trust him. Not that I distrust Rob, but I don’t know him that well yet.”

Morgan chewed her lip, and said: “It sounds to me like you’d better go slow with this. For now you’re probably better off with Rob. If Vic’s as dependable as you say, he’s not going to let jealousy get the better of him, and you’ll still be friends with Vic whether the thing with Rob works out or not. And if it doesn’t, you can see how things develop with Vic... but you should probably take it slow, make sure you’re both serious about it before you really start dating, much less getting intimate.”

“I expect she’s right,” Sarah said. “What do you think, Olive? You know Rob better than any of us.”

“Yeah, and I think you already know about his flaws, Emily. If you’re still okay with him after he bent our ears about the history of that movie all during dinner Friday, there’s no reason you shouldn’t keep going out with him — if you didn’t have something better lined up. Sounds like Vic would be better for you if you could get that to work, though.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

When I went to my desk and sat down just before Mandarin, I saw Rob already at his desk. I smiled at him, but didn’t try to talk to him before class. I figured he’d probably talk to me again after class, and I had until then to figure out if I wanted to go out with him again Friday or break it off now, just in the hopes that something would develop with Vic. But once Mr. Bao started talking, I focused on the lesson and almost forgot about Vic and Rob — except when Mr. Bao called on Rob to answer a question — until class was over.

As I expected, Rob came over right afterward. “Hi, Emily. I need to ask you something...”

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s walk.” I headed toward the door and down the hall to Literature. He followed me, and was silent for a few seconds, maybe figuring out how to ask what he wanted to ask.

“George Sims told me he saw you going out with another guy at Delhi Deli on Saturday afternoon. I wasn’t sure if I should believe him, and I figure he’s probably mistaken if he’s not lying... Did he really see you? What was really happening?”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I had lunch with Vic Saturday. But it wasn’t a date.”

“Yeah, I thought it was something like that. You still hang with Vic and Lionel, I know, I saw you having lunch with them Monday.”

“Yeah, only Lionel had to do a lot of yard work in the morning and he was too tired to go out for lunch Saturday, so it was just me and Vic.”

Rob frowned. “I know you didn’t mean it as a date, but people will see you and talk. I don’t mind you seeing your old friends, but I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere with just one of them.”

I was shocked, but then I remembered what Olive had said about Rob telling her what to do... And what Dad had said, for that matter, about not being alone with Lionel. Vic and I hadn’t been alone, we’d been out in public, but apparently that was even worse. I bit back my instinctive response, and counted to ten before saying:

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I want to. Look, don’t worry about last Saturday — just think about it next time. — Did you have a chance to ask your parents about Friday? Does it suit for me to come over with some documentaries and watch one, or maybe two short ones, after dinner?”

“Um, no, things have been kind of busy. I’ll ask them tonight.” I decided I should go out with him at least one more time. And by the time he asked me out a third time — if he did — maybe I’d know more about what Vic felt about me.

We chatted a little more after P.E. He named a few documentaries, and asked if I’d heard of them or had a preference between them.

“The one about twentieth-century art cars sounds fun,” I said. “Or the one about the founding of Spiral. Let’s see if it suits.”

After school, I worked on my Modern History term paper until Mom and Dad got home — I was almost finished with the first draft. Mom knocked on my door; when I opened it, she gave me a small bottle of pills and a tight smile.

“Take the first dose with supper,” she said. “The pharmacy messaged me a list of possible side effects and so forth, and I forwarded it to you. The other medicine hasn’t been approved yet; the pharmacist isn’t sure how long that will take.”

“Thanks.”

I looked up the drugs Dr. Park had prescribed. This one was well over a hundred years old, and used in various doses by women with heart conditions as well as by transsexuals. The other, the one the Medical Bureau hadn’t approved me to use, was much newer, developed just before they started fixing transsexuals prenatally, and more specialized to stop male puberty from proceeding without any side-effects. I wondered if anybody in the country needed it besides me, and how hard it might be to get it if it had to be specially synthesized in small batches.

During supper I told Mom and Dad about Rob’s idea.

“You propose to have dinner together, and then return here to watch a film? That is acceptable, I think. We will largely leave you alone during the film, I suppose; we will be just upstairs if you should need us.”

“And we’ll look into the living room a couple of times to check on you,” Mom added. “But not very often.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I said. I didn’t tell them what I’d heard Vic and Lionel saying, or that this might be my last date with Rob.

Mom said to Mildred: “I talked to Ms. Antonelli this afternoon...”

“Who?” I asked.

“Bobby’s mom,” Mildred said. “What did she say?”

“She said they’d like to meet us for an early lunch Saturday. It’ll be on our way to Stone Mountain for Emily’s appointment.”

“Yay!”

Before and after the prayer meeting that night, I wasn’t bothered as much by questions as the last couple of Sundays — everyone who came to church on Wednesdays already knew about me by then. I got uncomfortable during Mr. Richie’s prayer, when he was asking for wisdom to spot unobvious temptations and strength to resist them — I wondered if he was talking to me more than to God.

Later, I checked the gender-Twist forum, and saw several replies to my introductory post, and to Rachel396's post about her compulsions. There was also a private message for me; I clicked that one first:

From: Medea
Date: Tuesday 17 November 21—
Subject: Morgan?

I think I might be the one you’re looking for — my name was Jason before my Twist, and I had a cousin on my dad’s side named Morgan that I haven’t seen since my parents divorced. Tell me a little more about Morgan, or tell her more about me, and if we’re the people we’re looking for, put us in touch with each other, okay?

She told me her parents' names and what year she was born, and hazarded a guess that Morgan was around eight or nine when she saw her last. It all checked out. I copied and forwarded her message to Morgan; then I realized she wouldn’t be able to contact Medea directly, since I didn’t have her net address, only her forum handle. I appended a note asking Morgan if I could give Medea her net address, and sent it.

Medea also had something else say:

I’m sorry to hear about your Twist. My mental changes had me comfortable in my new body within a few hours; I can’t imagine how hard it would have been to get those mental changes while my body stayed the same. It sounds like you have good doctors, though, and I hope they will be able to help you. And good friends — Morgan was a sweet kid, if she’s the Morgan I know, and I’m sure she’s grown up to be a dependable friend.

Several others had replied publicly to my introductory post, including:

From: RainbowHead
Date: Sunday 15 November 21—
Subject: Re: Transsexual throwback

So you’re still physically a boy? That sounds pretty annoying. But I guess it’s nice not to have periods, until they get you fixed up. And then, since you’re into boys now, it will be easier to have babies than it was for me and my partner. We had to go to I don’t know how many doctors to harvest eggs and smoosh them together and stuff.

From: PinkPower
Date: Sunday 15 November 21—
Subject: Re: Transsexual throwback

Emily219, I apologize for RainbowHead’s last message. She knows she’s not supposed to write forum posts when she’s blonde. Are the doctors going to be able to give you a cloned womb and ovaries? I hope so, but if you’re sterile after the operations like the transsexuals we read about in history, it won’t be the end of the world. My partner and I looked into adopting before we decided to go with egg-fusion. And if you donate sperm before you get rid of your unwanted equipment, you and your partner could do the equivalent procedure with fusing two sperm — it’s more expensive, but not hugely so.

From: PatchworkGirl
Date: Monday 16 November 21—
Subject: Re: Transsexual throwback

Hi, Emily. I don’t have anything to add to what I said at supper the other night, except welcome to the forum. The people here are pretty nice, always sympathetic even when we can’t always be helpful. Be open with your close friends, people you’ve known for a long time and know you can trust, but be careful what you tell strangers — my co-workers know I’m Twisted, of course, I can’t easily hide that, but only a few close friends know I used to be a boy.

Tell your uncle I said hi.

From: RainbowHead
Date: Monday 16 November 21—
Subject: Re: Transsexual throwback

I’m sorry for my last message. My compulsions get the better of me sometimes, and I say things without thinking them through.

This will be hard, poor dear! But I’m sure everything will work out. Do just as your doctors tell you. And ask them about how you should wear your underclothing — if it’s too tight I’m afraid it might cut off the circulation and cause harm. I know you don’t want that thing anymore, dear, but if it mortifies because your panties are too tight, the doctors won’t be able to re-use it to make something better.

From: Rachel396
Date: Tuesday 17 November 21—
Subject: Re: Transsexual throwback

It sounds like we might not live too far apart, if you’re going to the Emory Twist clinic. You hate being a boy, and I hate being a girl, so we might have some things to talk about. Let me know.

I replied privately to Rachel396, and publicly thanked some of the others who’d given me advice, however silly or trite some of it seemed. It was getting late, and I went to bed after posting that.

---

---

I hope everyone enjoys the cameo appearances of Leila and Jen from Morpheus' "Twisted Pink" and "Hair and Now". Here are some excerpts from my correspondence with Morpheus about it:

---

TS:

Would you mind if I give Leila from "Twisted Pink" or Jen from "Hair and Now" a brief cameo appearance in my story? I have a couple of possibilities in mind:

1. Uncle Jack takes Emily to the Twisted hair salon in Little Five Points (which used to be the hippie neighborhood in Atlanta, and is still kind of alternative, and which I envision being a Twisted neighborhood in Emily's time), and somewhere -- on the street or in a restaurant or shop -- they run into Leila or Jen (or both?), whom Uncle Jack knows and introduces to Emily.

2. Emily signs up for a net forum or message board for Twisted with gender-related Twists, and interacts with some older Twisted possibly including Jen, Leila, and Morgan's cousin Jason/Medea.

M:

I think your second choice of running into them on a message board would be a little more likely and wouldn't pin them down to living in a specific place outside of Spiral at that time.

TS:

I was thinking they'd be in Atlanta on a business trip, and going to Little Five Points to see the local Twisted scene after dealing with their clients or the local representatives of the company they work for or whatever. But the message board would be less of a coincidence.

---

---

Each of the ebook editions of my novels has a detailed list of characters, which contain little Easter eggs of backstory and sequel.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

I tried to elicit clues that would help me figure out what he was thinking and feeling about me, without leading him on in a way that would mess up what I had — or might have — with Rob. It didn’t work; by the end of the meal I had no more idea than before what Vic felt about me, and had only succeeding in confusing myself about my own feelings.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 19 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

When I walked into Calculus Thursday morning, Morgan jumped up from her seat and ran over to me. “I got your message last night, and I replied — did you see it?”

“No, I went to bed a little while after I sent you that.”

“Go ahead — send her my address before class starts!”

I sat down and got out my tablet, and was able to log onto the forum and send ‘Medea’ another private message before Ms. Reynolds started her lecture.

I ate lunch that afternoon with Vic and Lionel. It was a tense, awkward conversation — at least on my part, with me knowing Vic had some kind of feelings toward me but not exactly what they were. I tried to elicit clues that would help me figure out what he was thinking and feeling about me, without leading him on in a way that would mess up what I had — or might have — with Rob. It didn’t work; by the end of the meal I had no more idea than before what Vic felt about me, and had only succeeding in confusing myself about my own feelings.

Just when I was getting up to go return my tray and silverware, Morgan came running up to me with her tablet in her hand, and I think she would have hugged me if my hands hadn’t been full.

“She wrote back! Jason, I mean Medea —”

“Is that her real name now, or just her forum handle?”

“It’s her name. Pretty clever, huh?”

I couldn’t remember many details about Jason and the Argonauts, but I knew Medea was a girl he was involved with. “Yeah, it’s a cool name. What all did she say?”

“She told me about her Twist, and how Uncle Ed accused Aunt Rose of having an affair, and she said she hadn’t, she was sorry she’d never told him she was Twisted... It wasn’t an obvious Twist, nobody who didn’t know her real well before the Twist even noticed, and her family hushed it up; they pretended she took after her dad who wasn’t Twisted.”

“Huh. I’ve heard of people doing that... I can see why you might want to, if you live in an area where there’s a lot of prejudice against Twisted, but you’d think she would tell her partner before they got married, or at least before they decided to have kids.”

“Yeah. Uncle Ed wasn’t sure if he she’d lied him about not being Twisted, or about not having an affair with some Twisted guy, but either way he was so mad at her for lying to him that he left them. And Aunt Rose sold the house and gave Uncle Ed half the money, and they moved to Knoxville where her family are from... She remarried a few years later, that’s why I couldn’t find her when I searched for her name. Medea’s a senior at UT Knoxville, and she says she might come visit me during the Christmas break.”

“Cool! I hope your parents are okay with that.”

She shrugged. “I might have to sneak out to see her. Tell them I’m going over to Sarah’s house or something. Thanks so much!”

By now I’d put my tray on the conveyor belt, and now she did hug me, and I congratulated her again before we went off to our next classes.

After school, I talked to Uncle Jack and Mildred for a few minutes, and did homework until suppertime.

“This is the last day of your suspension from school,” Dad said to Mildred after he’d said the blessing and we were starting to eat. “And the last day you are grounded. Your mother and I have discussed the matter further, and we think we can home-school you for the remainder of the semester, at least.”

“I might drop you off at Grandpa and Grandma’s house on the way to work tomorrow,” Mom said, “to give Uncle Jack a break, since he’s been staying with you for the last three days.”

“If you like,” Uncle Jack said. “I don’t mind staying with Mildred another day; I’ll only be in town another week or so. I’ll probably head toward Chicago next Sunday, right after I drive Tim to the airport. But maybe Mildred and I will go over to Mom and Dad’s house.”

They talked about plans for home-schooling Mildred, who would tutor her in which subjects, and so forth; I mostly just listened, but I volunteered to help her with History and Algebra.

Then Dad told me: “Emily, I have good news for you as well. Your Twist stipend has finally cleared — it comes to nearly fourteen hundred dollars.”

“Maybe we can go shopping again this weekend,” Mom said. “But wasn’t there something you wanted to order online...?”

“Yes!” I said.

Before I did any homework or worked on my term paper, I went to the site of one of the companies Dr. Underwood had recommended, and put in a special order for a pair of prosthetic breasts. I had Mildred take a photo of my bare chest, and I sent that in along with my measurements so they could match the skin color.

After I finished the first draft of my Modern History term paper, I checked my messages; I saw a private forum message from Rachel396. She was the Richard Lyell I’d seen in the waiting room at the Twist clinic, as I’d suspected; she lived in Lithonia, just east of Atlanta. I told her I didn’t have a car, but I’d be in Stone Mountain with my parents and sister on Saturday, and did she want to try to meet then?

I also looked into some slightly older archives of the gender-Twist forum, and found Rachel’s introductory post from a couple of weeks ago:

From: Rachel396
Date: Wednesday 4 November 21—
Subject: Periods suck

I just Twisted into a girl yesterday, and my aunt told me about this forum. (Hi, Aunt Moira, if you’re reading this.) She was like me, and so was my grandma — apparently it runs in our family. I knew about the risk, and I took precautions — never played a girl character in an RPG, never wore anything even slightly feminine, etc. But if there’s a bullet with your name on it... I was reading a book with a girl character — not even the main character! — and she was having her period, and I remember thinking how much that would suck, and — zap, my own period is starting as soon as I wake up from my Twist, and I’ve got bloodstains on the sofa where I passed out. And I’ve toasted one of my Dad’s antique hardcopy books.

And then adding insult to injury, I find out I’ve got a compulsion to wear girl’s clothes. I tried to put on some of my old things to cover up before my parents got home — I was by myself while they were out on a date, and my new body is a little smaller so the old stuff should sort of fit except maybe in the chest, right? But I just can’t bring myself to put them on. I sweat over it for ten minutes, just starting to pull on a pair of jockey shorts with napkins stuffed in them to stop the bleeding, and then getting the shakes and having to pull them off. Apparently my subconscious would rather be naked than wear boy’s clothes. So I raid my mother’s closet, and I’m wearing her stuff when she gets home. Mom called my aunt and she came over, and she’s been pretty helpful and understanding, but I’m not sure she really gets it. She’s been a woman for two-thirds of her life, and the shock of the change is so long ago I doubt she really remembers it. Anybody here who’s been through it more recently?

I felt a weird mix of empathy and envy at that. I knew what she was going through — suddenly feeling that your body is strange and wrong — but I wanted what she had, too: the female body, and even the period, since that would imply I could have babies. Put our Twists together and you’d have one good one; in isolation, both were pretty bad — if still maybe not quite as bad as Mildred’s.

---

Friday after Physics, Vic gave me the biography of Thucydides West he’d just finished reading. “It’s pretty good,” he said. “I liked the way she goes into his high school and college friendships and how they influenced him to stand up for the rights of Twisted later.”

“He had several Twisted friends in high school, didn’t he?”

“No, he was born five years before the Antarctic Flu epidemic. Some of his friends' younger siblings were Twisted, but nobody in his family got the Flu.”

I told him I’d probably start reading it soon, now that I’d finished my Modern History term paper. I ought to give most of my attention to my Literature term paper, but my Twist had made me less interested in fiction, not just more interested in school; I figured I’d probably procrastinate on the reading for that (which I’d started before my Twist) to read this biography. Maybe I could tell Ms. Muir I’d changed my mind, and wanted to do my Literature term paper on some essayist rather than on Theodore Sturgeon’s short stories?

I ate lunch with Sarah, Olive and Morgan. Morgan told me about their plans for the weekend.

“Me and Sarah are going shopping in Chattanooga Sunday,” she said. “Olive might join us — she’s not sure if her parents will let her come — and you’re welcome to come too.”

“I’d like to. Is it okay if Renee comes, or Mildred?”

Morgan paused. “It’ll be a little crowded in my car with six girls, but sure, especially if you or Renee can borrow a van from one of your parents... Anyway, that’s not the best part. Medea’s going to drive down from Knoxville and meet us somewhere — probably at the mall food court, we’ll figure out details later. You want to meet her, don’t you?”

“Yes! But what time are you leaving? I’m not sure if my parents will let me or Mildred skip church for something like this.”

“If Olive’s parents let her go, it won’t be till after church. We can wait for y’all and leave around noon — your church is over by then, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll ask and see if it suits.”

I ate and listened to them talk about stuff they were hoping to find in the stores Sunday, and thought. I asked Morgan: “Do you think your parents really hold a grudge against Medea because her mom lied about being Twisted?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s not just her they don’t like. It’s Twisted. I’d be in trouble if they knew I was hanging out with you.”

“Oh.” That put things in perspective.

After Mandarin, Rob walked with me to Literature. “I’m looking forward to tonight, Emily. Do you want me to pick you up at five-ten, same as last time?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it too.”

“Have you decided which documentary you want to see?”

“Um, maybe the one about the founding of Spiral? Or — do you have anything about Thucydides West?”

“I think he’s interviewed in that one, actually. I’m not sure if there’s been a documentary about him specifically.”

“That will be good. Thanks.”

On the bus home, I started reading the biography Vic had loaned me. From the introduction I learned that the author was Twisted, and her father had been one of the Twisted kids that Thucydides West saved from a lynch mob when he was a police officer, before he went into politics. When I got home, Mildred and Uncle Jack weren’t there; they got home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house not long before Mom and Dad came home from work, a few minutes before Rob came to pick me up. I had to get ready for my date without Mom or Mildred’s help; I’d had enough practice at putting on makeup by then, and I knew my trick would gloss over any imperfections.

Once I was all dolled up, I started to pick up the biography again — and then reluctantly put it aside, and looked back at my notes for my Literature term paper, and skimmed through some of the articles about Theodore Sturgeon that I’d found. It seemed like “Bianca’s Hands” was among the best of his stories I hadn’t read yet, so I started reading it. I hadn’t finished it by the time Uncle Jack and Mildred got home, and then I was too distracted to read more until much later.

Rob came to pick me up a few minutes after Mom and Dad got home, and we left after just a couple of minutes of conversation. Mildred had gone up to her room as soon as she got home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and didn’t come down until after Rob and I were gone.

Rob had made a reservation at Hanging Gardens, and we were seated right away at a small table by the west window. After we’d placed our orders, he started telling me about the documentary we were going to see, A Town of Their Own, and the director, and the other movies he’d directed... I listened and asked some questions, and after a little while he asked what had been going on with me. I told him about finishing my Modern History term paper, and the problems I was having getting started on the other one; about going to the endocrinologist, and the delays in getting one of the medicines I needed, and about going to see Dr. Underwood again tomorrow.

“I hope you can get it sorted out,” he said. “I’ll ask my dad if he knows anything about the drug you’re having trouble getting.” His father was a medical lawyer.

“Thanks.”

After dinner, we drove back to my house. Uncle Jack’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Dad was alone in the living room, reading, when we came in.

“Good evening, Emily, Rob. How was your dinner?”

“Good. Where’s Mom and Mildred?”

“Your mother is working with your sister on her grammar lesson. I shall go upstairs in a few moments, and leave you to watch your film. Is there anything I can do for you, Rob?”

“No, thanks, Mr. Harper.”

Rob got his tablet talking to our console, and started digging through a list of the movies on it for the one we wanted to watch. Dad puttered around in the kitchen for a few minutes before going upstairs.

Once Rob got the movie started, I turned down the lights and joined him on the sofa. We held hands — at least, at first. I’m not sure about later, because it turned out my surmise was correct: I could take an interest in a documentary, unlike a fictional movie, and I did take as single-minded an interest in this one as in any of my teachers' lectures at school or the nonfiction books and articles I’d been reading.

I forgot I was sitting next to Rob, a situation that had been far more interesting than the plot of the movie last Friday, and just focused on the history of Spiral — how this one tiny town was hit harder by the Antarctic Flu than most others its size, and almost a third of the children born in the next few years were Twisted; how more and more families with Twisted children moved in, and then Twisted adults on their own, and how they renamed the town Spiral and proclaimed it a safe place for Twisted. There were interviews with people whose ancestors had lived there before the Flu, and some of the earliest Twisted who moved in, and with Twisted-rights activists and prominent Twisted.

Thucydides West said, “I want the whole country to be a safe place for Twisted. But one town is a good start.”

Jocasta Flynn thought it was a bad idea. “We don’t need a Twisted separatist movement; we need to be out there in front of normals, living and working next to them, so they can see who we are and that we’re not a threat.”

Blake Tyson, the mayor of Spiral at the time the documentary was made, thought differently. “It’s admirable for Twisted adults to make up their mind where they want to live and take the risks. But there needs to be a safe place for Twisted kids to grow up.”

There was a lot of footage of street scenes, high school football games, the county fair, and so forth; in one scene I caught a brief glimpse of Dad’s cousin Paul and his wife Lynn. And there were other scenes of Twisted neighborhoods in big cities, including a few seconds showing murals and storefronts I recognized from Little Five Points, and interviews with people who lived there. I’m not doing a great job of summarizing it; go watch it yourself, it’s good.

When it was over, I blinked and became aware again that Rob was holding my hand. I smiled at him.

“Thanks,” I said. “I enjoyed that a lot. What other documentaries did you say this guy directed?”

He told me, and said several of them were on his tablet. He copied them to our console’s memory before he left.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “But there’s one disadvantage to watching a documentary during a date.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It doesn’t have a big romantic scene to give me an excuse to do this,” he said, and kissed me.

Later, I asked Dad: “I thought you were going to check on us during the movie?”

“I did so twice, as did your mother. It seemed you were absorbed in the movie, and we did not disturb you.”

“...Thanks. Where’s Uncle Jack?” He hadn’t returned while we were watching the movie, or so I thought; but if I hadn’t noticed Mom and Dad sticking their heads in...

“We discussed our plans for tomorrow during supper, and he decided that he will not accompany us to Atlanta tomorrow. He has gone to stay in a motel in Milledgeville tonight, and visit your Aunt Wendy again tomorrow.”

I checked my messages after changing into my nightgown. Rachel had replied again, and offered to meet us at a restaurant in Stone Mountain after my appointment with Dr. Underwood. I wrote back and said I’d try to talk my parents into it.

---

Saturday morning during breakfast I told Mom and Dad about Rachel and asked if it would suit to stay a little later and visit with her after my appointment with Dr. Underwood.

“I hardly think we can refuse, after arranging our schedule to meet with Mildred’s friend Bobby. This Rachel’s Twist was similar to yours, I gather?”

“Kind of the opposite... her body changed but her mind didn’t change to match. At least, not like it does for most people like us.”

I also told them about Morgan’s plan to go to Chattanooga Sunday to meet Medea and go shopping, and they said I could go with her; they seemed relieved not to have to add a few hours of clothes-shopping to our already long list of errands.

We were on the road right after breakfast, and we got to the restaurant Bobby’s mom had suggested by eleven. It was a burger place, one step up from fast food. We looked around and didn’t see Bobby; Mom called his mother.

“We’re here a little early, we made good time... That’s good... I understand, sure.” She hung up and said: “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Mildred was attracting stares, but they didn’t seem to bother her quite as much as usual. She stared back defiantly at one particularly rude guy, and he looked away. A waitress seated us — Mom told her that two more people would be joining us, and she put us at a long table. Mildred sat facing the door, and I sat cat-a-corner across from her, next to Mom.

About twenty minutes later Mildred jumped up and waved. She was distinctive enough that Bobby and his mom could have spotted her across the restaurant without that, but she was too excited. Bobby got to our table several seconds ahead of his mom, and walked — he nearly ran — around the table and stood closer to Mildred than he probably should.

“Hi,” he said. “It’s great to see you! Watch this!” And the salt and pepper shakers, and five or six sweetener packets from the tray, leapt into the air and started weaving around in an intricate dance.

“Careful, Bobby,” his mom said, approaching us. Mom got up to greet her; Dad and I turned around, and Mom said:

“This is my husband, Oswald. You’ve met my daughter Emily, but she looked a little different when you saw her last...”

“You look really nice today,” Bobby’s mom said to me. “Hi, I’m Marie Antonelli.”

“I’ve gotten better with my trick too, but I can’t do anything quite that cool,” Mildred was saying. “Look over there.” Bobby looked at the older couple sitting at a nearby table and gasped.

“Awesome!” And then, “They don’t seem to notice a thing...” The pepper shaker wobbled and spilled a little on our table. A few moments later the shakers and sweetener packets all settled down more or less where they belonged.

“You’re the only one seeing them... Here, I’ll let Emily see them too, but the parents would probably freak, so I’ll leave them out.”

Suddenly I saw a great mass of snakes writhing on the other table; some were draped around the diners' necks and arms, some eating the food off their plates. They continued chatting and eating, oblivious.

Bobby watched the snakes in fascination for a few more moments, and then came around and sat down next to me, across from Mildred. Mrs. Antonelli sat down next to Mom, and a few moments later the waitress came to take our orders. Mildred wasn’t hungry, but Bobby ordered a large cheeseburger with fries, onion rings, and cole slaw.

]

“Hi,” he said to me after the waitress had left. “Emily, right? Mildred told me about you.”

“Only good stuff,” Mildred put in.

“It’s good to see you again,” I said. “We Twisted should stick together.”

“Are there any other Twisted at your school?” Mildred asked. “At my school there’s just me and two of my cousins, and they might or might not be Twisted — their mom’s not.”

“There’s another guy with one Twisted parent, but I’m the only one who’s Twisted yet. Dad’s talking about us moving to Little Five Points, and there’d be more Twisted in my school there.”

“Little Five Points looks like a cool neighborhood,” I said. “I might like to live there while I’m in college — it’s in commuting distance of Georgia State and Emory.”

“I haven’t even thought about where I’m going to college yet,” Bobby said.

“How are the kids at school treating you?” Mildred wanted to know. “They were talking mean about me and playing pranks on me until Mom and Dad took me out and started home-schooling me. We’re probably going to move to Spiral before the next school year.”

“Cool,” Bobby said. “My aunt lives in Spiral but I’ve never been there — she always comes to Georgia for Thanksgiving and sometimes in the summer.”

“Is she like us?” Mildred asked.

“Kind of, not as obvious. She can cover her wings with a loose coat, but she likes living in Spiral because she doesn’t have to.”

“Wow! Can she fly?”

“No, they’re just little bitty wings, not much bigger than her hands.”

“Little Five Points would be okay too, I guess,” I said. I noticed Bobby hadn’t answered Mildred’s question about how the kids at school were treating him.

To my left, Mom and Mrs. Antonelli were talking, and Dad was chiming in occasionally. Mrs. Antonelli was saying: “— more outgoing after his Twist. I was afraid he’d be even more shy and withdrawn than before — my sister was pretty popular until her Twist, and then she was so embarrassed by it that she became really shy for a couple of years.” That was probably Bobby’s aunt with the wings.

Mildred and Bobby chatted until the waitress brought his meal, and when he started eating, he didn’t let a little thing like a mouthful of cheeseburger stop him from keeping up his end of the conversation. I ate my chicken sandwich and mostly just listened to them, and sometimes to Mom and Mrs. Antonelli. After a while Mildred got Bobby to talk about school, and after a couple more evasions he admitted he was having problems similar to hers, if not as bad.

“There are maybe more kids making fun of me now than when I was shy and wearing glasses, but it doesn’t bother me as much. My real friends have stuck with me, even though a couple of guys I wasn’t all that close to don’t want to be seen with me anymore.”

Mildred sighed, and told him about Natalie’s ophidiophobia, and Irene’s on-again, off-again friendship.

“She was always closer to Natalie than to me, and since she can’t be with both of us at once she’s spending more time with Natalie. She’s stood up for me to bullies once or twice but usually she’s not around.”

“That sucks,” Bobby said, and took another bite of onion ring. “But you’re home-schooling now, right? How’s that working out?”

“It’s nice not to have to put up with people whispering about me and pointing at me all day. A little boring being at home so much. My Uncle Jack’s helping me with geography and Spanish, and he’s a lot of fun, but he won’t be staying with us much longer...”

After a while Dad said: “This has been a pleasant meeting, Marie, and I hope to see you and your son again. But we must leave within a few minutes if we are to meet with Emily’s doctor in a timely fashion.”

We’d all about finished eating by then. We got up, and Mildred came around the table until she was next to Bobby.

“I’d like to meet up again,” she said, with a glance aside at Mom and Dad.

“So would I,” Bobby said, and he didn’t take his eyes off Mildred.

They didn’t say anything more until Dad and Mrs. Antonelli had paid and we stepped outside. Bobby saw how Mildred looked in direct sunlight, and he drew a deep sudden breath.

“What is it?” Mildred asked.

“The sunlight — your scales —” His mouth was hanging open. I smiled. A moment later, Mildred did too.

---

---

Four of the fourteen stories in The Weight of Silence and Other Stories have never appeared elsewhere. There are also afterwords to all the stories with behind the scenes material. It's available from Smashwords and Amazon.

“I’m not sure, but I think I may have a clue about why your condition is somewhat different from many of my earlier patients. It seems to me that you may have Twisted based on your idea — much more accurate than it had been a few hours earlier, but still somewhat oversimplified — of what transsexuals are like.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 20 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

It was around one-thirty when we got to Stone Mountain. We drove into a residential neighborhood south of the mountain, not where Uncle Jack and I had gone.

“I think the clinic’s back that way,” I said.

“We are not going to the clinic,” Dad said. “As it is the weekend, the receptionist and other support staff will not be there. Dr. Underwood invited us to meet him at his home.”

A few minutes later we pulled up in front of a big two-story brick house, with its front door approached by a long handicap access ramp from the left and by three steps in front. Dad rang the doorbell, and a minute or two later Dr. Underwood answered the door.

“Come in,” he said. “You must be Emily’s parents and sister.”

“Yes; I am Oswald Harper, and this is my wife Katherine and my younger daughter Mildred.”

“Call me Kate,” Mom said. “Only Oswald calls me Katherine.”

Dr. Underwood’s brows rose, but he didn’t say anything about this inversion of the usual pet name/formal name pattern.

“It is good to meet you, Dr. Underwood,” Dad continued.

“Please, call me Tom.”

Dad looked slightly embarrassed. “Alas, I fear that my own Twist compulsions will not allow me to be quite so informal as that. May I call you Thomas?”

“I suppose so. I know what Twist compulsions can be like; your daughter is not the first Twisted I’ve treated. Come on in, have a seat here in the living room. We can chat informally for a few minutes, and then I’d like to speak with Emily privately, and then with the two of you privately, and then the three of you together. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

He brought us tea and cookies, and sat down in a straight-backed chair near the sofa me and Mildred had sat on, across the room from the one Mom and Dad had chosen. “Did you have a pleasant trip here?”

“Indeed; traffic was light, and we had a pleasant lunch with an online friend of Mildred and his mother.”

“He’s Twisted like me,” Mildred said; “well, not exactly like me, but he doesn’t look human anymore either. We met at the Twist clinic and we’ve been chatting online.”

“That’s good,” Dr. Underwood said. “Emily, have you spoken to others like you? I’m afraid most of them are either in their fifties and up, or not native speakers of English —”

“I’ve been on a forum for people with gender-related Twists, and I talked to a guy who Twisted into a girl and doesn’t like it — kind of the opposite of my Twist, really. She — or he — lives pretty near here, in Lithonia, and we’re probably going to meet for supper. But, uh, no, I haven’t talked to any normal transsexuals.”

Dr. Underwood nodded slowly. “I could talk to some of my old patients, ask them if they’d be willing to talk to you sometime. Would you like me to put you in touch with them?”

“Yes, please.”

We chatted for a few more minutes — Mom and Dad told him about the delays in getting one of the puberty blockers Dr. Park had prescribed, and Dr. Underwood said he would talk to Dr. Park and see if he could help. Then Dr. Underwood and I took our glasses of tea and went into another room, a smaller den or office. There was a desk with a swivel chair, but Dr. Underwood sat in another straight-backed chair and let me have the small sofa.

“So, tell me how your week has been. Anything in particular on your mind?”

“I went on a date with Rob,” I said. “Two dates. The first time was a double date with a couple of other friends; we ate dinner and saw a movie at the theater... The Left Hand of Darkness.”

“Ah! An appropriate choice, perhaps — it shows sensitivity to your condition, if not deep understanding.”

“Yeah, Rob meant well. He didn’t know — I wasn’t sure yet, and didn’t tell him beforehand — my Twist seems to have made me uninterested in fiction. On our second date, he came over to my house and we watched a documentary on the founding of Spiral, and that was a lot more interesting. But we didn’t kiss as much that time.”

“As much?”

I thought back, and blushed slightly. “I think we kissed two or three times during the movie, maybe? And then once more when he took me home. The second date, just once, after the movie was over... He said it was because documentaries don’t have romantic scenes. Um, and we held hands, but that’s all.”

“That’s good, I suppose. I’d be a little worried if you were moving faster than that. Would you like to go out with him again?”

“...I’m not sure.” And I told him how I’d overheard Vic, and how confused I was about him since then.

“So... you’re attracted to Vic as well, and you think he may be attracted to you?”

“Um... kind of. I mean, Vic isn’t much to look at, not like Rob, he doesn’t turn me on the same way... but I like him a lot. He’s my best friend, and if he could be my boyfriend, if I could be his girlfriend... I think it would be better than with Rob. If it works at all. But I’m afraid to try — if it doesn’t work it could mess up our friendship.”

“Well... has Vic given you any hint that he’s attracted to you, other than the ambiguous statement you overheard?”

“Um... he’s said a couple of times that I’m pretty. At least once to my face, and that time I heard him talking with Lionel. And he didn’t like it when I told him I was going out with Rob, and looking back on it now I think it might be because he’s jealous. And — in this game we’re playing...” I told him about Kiera and Oscar in Phantoms of Phobos. “I’m not sure if that means anything. I didn’t think so until I overheard him and Lionel, and now I’m not sure.”

“It may be that he is refraining from making any advances toward you because you are currently dating Rob. Or it may be that he is in conflict about his own feelings — has he ever shown any signs of being bisexual?”

“No...”

“Then perhaps he is conflicted about being attracted to you by your appearance, and by your newly feminine personality, while knowing that underneath your trick your body is still the same. Part of him knows you are a girl, but another part may still think of you as a boy, and that may be upsetting.”

I thought about what I knew about him and how he’d been acting lately. “I think that’s probably it.”

“Whereas Rob, on the other hand, is apparently comfortable with you as you are... Have you spoken to him about your transition?”

“Yes. He says he’s okay with it. And he said he was already attracted to me before my Twist, but didn’t say anything because he knew I was straight, and then he wondered I might be into guys after my Twist and thought it was worth taking a chance asking me out... What do you think I should do?”

“Let me think about it some more. What else has been going on? I had a note from Dr. Oldstadt about your trick testing and some things it revealed about your compulsions... have you figured out any more about that since you saw the Twist specialists?”

“Um, what did he tell you? I guess we figured out that I have a compulsion to wear girl’s clothes, not just a preference for them. And I don’t think I’ve figured out any more than that since. I have made a little progress making people see the feminine me in a mirror, though.”

“Excellent! Has that increased your self-confidence?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Anything else?”

I thought. “I guess I’m a little worried and discouraged about not being able to get that other medicine. Is that going to happen with the hormone therapy too, and the surgery?”

He sighed. “I hope not. But I can’t say for sure. The officials who consider and approve requests for medical treatment, like the medical professionals they regulate, have gone through a generational change since we started treating transsexuals prenatally; we may have a hard task ahead of us to re-educate them and remind them of policies which, though they have not been applied in decades, are still valid. I will speak with Dr. Park and your pharmacist, and find out who in the Medical Bureau is handling your case, and talk to them about your condition and your need for this treatment.”

“Thanks.”

“It may be a few weeks before we see any results, since next week is a holiday. But I assure you we’ll do everything we can for you. How do you feel you’re doing with living as a girl? Are you socializing with other girls at school, for instance?”

“Yes, I’ve made several friends — Sarah Kendall, who I’d just asked out the day before my Twist, has been helpful, and she introduced me to her friends Morgan and Olive. And since then I’ve hung out some with Morgan and Olive when Sarah isn’t around, and gone over to Sarah’s house to study with them a couple of times, and ate lunch with them about half the time — the other half with my old friends, Lionel and Vic. And I’m going shopping in Chattanooga with them tomorrow...” I told him about Medea, how I’d helped Morgan get back in touch with her and how she was going to meet us in Chattanooga Sunday.

After that, he asked me: “How are you feeling about your body? Is your physical dysphoria getting worse, or better, or staying about the same?”

“I can forget about it most of the time when I’m dressed, except sometimes when I see myself in the mirror. But whenever I have to use the bathroom or shower... I can’t get away from it.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Is there no fluctuation from day to day? I remember when I was about your age, the physical dysphoria was usually not as bad as the social dysphoria; and it tended to be worse some days than others. Sometimes it would just be a mild frustration, and sometimes it would be a deep self-loathing.”

I thought about it. “No, I think it’s pretty constant — when I can’t avoid thinking about my body, when I have to do something that reminds me how wrong it is, it’s just disgusting.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “I want to get it over with — peeing or showering or whatever — as fast as I can, and the feeling lingers for a minute or two after I get dressed.”

“My sympathies. It may help to remind yourself that this condition is temporary. Sooner or later — I have good reason to hope it will be sooner — we will get your body corrected. Tell me something else,” he said, seemingly at random; “what did you know about transsexuals before you started researching Erin Ann Pendergrass for your history class?”

“Oh... almost nothing. I’d heard of them occasionally, in old books and movies, and in our history book it mentioned a few people who were trans, but it didn’t explain a lot. I vaguely got the impression it was a sexual kink,” I blushed, “like, getting off on the idea of transforming into the opposite sex? But then I started reading about Governor Pendergrass, and found out what it really was about — sort of. Not the way I know now.”

“Can you remember exactly what you had learned from the time you started to research Governor Pendergrass until the moment your Twist began?”

I thought back. “I read an interview where she talked about transitioning, and she said it wasn’t about changing her sex; she was already a girl, she was just making her body match her mind. And then I looked for more stuff about her, and about transsexuals, and I read part of a biographical article about her and an essay by a trans activist who was a friend of hers, Marissa Kovacs; she talked about knowing she was a girl, and knowing her body was wrong even before she knew what girl bodies were supposed to be like. And I think that’s as far as I’d read before my Twist started.”

Dr. Underwood was quiet for a moment, and then said: “I’m not sure, but I think I may have a clue about why your condition is somewhat different from many of my earlier patients. It seems to me that you may have Twisted based on your idea — much more accurate than it had been a few hours earlier, but still somewhat oversimplified — of what transsexuals are like. That may account for why your genital dysphoria has been so unvaryingly intense.”

I felt my face burning. I’d brought this on myself by thinking I knew what other people were going through based on reading about them for ten minutes... “I feel so stupid,” I said. “I should have known there was more to it than that... but...”

“Don’t blame yourself; it’s not something you had any control over. If someone had asked you, just a moment before your Twist, whether you thought you understood exactly what Governor Pendergrass experienced, what would you have said?”

“I’d have said no, of course I didn’t understand everything. There’s a lot I don’t understand even now, after researching her life for weeks.”

“We may never figure out how or why your subconscious decided to use the little bit you’d just learned about transsexuals, combined with your unconscious ideas about gender and about the way girls normally dress and act, to form the basis of your Twist. But one thing we do know after three generations of Twisted: it is not your fault.”

“I know,” I said, still feeling irrationally embarrassed. “It just seems so... wrong. Almost as bad as if I’d been watching some old pre-segregation movie and turned into a racist stereotype.”

“It is not your fault,” he repeated. “And, let me be clear: your case is not so totally divergent from that of other transsexuals I’ve treated. But the absence of any genetic markers for gender dysphoria, the entirely female brain, the constant genital dysphoria... well, it gives me a good reason for recommending that we move forward with your transitioning faster than we would have with a non-Twisted patient.”

I leaned forward in my seat. “So... how soon do you think I can start on hormones? Or at least start trying to get the Medical Bureau to approve me taking them?”

He smiled. “Soon. Shall we call in your parents now? Is there anything else you wish to speak with me privately about first?”

“Yes,” I said. “What do you think I should do about Rob and Vic?”

“Do you think that remaining with Rob long-term is a serious possibility?”

“I’m not sure... I guess it’s not very likely. I mean, we’re going to different universities, probably at opposite ends of the country, so there’ll be several years when we’d have to make it a long-distance relationship, and that would be hard.”

“What about Vic?”

“I’m not sure if it will work at all... but if it does I hope it can last. We’ve already been best friends for twelve years. We might go to the same school, and if not, we’ll just be a couple of hours' drive away from each other.”

“Then perhaps it would make sense to break it off gently with Rob... and then see if something develops with Vic. Give him a few days; he may ask you out soon after he learns that you’ve broken up with Rob. Or you can continue sounding him out, and get a better idea of how he feels about you, and decide if you want to make the first move... or just remain friends.”

“That makes sense. I’ll think about it, but that’s probably what I’ll do.”

“Very well. I’ll speak with your parents for a few minutes now, and then call you back in.” He rose, opened the door, and said: “Oswald, Kate, come on in... Emily, please wait with your sister for a few minutes.”

“How’d it go?” Mildred asked as I sat down beside her.

“Pretty well. He said I might be ready to start hormones soon. But he’s not sure how long it will take to get the Medical Bureau to approve the puberty blockers, much less the hormones or surgery.”

“If they balk at it, let’s go camp out on their doorstep,” she said, and hugged me. “The news cameras will love me even if the stupid kids at school don’t.”

I tried to read the Theodore Sturgeon story I’d started last night — I’d read about half of it during the drive down from Trittsville, before and after lunch, but my mind kept wandering and it took me several times as long as reading the same wordage of nonfiction. Before I’d caught the thread of the story again, Dr. Underwood opened the door and called me back.

I sat down next to Mom on the sofa and looked expectantly at Dr. Underwood.

“Emily, I’ve told your parents a little of what we talked about — about the issues you’re having with getting the puberty blockers, and what we can do about them. I think that, considering your wholehearted and successful effort to live as a girl ever since you realized how you had changed, and the Twist-induced nature of your gender dysphoria, there is no reason to delay your hormone replacement therapy any longer. I will speak with Dr. Park on Monday. It may take some time before the Medical Bureau will approve the therapy, but Dr. Park and I, and Dr. Oldstadt, will do everything we can to expedite the process.”

My eyes were brimming with tears. “Thank you,” I said, and started crying for real. Mom hugged me, and I hugged back, hard.

We talked for a few minutes longer; Dr. Underwood got us talking to each other about how Mom and Dad felt about me being a girl, and how I felt about the way Mom and Dad and the rest of the family were handling my Twist. I cried some more when I heard them say how proud of me they were, and how happy they were that Dr. Underwood had approved the hormone therapy.

As we left, we arranged to meet Dr. Underwood two weeks later, on the first Saturday in December. By then Uncle Jack would be on the road somewhere (maybe in Chicago with Ingrid?), so Mom or Dad would need to drive me. He said he didn’t need to see both of them every time, and if they wanted to have another relative or friend drive me sometimes it would be okay, but he’d like to see at least one of them every couple of months.

“Well?” Mildred asked when we emerged.

“He’s going to have Dr. Park prescribe hormones next week!” I said. “I’ll get them as soon as the Medical Bureau approves them.”

“Let me know if you need me to camp out on their doorstep. I’ve got time now that I’m home-schooling.”

I called Rachel as we were leaving; she said she’d meet us at the restaurant in a few minutes. “I’m already on my way. Where are you?”

“We’re just turning onto Main Street,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll be there when you get there.”

It was easy to spot Rachel; she was sitting in a booth near the front, reading the menu. I approached her, but she didn’t look up from the menu at first, and when I said “Hi, it’s Emily...” she glanced at me and said: “Hi... just a minute,” and went back to reading the menu.

She was wearing a T-shirt tied off in a knot to bare her midriff, and tight jeans. The T-shirt was distorted enough by the knotting that I couldn’t read the text on it, but I thought it might be a band tour shirt.

While I was standing there, at a loss, Mildred and Mom and Dad came in. Finally Rachel looked up from the menu and said: “Hi! You must be Mildred — I remember you from the clinic. And you’re Emily, right?”

“Yes — Hi, Rachel. This is our Mom and Dad.”

“We are pleased to meet you, Rachel,” Dad said. “We shall sit over here, and let you young people have the booth.”

Mildred hesitated a moment, maybe not sure if she was welcome to sit with me and Rachel; I took her hand and looked her in the eyes for a moment before I moved toward the seat and slid into the booth. She sat down next to me, and Rachel across from us, where she’d been before we came in.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you at first,” Rachel apologized. “I’m kind of obsessed with reading now — I start reading something like that menu and I can’t stop until I finish.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know what compulsions can be like.”

She was studying me now as intently as she’d studied the menu. “Wow... You told me about your Twist and your trick, but I can hardly believe it, looking at you. You don’t look like a guy at all.”

“You can still see my Adam’s apple in photos,” I said, “but I’ve got my trick working better so it doesn’t show up in mirrors anymore. What about you? Have you figure out what your trick is since we talked a few days ago?”

She shrugged, making her breasts wobble in a way that pierced me with envy. Mine probably weren’t ever going to be that good — they wouldn’t be that big unless I got implants, and in that case they wouldn’t move as naturally. “Still not a clue. The doctors say I must have one, 'cause I’ve got the brain structures for it, but it hasn’t ever kicked in.”

“And your compulsions?”

She scowled. “You can see for yourself how much control I have over them. What about you two? Emily told me some about your Twist, Mildred, but she didn’t say if you had any compulsions...”

“No, not really. Not like y’all.”

“Mine are just as restrictive as yours in a way,” I said, “but they don’t bother me as much as yours seem to bother you. I mean, neither of us can wear boy clothes, but I don’t even want to and you do... or you did? Do you still feel the same way?”

“Kind of. I’m starting to get used to this stuff, I mean how it feels to wear them, but it’s really annoying how guys stare at me.”

“I know,” Mildred said, “but I’d rather they were staring at me for the same reason they stare at you.”

“Ouch. Sorry, I kind of deserved that.”

“Mildred... I know you wish you looked more like her. So do I. But she’s just as uncomfortable with her body as you or me.”

Rachel sighed. “I don’t know. My body isn’t bothering me as much as it did at first, when I was having my period. It’s still kind of jarring sometimes, when I first wake up, or see myself in the mirror, but not as much as at first. But I really hate the way people treat me now. Guys see the way I’m dressed and they jump to conclusions about what kind of girl I am.”

Mildred said: “I kind of feel that way too. I mean, I’m getting used to having scales and being cold-blooded and eating only meat, but I hate being stared at and hearing people whisper about me and stuff.”

I asked, “If you still think of yourself as a guy, why are you going by Rachel? Why not keep calling yourself Richard, to tell people you haven’t changed that much inside?”

She stared at me in consternation. “I never thought of that. Aunt Moira said I’d need a new name now that I was a girl, and I procrastinated about picking one for several days, but I never really questioned that I needed to change my name. Maybe I’ll try that... but even if I called myself Richard, I’d still have to dress like this, and there’s no way I could get most people to treat me as a boy when I look like this.”

“Are you seeing a counselor about this stuff? Dr. Oldstadt referred me to Dr. Underwood; he’s really great.”

“I’ve gone a couple of times to see this lady Dr. Oldstadt referred me to. She thinks I’m in denial about my compulsions, and about my whole Twist... she thinks my compulsions are proof that I’m a girl deep-down, and I just need to relax and go with it.”

I thought about it. I couldn’t prove that counselor was wrong from my own experience — pretty much everyone in my family was happy with their compulsions, except maybe Ryan (I didn’t know him well enough to be sure); even Aunt Wendy was surprisingly cheerful most of the time when I visited her. But I had identified with Rachel on the basis of both of us being unhappy with our bodies, and I took an instinctive dislike to her counselor. She went on:

“...And the people on the forum are nicer about it, but some of them are saying the same thing. Relax and enjoy your compulsions, as long as they’re not hurting you or anybody else.”

“I think maybe you should get a second opinion,” I said. “I don’t know if Dr. Underwood can help you, he kind of came out of retirement to help me, but he said he used to treat a few Twisted like you, too.”

“Is he Twisted too?”

“No...” I hesitated, and decided I shouldn’t tell her he was trans. I still wasn’t sure if it was public knowledge. “He used to treat people like us, people who were unhappy with their bodies and the gender identity other people imposed on them. A few Twisted but mostly norms, back before they started detecting and fixing those kinds of problems prenatally.”

“Huh. You said Dr. Oldstadt referred you to him? I wonder why he didn’t send me to him too. This counselor I’ve been seeing, Dr. Ibiza, she’s Twisted, but not like us... she got a whole set of compulsions, and she mostly sees patients like me who aren’t happy with our compulsions.”

“That sounds like it would be useful... and I don’t know if Dr. Underwood has a lot of experience with Twist compulsions. But I could ask him if he could see you sometime.”

“Thanks.”

I made a note on my tablet about that. Right about then the waitress took our order, and we talked about other things as we ate. Mildred was starting to get a little hungry by now, and she and I shared an order of hot wings. “I can’t eat spicy food anymore,” Rachel said; “I can’t figure out why... it’s not like it’s connected to the rest of my Twist.”

“Things aren’t always that connected, I guess. I mean I don’t know why my Aunt Rhoda has better lungs and has to always wear white and has an illusion trick; what’s the connection between those?”

That got Rachel talking about her family, especially her Aunt Moira and her grandmother, who’d changed like her but unlike her had apparently gotten used to being girls pretty quickly. “Aunt Moira tried out for cheerleading about a week after her Twist. She didn’t make it, but she wound up dating one of the cheerleaders who wouldn’t look at her when she was a guy... And she’s trying to be patient and supportive, but I can tell she’s disappointed that I’m not jumping into girlhood with both feet.”

“What about your Grandma?”

“Grandma Carrie, the one who Twisted like me and Aunt Moira? She died a couple of years ago. Her wife, Grandma Betty, is still around, but I haven’t seen her since my Twist... we’re going to see her for Thanksgiving, though.”

“That’ll be good. We’ve got several out-of-town kinfolks coming to Trittsville for Thanksgiving...”

We talked about our families for a while, and about how people at school were treating us, and even about clothes — she was jealous of me being able to wear skirts, oddly enough. “I can wear skirts, but not loose comfortable ones like you’re wearing. I’ve worn tight skirts once or twice, but pants like these don’t restrict my movement as much.”

Finally we had to go. We promised to keep in touch online, and get together for lunch again sometime, maybe next time I was in Stone Mountain to see Dr. Underwood.

---

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“It’s okay most of the time,” I said. “Times like this, I can forget what’s wrong with me and just enjoy being a girl out shopping with her friends. My friends accept me for who I am, and strangers can’t tell what’s wrong with me.”

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Twisted Throwback

part 21 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

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Sunday, I messaged Morgan right after church, while Mom and Dad were still talking to various people. She messaged right back a few seconds later, saying: “We’re waiting for you in the parking lot.”

I told Mom and Dad, and went out to meet them. Morgan’s car was easy to spot with Morgan standing next to it and waving at me.

“Let’s go,” she said as I approached and got in the back seat (Sarah was in the front passenger seat), “we’ll pick up Olive at her church and be on the road.”

Five minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of the Catholic church over near Terrell Park, and Olive, who was standing just outside the doors with a group of other people, waved to us and came over to get in next to me. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi. — So what’s our plan?” I asked Morgan.

“Medea’s already on her way. It’ll take her longer to get to Chattanooga from Knoxville than it will us. We’ll meet her for lunch — she recommended this Thai-Ethiopian fusion place — and then do some shopping.”

“Sounds good.”

“So how was your date with Rob Friday?” Olive asked me.

“It went pretty well,” I said. “I found out I still like documentaries... better than before, actually. Rob complained that the documentary didn’t have a big romantic scene to give him an excuse to kiss me, but he still kissed me right after the movie was over.”

“Do you think you’ll go out with him again?” Morgan asked.

“No,” I said. “I — Rob’s a nice guy, but I can’t see myself being with him long-term. And I want to give Vic a chance... I don’t think he’ll let on how strongly he feels about me as long as he thinks I’m with Rob.”

“I hope that works out,” Sarah said.

Olive told us about her date with Karl Saturday evening — it sounded like they were getting pretty serious — and we chatted about other things for a while; I told them about our trip to Atlanta Saturday, and what Dr. Underwood had said. We were driving through the Chattahoochee National Forest much of the way, the same route Mom and Dad usually took when we went to Chattanooga; it was always beautiful and often shady, with dense tall trees growing close to the highway.

We got into Chattanooga after about an hour, and found the Thai-Ethiopian fusion restaurant Medea had recommended.

“Stern, party of six,” Morgan said to the waitress. “There’s another couple of people joining us soon.” She checked her messages when we were seated, and called Medea, who said she was almost there.

“Who else is coming with her?” I asked.

“Her girlfriend — I can’t remember her name.”

Twenty minutes later, a couple of college-age girls walked in, looked around and talked to the waiter who approached them; he led them to our table. Morgan jumped up and went to meet them; I remained sitting and waved to them. She and Medea had exchanged photos, and she’d shown us Medea’s picture while we were waiting and ordering appetizers; so I knew Medea was the taller white girl, who was hugging Morgan... the black girl must be her girlfriend.

Sarah, Olive and I watched and listened as Morgan, Medea and her girlfriend sat down; Morgan and Medea were talking a mile a minute about everything that had happened in the nine years since they’d seen each other and memories of things they used to do when they were kids. It was sweet to see them reunited, and I was so happy I’d managed to get them back together. I learned more about Morgan’s past in the next five or ten minutes than I’d learned in the three weeks I’d known her. And I noticed that even the people at nearby tables were watching and listening and smiling at Morgan and Medea. When our waitress came back with our appetizers, she set them down and got caught up listening to Morgan and Medea reminiscing about how Morgan’s dad hadn’t set up the base of the Christmas tree properly one year, and it suddenly fell over while Morgan and Jason were playing in the next room, and they got blamed for it...

Then suddenly Medea looked at the waitress and glanced at the people at nearby tables, and a horrified look passed over her face for a moment. She thanked the waitress and said she’d like a glass of water, and asked her girlfriend, “Tavondra, what would you like?”

“Thai iced tea,” Tavondra said. “And — let me look at the menu.”

None of us had glanced at or, I realized later, even thought of the menu since Medea and Tavondra arrived.

Our waitress left and the people at the other tables lost interest in us. Then Medea said in a low voice, “I’m so sorry... I’m doing a lot better these days, but I just got so excited I lost control.”

“Oh! You were using your trick?” Morgan asked.

“Not deliberately. It happens when I’m excited or really interested in something, sometimes.”

“I like it,” Tavondra said.

“How does it work?” I asked.

“When I’m interested in something, focused on it... so is everyone else around me.”

“Oh.”

“The professors love her,” Tavondra said; “she’s a good student, and when she finds a lecture fascinating, so does everyone else. But once in a while she gets distracted, and forgets to turn off her trick, and everyone else gets distracted by the same thing.”

“Anyway... me and Morgan have been monopolizing your attention long enough. We should introduce everybody. Hi, I’m Medea McCrae, Morgan’s cousin, and this is my girlfriend Tavondra Lasseter.”

Morgan introduced the rest of us; when Medea heard my name, she said: “Oh, you’re the one who got us in touch with each other. Thanks so much!”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re Twisted like Medea, then?” Tavondra asked me.

“Well, not exactly the same, but similar.”

“Sure, no two Twists are alike. I’ve never met or heard of anyone whose Twist was exactly like mine, or Medea’s either.”

“Oh...” I thought that might be an invitation to ask how she was Twisted, but I hesitated, not wanting to pry. I decided to offer information instead. “I don’t know if she told you — mine is just a mental Twist, and a trick, so far. I have a girl brain but still the same body otherwise, and I’m using my trick to make it look like I have the right figure for these clothes, and all. But I’m supposed to start getting hormones soon.”

“Medea told me some of that,” she said. “Do you have a compulsion to act and dress like a girl, or are you a transsexual?”

“Some of both — I’m trans, but I have a compulsion to wear girl’s clothes, especially skirts and dresses. I’m not comfortable wearing jeans for more than a few hours, and I can’t stand to wear boy clothes.”

Medea said, “That’s a pretty common compulsion for girls like us. I didn’t get that myself, but it seems like about half the girls on the forum have some kind of clothing compulsion — some stronger than others. Did you see that message from the other new girl, um, Rachel I think her name was —”

“Yeah, I actually met her yesterday. She’s not happy about the way people are treating her, the way guys assume she’s easy because her compulsions are making her wear tight clothes.”

“She lives near you, then? That’s good, that you can meet up and help each other. Are your compulsions causing you trouble, too?”

“No, not really. I can stand to wear pants for a few hours, while I’m walking in the woods or doing chores, if they’re girly enough. And I like wearing skirts and dresses... Rachel doesn’t seem to like wearing tight girly clothes, but she can’t stand to wear anything else.”

“I hope she’ll get used to it eventually... I didn’t like my compulsions at first, but they sort of grew on me. And Tavondra —” She looked at her, and said: “Do you want to tell this part, sweetie?”

Tavondra smiled and said: “I didn’t change much physically when I Twisted, except that my acne cleared up all at once —”

“Don’t let her tell you that,” Medea said; “I’ve seen pictures of her before her Twist, and she was kind of cute before, but after it she was hot. Still is.”

Tavondra swatted at her and went on: “Anyway. My mind changed — at first they thought I’d gotten smarter, and maybe I did, slightly, but I only did better at school for the first few weeks after my Twist. After that I just got bored with school — I’d read all the way to the end of the textbooks long before the end of the year, and I couldn’t make myself go back and study that stuff again when it came time for tests. Once I’d learned it once, it was just boring, old news, even though I forgot details over time like anybody else. I was reading two or three books a week at first, plus watching a lot of nature and historical programs on TV, and after a while I started reading faster and was going through six or eight books a week. But never reading anything twice, and never sticking with one subject for long either. After a while I figured out what my compulsion was: I had to learn something new every day. Preferably several times a day.

“So I got mostly A’s and a couple of B’s the semester after I Twisted, and then my grades dropped the next semester because I wasn’t studying anything relevant to my actual classes anymore, and my memory of what I’d studied several months ago wasn’t great. And then Medea moved to town, and I suddenly started doing better in the classes I shared with her — I found myself paying attention to the lecture instead of reading something unrelated while the teacher talked about stuff I’d read months ago. I didn’t know why at first — I didn’t know Medea was Twisted or what her trick was; nobody told us.

“Then after Medea had been around a while, somebody told her I was Twisted. It wasn’t any secret. And she introduced herself to me, and we told each other about stuff, and we got to be friends — but she didn’t tell me she used to be a boy until later.”

“My mom told me not to tell anybody,” Medea said; “she said the whole point of moving and starting at a new school was so nobody’d know and nobody’d freak out about me. The first few months after my Twist, back at my old school, were pretty awful. I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody at my new school I was even Twisted, but I figured I could trust Tavondra, and I needed somebody to talk to about stuff. Mom’s Twist was so mild she didn’t really understand what I was going through, and Grandma was more helpful, but I felt like I needed a friend my own age I could talk to about it.”

“What did you tell her at first?” I asked.

“I told her about my compulsions and my trick,” she said. “And after a while longer — um, this was true but kind of misleading — I said I wasn’t a lesbian before my Twist.”

“He sure wasn’t,” Tavondra said. “We were both pretty shy, and we were just friends for the better part of a year before we admitted we were falling in love... At first, I admit it was kind of selfish on my part: I could actually study when I was around Medea, with her trick canceling out my compulsion. But we got to be closer friends, and then something more, and then, when we started getting serious, she finally told me all about her Twist.” She looked at Medea, who said:

“So, the summer I was thirteen I went to camp. I’d been twice before, and if I hadn’t Twisted and then moved away, I probably would have kept going for several more years. I don’t know how many of you have been to camp, or what kind of camps you went to, but at this camp I used to go to it was traditional to put on skits — every cabin had to put on at least one, and some of the kids who were good at it chose to do extra ones.

“It was the third week, and my cabin had already done our obligatory skit, and some of us were talking about doing an extra one. One of the guys in our cabin, Scott, was pretty good at magic — card tricks, pulling coins out of people’s ears, things like that. He had a dozen or so tricks he could do without any special equipment, and this year he’d brought stuff for doing more complicated tricks — boxes with false bottoms, things like that. He was getting ready to do a small magic show as a solo thing, and this other guy, Colin, suggested we make it part of an actual skit — a kind of meta story about this magician and his assistants. Me and Colin would be the assistants, dressed up as girls, and on the surface it would be just a magic show, but Colin had it planned out how we’d gradually show that there’s this love triangle going on where one of the assistants, Colin’s character, had the hots for the magician, and the other assistant, my character, had the hots for Colin’s character, and Scott’s character had the hots for my character and they’re all oblivious about how the person they’re lusting after doesn’t return the favor... And it would have been really cool if I hadn’t ruined it by Twisting about two minutes into the skit, while Scott was pulling a frog out of my fake cleavage.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’d never have dared to play a girl in a skit. But — you didn’t know your mom was Twisted, right?”

“Not a clue. And I got pretty lucky, considering — I could easily have come out of that with a compulsion to wear fishnet stockings and a top hat and not much in between, or boobs as big as the fake ones I was wearing.” She was bigger than any of us high school girls, but not as big as Rachel, or a lot of other Twisted women — even some normal women her height have breasts bigger than hers.

“But I did have some compulsions that are probably related to the magic show we were doing, and Tavondra thinks my trick comes out of that too — a magician’s assistant’s job is to distract people from what the magician’s doing, and part of that is by subtly influencing the audience to look at what she’s looking at, and not at the magician’s hands.

“Whenever I see that someone has a secret — and I’m pretty good at spotting that — I feel like I have to help them keep it. I do whatever I can to distract other people’s attention from the person who’s trying to hide something, whether I consciously agree with their reasons for hiding things or not. Usually my trick is enough by itself to keep people from noticing, but I didn’t have conscious control over my trick in the first couple of years, and sometimes I’d need to take more overt action.” She glanced at Tavondra.

“I can’t count how many times she got in trouble at school for that,” Tavondra said. “One time we were coming out of the restroom where a couple of older girls were smoking, and a teacher was just fixing to go in. And Medea faked having a seizure, and fell over onto the teacher jerking her arms around, and lay on the floor with her eyes rolled back and her tongue lolling out until the girls we’d seen smoking had come out of the restroom. She nearly got suspended over it.”

“But the worst was just a couple of years ago, our sophomore year in college,” Medea said. “I found out a girl in our dorm was cheating on her boyfriend, and after that, I found I had to keep covering for her — lying to him and his friends about where I’d seen her and who she was with, and so forth. The only reason I can tell you about it now is that of course he found out eventually, in spite of all our efforts, and it’s not a secret anymore.”

“No, the worst was when you and Al Timmons carried on that pretend flirtation to keep his parents from figuring out he was gay, and I thought you were cheating on me until Al told me what was going on.”

“I’m sorry,” Medea said. “That was a lot worse for you... but the thing with Clarissa went on for months with me not being able to tell anybody, and with Al, you found out after just a couple of days. And I could feel good about helping Al, but I felt horrible about being forced to help Clarissa...”

“I know,” Tavondra said, and clasped her hand. “It wasn’t your fault. Remember that.”

I wondered then if Medea was covering for somebody even now. Who, though? Tavondra? Some random diners at another table whose conversation we might have overheard if she hadn’t been speaking quite as loud?

“But enough about us,” Medea said. “Sarah — right? And Olive? We’ve barely been introduced — tell us about yourselves.”

She drew Sarah and Olive out about their history and interests (and the slightly embarrassing fact that I’d asked Sarah out the day before I Twisted) as the waitress came back and took our orders, and then brought our food, and as we settled in to eat. By then the conversation was more of a free-for-all, as we were all starting to feel like we knew each other and could talk about almost anything.

We finished eating and paid for our lunch, and were just getting up to go when I heard a crash and clatter over toward the back of the section of the dining room we were in. But before I could look and see what it was, Medea suddenly said: “Look! What’s that?” and pointed in the opposite direction. I turned to look, and completely forgot about the crash for a few minutes.

I was vaguely aware of everyone else in the restaurant also turning and looking — at nothing in particular, it turned out later, but for some reason the little potted rubber tree over by the entrance lobby looked absolutely fascinating. I wandered over toward it, and so did Morgan and the rest, and several other diners and waiters and waitresses. Before much of a crowd could gather, though, we all sort of lost interest — and those of us who knew about Medea’s trick turned to look at her, while the other diners and staff just looked puzzled and went back to what they were doing.

“Let’s go,” Medea said. “Maybe I can explain later.”

We were outside before Tavondra said: “She can’t always tell you why she does that. Her compulsion is to protect people with secrets — and sometimes just people who don’t want people looking at them... I have a hunch she was distracting us from something that would have been embarrassing if we’d noticed it. Maybe somebody dropped something or tripped and fell, and she distracted us until they’d picked themselves up or cleaned up their mess?”

“Maybe that was it,” Medea said. “Let’s go shopping.”

---

Medea rode in Morgan’s car, so they could continue catching up on all their missed years, while Sarah and I rode with Tavondra in her car. We met up again at the mall, and spent several hours visiting two shoe stores, a lingerie store, a jewelry store, and three general clothing stores; we split up and rejoined several times, and not all of us visited every store, but that was our total for the day. I was flush with the money from my Twist stipend, and spent more than anyone else; when we went out to Morgan’s car at the end of the day, I put two pairs of shoes, a new nightgown, several new skirts, blouses and dresses, and a silver necklace in the trunk.

At one point, I was looking through racks of dresses with Medea and Morgan while Tavondra, Sarah and Olive were somewhere else. Morgan held up a blue dress with spaghetti straps and Medea said: “That would look great on you.”

“I’ll go see if it fits,” Morgan said, and took that and another dress she’d been looking at to the dressing room. Medea and I were alone.

“So... how are you doing, really?” she asked.

“...Pretty okay, I guess? I was feeling frustrated when I wrote that first forum post, about maybe not getting hormones for months yet, but yesterday my psychologist said he’d go ahead and ask my endocrinologist to start them, so that’s good.”

“You’re not too uncomfortable? I mean, if I’d gotten this body without the mind to go with it —”

“It’s okay most of the time,” I said. “Times like this, I can forget what’s wrong with me and just enjoy being a girl out shopping with her friends. My friends accept me for who I am, and strangers can’t tell what’s wrong with me. It’s worst when I have to shower or go to the bathroom.”

She shook her head. “I remember how weirded out I was the first time I had to pee with this new equipment... and how embarrassed I was the next morning, showering with girls. The counselors moved me to a girls' cabin the day I Twisted, and I stayed one night and morning there before my parents came and brought me home. If I still felt that way every time... I can’t imagine how bad it would be. But by the afternoon of the next day I was feeling pretty comfortable with my body. It was the way other people were treating me that was weird and annoying.”

“I like the way people are treating me, mostly. There are a few mean kids at school, but not as many as I was afraid of, and my family and friends are awesome.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I wish... Mom’s family has been great, but my dad and his family — except for Morgan, now — don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry... If you want to come visit Morgan in Trittsville but you can’t stay with her, maybe you could stay in our guest room instead of a hotel. I’ll have to check with my parents to be sure, but I think they’ll be okay with it.”

“Thanks.”

Morgan came out of the dressing room in the blue dress then, looking fantastic. We told her so, and she went back in to try on the other dress. I took a couple of things I’d been looking at and went to try them on, and didn’t talk a lot more with Medea about our Twists that afternoon.

When Morgan dropped me off at home, it was nearer nine than eight. Dad and Uncle Jack helped me haul in my loot from Morgan’s trunk, and I said hi to Mom and talked with them for a couple of minutes before I went up to Mildred’s room. I found her at her computer.

“Hi,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I had a pretty good day,” she said. “Irene came over.”

“She did? Great!”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool. Too cool to go outside much, but we hung out and watched movies and stuff. It was the best time we’ve had together since my Twist... I just wish Natalie could have come.”

I sat on the bed near her swivel-chair and patted her knee. “Maybe Natalie will get over that eventually,” I said. “People sometimes outgrow phobias like that.”

“Maybe.” She wasn’t holding her breath. “And Bobby messaged me, and we chatted for a while after Irene went home... How was your shopping trip?”

“It was fantastic. But the best part was meeting Morgan’s cousin and her girlfriend — they’re both Twisted, and Morgan’s cousin Medea is kind of like me or Rachel. Or Richard — whatever name she decides to use.” I told her about Medea and Tavondra, and she said:

“Man, I wish I had somebody like Medea around. Or had her trick. I guess I could use my trick to distract people so they don’t stare at me, but I don’t think it would work very well.”

“Maybe not.”

I showed her a few of the things I’d bought, and she opined that I should wear my new black dress on my next date with Rob. I almost told her that I was fixing to break up with him; I should have told her already... but it was getting late, and it was a school night, at least for me. I didn’t have time for that long conversation just now. I thanked her for the advice and got ready for bed.

---

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

Open flames in an enclosed habitat like Phobos are a dangerous thing, but it’s hard to cast certain spells without the use of candles.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 22 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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My Twist-obsession with school kept me focused on class as long as the teachers were actually lecturing, but all during breakfast, the bus ride, and homeroom, and in between classes, I was obsessing over how I was going to tell Rob I didn’t want to go out with him, and second-guessing myself about whether I should. Vic walked with me from Physics to Calculus, and asked about my weekend, and told me about his — he’d played Phantoms of Phobos with Lionel Saturday, and hung out at home watching old movies with his dad.

“And I saw The Left Hand of Darkness, the old version you said Rob recommended... I guess it was a good movie, sort of — it was better acted than the recent version, but it wasn’t that much more faithful to the book, and it was hard to get past that. What was Rob thinking?”

I almost told him I was going to break it off with Rob, but I didn’t; I wanted to make sure I had the courage to do it, first, and not get his hopes up only to dash them. I just said: “I’ll take your word for it — I never got around to reading the novel before my Twist, and now I guess I never will.”

At lunch, just after getting my tray, I sought out Rob and sat down next to him. He looked happy that I’d come looking for him this time, and that made me feel worse about breaking it off, but I still wanted to.

Then he said: “Hey, Emily. I talked with my dad — about your problem with the medicine the Medical Bureau’s dragging their feet on...? He said he can help, if you tell him the name of the medicine, and the doctor who prescribed it, and so forth.”

“Oh... thanks. I don’t know, I mean — if I keep having problems with it, I’ll need help from somebody, but I don’t know if I can afford —”

“He said no charge for you. He said he owes you a favor, for something your grandpa helped him out with a while ago... and also, well. Because of you and me.” He smiled again, and at that, I almost changed my mind. His smile had that kind of effect on me.

“You could give him a call after school,” he went on, “or — if it suits — he and Mom asked me to invite you over for supper, sometime. I understand if this week doesn’t suit, I expect you’ll be busy with family stuff, and so will we toward the end of the week, but if you’re free tonight or tomorrow night —”

“Rob,” I said, “wait a minute. I need to tell you something.” That wasn’t the right way to begin, I realized, but it was too late. He looked expectant, and I hurried on.

“I enjoyed our dates the last couple of Fridays... And I want to thank you again for helping me figure out more about my Twist, about how I don’t like fictional movies anymore but I like documentaries more than before. And — you gave me a big confidence boost when I needed it, when I was feeling kind of insecure about people accepting me as a girl.”

“But...?” He could tell there was a catch, and probably already knew what was coming.

“But I don’t think it’s going to work, long-term. And I don’t want to lead you on, hoping for more than you’re going to get... I think we should break it off before it gets too serious.”

He looked disappointed, even dismayed. “Are you sure? I mean — it doesn’t have to last forever to be worthwhile. And I said before, I’m not expecting you to... ah, do anything you’re uncomfortable with, or before you’re ready... Could you give it a try for a little longer?”

“I don’t think so. No. I’m sorry, but... Tell your mom and dad I said thanks for the invitation, but I don’t think it suits.”

“All right,” he said after a long silence. “But... you should still give my dad a call, about your medicine problem. I won’t tell him we broke up until after he helps you with this. But I think he’d still help you even if I told him.”

“...Thank you,” I whispered. “You can tell him if you want. I’ll call him... maybe tomorrow after school, after you’ve had a chance to talk to him. Thanks.”

After that, I picked up my tray and wandered absent-mindedly toward Sarah’s table, and then thought: I spent all day Sunday with them, I should eat with Vic and Lionel today. I changed directions, and sat down next to Vic a few moments later.

“Hi,” I said.

“What’s up with you today?” Lionel asked. “You sounded pretty distracted during homeroom...”

“Are you okay?” Vic asked.

“Pretty okay,” I said. “I just told Rob I’m not going out with him again. I won’t say ‘broke up with him,’ because two dates does not a boyfriend and girlfriend make, but he was pretty disappointed and it wasn’t easy to tell him.”

Lionel gave Vic a quick, hard-to-interpret glance. Vic said:

“I won’t say I’m not happy about it, but why? Last time we talked about it, you seemed pretty pleased with him.”

I shrugged. “I kind of decided you were right about him... He’s a nice guy, but we aren’t really all that well suited. Probably only somebody like him, who’s bi, would be interested in me right now... but once I get my body fixed, I’ll have more options.” I think I was daring Vic to prove me wrong, to show me that a straight guy could be interested in me as a girl.

“Any more idea when that’s going to be?” Lionel asked. “You were going to the doctor Saturday, right?”

“Yes — he said he’d have the endocrinologist get me started on hormones right away! Well, we’ll probably have to wait a few days, at least, for the Medical Bureau to approve them, but I hope it will be within another week or two.”

“Great!” Vic looked like he was about to hug me, but he didn’t, not there at the lunch table.

I realized then that I shouldn’t have told them the good news about the hormone therapy right away. Now I couldn’t tell if Vic was just happy for me because of that... or about me breaking it off with Rob.

Lionel congratulated me too, and we talked more as we ate; I told them a little about meeting Bobby, Rachel, Medea and Tavondra, and Lionel told me what they’d been doing in their other Phantoms of Phobos game, and asked if I wanted to come over and play another session or two of our game.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve got family stuff going on Wednesday through Sunday, but tonight or tomorrow night, or both, would be fine.” We had only two days of school this week, and I’d seen a lot more of Sarah, Olive and Morgan than of Vic and Lionel in the last few days, so I thought I could skip the study session at Sarah’s house tonight.

When we were almost done eating, I heard a voice I recognized from behind me: “Um, Emily?”

I turned and saw Morgan. “Hi, Morgan. I think you’ve met Vic? And this is Lionel.”

“Hey. You said something about playing the new Phantoms of Phobos...?”

“You want to join us?” Lionel asked.

“Lionel has the best VR setup of any of us; we usually meet at his house,” I put in.

“Yeah, maybe so. I used to enjoy those games, but most of my friends aren’t into them... except Emily. She said you guys might not mind?”

“Not at all,” Lionel said. “Um, we should finish up the game we’ve got started, that’ll take another one or two sessions, but we could start another game next week and include you...?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said, “I’ve got study group tonight and we’re leaving to visit my grandparents for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so next Tuesday’s the earliest I could do it either.”

“Cool.”

“You can give me a ride to Lionel’s house after school next Tuesday,” I suggested.

As Sarah and I walked from Literature to the gym, I told her I wasn’t coming to the study group meeting because I’d be gaming with Vic and Lionel.

“That’s cool,” she said. “I hope it works out between you and Vic.”

“There may not be anything to work out,” I said. “I’m planning to take it slow, like Morgan said — staying friends with him is more important than becoming his girlfriend.”

Even though we had only two days of school this week, I put in some serious study on the bus, and for an hour or so after I got home. Uncle Jack and Mildred had gone on a field trip to the Etowah Indian Mounds, and wouldn’t be back until later; then Mom messaged me about the time I got out of school, saying she’d have to work late too, and Dad and I would need to fix supper. I messaged back and forth with Dad and Vic and Lionel about plans for the evening; then Vic picked me up and we went over to Lionel’s house.

I was nervous and excited when Vic drove up — I’d been sitting on the porch waiting for him, in spite of the chill weather, and I jumped up and ran down the porch steps to his passenger door almost before he could open it for me. This was going to be the first time we were alone together, even for a short time, since he found out I wasn’t going out with Rob anymore. Would he tell me what he felt about me? Should I tell him what I felt about him? I decided I should wait and give him a chance to make the first move. And he didn’t, not right then, but I was encouraged by his big smile when I climbed in beside him.

“Excited?” he asked. “I think we’re going to make a breakthrough tonight — we’ve identified the ghost, and now we have to figure out why she’s haunting the filtration plant.”

“Yeah,” I said vaguely, trying to recall what had been going on in the game. I got into it enthusiastically enough while I was playing with Vic and Lionel, but I didn’t obsess over the game between sessions like I used to. “Maybe we’ll find out she was murdered there and the murderer took her body to her cubby to dump it...? I’m sorry, Kiera will be better at figuring that out than I am. Let’s talk about something else for now.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I still don’t have a good handle on how your Twist is affecting you...”

“Neither do I. I thought for the first few days that I’d lost all interest in games, but I decided to give Phantoms of Phobos a try 'cause you and Lionel were all excited about it, and I was surprised to find out I could still enjoy that kind of game. And then I thought I’d lost all interest in movies, but then last Friday I found out I love documentaries more than I ever did before.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute or two, and then, just as we were getting to Lionel’s house, he said: “I’m really glad you broke up with Rob. He’s not good enough for you.”

“He’s a nicer guy than you give him credit for,” I said, thinking of how he’d offered to keep his dad in the dark about us not dating anymore until he helped me with the Medical Bureau. “But I don’t think we’d suit together long-term.”

He parked and we got out and walked up to Lionel’s door. Lionel opened it.

“Supper’s almost ready,” he said, “so I guess we’ll play afterward.”

“Can I help get things ready, Mrs. Ellis?” I asked.

She put us to work setting the table — Vic and I had both been over there often enough we knew where everything was. A few minutes later we all sat down to eat.

“What all is your family doing for Thanksgiving this year, Emily?” Lionel’s mom asked.

“We’re hanging out at Grandma and Grandpa’s house most of the day Wednesday, and then it’s Aunt Karen’s turn this year to host the big Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.” We rotated different years among the people with houses big enough to host everybody; because Aunt Karen was providing the space, other people would be doing most of the cooking. “And then Friday, I expect some of us will be going to Rome or Chattanooga to do some shopping.”

She nodded. “Alison and Nina will be coming home Wednesday, and staying until Sunday.” Lionel’s older sisters were both going to UGA in Athens. “And my sister and her kids will be coming over Thursday morning, and we’ll have dinner here.”

“We’re leaving Wednesday to go to my aunt’s house,” Vic said. “We’ll be back Friday, though, if you aren’t too busy,” he added to me.

“I’d like to see you this weekend if it suits,” I said. “My uncle’s leaving early Sunday, and I’m not sure about our cousins from Spiral and Atlanta... if they’ve already gone home by Sunday, we might could hang out then.”

After supper, I offered to help Mrs. Ellis clean up, but she shooed me out of the kitchen. “I know you came over to play that game with Lionel, so go play. I can handle this.”

I sat down on the sofa next to Vic and put on my helmet and gloves.

---

Open flames in an enclosed habitat like Phobos are a dangerous thing, but it’s hard to cast certain spells without the use of candles. Oscar had found a supplier for special safety candles that burned inside a transdurium sphere, with a carefully regulated oxygen supply, and he assured me that they would work as well as traditional wax candles burning in the open air.

“We can do this. You can do this.”

“I hope so,” I said. “I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right here with you.” He squeezed my hand, and Peter looked away and coughed.

“Let’s do it.”

We took our positions, and Peter and Oscar began chanting. At the right moment I joined in, but soon I heard my voice saying things I hadn’t intended to say, and watched my body stand up and stretch.

“Oh, that feels good!”

“Leandra Wu?” Oscar asked.

“Yes... who are you? And where did Tomas go?”

“Who’s Tomas?” Peter asked, but Oscar waved him to silence, and said:

“I’m sorry, Ms. Wu, but you’ve been dead for several days. You’re temporarily possessing the body of my... friend, Kiera Yossarian. It will only last a few minutes. Can you tell me what is the last thing you remember...?”

---

As I took off my helmet, I stood up and stretched before taking off the gloves. “That was kind of weird.”

“But we’ve almost got it beaten,” Lionel said. “The sèance recording isn’t admissible in court, but now that we know who did it, we’ll find the mundane evidence we need next session. Can you play tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

“It’s a good thing we had you with us,” Vic said. “Finding a female NPC to work the possession spell with might have been tricky.”

“I’m glad you were with me,” I said. “What time is it...? Oh, I’d better get home. As soon as I visit the little girls' room.”

Vic drove me home a few minutes later. We talked about the biography of Thucydides West he’d loaned me, which I’d read about a third of here and there between chunks of schoolwork. As he pulled into my driveway, I hoped he’d take my hand and squeeze it the way he’d done during the game... but it was too soon, really.

“See you tomorrow,” I said. “Want to come in for a minute?”

“I’d better get home,” he said. “Tell Mildred I said hi.”

When I went in, Mom, Dad, Uncle Jack and Mildred were watching A Town of their Own.

“Good evening, Emily,” Dad said. “A package arrived for you today — it was delivered not long after you left.”

“Oh,” I said, thinking I knew what it was. “Where is it?”

“I put it on your desk.”

Moments later I found the package and got out my scissors to open it.

“What is it?” Mildred asked, having followed me upstairs.

“What are they,” I amended, pulling out the styrofoam inset to reveal the prosthetic breasts I’d ordered, and several tubes of the adhesive I’d use to attach them and the solvent to remove them.

“Oh... They look bigger than the ones you’ve been using.”

“Maybe they are.” I’d tried to order them about the same size as the bags of birdseed Mom had made for me — it would attract comment if I suddenly showed up for school the next day with larger breasts. Maybe I should wait until after the Thanksgiving break to wear them to school?

“And I’m not sure they’re quite the right color, either... they’re pretty close, though.”

“I’ll hold them up to me and see if they’re close enough. If not, I’ll just return and exchange them. Maybe there was something wrong with the reference photo I sent them...”

I took off my blouse and bra, and Mildred blinked and shook her head. “That’s so weird.”

“...What?”

“I could see your breasts, and then a moment after you unfastened your bra they just turned into bags of birdseed.”

“Let’s see how these things look,” I said, and held the forms up to my chest without adhesive. I frowned; no, they were a little lighter than the skin around them.

“Neat,” Mildred said. “The color suddenly changed to match when you touched them to your chest, and the seams disappeared... it’s like they’re part of you.”

“Useful trick,” I said, “but I still won’t be able to wear low-cut dresses without the wrong color showing in the mirror... Maybe I should exchange them?”

“Try the mirror,” she said. “You got your Adam’s apple to disappear, maybe you can make them match in the mirror too?”

We tested, and after I concentrated for a few moments on how I wanted to look, she verified that they were the right color in the mirror. I set them down on the bed again, flinching at the sight of my flat chest, and opened a tube of adhesive. Mildred helped me spread it on evenly, and get the breasts centered correctly over my creepy-wrong male nipples. Then I got out a clean bra and put it on, and put my blouse back on.

“How do I look now?”

“Great,” she said. “Definitely a little bigger, but maybe not so much that everybody will notice.”

“Yeah, the bra straps feel a little tight. I’ll need to buy new ones when we go shopping Friday.”

“And some new dresses to show those things off!”

“If you help me pick them out,” I said. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

“Anytime, sis.”

---

Tuesday morning when I went down to breakfast, Mom looked at me carefully and said: “Are you wearing your new prostheses?”

“Yes... do they look okay?”

“Yes. I was going to ask if you wanted my help with them — sorry, I meant to help you with it last night, but...”

“Mildred helped me get them on, and test how my trick works with them. I’m going to need some new bras, though; they’re a little bigger than what we were using before.”

“I thought so.”

Uncle Jack, who was sitting at the kitchen table doing some translation work on his tablet, contrived to look so busy that he didn’t hear us, but he blushed just enough that I think he probably did.

When Dad and Mildred came downstairs, I told them that Rob’s dad had offered to help with my bureaucratic hassles. “He said he owes us a favor because Grandpa helped him with something once.”

“What is his father’s name?” Dad asked.

I checked the message Rob had sent me. “William Dyer, of Kinkaid, Ramirez and Dyer.”

“I once had some dealings with Israel Ramirez,” Dad said, “but I am not familiar with William Dyer. Presumably this incident he refers to happened when your grandfather was on the city council... If this William is near my age, that would have been not long after he graduated from law school.”

Once I got used to the feel of the new breast-forms and the adhesive, I felt noticeably better about myself; glancing down at the way my blouse outlined them, they looked more real and natural than the bags of birdseed. The slight discomfort where the too-tight bra straps were digging into my back and shoulders didn’t bother me as much as my occasional glances at myself reassured me.

I knew I didn’t look that much different to other people — my trick had made my old bags of birdseed, and even empty bra cups, look like normal breasts, and these weren’t so much bigger that everyone would notice. If anybody noticed on the bus or in homeroom, they didn’t make it obvious by staring at me or commenting; of course even now more than half the other girls had something more to catch boys' eyes than I had, and that’s where their attention mostly seemed to linger. But I didn’t mind; there was only one boy whose attention I wanted to catch, and I was pretty sure I already had it.

Indeed, when I sat down in Physics, and Vic walked in a few moments later, I saw that he was paying as much attention to me as to Ms. Chen, for the first few minutes of class. After class, he asked me: “...Did you do something different?” He glanced at my chest again for a moment before manfully dragging his eyes back up to meet mine.

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it here. I’ll explain later.”

I sat with Sarah, Olive and Morgan during lunch; we talked about our Thanksgiving plans and the date Olive had planned with Karl.

“Has Vic asked you out yet?” Morgan wanted to know. “You told him about breaking up with Rob, right?”

“I told him, and he was pretty pleased about it. But no, he hasn’t asked me out. I’ll give him some more time; I don’t really know what’s going on. I want to stay friends with him more than I want to date him, and maybe I was misreading him... he might just be protective of me, not jealous of Rob.”

Just before Mandarin, Rob asked me: “You haven’t talked to my dad yet, have you? I think you should, he can probably help.”

“I told you I was going to wait a day, and let you tell him about us first, if you want.”

“I won’t. Not until you’ve got your problem sorted out, and maybe not for a while after that... You might change your mind.”

I felt simultaneously grateful and a little uneasy. “Girls can do that,” I said, “but... don’t wait for me.”

On the bus on the way home, I pulled up the information I’d saved on my tablet about the drug the Medical Bureau hadn’t approved yet, and the copies Mom had forwarded me of her messages from Dr. Underwood, Dr. Park and the pharmacist. Then I called Rob’s dad.

“Kinkaid, Ramirez and Dyer; how may I help you?”

“This is Emily Harper... I’d like to talk to William Dyer if he’s not busy.”

“Just a few moments...”

I waited, and re-read those messages. A little later a man’s voice said: “Hello, this is William Dyer.”

“Hi. I’m Emily Harper — your son Rob said I should call you —”

“Yes, I remember. He said you’re having trouble getting the Medical Bureau to approve of some medicine your doctor thinks you need?”

“Yes. I’ve got the information here, I could forward you the messages from the doctors and pharmacist if you give me your net address.”

“Please do that.” He gave me his address, and I started forwarding the messages. “Um, Rob said you’d do this free of charge because you owed my grandpa a favor...?”

“Yes, I do, and I will. Another question — are you eighteen yet?”

“No, I turned seventeen in August.”

“Then I’ll need to speak with a parent or legal guardian before I start working on this. Can you have them call me?”

“Sure. I’ll message them now.”

“Thank you. I’ll get to work as soon as they authorize me to; hopefully we’ll get you what you need soon.”

I sent a message to Mom and Dad telling them what Mr. Dyer had said, and did Calculus homework until I got home, and for a few minutes afterward. Mildred had messaged me earlier saying she had gone with Uncle Jack to pick up Tim at the airport, and Mom and Dad weren’t home from work yet, so I was alone. Then Vic came over to pick me up, and we headed over to Lionel’s house.

“Have you read any more of that biography of Thucydides West?” he asked.

“I got as far as where he decided to leave college and go to police academy.”

“You’re almost to the best part, then — the things he’s most famous for.”

“I hope I can finish it during the Thanksgiving break... I think I’m going to finish my homework for the break tonight or tomorrow morning, and then I can read other stuff.” And do a final draft of my Modern History term paper, maybe.

He glanced aside at me. “So your Twist made you obsess more over schoolwork, but... you can still hang out and game with us?”

“Yeah. It’s like, doing schoolwork — or reading other nonfiction — is what I naturally turn toward whenever I don’t have anything else to do, but if you or Morgan or somebody invites to me to come do stuff with you, that makes it easy to resist the schoolwork obsession for a little while.”

“So, not as bad an obsession as some.”

“No. Really it could be a lot worse.” It occurred to me to wonder if I might have some other, subtler compulsion or obsession — something about being femininely sociable — that was counteracting the schoolwork obsession; how could I tell?

When we got to Lionel’s house, he was eager to get started with the game, and we began almost before Vic or I had a chance to eat anything.

---

---

I just posted a list of story ideas I'm thinking of writing next. Please take a look and comment.

“— I might have been like that guy who Twisted into a giant cockroach in his sleep.”

 

“That’s an urban legend,” I said. “There’s a book where that happened, but it was way pre-Antarctic Flu, pure fantasy.”

---

Twisted Throwback

part 23 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

I took off my helmet to hear Lionel’s natural voice babbling “— that was awesome you guys and now I’m going to go pee and leave you alone for a bit okay?” He tossed his helmet and gloves onto the sofa and was gone down the hall before I had my left glove off. Vic removed his helmet and my eyes met his for a moment before we both looked away.

After a few moments' embarrassed silence Vic said: “That was a good game.”

“Yeah,” I added.

“Good problem-solving, and good roleplaying... I loved how you got Tomas to confess to the killing where your wire could pick it up.”

“Thanks. And thanks for having my back on that — he’d have killed me too if you hadn’t gotten there in time.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s what I was there for.”

What neither of us were ready to talk about yet was how Kiera had jumped into Oscar’s arms after he’d taken down Tomas a moment before he would have put a hole in her skull with his laser-drill, or how the VR-mediated kiss we’d shared then had felt. I was wondering how much better his actual lips would taste, and I hoped he was wondering the same about mine... We still hadn’t said anything to the point when Lionel came back from the restroom. That sort of snapped us out of the contemplative silence we’d fallen into after Vic’s last remark, and I said I needed to go as well, and went down the hall.

When I got back, Lionel and Vic were snacking and not saying much. Lionel looked back and forth between us, expectantly, but we didn’t satisfy his curiosity. I saw the blinking light on my tablet and checked my messages; there was one from Mom a few minutes ago:

Uncle Jack and Mildred just got here with Tim. Come on home.

“I need to go,” I said. “Vic, can you give me a ride?”

“Sure,” he said.

I told him about Tim as we walked out to the car and got in.

“So you haven’t seen him since he was a toddler?”

“No — his mom hasn’t had anything to do with the rest of us since she divorced Uncle Jack, though she still sees him when he comes to Austin to see Tim.”

“Then... I guess he won’t be surprised to see you’re a girl.”

“Probably not. I expect Uncle Jack’s told him some about his cousins, but it probably all runs together for him... it used to be like that for me, when I was his age, all the stuff I’d hear about kinfolks who don’t live in Trittsville that I don’t see often. I’ve got cousins in Nashville who I didn’t sort out which side of the family they were on until I was twelve.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t say anything for a minute, and I didn’t either, until I noticed he’d missed a turn. I was just about to speak up when he said in rush:

“Emily, I didn’t want to say this until I was sure, and I hope you’re not going to be mad or upset, but I feel like I need to be up front about all of this or else — you might feel even worse if I held back and didn’t tell you some of it until later, maybe.”

I looked at him and nodded encouragingly. He went on, turning at the next street to circle the block.

“I think you’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met, and the more time goes by, the more time I spend with you the way you are now, the harder it is to remember you used to be a boy. And the worse I feel when something does remind me of it... I can’t imagine how much worse it feels for you. And when you were going out with Rob — I was worried about you, I really didn’t think he was good for you, but even more than that, I was worried that I’d lost my chance to be with you. You’d get involved with Rob and he’d cut you off from your old friends a little at a time, the way he did with Charles.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” I said. “He was kind of upset when he heard I’d had lunch with you at Delhi Deli last Saturday, and that... well, it’s one of the reasons I decided not to keep going out with him.”

“I’m glad.” He was silent for another long moment before he said: “Please, please, please don’t get mad at me, but I need to say this all at once. I’m attracted to you — most of me is, probably the most important part. But part of me still insists that you’re a boy. When you told me you’d broken up with Rob, a big part of me wanted to ask you out right then and there — but this other part stopped me. I’ve gotten that part to quiet down, but I can’t be sure it won’t be louder again tomorrow. Maybe it won’t shut up entirely until you get your body fixed. Or maybe I can wrestle it into submission by the end of the month... I just don’t know. But I’ll keep trying.”

“It’s okay,” I said, though what he’d said hurt more than any of Tracy or her friends' snarky remarks — just moments after making me feel better than anything Rob had ever said to me. “What Kiera and Oscar did was between Kiera and Oscar. Emily and Vic are different people.”

“Yeah. So... I just thought I should tell you. I was wondering if, the way you were in the game and all... but I guess I read too much into it.”

He hadn’t, but now wasn’t the time to tell him that.

“I wouldn’t say no if you did ask me out,” I said, “but I’m happy just hanging out with you, with or without Lionel or somebody else around... We’ve known each other since grade school, we don’t need an excuse to hang out.”

“Right,” he said, smiling a little awkwardly. “Anyway... I should take you home now.”

“Yes... they’re expecting me by now.”

He stopped circling around the block and turned toward my house. We didn’t say anything more until he parked on the street in front of my house. Not only my parents' cars and Uncle Jack’s were in the driveway, but also Grandpa’s. I opened my door and stepped out, and turned to lean into the car again. “Probably all the kinfolks will be gone by Sunday,” I said. “We could hang out then you want.”

“That’d be good. See you then?”

He drove away as I walked up the porch steps.

The living room was crowded with Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, Dad, Uncle Jack, Mildred, and a little boy who looked vaguely familiar — undoubtedly Tim. Indeed, the moment I walked in Mildred said to him: “Tim, this is Emily, my big sister — your cousin.”

“Hi, Tim,” I said. He nodded and looked at Uncle Jack, who said:

“Tim, do you want to show your cousins your bug collection?”

“Insect collection,” Tim insisted. “Sure.”

“You brought it with you?” I asked. “Cool. Lead on.”

“Not all of it,” he said, leading us down the hall to the guest bedroom, “but some of the coolest specimens, and holos of the rest...” He opened up a small blue suitcase that was sitting on the bed, and dug through the clothes piled on top to reveal a plastic case containing a praying mantis, two unfamiliar kinds of butterfly, and something — I wasn’t sure what, maybe an exotic beetle? He explained all about them as Mildred and I nodded and asked occasional questions.

He’d just finished explaining the insects in the case, and had started showing us holos of the ones he’d left at home, when Renee came in.

“Hey — Uncle Jack said I’d find you here. You must be Tim; I’m your cousin Renee. My mom and dad are in yonder.”

“Tim’s showing us his insect collection,” I said. “Take a look.”

“Neat,” Renee said, though I thought I could detect a twinge of squeamishness when she looked at the display case, and she didn’t move much closer while Tim showed us a couple dozen more oversize holos.

“Maybe we could go to Terrell Park and look for more specimens Friday or Saturday,” Mildred said, “if the weather’s warm enough.”

“That would be cool,” Tim said. “This time of year a lot of insects have died out and their eggs won’t hatch until spring, but it wouldn’t hurt to look. I brought my killing jar and mounting supplies just in case.”

About then, Mom called us to supper, and we went into the living room. Grandpa said the blessing, and we all sat down to eat. The grown-ups used the dining room table, and Renee, Mildred, Tim and I sat around the kitchen table.

“You feeling kind of overwhelmed?” Renee asked Tim, who hadn’t said much since he’d finished showing us his insect holos. “So many new people...”

“I guess so... Mildred showed me pictures of everybody while we were driving up here, so I’d know who everyone was. But I’m still getting people mixed up.”

“Do you have a lot of cousins on your mom’s side?” I asked.

He shook his head. “There’s just me and my cousin Lacey. She’s my Aunt Cindy’s daughter.”

“Poor guy,” Renee said with a laugh; “you’re the only boy surrounded by girl cousins on both sides. If only you’d come to visit a few weeks ago!” She glanced meaningfully at me, and I don’t think she meant to make me uncomfortable, but she did. I hastily changed the subject:

“You’ve got several boy second cousins, though. You’ll see several of them tomorrow and on Thanksgiving — there’s Jerry and Carson, and Todd.”

“Jerry and Carson are the ones closest to your age,” Mildred said; “remember I showed you their pictures?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Tim looked at me and said: “Mildred said you used to be a boy, too?”

“Yes, until my Twist.”

Tim put his knife down and fiddled nervously with his cornbread. “I’m kind of scared of being Twisted,” he said. “I hope I take after my mom.”

Mildred said: “It can be kind of scary. But once you get used to it, it’s usually not as bad as it looks.”

“I’m kind of nervous too,” Renee said. “I might Twist any time now. I mean, if I’d Twisted while I was looking at your bug collection —”

“(Insect collection),” Tim interrupted quietly.

“— I might have been like that guy who Twisted into a giant cockroach in his sleep.”

“That’s an urban legend,” I said. “There’s a book where that happened, but it was way pre-Antarctic Flu, pure fantasy. More likely you’d just get interested in collecting insects, like Tim... It’s less than one in a hundred Twisted who’s like Mildred, and there’s not that many like me either.”

“Yeah, I know. But I can’t help worrying about it.”

“I don’t want to be a girl,” Tim said.

“You probably won’t,” I said. “It’s not all that common.” But not really rare like what happened to Mildred, and I couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen to him. Anything could.

“You don’t have to start worrying about it for several years,” Mildred said. “Hardly anybody Twists before they’re twelve, and not many before they’re fourteen. But along about then you want to start being careful.”

We gave him some more advice, to reassure him and make him feel as though he had a little control of his fate, though in fact that kind of advice was nearly useless. You tend to Twist when you’re learning something new or experiencing something for the first time — but deliberately trying to trigger a Twist almost never works, probably because obsessing about how you’re going to Twist is not something you’re doing for the first time, and it’s your frame of mind more than what you’re physically doing that seems to matter. Richard and I had avoided ever dressing up as a girl, the way Medea did, and we’d Twisted into girls just by reading about them. And there’s no way Mildred could have avoided what happened to her, either. But we didn’t tell him that.

Grandma and Grandpa, and Aunt Rhoda’s family, went home about an hour after supper. Uncle Jack told Tim to brush his teeth and start getting ready for bed, and Dad said:

“Emily, I have news for you. I spoke with your friend’s father, Mr. William Dyer, this afternoon.”

“What did he say?”

“We spoke about the drug Dr. Park prescribed, and the response from the Medical Bureau. He told me he would try to speak with the responsible parties tomorrow, but it was unlikely he could persuade them to take any action before next week. He is quite hopeful that he can get them to approve the other drug you need soon, and that after that, they will not be so slow to approve the hormone therapy which Dr. Underwood has recommended.”

“Cool! Did he say anything about what it was he owed us a favor for? Did you talk to Grandpa about it?”

“I did allude to it in my conversation with Mr. Dyer, when I tried to pay for his services and he refused. After seeing how reticent he was on the subject, I thought it unfitting to ask my father about it as well.”

“All right. I guess it’s between them.”

“And, after having concluded those matters of business, he asked me some further questions about you — I gather, in relation to your dating his son. He mentioned that he had asked Rob to invite you over for supper, and asked my permission to host you, and asked when that might suit. I told him that we would be busy with family the remainder of this week, but that if they wished to have you over any evening next week or the week after, it would suit.”

“Oh — about that.” I realized I hadn’t told Mom or Dad, or even Mildred, about telling Rob I didn’t want to go out with him again. “Rob asked me about that yesterday, and I said I didn’t think it suited — actually, I told him I’d enjoyed our dates, but I didn’t want to go out with him again.”

Mildred and Mom, who had been working on cleaning up in the kitchen, suddenly stopped and turned toward us. I felt very self-conscious as I went on:

“I mean, he’s a nice guy, and he’s good about not pushing me to do stuff I’m not ready for, and I’m really grateful to him for talking to his dad about my medicine problem, but — I just think it would be a mistake to keep going out with him. I think —”

I’d really been so busily distracted meeting Tim and visiting with him and Renee, and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest, that I hadn’t quite assimilated everything Vic and I had said until that moment. I paused and put things together, and went on:

“I don’t think I’m going to be ready to date again until I get my body fixed. Not until the hormones starting having some effect, anyway, and maybe not until I have the surgery.”

They were all silent, and for a moment I felt like I should say something more to fill the silence, but I couldn’t think of anything. Then Mildred was hugging me, and Mom was lined up right behind her, and Dad was saying “That is a very mature decision, Emily. I am more proud of you than I can say,” and that was how Uncle Jack found us when he came back from getting Tim tucked into bed.

---

---

I recently posted a list of story ideas I'm thinking of writing next. I've just started writing a new one (#12 on that list), but I have a feeling it's not going to be very long and and I'm already half or a third of the way through. (Obviously there is room for many stories in the #12 setting, but I'm not going to write two in a row.) So more feedback will be welcome about what to write after this.

If you've enjoyed Twisted Throwback and my other free stories, you may also enjoy these others -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon

“I was about your age when I Twisted,” he said. “And it was a mental Twist, like yours... it was a couple of days after the Twist that I realized what my new obsessions and compulsions were. It was the day I went back to school, and I found myself looking at the girls and thinking about what I’d like to do to them... And I was horrified at what I was thinking, but couldn’t stop. I pretended I was sick and insisted on the school nurse calling Dad rather than Mom. And then I asked Dad to take me home and lock me up, and he did.

---

Twisted Throwback

part 24 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

---

---

The next morning, after breakfast, we all went over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We were among the first ones there; Aunt Rhoda’s family had just arrived when we got there, and Uncle Greg arrived with Faith and Todd a few minutes later.

“Ben is at the airport picking up Kerry and Jeff,” Faith told us as she snapped a photo of the people sitting in the living room when she entered. “Their flight was supposed to get in at nine-thirty, but it’s been delayed.”

Uncle Jack introduced Tim to them, and Faith took several pictures of him with various people. I meandered into the kitchen and helped Grandma and Mom for a while to get away from Faith’s camera. Then Renee stuck her head in and said that she, Todd, and Tim were going out in the back yard and did I want to come? It was too cold for Mildred out there today, and I hesitated before I went out with them, thinking maybe I should stay in and keep her company. But I went.

We walked around and showed Tim a few things first; Todd pointed out the spot where he went through his Twist, and you could see how the grass that had grown in there was still a little scraggly after being killed back by the static discharge from his changing body, and I showed him the tree that Dad and Uncle Jack’s treehouse had been in thirty years ago — the branch that was the main support for the treehouse had broken off in a storm when Dad was in college, but Dad and Uncle Jack had pointed it out to me any number of times. After walking around the yard a couple of times Tim asked if we could go into the woods, and I said we’d better wait until after lunch — I hoped it would warm up enough by then that Mildred could join us. We sat in the swing and swung until a couple of blurs of bright color burst out of the back door and down the porch steps.

“Hi, Jerry! Hi, Carson! This is your cousin Tim,” Renee called out. The twins ran over to us and said:

“Hi! That’s Carson.”

“And that’s Jerry.”

“Hi,” Tim said.

Just then Faith came out, camera in hand of course, and I made my excuses and went back into the house while she took pictures of Tim with Jerry and Carson.

I helped Mildred set the tables for lunch. Then Grandma sent me outside to tell the others that lunch was about ready. I evaded Faith’s camera as best I could — she was trying not to take pictures with me in the frame, but sometimes her compulsion got the better of her. “Sorry!,” she’d say, “I’ll crop you out of that one,” or “I’ll delete that one soon.”

It was just a few minutes after we settled down to eat when Aunt Karen’s sons Will and Ryan arrived. They hadn’t seen me or Mildred since our Twists, and wanted to hear about us; we were sitting around the kitchen table with Todd and Renee, while the twins and Tim were sitting around a card table set up in the den, but we heard snatches of conversation from the grownups' table — Mom and Dad, with occasional help from Uncle Jack or Aunt Rhoda, filling them in about how we’d Twisted and what we’d been like since then.

After lunch, I told Mildred I’d step out and see how much it had warmed up, and went out on the porch to look at the thermometer. I turned to go back into the house, and saw that Ryan had just stepped out.

“Oh, hi,” I said, looking up at him — he was the tallest person in our family by a couple of inches, six or eight inches taller than me, and broad-shouldered in proportion.

“Hi,” he said, “...Emily, right?”

“Yes, that’s my new name.”

“You turned out really nice.”

“Thanks.” I felt a little nervous around him, especially there on the porch when nobody else was with us — though there were plenty of people just a few feet away, inside. I didn’t know what his Twist was or what he’d been in prison for — I barely remembered him being in prison, he’d gotten out when I was in kindergarten. And I’d seen less of him than most of my other cousins, who either lived in Trittsville or visited more often than he did.

“Can we talk for a minute? Your father asked me to... he said you’re the first person in the family for several years to get strong compulsions from their Twist.”

“Um, yeah, I guess so. I mean, they don’t bother me much, but I guess they are compulsions, technically.”

“So, tell me about them?” He sat down in one of the rocking chairs, and I took a straight-backed chair, where I could see and be seen from the kitchen window.

“So, um. I have to wear girl clothes. I didn’t realize at first, I just thought I wanted to wear girl clothes — and I do — but then when I went back to the clinic for more trick testing, and they made me put on boy clothes, I just couldn’t do it at first, and when I finally made myself I was trembling and feeling horrible until they let me take them off. And I feel a lot more comfortable in skirts or dresses than in pants, even girly style pants. I can wear jeans when I’m walking in the woods or doing chores or something, but I change into a skirt as soon as I can afterward.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I’m obsessed with schoolwork. I hear that’s not too uncommon with kids who Twist while studying or doing homework. I’m not sure if that’s going to go away during the holidays, or when I graduate... it seems to be less urgent, a lot easier to resist, if I’m with other people. But when I’m alone it’s usually the first thing I think of doing, and it’s sometimes hard to do other stuff unless I’m caught up with schoolwork.”

“Annoying, I guess, but not too bad. What about this process you’re going through with the psychiatrists and doctors, the transitioning? Does it feel like that’s a compulsion?”

“I’m not sure... It’s what I want. I want it more than anything. I guess it might be a compulsion, but how could I tell, except by trying to stop? And I don’t want to do that.”

“Have you ever felt any... impatience about it? Wanting to hurry up and do it faster than the doctors or the medical bureaucrats think you should, trying to get drugs on the black market for instance?”

I thought about it. “I’ve felt a little frustrated at how slow it’s going, but I don’t know how I’d hurry it up. If the bureaucrats keep dragging their feet and Grandpa’s lawyer friend can’t get them moving fast enough, I guess I might be tempted to do something else to get what I need... but I’m not sure where I’d start.”

“It’s not too much of a compulsion, then. Good. I was a little worried you might be like Wendy, or me... wanting to get rid of certain unwanted parts so badly that you couldn’t wait for a professional surgeon to do it the right way.”

Suddenly that seemed way too plausible. “No... I can wait. Better to get it done right.” But now that he’d suggested the idea, however inadvertently, I knew it would haunt me until I got rid of my male parts — one way or another.

“It would be a lot safer to let the professionals do it,” he said. “I nearly bled to death, and I was only a few hundred yards from a trauma center when I cut mine off.”

“You... what?”

“I was about your age when I Twisted,” he said. “And it was a mental Twist, like yours... it was a couple of days after the Twist that I realized what my new obsessions and compulsions were. It was the day I went back to school, and I found myself looking at the girls and thinking about what I’d like to do to them... And I was horrified at what I was thinking, but couldn’t stop. I pretended I was sick and insisted on the school nurse calling Dad rather than Mom. And then I asked Dad to take me home and lock me up, and he did. Uncle Greg came over and talked to me, and he prescribed some antilibidinals, drugs that decrease or eliminate your sex drive. And that worked for a while, and I was able to go back to school... but over time I developed a tolerance to those drugs, and I felt the compulsions coming back, and I locked myself up again.

“Then Uncle Greg got me into a study for a new experimental drug to control Twist compulsions. It worked pretty well for a lot of people, and it worked for me for a good while — all through my last year of high school and for several years afterward. There were side effects — I couldn’t drive as long as I was on it, and I couldn’t drink, not that I was ever into drinking that much. And what was worst, I couldn’t focus on anything for long, and didn’t care that much about accomplishing anything — Mom and Dad wanted me to go to college, and I tried it just to please them, but I couldn’t be bothered to show up for class most days, and I dropped out after failing most of my courses the first semester. Still, the compulsions were way worse, so I stayed on the drug. I worked various jobs, few of them for longer than six months, but I was earning enough to have my own tiny apartment down in Rome, and keep food on the table, and that was enough for me.

“And then, so slowly that I didn’t realize it, the drug stopped working for me. I still had most of the side-effects, but the compulsions gradually came back. Unlike the antilibidinals, it hadn’t made my sex drive go away; I was still attracted to girls, but I made myself stay away from them because I wasn’t sure the drug would hold up to close contact. So when I started building up a tolerance to it, it wasn’t as obvious as when the antilibidinals stopped working. I was used to looking at girls and never approaching them or talking to them; I was used to having impossible fantasies about asking girls out and going on dates with them and so forth... I didn’t notice at first when those fantasies starting taking a darker turn, and when I started not just looking at girls from a distance, but looking at one particular girl, and spying on her, and stalking her.

“By the time I realized what I was doing, and that I must have built up a tolerance to the drug, it was almost too late. I say ‘almost;’ maybe if I’d talked to somebody, gone home and gotten Dad to lock me up again, as soon as I noticed the problem, I could have avoided what happened next. What I did next. But I was ashamed — I’d already gone a lot farther than ever before, and I didn’t want to tell anybody about that. And I’d been working at the same restaurant long enough and done well enough to get a promotion to assistant manager, and I didn’t want to lose that by running off and locking myself up while the doctors figured out whether I needed a higher dose or a different drug or what. I increased my dose without asking anybody, and that helped with the compulsions, for a while. But it also made me less focused, and I started messing up at work. I thought the increase in dose had helped enough — I was still thinking about the girl, but it seemed easier to avoid following her around. I’d still drop into the coffee shop where she worked every few days, but not every day like before, and I always made myself leave after one cup of coffee.

“Then I ran low on the drug, and I tried to refill it, but the pharmacy said I couldn’t yet. I’d been taking extra, so I’d run out before I was supposed to. The day after I ran out, I went down to the pharmacy to argue with them about it in person; I told them I’d spilled several pills on the bathroom floor and had to throw them away, and they said they were sorry, there was nothing they could do without a doctor’s order. I was walking home from the pharmacy, and I’d about made up my mind to talk to my doctor and tell him what was really going on, when I ran into the girl, and I started following her.

“I followed her to her apartment, and I snuck up behind her just as she unlocked the door, and —”

Just then the back door burst open and Tim, Jerry, and Carson rushed out, said “Hi!” in passing, and continued down the steps into the back yard. They were followed a few moments later by Todd and Renee.

“Hey, we’re going for a walk. Want to come with?” Todd asked.

“Um, not right now maybe... we’re talking. Is Mildred going?”

“No, she wanted to but your mom said it was too cold for her,” Renee said.

“See you guys later.”

When they were gone, Ryan said: “Where was I? I don’t want to go into detail about what I did next, but... I turned myself in the next day. The lawyer Mom and Dad hired wanted me to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, but I knew it was my fault for not telling anybody when I realized the drugs weren’t working. And I figured that if they locked me up in a mental hospital like Wendy, I might never get out, whereas I’d probably just get a decade or two in prison. And I had a plan, and I knew I had a better chance with it in prison than in a mental hospital, where I’d be watched more closely, the way they watch Wendy. So I pled guilty.

“The judge sentenced me to ten years. The first few months were bad; even aside from what I’d actually done, the guards and most of the other prisoners just didn’t like Twisted. But eventually I learned my way around, and made a couple of friends, and I got the worst of my tormentors to lay off me. And a while after that, I learned how to make a shiv — though I didn’t want it for the same reason a lot of other prisoners wanted one. I made mine out of a spoon from the cafeteria; it took months of sharpening it a little at a time at night. There was a lot of trial and error; I messed up several spoons before I had one I could use.

“Then one night, a year and a half into my sentence, I castrated myself. I bit down on a rolled-up sock to keep from screaming, and stuffed my pillow between my legs and clamped my thighs together to stanch the bleeding, but my groans woke up my cellmate and he called the guards, and I passed out from loss of blood before they got me to the hospital. I was afraid they’d try to reattach them, so I’d made sure to carve them up good once I got them loose and I was lying there with the pillow between my thighs. I was planning to call for help once I’d done enough damage to be sure they couldn’t reattach them, but my cellmate heard me and called the guards before I could.

“Anyway, I spent a while in the prison hospital — I’m not sure how long — and it was touch and go for a while, but I recovered. They didn’t even try to reattach it once they saw how mangled it was, they just cleaned things up a bit so I could pee without infecting an open wound. It wasn’t like the stuff you’re going to have done, I think, they didn’t try to make it look like a vagina.

“I’d hoped that after I recovered from that, I could ask for a parole hearing and get out early. Now that there was no chance of any repeat offense, you know. But the parole board turned me down, and I had to serve the full ten years. If I’d known that was going to happen, maybe I’d have waited and cut it off when I was about to get out... but maybe not. I had a better chance of surviving it when I was younger and healthier. Better still if I’d had it done professionally, the way you’re going to, but I’m not sure how long it might have taken to get somebody to take the idea seriously.”

“Did it work? Did it make the compulsion go away, I mean, or just make you unable to act on it?”

“Without the male hormones — I don’t think I mentioned before, but I did a lot of damage to my prostate as well, and they took that out too — the compulsion didn’t go away entirely, but it weakened a lot. I went back on the drug, and found that it worked now that the compulsion was weaker. I don’t need as high a dose now, and the lethargy and lack of focus isn’t as bad as it used to be, but I still can’t drive.”

I sat there thinking silently about what he’d said, unsure what lesson I was supposed to take from it. Be glad your compulsions aren’t as bad as that? Think twice before you ask your doctor for anti-compulsion drugs, because the side effects are awful? Don’t do surgery on yourself?

“Thanks,” I finally said. “Did you... do you tell everyone in my generation about this after we go through our Twists?”

“You’re the first one in your generation to get strong compulsions,” he said. “I didn’t think Kerry or Todd needed to know. And Mildred doesn’t have compulsions either, does she?”

“Not that we can tell.”

Ryan and I went back inside; I found Mildred, who was listening to Grandma and Aunt Karen swap stories about their college days in the kitchen, and Ryan joined Grandpa, Uncle Greg, and Dad in the living room. A few minutes later, Aunt Rhoda came into the kitchen and asked me: “Do you want to work on your trick some more?”

“Sure,” I said. We went to one of the guest bedrooms, the one that had been Aunt Rhoda’s room when she was a girl, and looked into the mirror on the closet door. She coached me and I tried to make myself and my reflection look like I had longer hair. I told her what I was going to try, and she made herself look like my twin, but with a white blouse and skirt, and hair down to her waist.

“That was a bit longer than I was planning on,” I said, and laughed.

“How about this?” she asked, unwinding her hair to just past shoulder length.

“That looks nice,” I said.

“Well, try it.”

I did, taking deep slow breaths and concentrating on the image I wanted. Of course I couldn’t see any change, but after about half an hour, Aunt Rhoda clapped her hands once and said: “Oh! There you are!”

“How does it look?”

“Just like me —”

Then Mildred barged in and said: “Hey, Kerry and Jeff are here — Emily?” She glanced back and forth at us and said: “Aunt Rhoda, you know you didn’t match her hair and clothes, right?”

“I’m trying to match her hair,” I said, “or what it looks like at the moment anyway.”

“You had it for a moment, until Mildred startled you I guess,” Aunt Rhoda put in. “Try again later, maybe. Let’s go.”

The other kids had apparently come back from their walk while Aunt Rhoda and I were practicing. Nearly everyone had come crowding into the living room when they heard Kerry and Jeff had arrived; Ben, who’d picked them up at the airport, was standing beside Kerry, and they were greeting everyone.

“Emily?” Kerry asked. “Is that you?” I glanced aside and saw that Aunt Rhoda was back to looking her usual self.

“It’s me,” I said, feeling very self-conscious. “It’s good to see you.”

“You look great!”

“Thanks.”

“And this is Tim,” Uncle Jack said. “You remember him?”

“I haven’t seen him since he was this little,” Kerry said, holding her hands improbably close together.

Tim was staring wide-eyed at Kerry, with her leaf-green skin, and Jeff, with his tusks and his light coat of fur all over his six and a half foot frame. Though it was cold enough today for Mom to forbid Mildred to go outside, he looked warm enough in his fur plus sandals and shorts. “Tim, this is our cousin Kerry and her husband Jeff,” Mildred said. “Kerry is Uncle Greg’s granddaughter; her mom is your dad’s cousin.”

“Right,” Uncle Jack said.

“And she’s my big sister,” Todd said, at which Tim finally said:

“Oh, okay.” All the other stuff apparently hadn’t quite connected, but he’d spent enough time with Todd in the last few hours, more than with Faith or Uncle Greg, that Kerry being Todd’s big sister made more sense to him than all the other connections. “Nice to meet you.”

We all stood around in the living room for a couple more minutes while Kerry and Jeff told us about their trip, and then broke up into smaller clusters drifting off to various rooms for separate conversations, games, or TV shows. Mildred and I stayed with Kerry and Jeff at the other end of the living room from where Ben and Uncle Leland were watching a football game on TV.

“How have you been doing?” Kerry asked Mildred, with a concerned expression. “I heard you’d been expelled from school —”

“Not expelled, just suspended. But then Mom and Dad took me out and started home-schooling me. So far actually it’s mostly Uncle Jack and Grandma helping me with my lessons, but after Uncle Jack goes on the road again it’ll be more Mom and Dad.” Mildred told her about the pranks the other girls had played on her, her pranking them in revenge, and getting suspended.

“That’s not good,” Kerry said. “It’ll be better in Spiral — not perfect, even there the kids with pretty Twists sometimes make fun of the weird kids like us, but definitely better than here.” She turned to me. “How about you? Are the kids in school treating you like they did Mildred?”

“Nowhere near that bad,” I said.

“You’ll find kids like you in Spiral, too,” Jeff said. “When I was in high school there were two or three gender-Twisted kids in every grade, and there are even more at Spiral State, coming from all over.”

“That would be nice,” I said. “I’ve met one girl kind of like me who lives in Lithonia, and Uncle Jack introduced me to a woman who was visiting Atlanta on business... The kids at school aren’t treating me as bad as they did Mildred, and my friends have been pretty cool about it, but still, it might be good to see some new faces and make a fresh start.” It occurred to me that things would be more strained between me and Vic than before; I wanted to stay friends with him, but part of me, just then, wanted to put a couple of thousand miles between us, and come back to see him after I’d gotten my body thoroughly fixed. And Kerry and Jeff made Spiral sound so good.

Mildred and I talked with them a while longer, and later, when we were playing Dominion with Renee and Todd, I overheard Mom talking with Kerry and Jeff in the next room.

As we drove home that night after supper — just Dad, Mom, Mildred and me in Dad’s car; Tim was riding with Uncle Jack in his car — Mom said: “Kerry and Jeff told me there’s a house for sale on their street. They went to see it and showed me the video; it looks like it might suit us.”

“So maybe we can move out there soon?” Mildred asked.

“Perhaps so,” Dad said. “We would like for at least one of us to find a job in Spiral before we commit to moving. But I have been making inquiries, and sending resumes to certain companies in Spiral, and have had some interest... I may be going out for one or more interviews in the next few weeks.”

“I haven’t had any bites yet,” Mom added, “but the kind of work I do, it would be easier to look for work once we’re already there.”

I had mixed feelings about that. Earlier, when I was talking to Kerry and Jeff, moving to Spiral had seemed like such a good idea... but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to stay in Trittsville, and fix things up with Vic. I wanted to make sure we’d stay friends, and really, moving thousands of miles away too soon after that awkward conversation yesterday would be a good way to ensure that we wouldn’t stay friends, that my vague dream of disappearing for a year or two and coming back all finished and fully female was just a dream — that after so long apart we’d find it impossible to interact without remembering that last conversation. And I wanted to get to know Sarah and Morgan and Olive better, and... well. There was more than one way to solve this.

“I’m glad things are working out,” I said. “And I think Mildred would be better off in Spiral. But if we can figure out a way for me to finish out the school year and graduate here, while y’all move to Spiral — maybe I can live with Grandma and Grandpa, or Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Leland for a few months?”

“That’s a good idea,” Mildred said quickly. “I mean, I’ll miss you, but you’d be going off to college in a few months anyway... And you shouldn’t have to go off and leave your friends behind just because some of mine won’t have anything to do with me.”

“Your plan has possibilities,” Dad said. “We will have to approach your grandparents and your aunt and uncle carefully, to ensure that they do not feel undue pressure to consent to an arrangement that may be unsuitable for them. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow — but not, I think, in front of others. I will look for some opportunity of speaking with each of them in private, and if tomorrow does not suit, certainly I will make arrangements to speak with them by the end of the week.”

“Thanks,” I said.

We pulled into our driveway and got out. Mom hugged me. “I hope this works out. I was resigned to the idea of you leaving to go to college, and if you need to leave us a few months sooner — I don’t like it, but I can see that it might be for the best.”

I hugged her again, and we cried a little.

---

We were all up early on Thanksgiving Day; Mildred and I helped Mom cook things to take over to Aunt Karen’s house. After a light breakfast, Dad, Uncle Jack and Tim went over to Aunt Karen’s to help set up the extra chairs and tables, and Mom, Mildred and I followed an hour or so later when we’d finished cooking. We brought our microwave and toaster oven to heat things up at the last minute.

Within half an hour after we got there, there were even more people around than there’d been at Grandma and Grandpa’s house — all of the ones who’d been there yesterday, plus a few more cousins from Atlanta and Nashville who hadn’t gotten into town until late Wednesday, and Uncle Lyman, Aunt Karen’s husband, who’d gotten out of the nursing home for the day. Will and Ryan had gone over to pick him up, and they arrived with him shortly after we did.

Aunt Rhoda and Faith had been up since long before dawn, cooking the turkeys in Aunt Karen’s ovens. Faith was so busy cooking that she didn’t have time to take as many photos as usual, but I still kept my eyes peeled and made myself scarce when I saw her hands moving toward her camera.

Aunt Karen’s kitchen was big, but it was still pretty crowded with so many of us working in it at once. After a while, Mom shooed me and Mildred and Renee out, telling us to set the tables and then go hang out with our cousins.

As we passed through the front parlor looking for them, I saw Dad sitting on the sofa with Grandpa and Grandma, talking with them. We found Jerry, Carson and Tim on the front porch; it had warmed up a bit from the day before, but I still didn’t think Mildred ought to stay out there too long, and after fifteen minutes I suggested we go back inside.

We went upstairs — Aunt Karen doesn’t do stairs anymore, and the second story of the old Harper home place is wonderfully cluttered with neat stuff going back to the mid-twentieth century. Will and Ryan keep a couple of guest rooms cleaned up, for them to stay in when they visit, but then there are several storage rooms, and an attic above them, that we like to poke around in when we visit. Jerry and Carson hadn’t been up there very often, and Tim had never seen it, so we had fun showing them things, including an ancient pre-VR game system that sort of worked if one person held the wires steady while another person played, and board games and card games that had a brief vogue fifty, eighty or a hundred years ago.

Tim was just about getting the hang of Knight of the Living Dead when Will came upstairs and found us. “Neat,” he said. “Haven’t played that since I was your age... I’ll come up with you after dinner and show you some tricks. But it’s time to eat now.”

We didn’t need any more encouragement than that; most of us were downstairs before Will got to the head of the stairs. Aunt Karen was counting people, making sure everyone was there.

“Where’s Oswald and Rhoda?” she asked. “And Leland?”

“I think I saw them going into the back den,” Uncle Jack said. “Want me to go get them?”

“Yes, please.”

When they came back, we all held hands in a long chain zig-zagging through the front parlor, the living room and the kitchen, and Grandpa asked the blessing:

“We thank you, Lord, for this eventful year that’s brought its share of joy and eke of pain. For Jeff and Kerry, newly wed in June, we ask your blessing on their married life, and for their child or children yet to come. For Emily and Mildred, sisters true, who’ve suffered much since going through their Twists, we ask you to increase their fortitude, to build their courage as they build their lives. For Tim, long sundered from his father’s kin, and now at last returned to visit us, we ask that this may not be one rare chance, but just the first of many happy days.”

There was more of it, but that gives you a sample. I prayed with him, making mental notes to look up some of the archaic words on my tablet after dinner (I found out that “eke” used to mean “even” or “also”, for instance), and thanked God privately for Vic, and Lionel, and Sarah and Olive and Morgan — and for Rob, and his dad — and Dr. Underwood, and Dr. Park... but especially for my family. Mine was a hard Twist to deal with in a lot of ways, but it could have been a thousand times worse if my family didn’t love and support me, or if I had no family. I had problems to come, I knew, but with my family and friends, I was sure I could get through them.

---

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The epilogue will follow sometime next week, I hope. My Internet access will be intermittent while I'm traveling for Christmas, and possibly involving firewalls that block BC.

I've just finished a new story, an RPG portal fantasy, about 13,600 words. Send me your email address via PM if you are willing to beta-read the first draft. (I have a couple of others, a stand-alone fantasy novel and a Valentine Divergence novella, that are finished in first draft; but they are really messy and I won't send them to beta-readers until I finish the second drafts.)

I am still open to suggestions about what to write next.

“It’s experimental, so the Medical Bureau won’t pay for it; I’d have to save up for it, probably put it off till I finish college and I’ve been working full-time for years. And there’s no guarantee it’d work; I might have a womb and ovaries but still not be able to have babies...”

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Twisted Throwback

part 25 of 25

by Trismegistus Shandy

This story is set, with Morpheus' permission, in his Twisted universe. It's set about a generation later than "Twisted", "Twisted Pink", etc. A somewhat different version was serialized on the morpheuscabinet2 mailing list in January-April 2014.

Thanks to Morpheus, Maggie Finson, D.A.W., Johanna, and JM for beta-reading earlier drafts. Thanks to Grover, Paps Paw, and others who commented on the earlier serial.

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Epilogue

“Victor Alan Gordon...” the principal called out. I gave a cheer, from where I was standing in line a few steps down from the stage, as Vic walked over, shook Mr. Bao’s hand, and took his pseudo-diploma.

Just a few seconds later, “Carlos Cruz Guzman... Leonora Harmon... Emily Ursula Harper...” I glanced out into the stands as I crossed the stage, looking for my family and friends — the friends who weren’t in line ahead of or behind me, that is. Mildred was easy to spot, and next to her I saw Mom, Dad and Renee, who was jumping up and down and waving. I didn’t have time to look harder than that, as I was busy shaking Mr. Bao’s hand and taking the roll of blank parchment that I’d later exchange for my real diploma, and then I was descending the stairs on the other side. I sat down again, two people away from Vic, and smiled across them at him; he grinned back.

Half an hour later, having thrown our hats in the air and made a desultory attempt to retrieve them, we met up, breathless, as the people sitting between us cleared out looking for their friends and relations. I looked at him. “Looks like we did it,” I said.

“We sure did.”

“So, I’ve got this family thing I told you about, for me and Todd’s graduation, but after two or three hours I should be able to get away, and come to Karl and Olive’s party... you still going to be there?”

“Yeah, I probably won’t be there much sooner. I’ll be going to dinner with my parents and aunt and uncle at Hanging Gardens first.”

“Nice! See you then.”

I made my way through the crowd toward the area where I’d seen Mildred and the others. On the way there I met up with Todd, who was going in the same direction; with his height and bulk we got through the crowd a lot faster. Soon we met up with the ones I’d spotted from the stage plus Aunt Rhoda, Uncle Leland, Grandma and Grandpa, Kerry (but not Jeff, he’d had to work this weekend), Faith, Ben, and Uncle Greg.

Uncle Greg was hosting the graduation party at his house, and after standing around congratulating and being congratulated, and waiting for the traffic in the parking lot to clear, we all carpooled over there.

I asked Mildred: “You’ve got the stuff I asked you about, right?”

“Right here,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“What is this, Emily?” Dad asked.

“Graduation present for Todd,” I said, “and some stuff to freshen up before the party.”

When we got to Uncle Greg’s house, Mildred and I took our bags and commandeered one of the larger bathrooms. I stripped off my graduation gown and the halter top I’d worn under it, and my bra, and then Mildred and I started applying the adhesive remover around the edges of my prosthetic breasts. A few minutes later we had them off, and cleaned them thoroughly before putting them away in their case — maybe for the last time, but waste not, want not.

“You look really nice,” Mildred said. “How much of it is real?”

“All of it, I think... Look in the mirror and let me concentrate.”

We looked in the mirror and I focused on turning off my trick. Mildred nodded. “There’s your jaw, and your Adam’s apple... but your breasts are still the same! Cool!”

“And my hips are starting to show too,” I said, “but they look better with my trick on.” I turned it on again, and got dressed, putting on the smaller bra and top I’d picked out for this, and then changing from the shorts I’d worn under the gown for coolness' sake into a blue pleated knee-length skirt. The sandals I was already wearing went with the skirt and top.

Mildred also took the opportunity to freshen up a bit, burnishing her scales. We made an impression when we came out.

“Is that all you?” Renee asked, bouncing excitedly. She was a lot more excitable since going through her Twist a couple of months ago; sometimes it was exhausting to keep up with her.

“All me,” I said. We’d been living in the same house for six months, growing a little more like sisters than cousins, but because I took the prostheses off only about once a week, and usually on evenings when Renee was out on a date (so I could have our bathroom all to myself for a few hours), she’d rarely seen me in just my hormone-built breasts. She hugged me tight, then held me at arm’s length and squealed again over how I looked.

“Oh, Emily!” Mom said. “I’m so happy for you.”

“That’s it for the fakes. These may not be super-impressive, but they’re mine, and they’ll probably get a little better. I didn’t want to suddenly stop using the prostheses during the school year, but they were getting more and more uncomfortable, fitting over the real ones, and there’s no sense in keeping up with them any more.”

Everyone noticed, though not everyone commented. Todd and I exchanged our graduation presents, and then everyone else gave us theirs, and we ate. It was the first time Mom, Dad and Mildred had come back to visit since they’d moved to Spiral, and everyone wanted to hear more from them about how Mom and Dad’s new jobs were working out and how Mildred was doing in school. I’d talked on the phone with them two or three times a week, so not much of what they said was news to me, but I was happy to yield the spotlight to Mildred, both figuratively and literally — the skylight and picture windows in Uncle Greg’s dining room were showing off her scales to great effect.

“I’ve made several new friends,” Mildred was saying; “there’s one girl, Janice, who’s like me or Kerry, she has these natural tattoos that keep appearing and disappearing and migrating across her skin... But most of my friends haven’t Twisted yet. Most of the normal kids, even, treat me like a regular person, and the few that don’t, the teachers come down on them hard.”

Janice had gotten Mildred involved in the photography club at school, so after a while Mildred and Faith started talking technical details of lenses, filters and photo-manipulation software. About then, I got up and told Mom and Dad, “I’m fixing to go over to Olive Sanchez’s house, remember?”

“For the other graduation party, yes. Do be careful, and be back by eleven.”

“Okay, thanks... Um, keys?”

“Surely,” Dad said, “your Uncle Leland is accustomed to loaning you his keys after so many months?” There was the faintest hint of a smile. I just stood there with my hand out and a few moments later Dad handed me the keys to their rental car, his faint smile growing every so slightly less faint. I kissed him on the cheek and went out.

When I got to Olive’s house, there were already six or eight cars in her driveway and on the street; I recognized Morgan’s and Vic’s.

“Hi, Emily!” Olive greeted me as I came in, and we hugged. “You’re right on time. I think we’ve got as many more people coming as are already here.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, but I was looking around for the friends I particularly wanted to talk to. I spotted Vic and Lionel talking to Sarah and Morgan, over by the snacks and drinks table, and headed that way.

“Hey!” Sarah hugged me. “We did it!”

“We did indeed do that thing.”

I saw that Vic was staring at my chest, and Lionel and Morgan had both definitely noticed it. Morgan was the first to comment.

“Trying out a new look?” she asked.

“Yeah, school’s over, so I figure now is a good time. You know I’ve been wearing prosthetic breast forms most of the time since I Twisted...?”

“Yeah.” Morgan nodded, and Vic and Lionel glanced uncomfortably away before looking at me again a second or two later.

“Well... not anymore.”

Lionel’s eyes got wide. “So if you can use your trick to make us see them, without anything physical there at all... why not, um...”

“Why not make them bigger, you mean?” Morgan asked, rolling her eyes.

“Um, maybe, or at least the same as the artificial ones.”

Before I could explain, Vic figured it out. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

“Yep! They’re made out of me. One hundred percent Emily. And that’s not the only effect the hormone therapy has had — just the most obvious. It wasn’t all that obvious while I was wearing the prostheses over them, but I’m done with that now.”

“Great!”

A few more people arrived just then, and we circulated, greeting them, exchanging congratulations, talking with them. Olive turned up the music, then she and Karl started dancing, and several others joined in.

“Do you want to dance?” Vic asked, raising his voice so I could hear him over the music.

“Yes!” I half-shouted. We danced, a couple of feet apart at first during a few loud vigorous songs. And then Olive put on a slow song; I hesitated, waiting for Vic to make the first move, and he didn’t. Not right away. In the relative quiet we moved aside and let the dancers have the floor; Vic asked: “Can I get you something?”

“Another Sprite would be nice.”

He was back in a minute, and we sat on the sofa, sipping our drinks and not saying anything. Then Vic asked: “So what are your plans in the next few days?”

“Mom and Dad and Mildred are going to be here for a week,” I said. “We’re going to Athens for a couple of days, and they’re going to show me around... Probably some things have changed since they went to school but there’s a lot that hasn’t.” They’d both gone to UGA in Athens, which was one of three schools I’d been accepted at, and the one I’d decided on when the scholarship for Emory I was hoping for fell through. “And they’re going to help me shop for a car. I’ll need one in Athens, and for going back and forth from Athens to Trittsville... and Rome.” Vic was going to Berry College in Rome.

“Yeah, and Athens isn’t any further from Rome than Rome is from Athens. I’ll come see you once I get settled in and have a weekend when I don’t have too much studying to do.” And then, abruptly: “What about your surgery? Have you found out any more about it?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just yesterday Dr. Underwood messaged me... He’s found a surgeon who’s willing to try one of the experimental techniques they were working on in the last few years before they stopped doing sex reassignment surgery on adults. She might be able to give me a cloned womb and ovaries — I could have babies, if it works right.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Wow is right. But there are disadvantages. It’s experimental, so the Medical Bureau won’t pay for it; I’d have to save up for it, probably put it off till I finish college and I’ve been working full-time for years. And it’s more invasive, so the recovery time would be longer. And there’s no guarantee it’d work; I might have a womb and ovaries but still not be able to have babies... I need to think about it. I was resigned to being mostly female, in every other way, and probably adopting children some day when my partner and I are ready... and looking forward to getting it over with this summer. But now... I don’t know. It would be awesome if it worked, but I don’t know if I can stand waiting however many years it takes to earn the money for it.”

We were silent for a while, listening to the music and watching the slow-dancers. Then just as Vic started to say something, Olive put on another loud, fast song. He made a face, and said loudly: “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

I followed him out onto the porch. We smiled at Morgan and Lionel, who were making out on the porch swing, and oblivious to us; Vic and I sat in rocking chairs at the other end of the porch, and he said:

“You should think about it carefully, and make up your own mind. I mean, you’ll have to live with what you decide for the rest of your life... But lots of genetic women can’t have babies for one reason or another. That doesn’t define who you are.”

“Yeah. It would be great... but I’m not sure it would be worth the wait, and the cost.”

“So, yeah. Think of it as a really expensive fertility treatment. Is it worth that much to you to be give birth to your own babies, instead of adopting? I mean...” He floundered for a moment before saying: “I mean, if I found out my wife couldn’t have babies, I’d be cool with adopting kids. There are plenty of them who need families, that’s for sure.”

I smiled hesitantly. Was he saying...? I’d thought it might be possible, several times over the last few months, but I’d never been quite sure. I’d tried to put all thoughts of romance out of my head until after the surgery. Time enough then to see if Vic felt differently, or if by then I’d met someone else that I clicked better with. But I kept finding myself thinking about Vic.

“Yeah. Adopting kids would be good, especially if my partner was really enthusiastic about it... not just settling for second best after he found out I couldn’t have babies.”

“Well, if you get your surgery done the old-fashioned way, you’d know what you had to do in advance. You wouldn’t be trying to have babies, getting your hopes up, and then finding out you couldn’t and had to adopt.”

“Yeah.”

There was another factor, one I hadn’t talked with Vic or anyone else about, only Dr. Underwood. Ever since my talk with Ryan, I’d had occasional thoughts of cutting off those extraneous parts. I’d managed to ignore or resist them so far; they weren’t anything like a Twist-obsession, not really... But should I subject myself to eight or ten more years of that kind of temptation, however easy to resist it was so far? Probably not.

And one thing I hadn’t told Vic yet — but should probably tell him eventually — was that the cloned-organ implants could still be done later, after I’d had old-fashioned SRS. But I wanted to make really sure he was cool with adopting kids before I told him that.

“I’ve made up my mind,” I said, after thinking for a while. “I’ll call Dr. Underwood on Monday and ask him to set up an appointment with the other surgeon we’ve been talking to. I’ll get it done this summer, before college — maybe within the next couple of weeks if I’m lucky.”

His face lit up, and I knew I’d made the right decision. But then he looked contrite, and said: “Are you sure? It’s a huge decision — maybe you’d better think about it for a few days.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” I said, “since I studied up on the various standard and experimental techniques they used to use, and wondered which of them I might could get some surgeon to actually do. I’d like to be able to have babies... but really, if my Twist-obsession keeps me in school indefinitely, I’m not going to be able to afford that surgery while I’m a grad student, and it will take years of a junior professor’s salary to pay for it. By then I might be too old to have babies even if my cloned womb is thirty years younger than me. I don’t want to have to wait that long just to be anatomically correct.”

“I understand... I think. Sort of. I’m pretty sure you’re doing the right thing — I just wanted to make sure you were sure, that you wouldn’t regret making the decision too fast.”

“Thanks. You’ve been a big help. I’m a lot more sure of what I want to do than I was an hour ago.”

About then the loud music ceased, and there was a few moments of silence before Olive put on another slow song. “Do you want to dance some more?” Vic asked after a moment.

“I’d love to.”

We went back inside and slow-danced, his arms around me for the first time since I’d impulsively hugged him that day I got my trick to work on my reflection. It felt good.

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Thanks so much for reading, especially to those who have commented. If you're reading this a considerable time after the serial is finished, note that I do read new comments on old stories.

I have several stories in the works, some finished in first draft that I'm working on revising, and some unfinished; but I'm not sure when any of them will be ready for publication. Probably one or two will be out by the middle of next year, if not sooner. And I have a short-short that should appear in Hutcho's next TG mixtape anthology in January.

If you want to beta-read one of those stories, send me a private message with your email address, and I'll send them to you when I finish the second drafts. And I am still open to suggestions about what to write next.

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If you've enjoyed this and the other free stories I've posted here, you may also enjoy these novels and short fiction collection -- available from Smashwords in ePub format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes	Smashwords	Amazon
When Wasps Make Honey	Smashwords	Amazon
A Notional Treason	Smashwords	Amazon
The Weight of Silence and Other Stories	Smashwords	Amazon