Just a heads up for anyone who wants to start reading this story - it is very much an incomplete work. I had gotten started on it, but just couldn't seem to wrap it up effectively. For all of you who have read what I have written, and were expecting some sort of completion, I sincerely apologize. Next time, I will finish the story before posting it.

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Gradually, consciousness returned after what had felt like a days-long sleep. I moved my hand to my face, rubbing it, and then removing most of the grit from the corners of my eyes. I stretched, attempting to remove some of the dull ache from my body.

“Gawd, I feel like hell,” I thought. “Last time was I felt this rough in the morning was when I drank, and that was close to a decade ago.”

Any further speculation on my physical condition was interrupted by a deep male voice, with a slight accent that I couldn‘t quite place. Midwestern U.S., perhaps? “Ah, good morning, sleepy head. Did you have a good rest?”

I started at the sound, and then surreptitiously reached under the other pillow to retrieve the cheap hunting knife that I kept handy for such unlikely events as someone breaking in to my apartment and watching me wake up. My hand went to close around the hilt, but found nothing. Where was it? I move my hand around a bit, but the knife was nowhere to be found.

A slight humour tinted the man’s voice as he said “You won’t find your weapon there, or anywhere nearby. Besides, I mean you no harm, and I am not here to take your belongings.” His voice took on a curious tone at the word “belongings”, as if they weren‘t worth stealing.

I slowly rolled over, slowly opening my eyes against the all too bright illumination in my bedroom. I wanted to have a look at the person who had invaded my space. I needed to size him up, to see if I could get in a quick kick to his groin before dashing out of bed to call the cops.

As my brain started to process what I was seeing, I began to realize something was wrong. The ceiling was too far up. The walls were a light blue, instead of the white I was accustomed to seeing. The posters were gone. The room was way too large to be my bedroom, or even my living room, for that matter. The furniture, despite having a slight institutional air about it, was much nicer than the department store offerings that I was accustomed to. Was I on some bizarre reality show, where decorators sneak in and remodel people’s apartments while they slept?

“Okay, smart guy, if you aren’t here to harm me, or swipe my stuff, then what DO you want? And what happened to my apartment? Or is this my place? And if not, where the hell am I?” I stopped at that, and cleared my throat - my voice sounded a bit off.

“Well, you are entitled to know that, I suppose. I am Doctor Westham, and you are in my clinic. I am preparing you for a bit of a... journey, you might say.” He paused at that.

I sat up in bed and looked up at him. “A journey, you say? Did I win a trip? Perhaps to the Bahamas? Or a cruise to Alaska? An all expenses paid trip to Europe? I’m just here to receive my immunizations before leaving, right?” The amount of sarcasm increased with each word I spoke.

“No, my dear, you are here to prepare for a trip into... well, the future, you might as well know. You, and many like you, will be heading off to the year 2137.”, he stated, then added hesitantly, “You are needed to ensure the survival of the human race.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? And I suppose you have a time machine set up in the next room?” I was starting to get a little bit worried. Here I was, and who knew exactly where ’here’ was, in a room with no way out. No way out, except past this slightly crazy doctor who abducted people to send them into the ‘future‘.

He coughed slightly, and had the good grace to look a bit ashamed of what he had done so far. He looked down at the floor, and then at me, and said, “If there was any other way, I would not have to resort to these actions. I am a man of morals, and it pains me to do this. However, my era is suffering, and the people of this planet are in danger of becoming extinct. Given that, I have no choice but to help my government with this project.”

Clearly he was upset about all of this. Still, while I felt for him - either because he was insane, or because there was a small chance he might be telling the truth - I did not volunteer for his ’project’. So, I got up out of bed, and walked over to him. “Doc,” I said, putting a comradely hand on his shoulder, “I can appreciate your predicament, but you have put me in a bit of a spot. I have friends and family that may be worried about me. It’s only fair that I should be able to let them know that I am okay. So, if you can take me to a telephone, I would be ever so much obliged.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be worried about that.”, he responded, looking even more ashamed than he was a minute ago. “As far as they are concerned, you are already... dead.”

I removed my hand from his shoulder, walked over to a plush chair in a corner of the room, and sat down heavily. This was getting to be a bit much. I could feel myself begin to hyper- ventilate.

“Dead?” I managed to squeak out (what was with my voice, anyways?). “What do you mean, dead?”

“Just what I said, I’m afraid”, he replied. “The airplane you were piloting had a malfunction, which resulted in a crash landing, and a horrific fire. They were barely able to find any remains, but did locate a piece of your lower jaw. By comparing it to your dental records, they were able to confirm that you were aboard that aircraft.”

“But I haven’t flown for years. And how would they manage to find part of my... Oh. My. God.”, I said as I felt my jaw with my hand. It felt completely different. And the skin felt incredibly smooth. I felt the rest of my face, and noticed how low my hairline was. And how much thicker my hair was. My hands went to the back of my head, and I felt an elastic band holding my much longer hair in a pigtail. How did I miss all of this when I first woke up?

“Is there a mirror here?”, I asked, becoming a bit more panicky.

“Yes, just through that door in the corner”, he responded, pointing the way.

I quickly got up, and practically ran to the bathroom. Reaching in, I fumbled for a second or two to find the switch. Flipping it, the room filled with light. I scanned about for a second - toilet, huge bathtub, sink, full length mirror. I approached it slowly, dreading what I would see. I stepped closer, and the reflection confirmed my fears.

I was simultaneously in shock and awe - the face I saw was that of a woman maybe twenty-two years of age. Dirty blond hair, with just a shade of copper in it. Well shaped eyebrows above beautiful dark, dark brown eyes. The nose, while scarcely petite, was much smaller and more refined than the one I used to have. Full lips. Teeth that were in excellent condition, and appeared even more white against the tanned colour of my skin.

As for the rest, I undid my pyjamas and noticed the camisole and somewhat feminine underwear. I was definitely much lighter than I used to be - maybe 135 pounds or so - and had no body hair. Lifting the camisole, I noticed... not much. My nipples looked a bit larger than normal, but that was about it. I still had my full ‘gear’ under the neutral coloured panties.

After I finished my visual exam of myself and accepted what I saw as real, and not some drug induced illusion, I put my p.j.’s back on. Walking back into the main room, I noticed Doctor Westham was sitting in the armchair opposite of the one I had temporarily occupied. I sat down across from him, gathered my thoughts, and started to speak as he was finally able to meet my gaze.

“Maybe an explanation is in order, Doctor Westham. A very detailed explanation.”

Part 2:

Sorry, folks, but this is only a partial answer. More like a historical basis for what is yet to come. I figured I'd best write something, while the ideas were still fresh in my head, and while I had some free time.

Feedback is welcome, as always.

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“You are absolutely correct” he replied, after a moment’s pause. “I am not sure where to begin. Perhaps a brief history lesson may be in order. History from the 2137 point of view, that is.”

“Sounds like a plan. Make it good, doc. Despite not having any weapons, and despite the fact that I don’t look like much of a scrapper, I will still do my damnedest to put the hurt on you if I feel you have surgically mauled me for no good reason.” My subtle threat lost some of its impact, due to my sounding like an eighteen year old girl.

He smiled at my warning. “Oh, I don’t think you will be harming me in any way, my dear. That little detail has been taken care of, as I have learned from my previous mistakes.” He momentarily rubbed his cheek, as if trying to ease a remembered pain in it.

“Whatever,” I snapped, being a little miffed at his brushing aside my warning, as if it came from a mere child. Being called ‘dear‘ wasn‘t helping my temper, either. “Just get on with your story.”

“Very well”, he responded. “Keep in mind that I will just try to keep this to the bare essentials - to go into any more detail would make the telling of this even more difficult than it already is."

"This century continued with decades of oppression, invasions, and warfare in all of its different flavours. It wasn’t until 2081 that a turning point had been reached. Whether it was the right people being elected at the right time, or that the people of Earth were just tired of fighting, we still don‘t know. What we do know is that change came rapidly, and it affected all aspects of our lives.”

“Most of the petty squabbles, territorial disagreements and small wars had been settled, and it truly looked like a global peace was within sight. Dictatorships and communist regimes fell quickly, and were replaced with much kinder and gentler governments.“

“The majority of nations, after ignoring the signs of climate change for much too long, were taking drastic steps to reverse the damage they had caused. Solar, wind and tidal power , along with radical changes in nuclear technology, had virtually removed the necessity for burning fossil fuels to generate electricity. The sea level had actually dropped! Not by much - just a couple of millimetres - but it was a step in the right direction.”

“Other positive changes had also occurred. There was less poverty and starvation all over the globe. Birth control was no longer considered a sin by any religion. The political and economic power of both corporations and the rich had been greatly reduced.”

“Our planet, while still far from being a utopia, was certainly improving in so many ways”, he faltered after that, unable to continue. A solitary tear streaked down his left cheek. “You would think that after telling this story a few dozen times, that it would become less painful. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work that way.”

I contemplated my host, and what he had told me so far. If he was delusional, it was a remarkably detailed delusion that he was experiencing. It was also compelling - like reading a novel that you couldn’t put down. I wanted to hear more, even if it turned out to be the fiction of a mad man. The doctor had fallen silent, though. He sat there, staring at the wall above my head, lost in thought.

“So, what happened then?”, I prompted.

He looked off into space for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and returned his attention to me. Bringing himself back from wherever he was, he continued.

“As you are no doubt aware, anytime there is a challenge to the status quo, some will resist it. It does not matter how good that change may be, or how many will benefit from it - there will always be those that oppose it, especially if they stand to lose something in the process. It is a definitive law of people, just as gravity is a law in the world of physics.”

“Can you imagine the results of what I have just described to you?” He paused for a moment, allowing me to contemplate what those results would be. Corporations and small minded tyrants, suddenly with considerably less, or even no, power or wealth. What would all those people do to regain their previous ‘glory’. I pretty much knew what he was going to say, and it made me rather uneasy.

“Yes, I can tell by the look on your face that you have an idea of what happened next. All of those people and businesses that lost either large sums of money or political clout, or both, took action to regain it. The result was not pretty. And not only did they want what they had back, but some were determined to teach the rest of the world a lesson. They wanted us ‘ordinary folk’ to see what would happen if we ever challenged them again. Thus began a war like none had ever seen before.”

“I suppose we should all be thankful, in a way, that nuclear weapons were not used. Had they been, there would have been absolutely no hope at all, and all of humanity would have been lost.”

“What was used were biological weapons. Almost every nation had been doing research in that field, even if it only meant discovering a way to counteract what another country had developed. The multitude of ways that had been developed to kill one another was absolutely staggering.”

“There were gasses released that would kill livestock and render crops inedible. Other compounds were released that would selectively kill certain groups of people, based upon their blood types, or ethnic backgrounds. The planet’s population was dying off in numbers that boggled the mind. First millions, then tens and then hundreds of millions, and then into the billions. The horror of this world wide war was devastating.”

“The most devastating blow came at the turn of the 22nd century. We have no idea who released the virus that homed in on the XX chromosome, but may they burn in hell for all eternity. Within a year, this disease had killed off more than 95% of the women who had survived the war.”

“The only good that came of this is that it brought an end to the war, once and for all. The leaders of all the countries that had survived the war met, and signed a peace treaty. A hunt for the criminals that were responsible for the greatest destruction visited upon humanity was launched, and many thousands were put to death. It would not bring back the billions who had died, but it would help ensure that such a catastrophe would not be repeated.”

I felt shaken and nauseous, as if I had lived through many weeks worth of nightmares, all in the course of one evening’s sleep. Was any of this true? Could humanity sink so low? And, of course, there were the questions that related to the moment. Namely, what did all of this have to do with me? Why was I here? What plans did he have for me? I had to get a handle on this, and so I fixed my gaze on the doctor and began to speak.

“I can’t begin to imagine what it was like to see horrors like you have seen. You have my deepest, most sincere condolences. Still, I have to ask: What does all of that have to do with me? Why have you altered me, against my will? What do you have planned for me? No matter what has happened, or will happen, I have the right to know.” His answer didn’t help my state of mind in the least bit.

“I was getting to that. All in good time...”

“All in good time?”, I repeated. “This is most definitely NOT a good time. Frankly, my dear doctor, your stalling is really getting on my nerves.”

“So I can tell, my dear...”, he began.

“And would you stop calling me ‘dear‘” I interrupted, “like I am some helpless... woman.” I fairly spat out the last word. “I am not a woman, and I am most certainly not helpless. Let me reword my previous questions in a format that you can hopefully understand: Why have you done this to me?” I actually managed to work some menace into those last seven words, letting him know that my patience was rapidly approaching its end.

He got out of his chair, and walked in the general direction of the door. He stopped and turned to me. “Well,” he said, “how about this: I will explain how all of this relates to you, if you consent to come with me to the examination area. Does that sound reasonable? I need to run a few tests to check on your progress and general health. What I have to explain to you will require even more background, and I am a busy man. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, yes?”

Well, the chance to see the rest of wherever I was staying was too good to pass up. With more information, I would have a better chance of escape. Whether or not this doctor was telling the truth was irrelevant. He still abducted me, and who knows how many others, and needed to be stopped. I got out of my chair, and walked towards him.

“Ah, I’ve seen that look before” he said, as if answering my thoughts. “You are no doubt thinking about getting a look around, so that you can make good your escape. I can assure you that will not be possible. But rather than you taking my word for it, I think you should have a demonstration of what happens when a guest at our facility tries to do something that we do not allow.”

He looked up at the ceiling and said to the air in general, “Deborah?”

“Yes, Doctor?” answered a disembodied woman‘s voice.

“Please show Daisy here the consequence of unacceptable behaviour, such as an escape attempt.”

“Of course, doctor. Ready as always.”

“Sorry, doc, but who is Daisy?”, I asked, fearing I knew the answer already.

“Why, you are, of course. You can scarcely be as pretty as you are and retain your original male name, now can you? I think it is quite a lovely name; don‘t you?”, he replied in a rather condescending tone.

That did it; I was really pissed off. I clenched my right hand into a fist, and lunged towards him, preparing to drive a few teeth down his throat. I made it halfway before every muscle in my body went completely slack. I fell, and was kept from injury only by the doctor catching me.

“That,” he said, as he lowered me gently to the floor, “is the consequence of inappropriate behaviour. Complete loss of control of your voluntary nervous system, via a radio signal to a small implant in your brain. There are a series of small sensors in your cranium that detect the onset of a potentially violent act, and you can see the result. This system is also tied in to all doors and windows in this building. No one leaves without my consent. Oh, and the voice you heard? That is Deborah, the A.I. security system. ’She’ is on duty 24/7, and has yet to be fooled, overridden, or hacked by any guest here.”

“Now then, are you ready to come with me to the examination room? Oh, that’s right - you aren’t in a state to answer. Deborah”, he called out, ”please restore our guest.”

“Right away, Doctor Westham.”

I tentatively moved the fingers on my right hand, then my right arm, and finally other parts of my body. I got myself up off the floor, refusing the assistance that my host offered. I felt no pain, or other physical side effects, from being ‘stunned‘. Still, it was unnerving - being stopped dead in my tracks, with no warning.

“Please, follow me”, the doctor requested. Still a bit off balance by what had just happened, I meekly followed him out the door and down the hall.

As we walked down the corridor, it became apparent to me that this building was not what I imagined it to be. My room, while not something found in a five star hotel, was fairly luxurious compared to the rest of the structure. It had the look of an abandoned warehouse; the kind you would see in the industrial area of just about any major American city. Curious sort that I was, I had to ask.

“Whereabouts are we, doc?”

“I’m going to withhold that information, Aleena. No sense in giving you any more data than you need.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me? Aleena? I thought my name was Daisy.”

He let out a short laugh and replied, “Good Lord, no! Are you kidding? Sounds too much like a… what would you call it? Oh, yes, a ‘redneck‘. I only called you that because I wanted you to get really perturbed, so as to trigger the security system to immobilize you.”

“Well, gee, thanks... I guess. For the improved name, at least. Just in case I decide to keep it, and there is no guarantee of that.”

He nodded. A moment later, we reached an elevator. The doctor put his hand on a dark glass plate, and said “Level Four, please.” The door opened, and we stepped in.

There was no time for chat in the lift, as it only took a few seconds to reach its destination. We exited, and I followed my host down yet another hall. In no time, we were in the examination room.

I looked around - it was similar to most examination rooms I had seen over my thirty some odd years of living, with a few differences. It was considerably larger. Some equipment looked very high tech, like something from a sci-fi show. In the centre of the room was an examination table / bed.

Doctor Westham gestured for me to climb up on the table, to which I complied. No sense resisting over such a small issue; I’d end up on the table one way or another, thanks to the doctor and Deborah. I’d wait until I could find a way around the sensors and the A.I. security, then make my move. Such confidence - I could only hope I could back it up with action.

“Now, then.”, he began, “I know you want to hear the rest of the story...”

“I do.” interrupting him, “but first, I’d like to know what else have you done to me? In particular, what other parts of my brain have you messed with? You have gone to the trouble of implanting sensors in my head, and you can stop me dead in my tracks if my actions don’t suit you. What else has been done? Have you altered my thought patterns? Brainwashed me?”

“Actually, nothing else has been done to your brain.”, he responded.

The look I gave him must have indicated the doubt I had of his answer, as he elaborated further.

“Nothing else needed to be done. I have a surefire way of keeping you from escaping, or harming yourself or others. Your own free will determines your actions or decisions. Certainly, there will be certain circumstances or situations where making certain choices will be more difficult. An example of such is the physical changes that you have gone through, and will continue to experience. However, there will be no threat against you, or any thought control processes. I should say, however, that when you make certain choices, that will dictate certain outcomes. Those outcomes will limit further options.”

I sat for a moment, trying to understand what he had said, while he began the examination by shining a light of sorts in my eyes and looking into my pupils with a lens like device. When I had more or less figured it out, I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you enjoy talking like a bureaucrat, doc?”

He smiled at my joke. “Sorry, occupational hazard. I do run this place, after all, so sometimes I speak like one. So, do you understand my statement?”

“I believe so. When I am faced with a fork in the decision road, will I be informed what will happen if I make a certain choice?”

“For the most part, yes. No decision will be rushed, and you will either be told of the consequences, or will be given enough information to figure it out on your own. Fair enough?”, he asked.

“I guess it will have to be. Is there any other option?”

“Regrettably not.”, he replied. “So, can I carry on with why this is happening, and why you were chosen to be a part of the solution to a future crisis?”

“Go for it, doc.”

“To summarize”, he began, as he continued his examination, “due to the war, there were just over one hundred and fifty thousand females who could reproduce. There were, however, over fifteen million men. It was a horrific ratio, to say the least; one that frequently led to fighting and violence amongst males.”

“A variety of solutions, and partial solutions, were proposed. The ban on gay relationships among men, which had been instituted by many oppressive governments, was lifted. Transexualism and transvestitism were encouraged. Polygamy was allowed — women could take multiple husbands.”

“Still, these ideas only went so far to alleviate the problem. We needed more women; not just to provide companionship for men, but to procreate. Their daughters would eventually become wives for the younger males.”

Motioning me to stand up, he moved what appeared to be a hand held metal detector a few inches from my body, from head to toe. He repeated the process for my back and sides.

“Checking for weapons, doc?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“No, smart alec” He replied with a small smile. “It’s a highly sensitive scanner — it checks the health of your skin.”

“To continue: Women were given fertility drugs, to induce twin and triplet births. Our science was sufficiently advanced to provide some rejuvenation for these mothers. They could bear children for up to fifty years.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. “That’s a whole lot of kids, doc. How would they manage to look after a brood that size without burning out, or ending up as a nervous wrecks?”

“Yes, it is somewhat of an issue”, he responded. “Certainly, some of our men were trained in child care, so that these mothers would have more time to look after the younger offspring. But men can only do so much, and young girls need women as role models while they are growing up.”

I felt my insides tighten up upon hearing that. I had a funny feeling that I knew where this was going.

“I can see by the expression on your face that you have figured out what our intentions are,” he stated. “I knew you would catch on fast, judging by your intelligence scores.”

I took a deep breath, and hazarded a guess “You want men to become women, to look after your kids in the future?” I paused a moment, and then asked “But why men from the past? You certainly have an abundance of males in your era. Why did you need to go back in time for personnel?”

“Excellent questions, Aleena. At first, we did recruit males from my time. Psych tests identified the most suited to the task. Still, not that many stepped forward, despite offers of paid housing and a generous salary. Despite the circumstances, the vast majority of males considered their machismo above all else. Volunteering to essentially become a woman was not something they would be willing to do.”

“The next obvious step was to institute a draft. The rioting and violence that resulted to such draconian measures quickly made such a plan unwise. It also went against the spirit of new world wide constitution that had recently been signed by the majority of the governments. To quote the most applicable line: ‘All citizens of the Federation of Nations have the right to be left in peace. Their lives are not to be unnecessarily interfered with by their government.’ ”

“Besides that, the majority of the few thousand that were drafted and,” he paused for a moment, “…converted, did not adapt all that terribly well. The resentment they felt made them unsuitable to the task of looking after children.”

“You didn’t brainwash them to make them more ‘maternal’?”, I asked.

“No, mental conditioning was not allowed, under any circumstances”, he replied.

“All right. So you can’t use unwilling volunteers from your time. How did you end up choosing me, and other lucky contestants? I am correct in assuming there are others, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. There will be many thousands in a similar situation, world wide.”

“Impressive,” I stated quietly, thinking of the intense amount of planning and coordination such an undertaking would require. “But again, why us?”

“Well, some lawyers and bureaucrats got together and tried to figure out a way out of the corner that the new constitution had painted them into. What they finally decided was that a citizen of the Federation of Nations had to be born after a certain year to qualify as such. The year before the birthdate of the oldest living citizen on Earth was chosen. Anyone born before then basically has no rights, until they attain citizenship.”

Seeing the look on my face, he shrugged and said, “I don’t make the rules, I…”

“…just follow them,” I finished for him. “Yeah, nice reasoning. Justify it however you like — it still doesn’t make it right. Anyways, why me? What makes me such a great candidate? I’m just an average, everyday hetero male. Wouldn’t I just end up like one of your draftees?”

“Do you remember that I stated earlier that it was fortunate that no nuclear weapons were used during the global conflicts?” he answered.

“Sure, I recall that. What bearing does that have on this?”

“Well, not only were we spared any radiation poisoning, but we were spared any EMP’s. With no electromagnetic pulses, information that was stored in our databases was mostly intact, all the way back to the early twenty first century. Certainly, most of that data is useless, except maybe to a few historians.”

“When we looked at the draftees who were successful and happy in their new jobs, we tried to find out what they had in common. This search included what they read and viewed on the internet. Most had viewed transsexual and transvestite web sites, but had never openly admitted it to anyone. They lived their lives like all other hetero males.”

I must have had another one of those looks on my face, because the good doctor was quick to comment on it.

“Yes, Aleena, we know that you viewed many different TV and TS sites. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Furthermore, your viewing habits fit the profile of a successful maternal surrogate in our time. As such, you were a prime candidate for our program. The date of your death was recorded in our historical records, so we took advantage of that information, and basically saved you from that fate.”

I was a bit overcome by all of this. It obviously showed — I must have been as pale as a ghost. The doctor had me lay down on the bed ‘before you fall down’, he had said. I complied — with my brain reeling from what was happening, and what was likely going to happen, I was in no condition to resist. I felt a coolness against my upper arm, then heard a slight hiss. Moments later, I was out like a light.

I awoke with a start. It took me a few moments to get my bearings — I was back in my room. My brain felt a bit fuzzy; probably as a result of whatever the doctor injected me with. I rubbed the spot where the hypo had made contact. There was no soreness, nor any bumps on the skin.

After a few moments, my head cleared. I ran my hand down the length of my arm and marveled at how sensitive it felt. I could feel just the finest hairs, almost more like very fine peach fuzz. I recalled when I had rather thick hair there. It seemed like yesterday, but I knew that wasn’t right.

I turned the bedside light on, and looked around for a clock. I didn’t locate one, but there was a note on the night table. I leaned over a bit and retrieved it. Opening it, I read:

     Sorry about having to sedate you. It seemed the most prudent course of action — some guests here”... I snorted at the word ‘guests’ ...“have become violent, or physically ill, upon learning their fate. We can talk later.

     Meanwhile, I recommend viewing a bit more about your future home. You will find a remote in the nightstand. Its operation is self explanatory — just follow the menu cues on the screen.

     Give me a call when you have reviewed all the information available on the television.

     Regards

     Phil Westham

I reread the note, and then tore it up into tiny pieces. I deposited the small pile of scrap paper onto the table. I just sort of sat there for a few moments, still not believing what was happening. My emotions quickly rotated between sadness, disbelief, and anger. I wasn’t capable of rational thought for what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two.

When my brain stopped chasing itself and settled down, I thought about my life. I focused on my behaviours and actions that seemed to mark me as a prime candidate for this demented program.

Just after puberty started, I discovered the joys of masturbation. Just like any other teenaged boy, I’m sure. But unlike other guys in that age bracket, I soon found myself wondering what sex was like for females. I would look at the pictures in my dad’s porno mags while wanking off, and pretend that I was one of those women.

Soon after, I began pilfering or borrowing women’s clothing at any opportunity I had. I would wear them while stroking myself. I was amazed at the feel of bras and panties. It was weird, though — as soon as I had achieved gratification, I wanted nothing to do with those clothes. I’d return them, or hide them, or throw them away. I wouldn’t necessarily feel bad or guilty about it — I just went back to being a normal teenage boy again.

As I got into my twenties, and started dating, the urge to dress subsided a bit. But soon, the novelty of making love to women soon wore off. I would still spend time making sure that whatever girlfriend I had was satisfied, but when she was out, I’d end up in her clothes when I had the urge for sexual relief.

A bit later on, I discovered the internet. Wow! The pictures were amazing. The only limit was one’s imagination. What I found most fascinating were the pre-op transsexuals. They were so femme, and yet retained that important piece of equipment. I found my fantasies shifting that way. What if I could be a TS? That would be amazing! Still, one thing remained. I only wanted that while I was engaged in auto erotica. As soon as I hit orgasm, the urge went away.

After all, their lives couldn’t be all that pleasant. They were stuck in bodies that they didn’t want. They were most likely ostracized by family and friends, when they began to transition. They could even be the subject of violence in certain circumstances.

Then there was that whole female angle — the clothes, the make-up, the rules, the way women talked about nothing, society’s view of them. That would get pretty old, pretty fast. No, I would just hide in my little fantasy world, and dream of almost being a woman when I needed to. I’d be a normal guy the rest of the time, and that would be that.

My anger rose to the surface. Now, it seems, I no longer had the option. It was being taken away from me, due to the actions of people who weren’t even born yet. The doctor and his dictatorial bosses were robbing me of my life, and I grew more enraged by the second. I sat there and steamed about it, until I finally couldn’t stand it any more. I got out of bed, and stomped over the bathroom. I turned the lights on as I walked over to the full length mirror.

I just stood there, looking at myself for what seemed like forever. My pretty face. My stick like arms, which looked like they contained no muscle at all. My chest, which I could almost swear had grown since I looked at it last. The very faint curve of my hips. Besides a penis, there was basically no trace left of me. The old me. The male me.

My fury, which had been building up since I had woke up, was finally released. An unintelligible scream escaped from my mouth. My right fist moved with speed that surprised me and made contact with the mirror. It disintegrated into a thousand small pieces, like safety glass in a car window.

My rage, unabated, went with me into the living area. I picked up the lamp off the night table and threw it at the far wall. It made a thump as it impacted, then fell to the floor. It lay there, still shining. Next, I picked up the night stand, and tossed it towards the blinds. The drawer opened up in mid-flight, spilling its contents en route. The table hit the blinds, then the carpet, with a thud. I grabbed the edge of the mattress and flipped it over.

My trip over to the closet didn’t help my mood — it contained absolutely nothing masculine. Dresses, slacks, skirts and blouses were quickly tossed to the floor. I shattered the other mirror — the one on the inside of the closet door. The dresser’s contents soon joined the other clothes on the carpet — panties and bras, along with pantyhose and stockings. I tipped the dresser over, as it was too large to pick up and toss.

My rage spent, I surveyed the mess I made. I crossed the room to see what damage the night table had done to the window. None — there was no window behind the blinds, just wall. Other than the two mirrors which broke in a safe fashion, I had really not accomplished anything, except to make a mess.

I walked over to the sofa, and fell face down on to its soft cushions. I lay there for a few moments, my mind a blank, and my emotions in turmoil. My anger was almost gone, and my disbelief was dissipating rapidly. This was real, it seemed. That only left the sorrow and the sadness. I shifted to my side, and then curled up into a ball. I tried to hold them back, but the tears came; slowly at first, and then in a torrent. I lay there sobbing, and asking “Why me?” over and over again.

I jumped slightly as I felt a hand on my head. I looked up, and through my tears, saw Dr. Westham. He gazed down at me, and asked with a smile “Bit of mess you’ve made here, eh?” I just nodded slightly, and continued to cry. “It’s okay,” he said, as he stroked my hair. “It will all work out. You’ll see”.

Gradually my crying stopped, and I slowly drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Folks, I thank all of you who have had the patience to put up with my long intro. Finally, it looks like the story is going somewhere. Not far, but at least a few questions get answered.

As usual, feedback is appreciated.

Part 7:

I awoke to the sound of gentle snoring. I looked around for its source, and found a pretty young woman snoozing in the chair opposite the sofa. She looked to be about 25, had auburn hair, a slight build, and that 'girl next door look' about her. As if she could sense my gaze upon her, she suddenly opened her eyes and looked at me.

“Hello, Aleena. My name is Rachel. How are you feeling?” she asked. Her voice had an ever so slight Irish lilt to it. Very nice.

“I’m fine, but not really”, I replied.

“Understandable, given the circumstances. I’m here to help you adjust to your new life. Phil figured it would be better if I talked with you, as you may have a bit of hostility towards him.”

I couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Yeah, I may just be a bit angry towards him. I understand what he is trying to do, and I sort of respect it, but at the same time…” I paused, to gather my thoughts. “I am a bit pissed about what has happened to my body, and my life, and this future that seems to be preplanned for me without my consent.”

“Of course”, Rachel responded. “However, you should know a few things about what is going on, and why, and the changes that are taking place.”

“Do tell. It would seem that I am not going anywhere soon, and I have an empty schedule.” Rachel looked like a nice girl, and I hated sounding sarcastic while talking with her. It seemed, however, that it would be a while before I was completely sociable again.

She smiled again, and began her explanation of what was.

“First of all, I should tell you that I am essentially in the same position as you are. Basically, I was abducted from my life, and brought here without permission. I guess because I have adapted so well, and because I have a Masters degree in psychology, I am sort of a “transition social worker”.

“I had a thriving psychology practice, a nice house, a cottage, and a few very good friends. However, I also had a penchant for crossdressing. You should know, however, that is not the only reason I was brought here, and the same goes for you, as well.”

I raised an eyebrow at this, and motioned for her to carry on.

“You see”, she continued “the psych profile they used, based upon data obtained from the internet and email records, indicated that I love kids, which is very true, I wanted to have a family, but various factors got in the way of that.”

“Your profile indicates that you also wanted to have a family, even if you didn’t admit it to yourself. Any photos of you and, say, your best friend’s kids reveal a great deal about your personality.” She paused to hand me a folder that was sitting on the coffee table.

I opened it up, and looked at pictures that were taken five or more years ago. They were of me hanging out with Frank (my best friend from high school) and his family at their cabin by the lake. I was having a water fight with his son and daughter in one photo; riding a bike with his son in another; and reading a bedtime story to his daughter in the next photo. Now that Rachel told me, I could see how happy I was around those kids. Thinking about it brought a tear to my eye — I would not likely ever see Tim or Ginny again.

There were other pictures in the folder, along with what appeared to be printed copies of
emails. I didn’t feel like looking at them at that moment. Rachel had since moved to sit beside me. She put a comforting hand on my shoulder, then said, “I know — I will miss my friends’ kids as well. Still, I had to show you that, just so you understand some of the logic of why you were chosen. It’s more than just men who can be women — it’s family oriented people who can raise the children of the future.”

I nodded, and did my best to put my sorrow aside. “Okay, it does make more sense now. I had some fear that they were just looking for sex objects for the men of the future. Still, how does all of this work? I understand the why of it, but where do I fit in?”

“Simple: you have the opportunity to be the ‘maternal surrogate’. And you will notice that I used the word opportunity in that sentence. No one will force you, or brainwash you, or anything along those lines. However, it is doubtful that you will refuse. One of the other criteria for choosing maternal surrogates is that they must be compassionate people. And you are that — despite your quirky nature” she said, your eyes glittering with amusement. It was disconcerting that someone I didn’t know seemed to know me so well.

“So, what does a ‘maternal surrogate’ do, exactly?” I asked.

“Well, you take over the care of a child after it is born. You are effectively his or her mother. Depending upon the circumstances, you may choose to raise the little one in the birth mother’s home, or at a dormitory where other surrogates live. Or”, she said, wagging her eyebrows, “you may end up raising the child along with the biological father. All sorts of interesting possibilities there, si?”

“Um, you mean…?” my voice trailed off as I considered the last part of her sentence.

“Absolutely! Why not?”

“Well, I’ll give that its due consideration. Moving on, then; why would I voluntarily become a maternal surrogate?”

“Well, think about it — there are a lot of children being born… well, they are going to be born. Damn these time paradoxes!” she looked momentarily confused before continuing, “Anyways, they will need proper care. They will need a mother. Despite how you may feel about it right at this moment, as the hormones change your body and your psyche, you will eventually become much more like a woman. You will feel maternal instincts. You can fight that, and stay out of it, or you can give in to what will happen, and make the right choice. There will be other factors to be taken into account, but those will be discussed as they become more relevant. I will only say this — it will be next to impossible to turn away. They have planned it as such, without the use of thought control, or force. In a way, it is sheer genius.”

“So, have you been to this future? You seem to know a lot about it.” I asked.

“No, not yet. I should have been on my way, but like I said before, I am needed here to help newbies adapt. Probably I will be in a pod in about a year from now.”

“I’m sorry — a pod?” I asked. “What is that all about?”

“Well, they could transfer us to our destination via time travel, but it is somewhat dangerous, and uses enormous amounts of energy. That much energy is not readily available in this era. So, we are each placed in an advanced hibernation / transformation pod. While we are going ahead over one hundred years in the future, we will only age about one and a half years. In that time, we can learn what we need for our future jobs, and our bodies will complete their transition their sexual transition.”

“So, we become women?” I asked?

“Some do, but only a few. They are the ones who wanted to be women before they were brought here. They won’t be genetic women, however, due to fears of the virus that annihilated most of the females. All changes are done by surgical methods. The rest of us will become what you would refer to as pre-op transsexuals. Unless someone was to look at your genitals, however, they would be very hard pressed to tell you from a ‘real’ female.”

“Ah, I see”, I said, after a few moments of contemplation, then asked. “So, when does my ‘journey’ begin?”

“In about a week”, Rachel replied, then smiled. “You are so lucky!”

“Yeah, real lucky”, I muttered to myself.

At long last, I got off my butt, and sat down to continue my neglected story.

Comments or questions, anyone?

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From Part 7

“So, we become women?” I asked?

“Some do, but only a few. They are the ones who wanted to be women before they were brought here. They won’t be genetic women, however, due to fears of the virus that annihilated most of the females. All changes are done by surgical methods. The rest of us will become what you would refer to as pre-op transsexuals. Unless someone was to look at your genitals, however, they would be very hard pressed to tell you from a ‘real’ female.”

“Ah, I see”, I said, after a few moments of contemplation, then asked. “So, when does my ‘journey’ begin?”

“In about a week”, Rachel replied, then smiled. “You are so lucky!”

“Yeah, real lucky”, I muttered to myself.

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And so my week began. Well, actually, it was only 6 days. It seemed to both fly by and drag interminably. She answered whatever questions she could about my future, and how to adapt to a very unique situation.. Along with that, there were lessons on makeup and hairstyling, along with how to act like a lady. The instruction on choosing the right clothes and shoes for the each occasion amused me, mainly because it seemed to reinforce a cliché. I hadn’t dated any women with a wardrobe anywhere near as extensive as the one that I now had. I wonder if any of them would have been jealous.

“You mean to say I need all these types of bras?? You’re kidding? Please tell me you are joking!” I exclaimed at one point.

“Nope. No joke”, she answered with a smile. “Once you develop, and you will develop, you are going to need something to hold the ‘twins’ in place. Nothing is more uncomfortable than having your boobs bouncing all over. I’m not quite a B cup, and I have to wear a good sports bra to hold them in place when I go jogging. So, quit your bitchin’, and pay attention. You’ll thank me later.”

I shut my mouth, and listened to Rachel continue to talk about sports bras, underwire bras, strapless bras, and the like. I looked down at my chest, and wondered how big my tits were going to end up. Geez, I hope they weren’t going to be monsters. I felt sorry for women sporting those DD+ breasts — the constant pull of that much flesh must be annoying.

As much as Rachel taught me, I couldn’t help get the feeling that there was a lot missing from her instruction. I asked her about this on the second last day.

“You’re right — there is a lot more. You’ll learn the rest in the pod.”

I was puzzled, and it must have shown on my face.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it. You will be in a state of near unconsciousness for the duration. However, your brain will still be functioning at a lower level. You won’t be aware of the passage of time, but you will still be capable of learning various tasks, behaviours and the like. We take advantage of that by better preparing you for your future. Besides, it’s not like there are a lot of women available to teach new arrivals what they need to know. ”

“Hold on. Hold on!” I was a bit pissed about this. “I was told by both you and the good doctor that there would be no attempt made to brainwash me. Yet, this involuntary education sounds exactly like that. No one asked if I would be interested in this, or if I wanted it. It’s not like I could walk out in the middle of ‘class’ if I didn’t like what I was hearing or seeing.”

“Well, how do you expect to learn enough to function in society a hundred years from now?” she asked, remaining calm.

“I’ll figure it out somehow or another. What’s going to happen if I mess up on occasion? Will I be pitched in jail? Beaten? You can’t tell me that other new women don’t make the occasional error. What happens to them?” I demanded. My new voice still sounded odd to me, especially when I was mad.

“No, no one is harmed, and I’m sure that there are occasional slips in behaviour. We simply want you, and the girls like you, to feel comfortable as women when you arrive in the future.”

“Well, I vote no to the curriculum that has been chosen. That is my final decision.” I crossed my arms across my chest, my posture making my defiance clear.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell Phil. I’m sure he will agree…”, she said.

I cut her off with “He damned well better agree.”

“Alright, you’ve made your point. The question now is: what do you want to learn? You are going to have the equivalent of close to two years learning time ahead of you while you are in the pod. What knowledge would you like to acquire?”

I thought about that for a few moments before speaking. “I would like to learn about the events leading up to the war. In addition, I would like to gain an in depth knowledge of the technologies of the future, with the focus being on electronics, vehicles, and power systems.” I paused for a few moments, and then added “Can I also be taught martial arts? I know it is more a physical learning than intellectual, but at least I will know what to practice when I get there.”

“You know that violence is not acceptable where you are going, right?”

“If you think martial arts are just about violence, you are not as smart as I thought you were, Rachel”, I replied, with more than a tinge of sarcasm in my voice. “Martial arts are more a state of mind, and a way of achieving self discipline.”

“Okay, no need to be catty, Aleena”, Rachel responded.

“Sorry”, I said. “It won’t happen again. This whole involuntary education thing set me on edge.”

“Forgiven” she said, her smile returning. “I should have guessed that you would react a little differently than most of the girls passing through here. You are a quirky individualist, and I’m really going to miss you when you leave.”

“Thanks, Rach.” I got out of my chair and gave her a hug. “I’ll miss you too. Will we see each other when you arrive?”

“Maybe. I’m not a 100% certain, but I’ll see what Phil can do. I’d like very much to continue our friendship.”

“Me too. Oh, and speaking of Phil, can you arrange for him to come visit me before I leave? There is something I’d like to discuss about the surgeries that will be done while I am in the pod.”

“Sure, Aleena. I can do that.”

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Before I knew it, the time had arrived. I got up at 7:30 a.m., did the usual routine in the bathroom (minus makeup and hair styling), and drank the liquid breakfast that was in the fridge. I put on a soft pink robe that came down just past my knees, and waited for my friend and counselor to arrive .

Rachel had met me at my quarters, and walked with me to the entrance of the pod bay. We talked and chatted on the long trip, which included two lift trips. The complex was large beyond belief. How they managed to build it and hide its purpose from the local authorities amazed me.

Phil had told Rachel that she would be assigned to the West Coast region, where I would be living, so the chances were good that we could continue our rapidly growing friendship when she arrived.

When we walked up to our destination, Phil was waiting for us. Rachel gave me a hug, and said, with her voice breaking from emotion, “See you on the other side, Aleena."

I felt my eyes burning as I returned the embrace. “ Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” She stepped back, gave me one last smile, and then quickly retreated. I stood there, watching her walk away.

“She doesn’t make friends easily”, said Phil, interrupting my thoughts. “You must be a special person.”

“Maybe, who knows? She is good people, to be certain. I can see why you kept her here to help the new people.”

“Yes. She makes up for my lack of interpersonal skills, and shows the recruits that life won’t end, just because of a change in venue,” he paused, then added “And gender, I suppose.”

“Well, shall we get this show on the road, doc?” I asked.

“Don’t tell me you are anxious to get under way?”

“Well, considering I don’t have any choice in the matter, I might as well accept it. I’m not thoroughly pleased, but I will adapt and thrive, like I have in the past. Without meaning to brag, that is simply my nature.”

“Too bad you don’t have a psych major — I could use your help here. Alas, it is not meant to be. Please, come with me, Aleena.” With that, he swiped his palm over the reader plate beside the portal. The massive doors slid aside, and the sight that greeted my eyes was amazing. There were countless pods, arranged in what seemed like endless rows.

“Don’t let your senses fool you.” The doctor must have seen the look on my face. “There are just over 5000 pods here. It just looks like there is a lot more.”

“Still, that is a lot”, I responded. “How many are occupied?”

He consulted a readout on his left. “3,412 are currently being used.”

“Thirty four hundred? Geezus, that is a lot of lives you have fucked up, doc!” I shouted, feeling my anger and fear rising. "I thought I had accepted this fate, but maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Please don’t start, Aleena. It isn’t like I am the only one working here. And besides, we are all working to save the future of humanity.”

“Yes, of course. That tired old excuse. Well, maybe I don’t want to be part of your master plan! Maybe I want out!” And with that, I turned on my heel and walked out the door.

“Aleena. Aleena!” I could hear my name being called. “Fine, be that way. Deborah, if you please.”

I knew I didn’t stand a chance. Deborah, the A.I. guard system, had already stopped me dead in my tracks three times in my stay at the facility. Once as a demonstration of ‘her’ abilities, once when I tried to hack into the computer system, and once when I made a jump for an exit door. Once again, I felt my body go slack, due to an electrical discharge of the implant in my brain.

As I lay there, immobilized, Dr. Westham came over. After removing my robe, he picked me up. “Oh, you are going to be a handful for some lucky guy a hundred years from now, aren’t you?” he said with a laugh. “Well, let that be a lesson to them, I suppose. They deserve it.”

He carried me over to a pod, and placed me inside. It was incredibly comfortable, but just a bit too cozy for my tastes. I felt a hypo hiss against my arm. “That should help you relax, and eventually sleep. I know most girls find these chambers a bit claustrophobic.”

He continued his preparation work. A small item was stuck to each of my arms and legs, and two on my torso. “Those are for osmosis feeds. They are like an IV, but don’t penetrate the skin. They will provide nutrition, as well as the hormones and chemicals required for your change. As well, a certain compound will be released to keep you immobile when various automated microsurgeries are performed”, he said.

Next, a high tech headset was placed over my head. The doctor’s voice came through the earbuds. “This is for the educational portion of your stay in the pod. It provides the audio and visual feed, in order for you to learn new skills. As you discussed with Rachel, the program will contain the martial arts, technology and history information you requested.”

“However”, he added, “that still left you with the equivalent of almost four months learning time empty. I sorted through other possible choices, and managed to fill an additional two months with information somewhat relevant to what you had requested, or somewhat suitable to your personality type. That left two months with no content.”

I could only mentally cringe, as I had a feeling that I knew what was coming.

“Therefore, I decided to fill that space with a streamlined version of the child care and education programs, along with the first levels of the 'Motherhood' and 'Ladylike Behaviours and Attitudes' courses. It should, for the most part, leave your psyche untouched. I am very sorry about that. Please understand that I am doing it for your own good. You could end up being a social outcast if you don’t display appropriate mannerisms in your new environment.”

I tried to summon a good rage. Oh, how I tried. But whatever the ‘good’ doctor had shot me full of was making me too tired to care. Maybe we would meet in the future. Then I would kick his ass, the bastard. Until then…. until then…

I slept.

For readers of my past work, I should tell you that this is an incomplete story, as of this moment. I am working on other chapters, and will post them once I get the entire thing done.

Thank you for your patience, and I apologize if I left you hanging.

Thanks

O.K. Jan, 2012

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I came to my senses, with the ringing of a phone no more than three feet away. Instinctively, I picked up the receiver and said, “Oriental Gem, how may I help you?”

I took down the caller’s request, while idly gazing at my painted fingernails. I took the order over to the kitchen window and, raising my voice just a bit, called out “Order up!” After hearing the heavily accented reply, I placed the sheet in the ‘pick-up’ tray.

Once that was done, I gave my head a shake and tried to figure out where I was. Obviously, I was at the Oriental Gem restaurant. In fact, my last memory was seemingly moments ago. I was sitting across from my girlfriend of two years, having a great supper. So why was I taking telephone orders, in someone else’s body? In a girl’s body, to be precise.

I had to go look —was Miranda still there? Was I still there. I walked over to the dining room entrance, and was rather shocked to see my girlfriend and my old self holding hands, lovingly gazing into each others eyes. Everything seemed normal, except it wasn’t me that she was whispering sweet nothings to. I gave my head a small shake, and returned to ‘my’ area.

I barely had a chance to get there when a couple walked in the door. “Good evening. Are you here for dine in or take out?” I already knew the answer, judging by the way they were dressed. Their clothes were way too nice for them not to be dining out.

As I guided them to their table, I took another look at who I was just minutes ago. They just seemed so normal, and other than a normal glance, ‘Mike’ didn’t spare me any attention. Odd… it was like he didn’t know who I was, or rather, who he used to be. I seated the new diners, and headed towards the front of the restaurant.

Before I sat down, I looked at myself in the mirror behind the cash register. Strangely, I wasn’t all that surprised to see who I saw there. Dark brown hair, in a modern, semi funky / semi elegant style. Greyish blue eyes, partially obscured by low power eyeglasses. Nose a tad on the large side. A face that wasn’t quite pretty, but was attractive in a quirky way. From the neck down was another story. I checked out my curves and was quite impressed. I wasn’t skinny, and I wasn’t fat. I was voluptuous. My breasts were enormous, but well proportioned for the body. The hips were well defined without being outrageous. I turned around and checked out my ass and legs. Very nice, indeed.

As I scoping myself out, I heard someone clearing their throat behind me. I immediately blushed, and turned around. There in front of me, stood a rather handsome man. He looked at me with just a hint of a smile on his face.

“Good evening, my dear. Did you sit on something?”

“No… no… everything is fine. Just checking to see if I gained any weight.”

He laughed, and replied “My dear, you are absolutely perfect the way you are. Especially now.”

I looked at him, rather puzzled by his vague statement. “And how is that, Randolph?” How did I know his name?

He took two steps closer, and leaned over the counter a bit. He quietly spoke. “Well, Lindsay, or should I say ‘Mike’…?” My expression must have showed my surprise. “I fear that I must leave you in suspense. You need not worry; you will be able to complete your shift with no problem, although you can expect some hostility from your colleagues. I will explain that, as well as a great many other things, when I come to pick you up after work. See you at midnight.” With that, he gave a jaunty salute, and walked out.

As promised, I finished my shift without any problem. I seemed to know all what to do without giving it a second thought. I dealt with the usual customer flirting, and managed not to drop any food or give too much change away. The mood from my coworkers bordered on glacial. Smiles were not returned, and dirty glares were plentiful. I did spend my spare time worrying about Miranda and ‘pseudo Mike’, but there was not a lot I could do. I… or rather he… was due to spend the night at Miranda’s, and I could scarcely phone or show up there, asking to speak to Mike. The girlfriend was a bit jealous, and nothing good would come of it. I just hoped she was okay, and that the new ‘me’ wasn’t going to cause a problem that I couldn’t resolve.

------------------------------------------

As promised, Randolph showed up at midnight, sharp. I had to spend a few extra minutes cashing out, so he waited for me in his Honda. When I got out in his car, he announced that we could grab a coffee at Burgundy’s, and he’d let me know what was going on then.

We walked into the cozy little coffee shop a few minutes later, and sat at a table near the fireplace. The waitress came and took our orders — an extra strong coffee for Randolph, and a Chai tea for myself.

After he took a sip of his coffee, Randolph began to speak “Up until yesterday, ‘Lindsay’ was a self centered little girl who annoyed everyone she worked with. She was catty and manipulative. She appreciated nothing, as almost everything was given to her. She only took this job because her daddy would buy her a new Mustang if she stayed here for six months. I guess he was trying to teach her a little humility, and humanity. Four and a half months, and nothing has changed.”

“How do you know all of this?” I asked. “And what do you have to do with this swap? Is that… bitch wrecking my relationship, even as we speak.” I was feeling more than a bit scared, and my voice must have let that be known.

Randolph put a finger to my lips, to quiet me down. “Shhhh, it’s okay, let me explain what’s what.”

“You better, or I will…” I had to think on that one a bit. I was no longer a bricklayer, and didn’t seem to have much in the way of physical strength. ”Well, I’ll do something, at any rate…”

He smiled at that, and then said, ”Let me start by saying that your therapist has had a chat or two with me about your troubles…”

“She had no right to do that!” I interrupted. “There is such a thing as confidentiality!”

“Shhhhhhh”, he said again, grabbing my arm to get my attention.

“Owwwww, that hurts”, I whispered loudly.

“Well, be silent, then”, he responded. “As I was saying… she and I have talked a lot. So, yes, I know the concerns you have about your ‘feminine side’, and how you felt it messed up your life, and might threaten your relationship. She felt that I might be able to assist in a radical idea she had for treatment.”

I had calmed down a bit, and managed to civilly ask “And what might that be?”

“Well, it was actually your idea to begin with. A passing thought, really. You had mentioned to her that you wish you could just ‘cut the girly side out and throw it away’. This got her thinking, and when she and I went for coffee next, she mentioned it. I explained that the soul is like energy, and it cannot be tossed away or destroyed. Well, to be more precise, it cannot be harmed while its shell is still alive.”

“’But what about a portion of the soul, or essence?’, she asked. ‘Could it be removed? Maybe transferred?’ I told her I would look into it, and see what I could find.”

He took another sip of his coffee, and continued, “Well, as you probably know, or suspect, souls can be swapped. What few realize is that a person’s essence can be, to some extent, copied. So, basically, I copied the feminine aspects of your soul, along with the memories, and transferred them to Lindsay’s shell.”

“So, I’m a… copy. That’s all I am? That doesn’t make me feel any better.” I paused, and then it occurred to me “And what happened to Lindsay. Was she killed? Is she in limbo somewhere? I don’t know her, but I’m sure she didn’t deserve that.”

“No, she’s fine. Well, in a sense. A street person had recently died in the hospital. After the poor woman’s soul left this earth, I brought the body back to life, and moved Lindsay’s spirit in. Miss Lindsay now has a very tough task ahead of her. She knows she cannot go running to daddy to bail her out. She has to learn some self reliance and people skills to get out of her predicament.”

“Will she be okay?” I asked.

“Yes. Despite her spoiled upbringing, I have a feeling that she will end up succeeding. She just got rather lazy, and once she overcomes that, she will do quite well.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Now, what about ‘Mike’. What’s going to happen with him and Miranda?”

“First, I will answer your other question”, he replied. “You are not a ‘copy’. It is hard to explain — spirituality always is. You are you — for the most part. Sure, you no longer have the testosterone driven male side, but then again, you are no longer in conflict with who you really are. Tell me, did you feel uncomfortable in any way with your new body tonight?”

I paused with my answer, while the waitress refilled Randolph’s coffee. “No, I cannot say that I did. I scarcely gave being a woman any thought at all, other than when touching up my makeup, or the occasional adjustment of my bra strap. I even checked out a few guys.”

“So, as all is good with you, it will be good with ‘Mike’ as well. His relationship with Miranda will improve, as he will no longer have the ‘girly side’ to contend with. She wants a dominant male in her life, as you well know. And just to ease your mind, he won’t become an abuser, or mean, or anything like that. He will still have his good manners, and a good soul, just like you do. Sure, he’ll lose his taste for ‘chick-flicks’, will become a bit more competitive, and will make male friends a lot easier. Best of all, he will no longer be in conflict. Ironically, by removing part of him, he will become a happier person. I would be surprised if they didn’t get married soon.”

I got a bit misty eyed after hearing that. I took a moment to gather myself, during which Randolph handed me his handkerchief. I dabbed the tears from my eyes. I thought about how much I would miss Miranda, but knowing that she and Mike would have a happy life together took some of the pain away.

“Now, as for you, Lindsay Mercelle, you have an excellent opportunity ahead of you. And no, I am not just talking about a new car in a month or two. You are about 15 years younger, in excellent health, and basically can shape your life any way you want. You are in the body that will only add to your happiness. You can be a career woman, or a wife, or a mother, or a mix of all three. You can do a lot with your life, and your family will stand behind you. This despite the ‘Lindsay’ of the past treating them rather horribly. You'll see who you need to make amends to as you go through her memories." He smiled that funny little smile of his. "It's quite a lengthy list, I'd reckon.”

I smiled, tears of joy now starting. “I’d like that very much. Part of me is still a bit sad, but I think I am going to like this new life a lot. Thank you so much for everything.”

I leaned over to hug him, but he vanished right in front of my eyes.

Some readers didn't think that the previous story stood well on its own. I had some spare time and (hopefully) creativity, so here is Part 2 of "The Other Me".

As always, comments are welcome.

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That night, at the Oriental Gem, Mike had experienced something. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but it felt like… a loss. Like some part of him went missing. At first, being a mild hypochondriac, he thought he had a minor stroke or something. He excused himself, and went to the restroom to do the self diagnosis test he had read on some email (Speak a simple sentence, smile, and lift both arms). Everything seemed fine, so he returned to his table.

He was out with Miranda, his girlfriend of two years (to the day). They were having dinner at the Oriental Gem, their favourite Chinese food restaurant. They had met at his old job, and before either of them knew what had hit them, they were dating. They weren’t living together yet, and truth be told, neither was sure that it would happen soon. What mattered most was that they were deeply in love with each other, and enjoyed spending time together. Oh sure, they had they occasional argument, like any other couple. Still, they were fairly unique in that they always tried to resolve it before they went to sleep that night.

“Are you okay, Mike?” asked Miranda. “You looked a little pale there for a minute.”

“Sure. Just a long day at work, is all. Not a spring chicken anymore, I guess.” he replied, smiling to reassure her. She was always concerned about him.

She laughed. “Mike, you are in better shape than most of the guys you work with, and they are ten to fifteen years younger than you. Still, twelve hours of slinging bricks is quite a bit. Did you want to get going? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay, babe,” he said, as he reached over to hold her hand. “Let’s just eat our food, and then…”

“And then…” she said, with a seductive look on her face. Leaning over, she whispered “Then we can go to my place and fuck like bunnies.”

“Hmmmmm. Suddenly, I am not so tired,” Mike replied, wagging his eyebrows in a way that always made Miranda giggle.

They continued eating and talking, oblivious to everyone around them. That included the dark haired, 21-year old girl occasionally sneaking a peek at them.

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Miranda knew of Mike’s ‘issues’ with gender and sexuality. She knew that he was uncomfortable with the feelings and desires that he sometimes had, and tried her best to reassure him that it was okay to be that way. She knew that he just wanted to be a normal hetero guy; and not want to be a woman on occasion, or dress up, or have other similar fantasies.

She worried that he wasn’t getting all that he could out of their lovemaking. There were certain lines that Mike would not, and could not, cross in her presence. A deep sense of shame and guilt kept him from the simple act of even wearing a piece of lingerie in front of her. Miranda encouraged Mike, saying that it was fine by her if he wanted to indulge his desires. She even said it would turn her on if he showed his ‘femme’ side.

Miranda knew that it was Mike’s feminine side, to some degree, that helped make him the incredible lover that he was, attuned to her needs and desires. Perhaps it was selfish, but she didn’t really want him to be more masculine. It would be too much like being with those oafs that she used to date. They were clumsy, and only concerned with their own gratification.

Mike did make one concession to his ‘other side’, by letting Miranda take the lead once in a while; to be the aggressor in their lovemaking. She would tie him up rather well, so that there was little chance of escape. That allowed his psyche some relief, so that he could be the passive one, without any guilt. That night was to be such a night, as they had agreed to beforehand.

After getting to her place, they made their way to the bedroom slowly, kissing and groping each other on the way. Clothes were strewn all over. By the time they reached the bed, Miranda was down to a silk bra and panties, along with stockings and a garter belt. Mike was only wearing silk boxers.

Miranda went to reach for the padded cuffs, but Mike beat her to them. Before she knew it, her hands and feet were securely fastened to the bedposts with cuffs and rope. “Aren’t you supposed to be here?” she asked with a smile.

She noted the slightly wild look in his eyes, as he responded “Nope. Change of plans.” He then proceeded to ravage her. He wasn’t his usual smooth or gentle self, but not so much as to be cruel or painful. Miranda didn’t mind — she liked it rough on occasion. She quickly found herself having an orgasm, and then another, and then another. By the time Mike came, she had lost count of how many times she had climaxed.

When she had finally regained her senses, Mike was untying her. He had a smug grin on his face. “How was that, miss?” he asked.

“Beyond description, honey,” she responded, still breathing faster than normal.

“Glad you liked it. That’s the way it’s going to be from now on.” He tossed the bondage gear aside, rolled over, and was asleep in a matter of seconds.

Miranda was surprised. They usually held each other, and talked for awhile after lovemaking. Still, she couldn’t complain too much. Her body was still tingling from the passion that they shared. She spooned up against him, and found herself dozing off a few minutes later.

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After my rather strange meeting with Randolph, I took a cab back to my car parked at the restaurant. I drove the old Chev home to my apartment in the west side of town. I was amazed at how easily I had adapted to being this new person. I had full access to Lindsay’s memories, and anything that the old ‘Lindsay’ could do, I could do just as well.

As I dug through the girl’s past, I felt embarrassed and ashamed at how spoiled and arrogant the she was. The sheer volume of arguing, pouting, backstabbing and manipulation was overwhelming. It was a surprise that someone hadn’t beaten the snot out of her by now. I would really have my hands full just trying to smooth things over and make amends. I would start with family and co-workers first, as they were the ones I dealt with the most. I am fairly diplomatic, and I would need all of those skills to make things right.

I was happy to be ‘home’. It was certainly a step up from my old place, being much larger and better furnished. It also was much cleaner — I wasn’t the tidiest person in my old life. I sat down on the sofa, and turned on a fair sized plasma television with the remote. I flipped through the channels, and settled on a sitcom that wasn’t too lame. It didn’t matter — I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to it anyways. Instead, I mentally summarized my rather unique day.

From what I understood, Randolph basically split Mike’s personality. I got the femme side, along with a copy of all the memories. Mike retained the more masculine attributes, and the memories as well. I was transferred into Lindsay’s body, while her soul was shifted to a resuscitated-from-the-dead street person’s shell. This would probably make a decent episode of the Twilight Zone, or perhaps the Other Limits. I wonder who could portray the old me? Tom Welleck is too old, but had similar looks back in the highlight of his career. Hugh Zackman? Nah, too good looking. Hmmmmm, Hugh. He is hot….

I snapped out of the start of that fantasy. If I gave it too much thought, it somehow seemed wrong. It shouldn’t, though. After all, I am the femme Mike, in a female body. It would be best to adapt to my circumstances. I would do probably do just that, once I found out for sure that this who I would be from now on. And as Randolph had up and vanished, I needed to talk to the only other person who knew anything about this: Emily, my therapist. I suppose I could phone her emergency number now, but it wasn’t like I was in danger of harming myself. It could wait until the morning.

And speaking of harm, what would the old Lindsay do, now that she was no longer a rich little princess? She was a poor person, living on the streets, with little to lose. Would she come after me? Try to do me harm? Was she even in this city? This state? This country? I would like to think that Randolph would have taken care of this potential problem, but he didn't say either way.

As for Mike and Miranda, I was assured that they would be alright. While Randolph was a bit sneaky with all of this body swapping stuff, I don’t think he was lying about my (former) girlfriend’s safety. I did miss her, more than I realized. She was an awesome person, and as I sat on the couch, I thought about all the fun we had together over the past two years. I started sniffling, and before I knew it, I was quietly sobbing. I laid on the couch, hugging a pillow, and cried myself to sleep.

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Apparently, I am on a roll. Two chapters in one day is nothing shy of amazing for me.

Comments are welcome, of course.

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I woke up in the morning, feeling a bit worse for wear. It was a nice sofa to sit on, but it left a great deal to be desired as a bed. I looked at the pillow that I had rested my head on during the night. As I suspected, there was makeup smeared all over it. Sigh.

I got up and stumbled towards the bathroom. I ran my right hand through hair, or at least attempted to. Sticky, dried mousse is pretty disgusting. Maybe I’d switch to a different hairstyle.

After stripping off my clothes, I sat down on the toilet and peed. Next, I removed the makeup from my face, then I jumped in the shower. Despite my groggy condition, it felt pretty good. I guessed it had to do with having no significant body hair to dull the sensations. And speaking of which, I shaved my legs and under my arms. Maybe time to get some waxing done.

Now feeling clean, and somewhat human, I took what seemed like an hour to get my hair manageable with the blow dryer. Cripes, to have to do that every morning — what a pain. I wondered if a pageboy or similar cut would look good on me. It could take fifteen minutes off my morning prep. The makeup only took about five minutes, and was well worth it.

I padded off to my bedroom to figure out what to wear. The selection of clothes that I now had was absolutely staggering. It took a few tries, but I got a decent look for my day off. Just as I zipped up my jeans (which seemed a tad snug, according to Lindsay’s memories), the phone rang. I searched around for a few seconds, finally locating the cordless under one of pillows on the bed. Looking at the call display, I saw Emily’s number. Obviously, Randolph had told my therapist about my new ‘residence’, so to speak.

“Hello, Emily. How nice of you to call.” My voice was tinged with just a shade of sarcasm.

“Hello to you, Lindsay. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A bit displaced, and missing my girlfriend, but other than that, just swell.”

“Yes, I imagine you would want to discuss that. Care to come in this morning and talk?” she asked.

“Sure, why not. When are you available?”

“Any time until 3:00. Just stop by whenever you can,” she said.

“I’ll be there within an hour. See you then.” I pushed the End button on the phone, and put it on the nightstand.

I decided to skip breakfast, as my stomach was doing flip-flops from all the nervous tension. I’d pick up a coffee from a nearby Fourbucks instead, while driving to Emily’s office.

I thought over what I wanted to ask Emily on the short drive over. I also wanted to get the take on homeless Lindsay and if she was a threat. Also, what about Miranda and Mike’s future? Would Miranda be okay?

Before I knew it, I was at the building where Emily had her office. There was plenty of underground parking, as it was a Saturday morning. I bypassed the elevator, and walked up the two flights of stairs to the second floor, where her office was. She was waiting for me at her secretary’s desk.

She walked over and before I could say anything or object, gave me a big hug. I stiffened up, probably more from surprise than anything, before returning it. She embraced me, occasionally stroking my hair, and murmuring comforting words. It hit a chord within me, and before I knew it, I was in tears. I suppose it was one of the reasons that she was my therapist — she always knew what to say or do to bring issues and emotions to the surface, even if her method might be considered unorthodox by her peers in the profession.

Finally, my tears subsided, and she released me. “Now then, dear. Please come into my office and we can talk.” I followed without protest. I removed my flats, and sat on the plush sofa, folding my legs underneath me without realizing it. Emily brought me a cup of tea, and then sat down on the chair opposite the sofa.

She looked me over, and said “I must say, you are quite a lovely young woman. How do you feel about your appearance now?”

“I’m simultaneously stunned, and yet totally unsurprised, by how I look. It’s like I have been living in this body for less than a day, and yet also twenty one years. Does that sound strange?”

“No,” she responded. “It is not the least bit surprising. You do have all of Lindsay’s memories, as dreadful as some of them are.”

“Yes, she has made quite a rep for herself. I have a lot of cleanup to do, so to speak.”

“Well, knowing you, Lindsay — a.k.a. Mike — you will do quite fine with that. You were always a people person, even if you didn’t realize it. But, it isn’t just yourself that you are concerned about, is it? There is also Miranda and ‘Mike’, along with some lesser concerns about the other Lindsay. Am I right?’

I nodded. “Yes, I do wonder about them all.”

“Well,” Emily replied, “we best get the expert on those subjects in here.” She looked up, and spoke into the air. “Randolph, can you stop by for a minute?”

Like a shimmering mirage, Randolph appeared on the other end of the sofa, already sitting comfortably. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal grey suit, along with a white dress shirt and a blue and grey tie.

He nodded at Emily, and then turned to smile at me. “I do apologize for the sudden disappearance last night. I had a matter which required my immediate attention.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure that anyone with your powers must have some heavy responsibilities.” I paused for a moment, then asked, “What, or who, are you, by the way? Are you an angel?”

He laughed lightly at this, and responded, “I’m flattered that you think so, dear, but my powers are far short of what they possess. No, I am a mere sorcerer, the male version of a witch. Or Wiccan, as some prefer to call themselves these days.”

He continued with a question. “Do you understand the why of what was done to you, Lindsay?”

“I believe so. I am the feminine side of Mike, and you two decided that it would be best if I was separated from Mike, so that he could be more masculine. I understand, although I don’t exactly approve of the method.” I gathered my thoughts for a second, then continued.

“Will Miranda and Mike be okay? I miss her like crazy, and am worried about her. Randolph, I know you said it would be okay, Randolph, but Mike is now essentially a different person. Will they end up splitting up? I know that would shatter Miranda.”

“She is tougher than you give her credit for, Lindsay,” replied Randolph. “There will be a period of adjustment, to be certain. However, I have no doubt that they will be happy together.” I nodded, more or less satisfied with the response. I still missed Miranda, but if she was going to remain happy, what more could I ask for?

“Now, as for your concerns about alternate Lindsay, whose name is now Patricia, let me allay your fears. While she has her original memories, and those of Patricia, she has no recollection of where she used to live. I also erased her memories of her former appearance, so that if she walked past you on the street, she would never know it was you.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Will she be okay?” I asked.

“Like I said before, yes. She has a support network, and a lot of friends. She knows why she is where she is, and she does have a lot of inner strength. More than she realized. She will do fine, and succeed in her new life. She will, for once in her life, truly feel good about herself and what she is accomplishing. So, she is gaining more than she is losing.
And, no, she is not your stereotypical street person. She is 23, her health is improving, and is actually quite attractive.”

There was a lengthy pause, with Randolph and Emily looking at each other in an odd way. The expression was… guilt? Emily nodded at him, as if to say ‘go ahead and tell her’. Randolph finally turned to me.

“I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you through all of this, Lindsay. I had to have a significant reason for doing what I did. It wasn’t good enough that Lindsay was a complete bitch, and that there happened to be a body available that I could shift her soul to. There was a more compelling reason involved. It had to do with her family.”

“I know,” I responded. “She was kind of a poster child for dysfunctional families. That’s okay, I can clean that mess up. I think.”

“No, my dear, it was more than that. Her other family. Her family… in the near future. I had to save that family.”

I thought a few moments about what he had said before it dawned upon me. “You mean to say that Lindsay… that I… am pregnant…?” I looked back and forth from Emily to Randolph for confirmation. They both nodded.

I felt very lightheaded for a moment, then fainted.

Chapter 4 in the series.

Note - may be an upsetting subject matter for some.

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I came to, and took a few moments to regain my senses. I was still in Emily’s office, lying on her sofa. It was considerably more comfortable than mine. Then again, it probably cost a lot more, too. Not to mention I couldn’t write mine off on my income tax.

“I see you are back in the land of the living, my dear.”

I propped myself up, and looked over to see Emily bringing me a steaming mug. “Here you go,” she said, “you look like you could use a good cup of coffee. Double-double, right?”

“Definitely. Thanks, Emily.” I took a sip — way better than what I normally drank. I put down the mug, and had scoped out the room. “So, where is my most favourite person in the whole wide world?”

“He had some other affairs to take care of.” She paused, and then continued, ”You took the news better than expected.”

“Oh? And what was expected? Crying? Screaming? Suicide?” I asked. “I scarcely had time for that, with my being busy fainting and all.”

“Still quick with your wit, I see”, she said with a smile.

“Yeah, well, maybe I will vent later,” I said. I gathered my thoughts, and then asked “So, what is your involvement in all of this, Emily? Obviously, you shared information with Randolph, without my consent. That wasn’t very kind of you, even if you were trying to look out for my best interests. But did you know about this pregnancy?”

“Oh, heavens, no! Had I known he was going to pull something like that, I would have told him to find someone else.”

“So, why did he do it?” I inquired. “It seems like a pretty drastic maneuver to pull, just to save an unborn baby. I’m not saying that a life is not important, but surely there must have been something else he could have done.”

“Well, he explained it more to me while you were out. He knows your soul — the one you have now, in this body — very intimately, as he facilitated the ‘transfer’, so to speak. He said that if he felt you couldn’t handle it, he would have aborted it before it was complete. You would have never been split, and other than a moment of dizziness, you would have been none the wiser for what was going on.”

“I’m surprised he could, or for that matter would, pull that trick off in a restaurant. I always thought things like that required an hour or two, plus a pentagram, or magic herbs, or chanting, or something else.”

“Don’t let his modesty fool you — Randolph is much more powerful than he lets on. I only know a small portion of what he is capable of, and it is impressive. I’ve only dabbled in magic — the occasional spell. I’m a natural empath, and I’ve used my powers, such as they are, to enhance that ability many times over. That is part of the reason why you are who you are now. I sensed a person very torn, and rather than offering only one choice, I figured that it might be better to offer you the chance at both solutions.” She hesitated for a moment, then added “I’m just sorry that the solution came with such a hefty price.”

I reached over, and grasped her hand. “It’s okay, Emily. I know you meant well for me. The pregnancy thing is an issue that I guess I will just have to deal with. I’ll carry the baby for the full nine months, and try to figure out what do in the meantime. I’m not sure I am prepared to be a parent, and there are lots of good people out there who are looking to adopt…” I stopped when I saw the indecipherable look on her face. “What? What!?”

“Nothing, Lindsay. It’s just that… well, don’t be very surprised if you decide to keep the baby. I know you are new to all of this, and you are probably more than a bit scared. However, it is incredibly difficult to give up an infant that you have been carrying inside you for nine months.”

I sighed. “Whatever. I will deal with that issue if and when it comes up.”

“Of course, dear. I don’t mean to put any more stress upon you. Whenever you want to talk, I’ll be happy to listen. And just to let you know, you take priority over all of my other patients.”

“Thank you. That is…” I stopped upon hearing some rather annoying music. It seemed to be emanating from my purse, which was on the floor, by my feet. I opened it, and dug out a cell phone. I opened it and looked at an unrecognizable number on the call display, before answering it.

“Hello?” I said.

”Hello, is this Ms. Mercelle?” said the voice on the other end.

“Yes it is. Who am I speaking with, please?

”It’s Barb Withers at the Ashton Clinic. I’m just phoning to confirm your appointment for Monday morning at 10:00 a.m.”

I took a moment to dig through Lindsay’s memories before I found out what this was about. I felt nauseous as I discovered not only what was going on, but Lindsay’s emotions in regards to it. I took a moment to recover, before continuing the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Barb. I should have phoned sooner. I’ll be canceling the procedure.”

“Perfectly okay”, Barb said. “It happens all the time. That’s why we give women a few days to think over what they are doing. It cannot be undone. I wish you best of luck.”

“Thanks, Barb. I appreciate that. Take care.” I closed the phone to end the call.

I was still in a state of shock as I reviewed those memories again. Emily sat down beside me and gently asked “Was that what I think it was?”

I felt my eyes fill with tears as I answered. “Yes, it is. That… that… bitch was going to abort the baby. Not only that, but she felt absolutely nothing about it. It was as if she was trying to get rid of a cold, or a hangnail. She didn’t think of it as a life growing in her. It was only a nuisance. And this wasn’t the first time she has done this — it was her third! Oh my God, Emily. What kind of person was she? What if I end up being just like her?”

And with that, I began to sob.

The story continues.

Comments are… well, you know the drill. : )

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After a few minutes, my crying subsided. I used a few tissues from the cleanex box that Emily had beside the couch, to wipe my tears and blow my nose.

“Don’t worry,” said Emily, as she hugged me once again. “You won’t end up like her. You have her body, and her memories, but you are NOT her.”

I felt reassured. I would never want to be like Lindsay. Every memory of hers that I had reviewed had some unpleasant undertone. She screwed people (figuratively and literally), all for her own gain. I couldn’t find one instance of her helping someone, unless she was going to benefit from it in some way. Pitiful. Oh, I really had my work cut out for me, trying to clean up her mess. No time like the present, I suppose.

I disentangled myself from my therapist’s arms, and got up. “Listen, thanks, Em. I do need to get going, though. I appreciate your help and support. Even if you were a bit… sneaky about some things. I know you had my best interests at heart.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’m sorry that you have this unexpected issue to deal with. Having been pregnant twice now, I can offer you support and advice on the subject. And should you decide to raise your baby, I can recommend some people to help you with that, too. I know you don’t think that is an option now, but don’t be surprised if you change your mind. Anyways, keep in touch. My door is always open to you.”

I grasped her hands with mine for a moment, and nodded. “Thanks, again.” And with that, I turned and headed back to the basement, and my car, and the rest of my (new) life.

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I walked back into my apartment and headed for the kitchen. After getting the kettle boiling, I made a cup of herbal tea, and made my way into the living room. I relaxed in front of the television for a while, mentally making up a plan of action. I was due back to work Sunday afternoon, and noted who would be working that night. There was Tracy, Lucy and Alisha. The former two were fairly confident women, so they shrugged off most of what Lindsay had said. Poor Alisha, though! She was a shy bookworm type, a bit overweight, and plain looking on a good day. Oh, the teasing that she had put up with was horrendous. I’m sure she had been in tears more than a few times because of what had been said to her. I felt myself blushing, embarrassed by it. I not only felt it necessary to apologize, but to make restitution to her in some way or another. Sigh.

Then there was ‘my’ family. My mother and father were pretty much fed up with what they had seen their daughter do and say. Lindsay was their only child, and spoiling her had not helped at all. They let her set her own rules, because they didn’t want to ‘oppress’ their little girl. And look at what their reward was for that. Anyways, time to begin setting things straight. I picked up the phone, and dialed their number. When I heard a gruff “Hello?” I had to smile. I felt a surge of love towards the man.

“Hello, daddy? How are you?…”

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Supper went well with ‘my’ parents. I told them how very sorry I was for being such an ungrateful little snot. When my father asked what brought this on, and did I think I was going to get the promised Mustang any sooner, I shook my head.

“No, daddy. I know you will stick to your guns on this. I would expect nothing less. And as for what brought this on, you might say I had a change of perspective. I’ve talked to a few people, Emily being one of them, and let’s just say that I’ve come to see the error of my ways. No doubt working at the Gem has helped, as you hoped it would.” I could see him smile at that. And really, it wasn’t really a fabrication. Had she not worked there, I would have not taken over her life, and this conversation would not be happening.

My mother, quite a striking woman in her mid forties, nodded. “I told you to have faith, dear. I knew it was a good idea to send Lindsay to mingle with the ‘common’ people.” I looked over at her, a bit aghast, but her grin told me she was joking. Phew!

She looked me over, and asked “Something looks different about you, dear. You look… much healthier than last time. Have you been tanning? Remember what I said about that — small doses only.”

“No, mother.” I replied. “Well, I might be getting a bit more sun, but mainly I am just eating more healthy foods and working out. Just like you told me to.”

"Well, it is good to hear that you are finally listening to your dear old mother. You know how us ancient ones are so wise."

I bowed to her, and struggling to keep from giggling, said, "Yes, revered grandmother. You are a river of knowledge in the desert of stupidity." She laughed at my irreverence.

I stayed for another hour or so after an excellent meal, catching up on the latest news about the clan, before leaving. I felt good about making progress in my relationship with them. I knew that they didn’t trust me 100%, but it was a very good start.

A stray thought crossed my mind on the drive home. “Wonder how they would feel about being grandparents?”

I shook my head, and wondered where that came from.

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My start of my shift at the Gem the next night was probably one that will go down in its recent history as one of the more memorable nights there. Frank, the manager, looked absolutely shocked to see me at work 15 minutes early, and already in my uniform. He was even more surprised when I asked if he would call a very brief staff meeting. “Five minutes at most, I promise. Please?” He nodded his assent, and went to gather up the staff in the dining room.

As each person came in, I quickly ran through the list of offenses Lindsay had visited upon them. It would be unlikely that any of them would offer immediate forgiveness, but I had to try. When the last person had filed in and sat down, Frank told them that I had called the meeting. He looked over to me, and said “Please proceed, Lindsay.”

I stood up, and looked at each person there. Their expressions ranged from indifference to hostility. “You are no doubt wondering why I asked to speak to you. You might be hoping that I am going to quit, and I wouldn’t blame you for that.” That got their attention. The Great Lindsay, engaging in self deprecating humour?

“Anyways, I am here to ask each and every one of you to forgive me for all the mean things that I have done and said. I doubt that I have been nice to any of you at any time, but that is about to change. I realize that words alone will not make things better. I intend to let my actions speak for me." I paused, and then added, “Thank you for listening to me.”

I sat down, feeling a bit embarrassed. Public speaking was not my forte. I looked around at my coworkers, and they all had the same expression — total amazement. They looked at each other, stunned. Then Lucy said, “I don’t know who you are, or what you have done with Lindsay. However, you are more than welcome to work here.”

I couldn’t help but smile as the staff laughed at her wisecrack. “Thank you for the welcome, Lucy. May I prove worthy of it.”

“Okay, folks — party’s over." announced Frank "Let’s get the Gem ready for another evening.”

We all got up, and got to work.

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I knew that ‘Lindsay’ wouldn’t have ever worked as hard as I did that night. It wasn’t that I was trying to go overboard — I was simply doing the job that she was supposed to be doing all along. The staff gave me surprised looks when I set up a table or two, or did some other task I was not asked to do. A few comments were muttered when they thought I was out of earshot. “Do you think she got laid?” and “Is she in love?” and “Was she hit over the head?” were just a few of the things said. I didn’t let it bother me — Lindsay had it coming, after all.

The customers were also surprised. Where Lindsay was rather uncaring and uncommunicative (except to good looking, rich guys, of course), I was friendly and helpful. A smile and a few kind words always go a long way, no matter what business you are in. It is especially true in the hospitality industry.

What made me feel really good was when Alisha briefly sat down with me during a break. She smiled and said “Thank you. I always knew there was a good person beneath all that meanness.” With that, she was gone.

My shift flew by amazingly fast. I had just seated the last group of customers for the night when I heard the door chime. I walked back to the front of the restaurant. I saw a rather handsome man who looked rather familiar. He was very handsome, and well built, and had amazing steel blue eyes. I set my brain into search mode.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Oriental Gem. How may…” I broke off when I recognized him.

He was the father of the child I was now carrying.

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From Part 5:

My shift flew by amazingly fast. I had just seated the last group of customers for the night when I heard the door chime. I walked back to the front of the restaurant. I saw a rather handsome man who looked rather familiar. He was very handsome, and well built, and had amazing steel blue eyes. I set my brain into search mode.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Oriental Gem. How may…” I broke off when I recognized him.

He was the father of the child I was now carrying.

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The hesitation in my greeting didn’t seem to faze him. Maybe he was used to women fawning over him, or tripping over their tongues while speaking to him. It was no wonder — he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. I went through the memories of Lindsay’s rendezvous with Argeon.

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She had met him at an S & M club in the east side of downtown. It was her first time in a place like that, and despite her usual bravado and arrogance, she was a bit intimidated. He was a regular member, and could immediately spot her shyness. He set about making her feel welcome, and comfortable. She could see through his routine, as she did similar things to people that had something she wanted.

It was an interesting exercise to play the ‘victim’. She figured that she could learn something from it, and in turn be that much more effective getting what she wanted from others. She knew that they would end up fucking, but wasn’t put off by the idea. In fact, after an hour in his presence, her panties were quite wet. She had even occasionally rubbed her legs together underneath the table, trying to trigger even a small orgasm to take the edge off. No luck, though. He could see her distress, and suggested retiring to one of the rooms in the back.

Lindsay readily agreed. Before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, giving him a blowjob, while rubbing her pussy through her silk panties. She normally didn’t give head, as she found guys were generally quite sneaky about trying to blow a load in her mouth. Something about his tone seemed to suggest she had no choice in the matter, and she was surprised to find that she enjoyed sucking his cock. What surprised her even more was that she didn’t think she would mind swallowing his cum, and soon enough, she did just that.

He quickly recovered, getting hard again in no time. He put on a condom, and soon had her on her back, with her legs up in the air. He pounded at her, roughly played with her nipples, and gave her an occasional slap on the ass. It was all very different, and erotic, and she was really getting into it . Soon enough, Argeon came, and Lindsay came with him. They laid in each others arms for a few moments, spent. After a few minutes, he said he had to get going. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and then left her alone in the room.

She was shocked by this, as guys were usually asking her when she was free again at this point, and getting all clingy, and shit like that. She felt hurt, but didn’t let it show. Instead, she sorted herself as best as she could in the small en suite washroom. She touched up her makeup, brushed out her hair, and left.
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I came back to the then and there, with Argeon still standing in front of me, looking somewhat impatient. “I do not have all night. The name is Verce. Please get my order for me.”

“Sorry, sir. Just a long night, is all. Anyways, are you here to pick up an order, sir?”

“Yes — that is just what I said. It’s under the name Verce”, he replied.

“I’ll go get that for you. Back in a moment.”

As I went to the pick up area of the kitchen, I could hear him mutter something about ‘wanna-be blondes’. I grabbed the last bag there and brought it to the front. I rang up the order, and processed the credit card transaction. He took his food, without so much as a ‘thank you’ or ‘good night’, and left. With attitude like that, I could see how he would fit in so well in the S & M world.

Frank came up a few minutes later and locked the front door. He said to do the close-up, as the remaining customers could be put on tomorrow’s cash sheet. I rang out the till, and was happy that there was only a two cent variance from the cash to receipts. I turned the register drawer to the manager, for him to lock in the safe. They used to drop the money at the night deposit slot at the bank, but a string of robberies in the neighbourhood convinced the owners to get a safe installed. I was glad of it, as I would hate to see one of the staff get hurt.

My thoughts were interrupted by a question. It was Lucy, taking a few moments breather from looking after her last table. “That was some interesting speech tonight, Lindsay. Did you mean it?”

“Yes, I did. I know I have been a miserable…” I looked around, to make sure no customers were within earshot, “bitch. It took a few wise people, and way too much time, for me to see the error of my ways.”

She put a comforting hand on my shoulder for a moment, and said “I’m glad that you have decided to make a change for the better. Alisha is really happy, but not surprised, like the rest of us were. It was like she was expecting it to happen all along. Is she one of your ‘wise people’?”

“No, but she is a decent sort, and is far more mature than I have ever been. I feel very, very bad for the way I have treated her. I hope she will forgive me, just like I hope everyone else I have pissed off will. I’ve cut a pretty wide swath of damage.”

“A wide __what__?” Lucy asked.

“Swath. You know… it’s a farm term? Or a tornado term, for that matter.”

“You even speak differently now. Are you sure you aren’t an alien?” she asked with a laugh.

“I’m sure. I’m just different now, and hopefully a better person.”

“Well, whatever. Welcome to the Gem. I think you and I could get to be friends.” She got an indecipherable look on her face, then came up and hugged me. It caught me off guard, but it was a nice, nonetheless. The embrace lasted a bit longer than I thought it should, and Lucy’s closeness was having a bit of an effect on me.

She stepped back, and said “I’ll see you Wednesday night. Now get out of here — you’ve done more work tonight than in the previous month. You must be very tired. Go home and get some sleep. And, yes, Frank said it was okay.”

I mock saluted, and said “Yes, ma’am!” I went to the back to grab my coat and purse, saying good night to the various staff along the way. For the most part, they were somewhat more cheerful towards me than usual. Like I thought, it was going to take awhile to convince them I was sincere.

Lucy wished me a safe journey home, and locked the door behind me. I got into my Chev, started it up, and put it into drive. That Mustang I was getting was definitely going to be a 5-speed, because automatics really do suck.

The drive home was quick, as I ran through the events of the day. I was happy to make peace with my colleagues. The disturbing part was, of course, Argeon’s complete obliviousness as to who I was. Granted, I wasn’t wearing leather and latex tonight, and my glasses were different. My makeup was significantly less vampish, but still… Oh well, whatever. I didn’t plan on telling him about the pregnancy — he came across like such a horse’s ass that I could only see it causing more problems than it was worth.

I parked my car in the usual spot, and walked up the stairs to the apartment, rather than taking the elevator. This body, make that __my__ body, was in not bad shape, but could do with a bit of toning up. Lindsay had received a nice pair of rollerblades for the previous Christmas, along with a helmet and appropriate armour. She didn’t use the latter, because it might make a mess of her tan. Figures. As for the blades, she got reasonably good on them, but put them in the storage room the day she got the Chev. I guess I would be digging them out of there.

I unlocked my apartment door and walked in, only to get the scare of my life.

“Please, Lindsay, do come in. You and I have matters of great import to discuss.” Mr. Cordiality, a.k.a. Argeon, was sitting on my couch, looking as if he owned the place. I immediately turned to escape, but both of the door locks engaged, seemingly on their own. The door knob wouldn’t even turn. I turned to face the invader, who was now only two feet away, and looking rather angry.

“Don’t tell me you are having another pseudo-blonde moment. I said, 'do come in'.” And with that, he grabbed me by the throat, and tossed me halfway across the room.

I was looking through some of my writing, and realized that there is no way that I am going to finish everything that I started. The Stocking is on the Other Leg particularily stands out, as I really don't have the life experience to do the theme justice.

I was wondering if there are other writers out there who are willing to create new chapters or sections for it, with the intent of teaching Tommy (the main character) further lessons in the difficulties that transexuals face. He had a relatively easy lesson in Chapter One - now let him see what it is like for a 50 year old just starting to transition, or the hell that transgender teen goes through in school. Help him understand that his neighbour is a person worthy of respect.

Basic premise: Tommy shifts into the life of TG / TS person. He has no control of that person's movement, and cannot read their thoughts. He can, however, feel their emotions and physical sensations (both good and bad). He's there for a relatively short duration, before moving on to his next host.

Any takers?

Thanks

O. Kaysonel

Transit – Avoiding the Inevitable

You can read my other two "Transit" stories if you like. It may (or may not) give you a better idea of what is going on with the main character.

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I had been waiting for this day for over a month now. The start of my holidays – two bliss filled weeks of most definitely not going to work. Don’t get me wrong - I like my job well enough. It’s pretty stress free, it pays decently, and when I punch the clock (figuratively speaking) at the end of the day, work is over. I’ll leave the homework for the higher ups in the organization. Let them deal with the decisions that apparently can’t wait until the morning or the following Monday.

As I stood there waiting for the bus, I nodded to a few of the regulars at the stop. There were also a couple different faces in the crowd, but that was to be expected in this area. There were a number of specialty stores nearby, so there were always a few shoppers with a bag or two of merchandise they had just purchased.

One person really stood out – she had a quirky but attractive face that was only enhanced by the glow caused by her pregnancy. And she was extremely pregnant. I am not sure how else to describe it, except to say that I was pretty surprised that she had even ventured out of doors, being that close to giving birth. She was talking to another woman, who obviously had some similar thoughts on the subject.

“Honestly, Jenny, I could have picked this up for you! Why should it matter who purchases the gift? Your niece would have never known the difference.”

“It matters to me, Kate,” answered Jenny. “It just adds something extra to it, ya’ know?”

“Yeah, I know,” relented her friend “But still, this close to your due date… I swear that you are trying to avoid the inevitable. You do realize you are pregnant, right? You can’t postpone giving birth by being busy shopping or working.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” and the rest of what she might have said was cut off by the bus coming to a stop in front of us.

Everyone there was decent enough to wait for Jenny and her friend to board the bus first. Jenny sat at a seat that was vacated by a gentleman who realized she needed it more than he did. She thanked him as she awkwardly lowered herself.

We were on the express leg of the ride for the next few minutes, so there shouldn’t have been any slowing down or stopping. Today, however, we were not so lucky. Not even thirty seconds in, and some fool driving a huge grey pickup truck pulled out from a gas station right in front of the bus. Our driver Dean was right on the ball – he hit the brakes to avoid a collision. Unfortunately, Jenny was just reaching over to get her niece’s present out of a bag when the bus decelerated. She was caught off guard and was thrown to the floor. She let out a cry of pain as she landed full on her stomach.

“Oh, no!” she cried, “Oh, no, not now.” She screamed out in pain, and then began to moan. I could see a puddle of fluid slowly spreading from between her legs and on to the rubber matted floor. Her water had broken!

Kate was already at her side, and asked what was going on. “I think the baby is coming,” she said between gasps. “That fall must have triggered it… I can feel the contractions starting.”

Kate yelled “Someone please call an ambulance!” which was answered by at least four people, each one saying their own version of “It’s already on its way.” Kate and Jenny both smiled at that.

“I don’t think I can do this, Kate,” Jenny said. “I am not ready to be a mom yet. Or, at least, I am not ready to give birth. Too much pain… hours of pain… days of pain…. I wish I could just skip this part… and go right to holding little Emily in my arms….”

‘Oh, no’ I thought ‘please don’t make her wish come true.’ But as I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, I knew that was not to be. Jenny was lucky, in a way, to be riding this bus when she did. She was going to miss the painful part of bringing her daughter into this world.

As for me… well, I was going to gain a whole new perspective on child birth. As I came to in Jenny’s very pregnant body, a contraction hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh my goddess, that hurt! I couldn’t help but scream. Tears poured down my face. I had a few minutes respite. I didn’t trust myself to say anything, and my thoughts were kind of scrambled by the newness of this, and the strange physical sensations.

Another contraction had just started when the ambulance arrived. The crew were calm and professional, and got me onto a stretcher with a minimum of discomfort. In less than a minute, I was in the back of the ambulance, and we were on the way to the hospital. They didn’t notice the unconscious person slumped up against the window two rows back. I was sure that someone would notify my girlfriend, once they discovered my real body on the bus.

‘What a way to start a vacation,” I thought, and then cried out as another contraction hit.

Just another day on the bus. :-)

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You could read my original short story "Transit" first, but it isn't necessary. This can be considered a "stand alone" tale. Hope you enjoy it.

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'Permanent day shift.' I thought. 'Finally!'

While I would miss Frank's curmudgeonly (yet comical) manner, his retirement meant my promotion, and the end of shift work hell. When our manager Clive confirmed I was now on days, I did a happy dance right there in his office. Okay, not the most professional behaviour, but most folks at work aren't surprised by it. I'm a bit over enthusiastic at times.

My train of thought was interrupted by the approach of the bus. As soon as it stopped, I stepped aboard and placed my ticket in the fare box. I nodded a greeting to Dean, the driver, who had made the day shift himself about a month ago. He smiled in return, but he looked a bit stressed. As I walked towards my usual seating area, I could see why.

There they were, in their usual seats at the back of the bus. I had nicknamed them the “Holy Terrors of the 4:15”. Two boys, maybe 13 or 14; looking and acting like they owned the bus. They generally alternated between trying to make themselves deaf with their MP3 players, and making obnoxious comments about anyone within their line of sight. At the moment, they were in insult mode, and made sure to let all within hearing range know what they thought of my work uniform. I tuned them out the best I could, and tried to get my temper settle down.

Dean had tried talking to the two of them on more than one occasion, but they knew that he couldn't do any more than that. As a result, they just laughed at him, and carried on with their annoying behaviour. They looked just 'gangsta' enough that they might be carrying weapons, so no one was overly eager to take them on.

At the next stop, an elderly couple boarded, and sat behind me. They seemed like really nice people, and were always quick to smile a greeting at other passengers. As expected, they didn't escape notice of the holy terrors.

“Hey, gramps!,” shouted one of them, “Ain't she a bit old for you?” His comrade laughed at that, and chimed in with “Ain't you two supposed to be in a home?” Another insult or two, and then they found another target.

I was just starting to get out of my seat to have words with them, but didn't get the chance. I heard one of the women in the seat in front of me whisper to her friend “Don't those kids respect anyone's authority? I wish someone would put them in their places.”

'Oh, damn,' I thought, as I felt the shifting of my form. 'Looks like that one is going to be granted. Oh, please, don't let this be an all day affair.'

I got up out of my seat, and headed to the back of the bus. I looked at one troublemaker, and then the other, and saw them both pale as they recognized who I was. The one on the left looked down, and I could hear him mutter “Oh, shit.”

“Yes, 'oh shit' is right,” I said. “I've heard what you and your friend have been up to. At first I didn't want to believe it, but pretty soon half the neighbourhood was talking about your antics, and I had to check it out.”

“I'm really sorry, mom,” said the dark haired youth. “And it's not like we were harming anyone. It's just...”

“Can it!!” I interrupted, my voice a harsh whisper. “You weren't harming anyone? How about the terror that you two have inflicted upon these innocent people? Is that not harm? And what about the potential danger you put yourselves in? What if someone had snapped, pulled out a gun or a knife, and did the two of you in? This bus is not going through the nicest of neighbourhoods. You two may look like members of a gang, but you most assuredly are not.”

They both looked very subdued as they processed what I had said. Both my 'son' and his friend were starting to realize the seriousness of what they had been doing.

“So,” I continued, “this is what we are going to do next. I am going to ask the driver to stop the bus. You two are going to go up there, and in very clear voices, apologize for your behaviour. No excuses, no mumbling. Say it sincerely, and mean it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” they replied in unison.

I went up and made my request, explaining the situation. Dean seemed glad to comply. I went back to my seat, and watched as the boys made their way up to the front. As they made their very sincere apologies, I felt myself shift back to my usual form.

The boys walked back to their usual seats, and were quiet for the rest of the ride.

I rang the bell about 15 minutes later, and walked to the front of the bus. “Have a good weekend, Dean,” I said, as I stepped off the bus and walked the rest of the way home.