Elective Surgery

Fiction by Victoria K.


	I awoke slowly, which should have been my first clue 
something was wrong.  Normally, when my eyelids roll up, I'm 
ready for my day.  In addition to being groggy, I discovered I 
could only move at a sloth's pace, and that I felt tremendously 
weak.  Lifting my head was beyond my abilities.  Moving my feet 
an inch took immense effort.  In addition, I wasn't in our second 
floor bedroom, but an examining room on the ground floor of 
Miriam's clinic, covered by a starched sheet.
	I was scared as hell, imagining I'd had a stroke or 
something equally ghastly, despite just having turned twenty-
three.  I recalled all too clearly what sudden illness was like from 
my childhood.  I tried speech, and managed what sounded like a 
faint gargling noise.  Miriam, my live-in lover, loomed into my line 
of sight, wearing a tender, bright smile, and green scrubs.  A 
surgical mask hung around her graceful throat.
	"Relax, my love."  She bent and kissed my slack lips.  
"You're fine.  There's nothing wrong.  I took the liberty of giving 
you a shot a little while ago."  Since she was my physician as well 
as my mate, the injection itself wasn't amiss, but the effects were.
	She read my befuddlement, stroked my forehead.  
"Remember our talk last weekend?  Well, I decided to take you at 
your word."
	There wasn't anything wrong with my mental faculties.  I 
knew exactly what she was talking about.  The subject of sexual 
fantasies had come up.  I remembered the embarrassed, halting 
confession I'd never shared with anyone, ever.  I especially 
remembered her passionate response and the half-crazed 
lovemaking which ensued.  Once again we'd demonstrated how 
marvelously we meshed.  Even our fantasies complemented one 
another.
	"Murrgh?"  Which was supposed to mean, "Take me at my 
word?"
	I'd laughing accused Miriam of being a mind reader more 
than once during the year we'd known one another.  She again 
proved her capacity for insight by nodding.  "And, since part of 
your fantasy was being helpless to resist, I knocked you out and 
rolled you down here.  Starting to make sense now?"
	Too much so.  "Nrgh."  I.e., "No!"
	Her grin was filled with mischief.  "Sorry, love.  Too late."  
She showed me another syringe, moved it toward my arm.  
"Nightie-night.  See you real soon.  I love you."
	I didn't even feel the prick of the needle.  An 
uncomfortable reddish-black darkness rose up to enfold me.

	I didn't feel well.  My stomach was unsettled.  I was light 
headed and had a pounding headache.  My mouth tasted like it'd 
been swabbed out with alcohol.  Worse yet, my head, arms and 
legs were restrained.  It took a few thunderous heart beats to 
recall where I was and what I was doing there.  My shout was 
hoarse, but at least it worked properly.
	I heard a door open and close, was relieved when Miriam 
appeared.  "Turn me loose."  It was as much plea as command.
	"Not yet, hon.  We're through with stage one.  It's going 
even better than I imagined it would.  We've got to let you come 
out from under the anesthesia before you move.  Thirsty?"  A 
glass equipped with a straw appeared.  "Just a few little sips."
	"Stage one?" I wondered, suddenly aware of how tired I 
was.
	"Yeah.  Now get some rest.  I'll take you back upstairs.

	I was still totally immobilized, but it was reassuring to be 
back in her bed.  Our bed, that is.  I'd moved in four months 
before, after letting her talk me into quitting my job.  My freelance 
writing - something I'd been pining to do for years - was starting 
to generate some income and decrease the debt to Miriam I 
compulsively kept track of.
	I felt vastly better.  Enough so to be aware of how odd my 
body felt.  I was afraid to guess what that meant.  Hurriedly, 
before I had time to think, I called her name.
	"Right here, darling."  Her soft, purring voice came from an 
invisible spot to my right.  Hell, everything but a swath of ceiling 
was invisible.  "I've been watching you sleep.  I can't believe it."
	I recognized that tone of voice.  She was aroused.  I had a 
real good idea what that meant.  The damage was done.  I felt a 
peculiar hollowness within me, anticipation mingled with anxiety.  
My body tried to grow an erection.  There was an odd resistance 
down there.  I wet my lips.  They tasted like Miriam.  My voice 
was much more quiet than usual.  "I'm okay?"
	"Oh, honey, much more than okay."
	"Can I see now?"
	She approached me.  The look in her eyes - unmitigated 
desire - eased my anxiety, amplified my arousal.  "You've got to 
promise to keep your eyes closed."
	She waited until I agreed.  The thirty-odd seconds it took 
for her to release my restraints were the longest in my life.  I was 
still woozy and weak as she helped me to my feet.  My eyes 
reflexively opened to aid my wounded sense of balance, but her 
hand was covering them.  Smart lady, Miriam.
	She positioned me.  I was becoming aware of specifics, 
but when she dropped her hand, my blind, confused self-
exploration died.
	"Oh my God!" I whimpered.
	Two women stood side by side.  The brunette in the blue 
robe was Miriam.  The other woman, a striking raven haired 
seductress, wore a lacy black teddy and seamed hose.  Her large 
firm breasts lunged as she gasped a shocked breath.  Her ruby 
lips and long-lashed eyes were wide with trauma.  Her long red 
nails rose toward her lovely chest.  The woman was me!
	Miriam was saying something.  I struggled to listen.  " . . . 
took the liberty of dressing you and making you up.  I couldn't 
wait to see you whole.  Do you like it?  Is it what you expected?"
	My knees became rubber.  My head spun.  "What have 
you done to me?"
	"Nothing that can't be undone," she said hurriedly.  Her 
voice faded and echoed toward the end.

	I was sitting on the edge of the bed.  The first things I saw 
were the black stockings clinging to my legs.
	"You fainted," she said worriedly.  
	"How girlish," I groaned.
	"A joke!" she said with a smile of relief.  "You must feel 
better."
	"I'm not sure what I feel," I admitted, trying to organize 
scattered thoughts.  "Uh, you were saying something about  . . . 
uh . . . this not being permanent?"
	"God, love!  You don't think I'd maim you!"
	"No - but you've got to admit that I . . . that this looks pretty 
damned real."
	"Of course it does!  It *is* real, as far as it goes.  Breast 
implants and a couple of careful injections around your nipples.  
A little liposuction to slim your waist - and a tad of the tissue 
reinserted strategically around your hips.  You're exactly my size 
now, by the way.  Except for your feet, of course.  Other than the 
depilated body hair and plucked brows, I could have you back to 
your normal self in a day."
	I breathed a sigh of relief.  I raised a delicate crimson 
winged hand to hesitantly touch a lock of long black hair.  "How 
about this.  It's not a wig."
	"Nope.  I wove add-on hair into yours after I colored it."
	I swallowed mightily, let my gaze drop to my biggest worry.  
I could feel my male organ, but was nonetheless mightily 
reassured by the sight of a nearly invisible flesh colored panty 
girdle clasping my center in a tight grip.
	"I can't believe you really did this to me.  It was just a 
fantasy."
	Her smile was wolfish.  She untied her robe, let it fall open, 
and slithered into bed with me.  "Funny, but you don't sound 
mad."
	"I'm still in shock."
	"I know the perfect medicine for that.  Lay down and kiss 
me, you sexy bitch." 
	She rolled atop me.  Her breasts pushing against mine 
was the most wonderous thing I'd ever felt.  And we kissed with 
even more passion than usual.  When she broke the grinding 
embrace, I'd smeared her with lipstick. 
	She tasted it with a languid tongue, whispered, "I've 
always wanted to make love with another woman."  Her hand 
rubbed my girdle.  "Especially one equipped with one of these."
	What an evening!  Miriam was a madwoman.  She freed 
me of my girdle, made me admire my astonishingly slim waist and 
full hips before inhaling my swollen penis in a single dive.  I 
ecstatically made love to her fragrant pussy with my mouth until 
we both achieved stupendous orgasms.  I got no rest, though.
	"I've got to fuck those tits," she gasped, pivoting, freeing 
my - *my* - brand new 35C breasts from their flimsy confinement.  
My enlarged nipples were proud and tall, and I watched, 
enraptured, as she positioned the left one between her 
thoroughly lubricated lower lips and fed the tip of my breast 
inside her.  The sight and sensation were indescribable.  I toyed 
with her sensitive back door and clit, careful of my overly long, 
sharp fingertips.  She howled like a banshee and resumed her 
orgasm, riding my tit until she was wracked by an especially 
powerful throe and lurched off me.
	She collapsed, ending up with her head on my flat 
stomach.  Noting my reborn erection, she gently stroked and 
kissed it while I ran soothing fingers through her short brown hair.  
Our breath had barely returned to normal before her nursing on 
my member became more insistent.
	"Cum in my cunt, baby," she whined urgently.  "Fuck me 
with that pretty clit."
	That was fine with me.  I was still too weak to help much.  
She kept me supine, a position we both loved anyway because it 
allowed maximum penetration.  What was different was the way I 
felt.  Miriam massaged my tits.  That, and my hands returning the 
favor, were inescapable reminders of the dire difference from the 
norm.  It was easy to forget whose cock it was that was fucking 
whom.
	The old, dark fantasy had become reality.  I willingly lost 
myself in it.  My orgasm bloomed like a glorious flower and 
swallowed me.  I heard my cry of release begin.  It continued, 
pulse by throb, until I lost consciousness.

	I awoke early.  The sun was barely above the horizon, and 
the bedroom was nearly dark.  I was nude, the teddy and hose 
she'd dressed me in a tangled ball beside the bed.  Miriam's 
hand gently cupped my bare breast.  I stared at the vision, 
waiting to awake from the bizarre hallucination.  A growing need 
to urinate persuaded me that it was no wet dream.  I carefully 
disentangled myself from her naked body and slowly rose to my 
feet.  My breasts bobbed deliciously.  My piss hard cock almost 
evoked a nervous laugh.  It didn't belong with the rest of my body.
	I noted subtle changes that I'd been too stunned and 
drugged to absorb the day before.  My center of balance was 
higher, and the rhythmic sway of my breasts altered it further still.

The tug of the weights on my chest was impossible to ignore.  My 
long, tangled midnight hued hair tickled my shoulders and face.
	And the mirror!  Jesus!  I thought I was ready as I flipped 
the bathroom light on and carefully raised my eyes.  Instantly, I 
forgot what had been the urgent need to urinate.  Nothing could 
have prepared me for that first clear, undrugged look at what I'd 
become.
	My breasts were masterpieces, despite small aureolae.  
They loomed, large, soft, proud, and undeniable, compelling a 
complete reconstruction of my self identity.  Even if I strapped 
them flat under my normal male clothing, I'd always be conscious 
of their existence.  The sweeping concavity beneath them, and 
the graceful out swell of my hips were equally alien and 
remarkable.  My jeans and slacks wouldn't fit properly any more.
	My rampant penis recalled me to urgent business.  
Standing seemed, well, pretentious.  I felt myself blush as I sat 
and hid my organ between my legs.  For the first time, I noted 
what Miriam had done to my pubic hair.  It was trimmed into a tidy 
black triangle.  Trust her to be thorough with the hair tint.  My 
legs were sleek and hairless.  As, I discovered with a hollow thrill, 
was my entire body below my eyelashes.  Never hirsute, it was 
still a heady rush to have smooth underarms.  I laughed softly - a 
suitably androgynous sound - when I saw she'd painted my 
toenails as well as fingertips.  I wondered briefly, though; she 
herself rarely wore makeup at all, much less such bright nail 
enamel, yet she'd painted and dressed me like a temptress as I 
slept.
	My business finished, I once again stood before the mirror.  
With a guilty glance toward the closed bedroom door, I tucked my 
penis between my sleek thighs.  With that bit of evidence hidden, 
the illusion was complete.  A pretty, though somewhat square 
featured, well shaped woman posed in the glass.  Her hair was 
tangled from a night of passion.  A surge of desire rushed 
through me.  My shiver made my breasts shake.  Never in a 
million years would I have given Miriam permission to do this to 
me, but I couldn't deny my gratitude.
	Even mundane tasks like brushing my hair and teeth were 
breathtaking adventures.  The hair cascading past my shoulders 
was hypnotic.  I couldn't tear my eyes from the apparition in the 
mirror.  I might have stayed in there all day had I not heard a 
noise from the bedroom.
	I hurriedly opened the door.  Miriam's eyes were wide, as 
was her smile.  Her gaze was pure caress.  "Morning, darling.  
How do you feel?"
	"Hungry," I said, conscious that my voice sounded awfully 
male.  "Like I haven't eaten since day before yesterday."
	Her laugh was like wind chimes.  "Then we'd better get you 
fed.  No headache?  No tenderness or inflammation?"
	"No, Dr. Frankenstein.  Your creation feels perfectly well."  
I slid into bed beside her, tickled the underside of her breast with 
my nails.
	"Umm," she purred happily.  "I've created a monster."  She 
playfully slapped my hand and rolled away.  "But if we don't get 
you fed, you'll be too weak for me to, ah, examine you properly.
	I turned coy.  "And exactly what kind of examination do you 
have in mind?"  I was slightly embarrassed by my feyness.
	She went mock serious as she stood and donned her robe 
as she walked toward the closet.  "Complex medical procedures, 
miss.  No need to trouble you with gory details."  She pitched me 
a peach satin robe.
	Suddenly self-conscious, I hid myself in it and followed her 
to the kitchen.
	A light breakfast appeased my hunger.  The passage of 
time appeased my sense of living within an alien body.  Human 
beings are remarkably adaptable.  While I was unable, for even 
an instant, to forget my appearance, I was quickly adjusting to the 
way it felt.
	Miriam leaned back in her chair.  "Well, love . . ."  Her 
voice trailed away, her face clouded.
	"What," I interjected, worried.  "Is something wrong?"
	Her expression cleared.  "Not a thing.  I was just, ah, 
wondering what to call you."
	A name instantly leapt to mind.  I thrust it away, merely 
nodded like I was thinking.
	She eyed me skeptically.  "I saw that.  What?"
	I couldn't make myself look at her.  "Nothing.  Just mulling 
over the possibilities."
	"Horseshit.  Tell me.  No secrets, remember?"
	Our cardinal rule for relationship.  I couldn't lie.  "I, uh, just 
flashed on my sister."
	Her nod was somber, her gaze direct.  "Barbara."  A heavy 
pause.  Her tone was soothing, compassionate.  "You still feel 
like it was your fault?"
	"My head knows better, but sometimes, in my heart - yeah, 
I guess I do."
	"Well, then, Barbara it is, love.  She'll live again through 
you.  Sounds like good therapy to me.  Now," she clapped her 
hands, "what would you like to do today, Barbara?"
	I looked up at her teasing tone.  "Do?"
	"Yeah.  It's perfect weather for the beach.  I've got an extra 
bikini -"
	"No way!  Jesus, are you nuts?"
	"Yeah, but you knew that already.  Are you saying you're 
ashamed of your bodacious bod, hon?"  She leaned forward, 
grabbed my hands.  "You've got to go outside sooner or later."
	I tried to persuade myself that I didn't want to.  I tried to 
believe that I wanted this to be between she and I.  But the 
impulse to smile made my lips twitch.  "Too scary.  I, uh, I'm not 
ready for that yet.  I might have the body, but my mannerisms are 
all wrong.  Will you kind of show me things?"
	"As you wish, my monster.  How about this?  We spend 
the day getting you acclimated, then go out to dinner?"
	I nodded hesitantly.  "Okay - but I reserve the right to 
renegotiate.  If there's the slightest chance anybody will know -"
	"Chicken out, you mean.  Believe me, Barb, there's only 
*one* way any one will be able to tell you haven't been of the fair 
sex all your life."
	I blushed as red as my nails.  She cackled with delight and 
drug me back to the bedroom.  "Pick out some clothes, hon.  I'm 
first in the shower."

	My how time flies when you're having fun - and I was.  It 
took very little persuasion from Miriam to get me to agree to 
staying dressed as a woman full time over the next two weeks.  
Beneath my silk and lace, my penis was at least half hard around 
the clock, unless I'd just had one of my half dozen daily orgasms.  
I felt like I was living in a sexual daze, and silently prayed it'd 
never end.  
	My fiancee had become as horny as I was, and the more 
flawless my feminization, the hotter it made her.  She adored 
bending down and sucking the breasts she'd given me while we 
made impassioned love, and took an ever more dominant attitude 
in our relationship.  When she proposed marriage, I tearfully 
accepted.  We joked about who should give whom the 
engagement ring.  The one thing we avoided even thinking about, 
after those first uncomfortable days, was changing me back.  I 
told myself that this was only temporary, that soon the rush would 
be gone, and I'd go back under Miriam's skilled blade.  I set no 
time frame.
	She showered me with lacy, racy gifts and took me 
shopping twice each week.  Having been wrapped in and 
enraptured by my femininity, it became only slightly embarrassing 
to go out in public, and was less so each time.  Miriam had 
trained me well, and I became unshakably certain that I could 
pass all but the wisest scrutiny.  While out, I favored high necked 
blouses to obscure my mildly knobby male larynx, and had 
tutored myself thoroughly on the tricks of transgender cosmetic 
use.  I walked, talked, ate, and sat exactly as a confident, 
attractive woman would. 
	Miriam hinted that she had something special in mind for 
that Friday, the anniversary of our second amazing fantasy week.  
Over her lunch break, I taunted her by dragging my nipples over 
hers.
	"Please give me a hint, honey."
	"Barb, you little trollop," she laughed.
	I rubbed her groin.  "Cheap and easy.  Just the way you 
like them."
	Her eyes lost focus.  I'd learned to play her well.  Acting 
the tart for her never failed to push her lust button.  I kept
stroking 
her core with my long red nails while I coyly played with the top 
button of my blouse, opening it.  "Look what I put on while you 
were working.  It's the merry widow you say makes my tits look 
like offerings to the goddess."  When she tried to grind her lips 
against mine, I leaned further away.  "Give me a hint.  Pretty 
please?"
	She grabbed the hand working her clitoris through the 
white lab coat, twisted it around behind me, pushed my hand 
toward my shoulder blades.  I squealed and stood on tip toe.  Her 
mouth hovered so close to mine I could smell the candy of her 
breath.  "Dress nasty for me, my little slut.  Go all out.  We'll have

a candlelit dinner catered.  It'll be a night we'll never forget."
	She took my mouth then.  I willingly parted my lips for her 
tongue and glued my body to hers.  When she abruptly ended the 
embrace, leaving me breathless and weak-kneed, my teasing 
was done.  Something about her aggressiveness always had that 
effect on me.  Cooing docilely, I blotted my lipstick from her lovely 
face before she went back downstairs to perform the facelift on 
Mrs. Johnston.
	For the rest of the day, my head swam.  I spent hours 
getting ready for her, treating myself to a sensuous bubble bath 
after depilating my entire body - which was hardly necessary.  I'd 
grown ever more enchanted with the sweet paradox of my nude 
body and spent a great deal of time pampering it.  I'd always 
been a breast man, and having my own mammaries at hand was 
heavenly.  My nipples had become tremendously sensitive, 
encouraged by being pinched, rolled and sucked so often - both 
by Miriam and myself.  I'd happily discovered that my lips and 
teeth could reach them if I worked at it - which I did.  We often lay 
head to foot and masturbated to crashing orgasms for each other.  
My penis had become *our* penis, a resource to be shared, 
although I'd begun feeling that it was really more hers than mine.  
When I played with myself, which I did with a frequency bordering 
on addiction, it was usually by squeezing and sucking my breasts 
rather than rubbing my cock.
	I'd also begun developing what amounted to a secret 
fixation with my ass.  The first time that Miriam had flicked her 
finger across my anl bud while we made love, I'd instantly arched 
into her and screamed as I came.  It felt shameful to me to have 
had such an overwhelming erotic reaction in an area of my body 
I'd never let myself think of in sexual terms.  So, while I never 
verbally shared this new development with my fiancee, I took 
every available opportunity to allow her access to my nether 
regions while we fucked, and she sometimes took advantage of 
that accessibility.  I nearly swooned when she eased a finger 
inside me for the first time, and started consciously ensuring that 
my derriere was always clean and fresh for her welcome 
invasion.  That attention to cleanliness was really little more than 
an excuse to fondle my back door.  Pushing fingers into my 
bowels and fondling my prostate while making love to my tits was 
almost enough to make me cum without touching my swollen 
staff.
	That Friday, I kept myself on the erotic edge most of the 
afternoon.  I intended to obey Miriam's instructions to the letter.
If 
she wanted a harlot, I'd be more than happy to provide one for 
her.  Feeling bold and brazen, as I moisturized my body, I turned 
my back to the mirror and watched as I lubricated my asshole 
with a deeply probing finger.  I bit my lower lip, gasped quietly as 
I inserted a second beside the first.  From the rear, there was no 
indication of masculinity whatsoever.  My enhanced cheeks were 
high and tight.  My tits bounced succulently as I fucked my ass.  
Even without makeup, my face was an image of pure wanton 
femininity.
	Completely enraptured, I compelled myself to stop and 
swayed to the bedroom, relishing my loosened hips, and perused 
my closet for something to match my mood and my love's desires.  
It wasn't hard to find something suitably decadent.  The difficult 
part was choosing *which* revealing outfit to wear.  After due 
consideration, I settled upon a lacy lycra gartered bodybriefer 
which resembled a basque more than a girdle.  It's aquamarine 
and black made my gleaming, sleek skin nearly luminous.  The 
garment smoothed my curves, thrust my breasts upward and 
made for a truly spectacular cleavage without hiding a thing.  
Even the crotch was ideal.  With the snaps closed, my groin was 
flat, with just the suggestions of an enticing vulva.  With them 
open, my Miriam could make use of the penis she so adored.
	I smoothed the turquoise nylons over my long legs and 
straightened the seams before buckling my feet into open toed 
stiletto heeled pumps.  Just the sight of myself stiffened my 
nipples, and the best was yet to come.  I went to my vanity, tried 
to control my eagerness, and began work on my face.
	As I implied, I'd become adept, if I do say so myself, with 
cosmetics.  I could use my vast palette of colors to paint a living 
canvas for any occasion, from a refined day of public shopping, 
to a depraved night of private, raw sex at home.  The latter end of 
the spectrum was my goal that day, and I succeeded admirably.  
My dark lashes bowed seductively beneath the weight of their 
mascara, further defined by a generous application of liner.  The 
blue contact lenses and blended shades of eye shadow 
enhanced the nearly fluorescent hue of my lingerie.  I'd chosen a 
foundation, blusher and powder which softened my angular 
contours while highlighting my cheekbones.  I penciled in a 
slightly exaggerated outline for my mouth with a rich vermilion, 
creating a more pendulous lower lip and a more bowed upper, 
then filled the sketch with a searing, deep red, glossed to a 
mirror-like sheen.
	I studied the results with lusty appreciation.  I watched my 
heavy lips slowly shape the whispered verdict.  "Slut."  I savored 
the word as I pinched my nipples.  "Nasty, hot slut."
	Thoroughly immersed in my role, my movements became 
slow, lethargic, direct expressions of unfettered carnality.  I was 
totally relaxed, despite the relentless throbbing of my tightly 
compressed penis and warm, moist feeling ass.  I had plenty of 
time for a manicure and to finish working my raven locks into 
seductive waves framing my haunting face.
	I answered the intercom in an unforced, throaty purr 
without removing my rapt gaze from the mirror.
	"Are you about ready for me, Barb?" 
	"Oh, honey," I murmured, "am I ever."
	Her tone dropped.  "Are you ready for the fucking of your 
life?"
	I laughed sultrily.  "If you don't get up here real soon, I'm 
going to have to start without you.  I *need* it, Miriam.  I need it 
*bad.*"
	Her chuckle matched mine.  "Oh, you'll get it, love.  All you 
can handle, and then some."  I cradled the phone, shivering.  
Whatever she had planned was sure to be good.

	I was on my back, arms thrown wide, knees cradling my 
heaving tits.  Two pillows were under my hips.  Miriam leered up 
at me from between my widely spread thighs.  We both watched 
the lubed, cock shaped dildo slide into what she'd dubbed my 
pussy.
	I was past the screaming stage.  My slick lips were by then 
ovaled in moans of shattering joy.  My hips rose to meet my 
invader.
	Miriam coached me in raw whispers.  "That's it babe.  Take 
more.  Suck it in your pussy.  Fuck that big cock, Barb.  Fuck it 
good.  Does it make you hot, lover?  Does it make you feel 
good?"
	"Yes," I gasped.  "Oh, yes."
	"You like to fuck, don't you, honey?  You like the way a 
hard cock feels in your tight cunt.  You like being my whore, don't 
you?"  She thrust it even deeper within me.  I watched it vanish, 
inch by inch.
	"Ahh!  God!  Yes!"
	"Say it," she cooed.  "Tell me, baby."
	"I'm your whore, Miriam!  Oh, do it!  Fuck me, bitch!  I love 
it!"
	"There's another cock, baby.  Jack it off for me.  Make it 
shoot cum all over those nasty big tits and that slutty face while I 
fuck you."
	So it was that I first tasted my own fresh sperm, felt it 
massaged into my tits.  I had more later, withdrawn from her cunt 
by my tongue and smeared red lips.  And, later still, a full 
measure when she bent me double and made me shoot off 
straight into my gaping lips while she fucked me with another toy, 
a monstrous strap-on double headed prick.
	Unbelievable as it may sound, until that world-shaking 
night, I'd never doubted my vision of myself as a pure 
heterosexual.  I well understood the difference between 
transvestism and transexuality.  I'd considered myself a frustrated 
crossdresser blessed with a girlfriend who'd released and loved 
my fetish as much as I did.  But the unparalleled ecstasy of 
having my cherry ass fucked, of admitting - screaming! - that I 
positively adored being Miriam's slut, of crowing in lusty victory 
as I swallowed my own savory cum - those experiences 
dramatically altered my opinion of myself.
	Awaking that morning after, with a rawly burning sphincter 
and bite ravaged nipples, I told myself it was just another day.  I 
immediately swallowed some pain killers to block the searing 
physical agony, and the ensuing wooziness clouded the 
emotional trauma, as well.  I turned away from the questions 
threatening to overwhelm me, persuaded myself that nothing had 
changed.  I obscured my qualms with makeup, covered my 
residual maleness with tight g-string panties.
	Miriam found me in front of the computer, the screen 
displaying the results of my search on hormones for the 
transgendered.  Her hands massaged my shoulders as I read.  
Wordlessly, her hands slid down and cupped my heavy breasts.  
My lashes fluttered.  I quit reading, bent my head back, allowing 
the warmth to envelope me.  She bent down and met my hungry 
lips.
	Later that afternoon, while Miriam was downstairs 
checking on a tummy tuck, I discovered a prescription bottle 
parked on my vanity with my cosmetics.  It bore Barbara's full 
name with instructions to take two capsules three times a day.  I 
swallowed a low thrill with my first dose of hormones.  This, too, 
was only temporary.  The effects would diminish as soon as I quit 
the drug.
	A little later, I was on my hands and knees on the living 
room floor, my tight leather skirt pulled above my waist, with 
Miriam on her knees behind me, driving her massive cock into 
both of us while she used my swollen tits for handles.

	Two months flew past.  It was high summer.  I was drinking 
a little too much wine and eating a few too many tranquilizers.  I 
was Miriam's whore, and my controlled drug use kept me feeling 
appropriately slutty.  My fiancee made no objection as long as I 
didn't get too caried away.  I loved the blurry, sensuous heat 
which never left.  I loved the sexy clothes which were displacing 
the bland, never worn male garb from my closet and dresser 
drawers.  Being a sexy, slightly exhibitionistic woman had 
become natural.  I never questioned my lavish, trashy makeup 
and revealing clothes.  Nor did Miriam, for she guided and 
inspired me. 
	We kept one another thoroughly fucked.  We sometimes 
used the organ attatched to my groin for its original purpose, but 
as often as not preferred our dildoes.  While it still achieved 
impressive erections, it wasn't nearly as rock hard as before.  
Except when one of us was masturbating it, sucking it, or had it 
buried in one of Miriam's orifices, I kept it tucked away under tight 
lingerie.
	I hadn't been eating much, and the loss of weight, 
combined with frequent corsetry, was shaping me wonderfully.  
The hormones were helping, too.  I had to use the depiltory less 
and less frequently to keep myself perfectly smooth below my 
eyelashes.  My curves were softening slightly, and the texture of 
my flesh was improving.  I still usually used the hair weaves, 
despite my longer natural locks, but had started relying upon a 
salon for weekly touchups to my tint, relishing facials and 
manicures while I was there.
	I seldom wore brassieres, preferring to feel the leap of my 
ever more sensitive - and slightly larger - tits.  I can't deny 
enjoying the inevitable male attention my nipples attracted as 
well.  I was an undeniable stone fox, with Miriam's full approval 
and support.
	The joke about who should wear the engagement ring was 
settled.  I did.  I'd broken into joyous tears when she'd dropped to 
one knee and slipped it on my finger.  My gorgeous fiancee was 
seldom seen in dresses any more.  She'd begun favoring slacks 
and jeans and a more severe hair style.  We knew that people 
were beginning to think she was a dyke, but ignored the gossip, 
as we ignored so many things.  At home, she often stuck a 
completely realistic phallus, complete with testicles, into her 
slacks.  It had a nice little knob which fit her cunt and held it in 
place.  I loved rubbing against her, feeling the perpetual hard-on 
she had for me.  She let me talk her into wearing it sometimes 
when we went out.

	We'd shared an especially decadent Saturday afternoon in 
celebration of our three month anniversary, and when she told 
me to dress for a night out, the wicked wantonness I'd just 
displayed in bed overflowed.  I still felt nasty.  My red cocktail 
gown fit like skin, its sequins glowed like fire.  The towering heels 
thrust my much used ass out in invitation.  My lips pouted, 
begged to be kissed.  My meticulously drawn eyes invited more 
sex.
	Miriam, equally dressed for a change, took advantage of 
my slatternliness on the drive to the club she'd chosen, making 
me smear my lipstick all over her juicy slit while I jacked myself 
off into a cupped palm.  It was an awkward position, but my 
casual aerobics had limbered me quite a bit.  After she'd also 
cum, she lapped some of my sperm from my hand, then had me 
lick the rest.
	As we refreshed our faces in the parking lot, she explained 
the rules for the night.  "It's a dance club, and we'll dance with 
whomever I decide we should."
	I froze.  "With men?"
	Her laugh was clipped.  "It's not a lesbian bar, Barb."
	"You're not going to . . ."  I swallowed the words I couldn't 
utter.
	"What?  Fuck another man?  Let somebody fuck *you*?"
	I nodded, my ears ringing.
	"No way, baby.  You may be a slut, but you're *my* slut.  
I'm the only one who stuffs your cunt - and don't you forget it."
	I slid closer to her, lay my head on her shoulder and 
breathed a deep sigh of relief.  "Thanks."
	She weighed my left breast.  "But I *do* want you to flirt 
like the shameless bitch you are.  Make them hard, honey.  Drive 
them fucking wild."
	I returned the caress.  "Will that make you hot, Miriam?  
Will it make your pussy wet to see somebody dry humping me 
during a slow dance, or have me mash my tits into a guy's arm?"
	"I'm dripping just thinking about it.  How are you going to 
feel seeing men trying to seduce me?"
	"It makes my clit tingle," I purred.
	"Well, tramp, let's go have some fun."

	We did.  Almost a lot more fun than we'd planned.  I was 
kissed for the first time by another male.  And a second, third, etc. 
time, as well.  Losing my mouth's virginity was horrible, but I 
rapidly got used to having scratchy faces rubbing mine, thrusting 
rough tongues into my mouth, while hard arms squeezed my ass 
and slab-like bellies crushed my tits.  They lit my first cigarettes.

I rested my hand on their knees.
	All this at Miriam insistence.  But there were things I didn't 
confess that I prayed she didn't know about - and wished *I* 
didn't.  Like when one of my dance partners grabbed my hand 
and wrapped it around the cock he'd been grinding into my pubis.  
His tongue fucked my wet red lips.  I let my hand stay where he'd 
placed it.  And the guy blew his rocks in his slacks.  I felt his 
spurts against my palm, my hip.
	She had her fun, too.  I could plainly see that my sleazy 
actions weren't the only things exciting her.  The dicks she awoke 
had their natural effects.  It'd been a long while since she'd been 
pounded by anything hot and stiff.  Her lust was clearly visible in 
her hugely swollen nipples.  
	I released the immense pressure that'd been building 
within her during a freshen up session in the ladies' room.  She 
sat on a toilet while I sucked her to a massive orgasm.  Then, for 
the first time in a week, she stood me before her, with my heels 
planted wide, and returned the favor, deepthroating my drooping 
organ with fine frenzy.  In the ensuing kiss, she fed some cum 
back to me.
	The trouble came when we decided it was time to go.  We 
literally had to enlist the aid of the bouncer to persuade our most 
recent partners that we really *did* want to go home alone.
	Our remarkable evening out culminated in a frenzied 
mutual fuck that left us both raw and exhausted.  However, my 
dreams were haunted by the feeling of that stiff dick dumping its 
load in a stranger's slacks.  I'd done that to him.  While awake, I 
could ignore the impact.  Asleep, however, the truth will out.

	Two days later, I drove to the salon for my weekly 
appointment.  As always, I went sans the add-in hair weaves.  By 
then, they were really only needed for a little fullness and added 
length.  My natural locks brushed my shoudlers with soft ebony 
curls.  Miriam had decided I should go for an even deeper tint, an 
obviously artificial blue-black.  Since Saturday, I'd been feeling 
the constant urge for a raunchier look, and I put up no argument.  
The hue suited me just fine, but was going to require some 
additions to my array of cosmetics.  I need lipstick and eye 
shadow to match my curved deep vermillion nails.  I was traipsing 
through the mall when it happened.
	I'd become adjusted to the continual caress of male eyes 
when I was out.  It was a thrilling awareness, and with Saturday's 
wild physical memory of *exactly* the effect I had on males, I 
found myself unconsciously strutting even more provocatively 
than normal, despite a silent shame.  So, the blonde man's 
double take as he stared at me was both complimentary and 
discomforting.  I peripherally noted that he changed course and 
followed me.  I was highly aware of his eyes on my swaying ass.
	I'd been hit on a few times, and thought I knew what was 
coming next.  I was mildly surprised, because I'd instantly pegged 
the guy as gay.  His pace increased, and he drew alongside, 
wearing a weird smile that should have been a clue.  I had a 
frosty smile ready, and a polite rebuff.  But his words destroyed 
my slightly arrogant balance.
	His voice was conspiratorial, polite, sincere, and soft.  
"Excuse me, but I couldn't help noticing that you're a dresser.  I'm 
a TV myself, and I was wondering if you could give me some tips.  
I've never seen a girl as beautiful as you and -"
	My panic was instantaneous and absolute.  I fled from him 
as if from a violent rapist, clattering away in stark terror and 
creating a scene.

	"There, there, it's okay, love.  No harm done."
	"No harm!" I shrieked hysterically.  "He saw!  He knew!"
	I'd interrupted her during office hours, miraculously 
between clients.  She'd been holding me for over two hours as I 
alternately shivered and sobbed.  She was trying to be patient 
with me, but the strain was showing.  "Darling, it's only the 
hormones.  I warned you about overdosing the way you've been 
doing.  We'll -"
	"It's not the fucking hormones," I screamed.  "It's me, 
goddamn it!  I'm a fucking pervert!  He saw me!  He saw *me*!"
	She slapped me, not hard, but it stunned me to silence.  
Her face had gone cold, and her voice was quite calm.  "Shut up.  
Listen to me.  It'll never happen again.  You have my word.  Do 
you hear me?"
	I nodded, slowly.
	"Now take a few slow breaths.  That's it."
	I quit shaking.  She held me at arms length, peered into my 
eyes.  "You okay now?"
	Again I nodded, sniffed.
	She stood, kept her hands on my shoulders.  "I'll be back 
in a few minutes.  You stay right here.  Want a drink?"
	"Okay."  I smiled weakly at her back.  Stiffly, I reached for 
the bedside tissue, then lay back.  I was afraid to relax, afraid the 
terror would come back.  "'Excuse me, I couldn't help noticing . . 
.'"  I dug my nails into my palms.  "I'm not like him," whispered.  
"I'm not."
	I was laying rigidly on the mattress, losing my battle 
against horror, when Miriam returned.  I flung my head onto her 
lap the instant she sat.  "I can't stand it, Miriam.  I can't."
	She petted my hair.  "I know, love.  I know.  Trust me.  Let 
me take care of it."
	I felt a needle prick my shoulder.  I jerked, then lay still.  
My love was purring soft words in my ear, stroking my inky hair.  
Her voice warmed me before the drug did.

	This time I knew exactly where I was and why.  I just didn't 
know what.  I was again totally restrained.  I lay there for hours as 
my senses alternately focused and faded.  I made no outcry.  I 
knew part of what I was feeling and thinking was real, and part of 
it was dream or hallucination.  I had no frame of reference to 
distinguish between poles, nor any desire to do so.
	I could see nothing but an arc of the half lit ceiling, which 
told me only that it was night.  No upthrust of bosom.  No sweep 
of hair.  No clue.  What had she done to me?  Which way had I 
gone?
	For, like a morning flower, it'd dawned on me as I'd 
awakened that the eerie vow she'd taken, and my acceptance, 
could have been read in either of two ways.  If I was male, there'd 
never again be That Problem.  The same would hold true if I was 
entirely female.
	I could have moved.  I could have wiggled my fingers, my 
toes, flexed my chest muscles.  Reason could have prevailed.  
Instead, I stayed so still that I went numb.  Pain sensors were 
throbbing softly from somewhere within me, but I didn't want to 
know where.  It didn't matter. 
	The sheet and thin blanket were warm weights.  I could be 
aware of each wrinkle and fold, if I cared to.  My breaths seemed 
far between, as if I no longer needed oxygen.  My mind felt 
crystal clear, and just that fragile.  I felt a tingling swell ripple 
throughout me, so overwhelming that left me agape.  The wave 
returned, or resonated at a higher pitch, and it was like my soul 
had just orgasmed.
	I was thrust gently free of my body, like a soap bubble from 
a wire frame, and wobbled radiantly away.  I was both calm and 
consumed by awe.  There was no space for fear.  I was free.
	There was no space for lies, either.  It *did* matter.  But, 
even before I encompassed my body in my sight, I knew.  It was 
no shock to perceive the graceful swells and delightful hollows of 
the woman on the narrow bed.  I cried with joy at her voluptuous 
beauty, her sleeping perfection.  When the healing was done, her 
long neck would be swan-like and sleek.  Her lips and nipples, 
now slightly swollen by injections, would smooth into their altered 
shapes.  Her new chin would be delicate and dimpled, her new 
cheekbones high and poud.  Beneath the clean bandages at the 
base of her sternum, where a pair of ribs had been, would be the 
tiniest waist imaginable.  She would be devastatingly gorgeous, 
indisputably female - despite the lovely little penis/clit still
nestled 
between her sleek, hairless thighs.
	That, now, was the only remaining memory of who she'd 
once been.  No idle passer-by could ever again mistake her for a 
male.  Only a lover could know of her special secret.  These 
changes were *not* temporary, and my bliss escalated past 
endurable proportions.  I didn't exactly hear my cry, but knew that 
sound was what compelled me back into my body.
	Miriam came running in, rubbing sleep from her eyes.  The 
flare of the overhead flourescents were blinding.  "Darling!  Are 
you -"
	"Oh yes!" I whispered rawly, aware of how sore my throat 
was, and of the dull throb that accompanied each breath I drew.  
"I'm fine, love!  Thank you!"  Even though hoarse, I heard how my 
voice had changed.
	Relief flooded through her.  "I was afraid I'd gone too far, 
that you'd hate me."  Her vision clouded.  "When I explain 
everything, you still might."
	"There's no need to explain!  I understand.  I know."
	"But -"
	"Please, just take me back upstairs.  Put me in our bed 
and lay beside me."

	I slowly spun in a circle before Miriam's rapt gaze.  "Well?"  
It was still a thrill, hearing my own throaty contralto.
	She shook her head in wonder.  "Are you sure you want to 
go out dressed that way?"
	"I've got to be at my best for you tonight, and I've already 
missed two appointments, love.  My roots are showing.  It makes 
me look so cheap."
	She laughed with me.  "Barb, you're a living ad for cheap."
	"Well I certainly hope so.  What's the point in being 38-20-
35 if you're not going to display it properly?"  I peered down my 
expansive cleavage.  "*Barbie* is more like it."
	"And I suppose you're looking for your Ken?"
	I swayed seductively to her.  She watched my hand move 
to her groin.  Her eyes half closed as I massaged the bulge there.  
"You're all the Ken I need."
	"For now," she purred brushing my permanently pouting 
lips with hers.  "Until tonight."
	My breath was coming quickly, pressing my long nipples 
even tighter into the tight bodice of the green dress.  The tops of 
my large aureolae were pretty crescents.   Her hips were rocking 
under my crimson clawed hand.  I sank to my knees, downed her 
zipper, freed my end of her luscious latex prick.  "Forever, until 
you tell me otherwise.  I'm yours, Miriam.  Body and soul."
	"Until tonight," she repeated.  She stared down at me, 
watching my lipstick smear the full length of her cock as I nuzzled 
her balls.  "A whore's useless unless she's shared, Barbie."