I was still rather sleepy and fell asleep again. When I wakened sometime later and opened my eyes, it took me a few seconds to realise where I was, and felt down below. Sitting up in bed, it dawned on me that, instead of pyjamas, I was wearing a nightdress: it was very soft, cream coloured and seemed to be made of satin.

The Chosen
By

Susan Brown

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Chapter 2
 

Previously...

‘Wake up, John.’

It was as if it came from far away. I didn’t want to wake up, it was nice and warm in the bed and I was still very sleepy.

‘John, wake up now, please.’

I cracked an eye open and there was Jane, the nurse, looking down at me.

‘Is it time for the procedure?’ I asked.

She laughed. ‘No, silly, it’s all over. I said you wouldn’t feel any pain.’

I put my hand under the cover, trying to feel for my groin. I was wearing something silky and pulled the slippery fabric up slightly and then I was able to feel myself. It was true, the sac was empty!

‘You have now completed the first stage of your transformation, honey. You can have no idea as to how lucky you are to be one of The Chosen.’

And now the story continues…

I was still rather sleepy and fell asleep again. When I wakened sometime later and opened my eyes, it took me a few seconds to realise where I was, and felt down below. Sitting up in bed, it dawned on me that, instead of pyjamas, I was wearing a nightdress: it was very soft, cream coloured and seemed to be made of satin.

Putting my hand between my legs I felt my scrotum. It was true; I no longer had any testicles!

I lay back and thought of the implications: I could no longer father a child, not that I wanted to, but the option had been taken away from me. I was no longer a true fully functioning boy, although I had only had a few twitches and a slight hardening of my penis when I woke up in the mornings, promising things to come in the way of puberty and maturation that could never happen now.

Shortly, although I had no idea how soon, I would be a girl. ‘Would they take away my boy memories too?’ I wondered as I felt a few tears roll down my cheeks.

The sound of a soft bell came from the Vid on the wall and a face appeared.

‘Good Morning, John. I am Miss Trott your Unit Head. I hope that you are feeling well. In a few minutes, your Helper will come to see you. I suggest that you use the toilet and have a shower before she arrives. Put your nightdress in the laundry chute and after the shower, put on the robe provided. Your Helper will help you get dressed when she arrives.’

The vid went off without my saying anything and, with some reluctance, I got out of bed. It was strange feeling, walking across the carpeted room and into the bathroom. I was aware of the smooth fabric of the nightdress against my hairless skin and an emptiness between my legs.

I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I was concerned that I might feel some pain after my operation, but was relieved that–apart from my missing goolies–everything seemed more or less normal.

I entered the shower cubicle, which was identical to the one in my old room apart from the tiles being pink instead of blue. I keyed in my favourite cycle and soon felt the pulsing warm water and shower soap over my body followed a few minutes later by the rinse and dry cycles.

I stepped out of the shower cubicle, clean and dry, feeling considerably more awake than I had when I had entered. There was a cream silky robe on a stool and I put it on, tying with the loose tie belt attached.

Staring at the large mirror over the wash-basin, showed me that my hair could do with a brush. There were a number of items on the shelf in front of me–some of them alarmingly feminine–reminding me of my mother’s dressing table at home. Not wanting to think too much of that I just picked up the brush and tried to untangle my hair. Being slightly long, it had become a bit tangled and it took a few moments to brush it through and part it in the middle like I normally did. My hair was blond–almost white. Evidently, we had some Nordic blood in us on my mothers’ side and it came out in me as a thin face, blond hair and blue eyes. As a young child, I was always called pretty for some reason and I wondered if those words were now coming back to haunt me.

I returned to the bedroom and was just going to try the ’puter when the door chimed; glancing at the wall vid, I saw a girl standing outside my door.

‘Open.’ I called and the door slid open.

A pretty girl of about sixteen, I would say, came in. She was wearing school uniform comprising of a pink and blue check knee-length skirt, a white blouse with a collar, and neckerchief of the same check as the skirt. On the breast pocket of her blouse, she wore a broach in the style of a pink flower; it had five petals with a space for the sixth at the bottom. I wondered if it had been broken. She was wearing long white knee socks and black, low heeled shoes.

‘Hello,’ she smiled, ‘I’m Mariette, your Helper, and I believe you’re John?’

‘That’s right,’ I replied shyly to the tall girl.

‘Good. Now, first things first. I’m your Helper for the first few weeks while you settle in. I am in the final year of school and everyone in our year has to do this as part of our passing out training. We have all experienced the procedure that you’ve just been through, so can sympathise. I know when I first came to this side, I was absolutely terrified.’

‘S—s—s—so, you were a boy when you came here?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Gosh, you don’t look much like a boy now!’

She laughed. ‘I sincerely hope not! Anyway, before we do anything else, let’s get you dressed. Sorry about the uniform; we all have to wear it, but you do get used to it and in our free time we can wear prettier things.’

I kind of shuddered inwardly at the thought of–‘prettier things’.

She approached the cloakroom door and called out, ‘open closet’. The door slid open silently and I wondered why it hadn’t done that for me last night.

There was a plethora of different items of girls clothing inside, stored in some sort of order. On the left were skirts and blouses of the same colour as Mariette was wearing, together at the far end what appeared to be two checked dresses in the school colours. There were shelves with cardigans, jumpers, sweat shirts on them, and on the bottom shelf, shoes–several pairs with slightly different heel sizes. There were also some drawers with glass fronts with what appeared to be socks and underthings in them.

To the right were several dresses, skirts and other items, together with more drawers and shoes and boots on the bottom shelf.

‘On the left,’ Mariette explained, ‘are your school specific clothes and on the right, the things that you can wear out of school hours. You can go on line and order things too, as long as your account has enough credit.’

She looked at me and grinned. ‘I never have enough credit.’

I smiled back, rather nervously.

She pulled a blouse and skirt from the hangers and then opened some drawers, taking out a few items and then, bending down, she finally picked out a pair of low heeled shoes–similar to those she was wearing–and handed them to me.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ she said carrying out the clothes and putting them on the bed. ‘If you would like to get changed now.’

‘Do I have to? Can’t I still wear boy’s things until, until…’

She held my shoulders with a look of concern on her face. ‘I know it’s hard, honey; as I said I have been through all of this myself so I do know how you are feeling right now. You will get to know about things in your orientation and induction classes, but it was found out many years ago, that it is far better to start early on in your femininity rather than gradually, where you would inevitably get constant reminders of how you were once a boy.’

‘But I’m still a boy,’ I cried.

‘I know, honey, but things will be changing and you must try to be brave. Please try and accept that you don’t have a choice; we all wish we had one, but we haven’t. In some countries and cultures, transition is dealt with very badly. At least here they have compassion and try their hardest to make it as easy as possible. Look, they are just clothes, it won’t change you inside. They do not want you to not be John the person, they want you–we all want you to be John, or whatever femme name you choose to be the person inside, with all your memories and values intact. More than a few countries actually brain-wash the boys before changing them to girls quickly, without any support and return them back to their families for them to be just baby machines. They have no recollection of their past and there have been many suicides and incidents of unrest. All this you will be told about over the coming months as you transition. Now please, can you get dressed? If you are shy, I’ll go out for a few minutes and come back when you are ready. Look I can see that you are uncomfortable. I’ll go out. Just call out Mariette and the ’puter will find me, okay?’

I just nodded. She gave me a peck on the cheek and a quick hug and then left me alone.

I sat on the bed, still sniffing and trying to dry my eyes with the back of my hand.

‘If you need a tissue, John, there’s a box in your bedside table drawer,’ said the ’puter’s disembodied voice.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Helena.’

‘My old ’puter was Orac.’

She laughed, ‘After the old Blake Seven series on terrestrial TV?’

‘That’s right; my dad is an old TV nut and has all the series and others like Doctor Who?’

‘Well, I must look them up in the database, sometime.’

I opened the drawer in the bedside table, took out some tissues, wiped my eyes and blew my nose. Then I stared at the clothes and sighed, ‘I suppose that I had better get dressed.’

I first picked up the underpants, known–I believe–as panties. They were, according to the label, a cotton mix, whatever that was. They were different from my old underpants but I didn’t want to look too closely and after deciding which was the front and the back just pulled them on. They were surprisingly comfortable and seemed to fit quite well, even though the front looked rather strange with my penis and empty sac making them bulge slightly. Luckily–if that was the word for it–my manhood was rather on the small side so the bulge wasn’t too prominent.

Then I saw a thing with straps on it and two shallow cups. Picking it up, I noticed that the cups were padded. Growing up in the enclosed world of a boys’ boarding school was not a good way to learn about feminine things, but even I knew what it was from pictures and vids that I had seen–it was a bra. I didn’t need this surely; I hadn’t any breasts–yet.

‘Helena?’

‘Yes, John?’

‘Do you know if I have to wear a bra?’

‘Probably, all the girls do.’

‘But I’m not––’ I started, but didn’t finish.

‘Would you like me to call Mariette?’

Looking at the bra and the rest of the things on the bed, I just sighed and admitted defeat. I wondered if Tom and David were having similar problems.

‘Yes, please,’ I sighed.

A few moments later the door chimed again.

‘Open,’ I called and the door slid open silently.

‘Avez vous un problá¨me?’

Looking up there was Mariette standing in the doorway.

‘Oui, combien je me mets sur un soutien-gorge.’

‘Ah, the old bra puzzle, eh? Nice pronunciation by the way. Enough of the French though; I have a test at the end of the week and I’m living, breathing and dreaming French and I need a rest. Right, give it here and I will show you ze leetle treek,’ she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

She put it around my middle, back to front, hooked it together, turned it round until it was the correct way and then helped me pull it up and slip my arms through the shoulder straps.

‘Voila–oh hell, there I go again.’

‘Why do I need to wear it?’ I asked pulling at the straps because they seemed rather tight.

‘To get used to it quickly. Your breasts will start to grow quite rapidly as you get into the medication and you will need some support; this gets you used to it and the padded cups help give you a more feminine shape. You’d better finish dressing now.’

I picked up the blouse and put it on. It was a silky material and felt nice against my skin. Mariette helped me with the buttons which were on the wrong side and very awkward to do up. Then I pulled up the skirt and zipped it up with some difficulty up the back.

‘Next time, pull it up at the front, zip it and rotate the skirt until the zip’s at the back.’

‘I didn’t think of that.’ I said ruefully.

I was just about to sit down to put on the long socks–

‘Stop!’

‘What?’ I asked, jumping up suddenly.

‘Always smooth your skirt under your bum before sitting down: like this.’ She showed me by sitting on a chair, sweeping her skirt under her behind and then smoothing the front of her dress. I did my best to copy her, sitting on the bed. She was satisfied with my third attempt.

‘Well done, that’s it. Soon it will be second nature.’

I put on the long white socks and then the shoes which were slip-ons. The only thing left was the neckerchief.

‘Here, let me help.’ She put the neckerchief around my neck, under the collar, a bit like a tie and then tied a loose bow knot.

‘There we are, you look lovely–ooh I forgot one thing––’

She entered the closet and went to a drawer; opening it, she took out a small red box and brought it to me.

‘Open it,’ she said handing it to me and smiling.

I opened the box and inside on a small red velvet pad was a broach similar to the one that Mariette was wearing but with just two petals on it.

‘Here, let me,’ she said taking the box and removing the brooch.

She pinned the brooch on my breast pocket and then stood back.

‘My, you are pretty, even now. You will be absolutely gorgeous when you have finished transforming. Have a look in the mirror; no, wait–’

She rushed into the bathroom, returned with my hairbrush and a can of something and then started messing with my hair. After she changed it a few times and fluffed it up a bit, she made me close my eyes while she sprayed what I knew to be some sort of fixing spray on my crowning glory. I nearly sneezed as some off the foul smelling stuff went up my nose…

‘That’s better, now have a look at yourself.’

Looking in the mirror, I gasped. I could see my mum, not now of course, but when she was a schoolgirl. She had been very pretty then–still is, of course, but what scared me was that I could see little of me, John, there. The clothes seemed to fit me like they would a real girl and my face, now framed by a shortish–but very feminine–hairstyle, highlighted the fact that I had an image more in tune with a girl than a boy.

‘You like?’

‘Eh? Oh, I do look like a girl, don’t I?’ I replied distractedly.

‘Very much so; as I said, you will be a beautiful girl and very soon too. How do you feel about it?’

‘I—I don’t know. I was worried that I would look like a boy in girls’ clothes, but it’s frightening how much I look like my mum at my age, but I’m still a boy.’

‘Okay, shall we go and sit down, we have a little while to get you sorted out, then I’ll leave you to vid your parents or speak to friends and then I’ll come and fetch you for lunch. After that you have to go to induction class.’

There were two small settees in the room–just the same as the boys’ school. I sat on one and Mariette on the other. I remembered this time to smooth my skirt under me as I sat, earning a smile of approval from my Helper.

‘You’re getting the hang of it already, you’re a natural.’

I gazed at her and smiled sadly.

‘I would rather be a boy than a ‘natural’ girl.

‘I know, honey. It’s all new and it’s like throwing you in at the deep end. Let me give you a bit of a tip. My Helper told me this when I was new. I was the same as you–apprehensive, scared, not wanting to change. She sat me down–the same as you after putting on my uniform for the first time. I admit I was crying my eyes out, at least you haven’t done that–’

‘Yet,’ I replied, smiling sadly.

‘Yet,’ she repeated. ‘Anyway; she told me this: at first it’s all very strange and doesn’t feel real, so you have to think as if you are in a play and you have to dress up and act. Eventually, it isn’t an act anymore and everything will come naturally. It worked for me, though it was hard at first. Would you try that for me?’

I looked at her and could see she was in earnest about this. She was a nice girl and I could see that she was trying her hardest to help me. I just took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Good girl–you’ll soon get used to that too. Whenever you feel that this is not right, take a deep breath and say, it’s an act to yourself and it will help. I know that it won’t work every time and you have occasions when you don’t know whether you are coming or going, but it does help.’

We sat there in silence for a moment and then she glanced at me. ‘Are you feeling hungry?’

‘Mmm.’ I replied.

‘Of course, you haven’t had breakfast, what d’you fancy?’

‘Toast and orange juice?’

‘Did you hear that, Helena?’

‘Yes, Mariette. Did you want anything?’

‘I’ll have the same please.’

A few moments later, the galley hatch opened and we pulled out the tray. Sitting at the table by the picture window, I gazed at the view while munching at my toast. The view was of the Golden Gate Bridge at the moment, before the earthquake of 2015 brought it down. They had rebuilt it, of course, but it wasn’t quite the same. Then the Eiffel Tower at night replaced the previous image and Mariette groaned.

‘Did you put that up for my benefit, Helena?’

‘Moi? asked Helena.

‘Oui, toi. I know that I have to revise, but I don’t need reminding, thank you very much!’

I laughed at that, nearly spilling my glass of orange juice.

After we finished our breakfast, I looked again at the brooch that Mariette was wearing and comparing it to mine.

‘Mariette, why is your brooch different to mine?’

‘Well, you notice that you only have two petals and mine has five?’

‘Yes.’

‘It denotes how far you have come in the school. You have two because you are on the second stage. I have five because I am on the fifth stage.’

‘What do you mean by stage?

‘You should ask your form teacher about that as it’s something that will be covered on your induction this afternoon. I’m not being evasive, but they have a strict teaching regime here that has been tested over the years and they tell you all you need to know as and when you need to know it. One thing you can be sure of though, is that they have your best interests at heart. You don’t have to take my word for it because you will see for yourself. Okay? Now I have to do some more studying, will you be okay for a while?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well it’s a lot to take in, so I’ll leave you to yourself for a while. If you want to speak to your friends–Tom and David, isn’t it?–just ask Helena and she will connect you. You can go into each other’s rooms, of course, but if you do, the rule is that the doors must stay open. It’s the same for all two petals–that’s you, by the way. When you go to three, the rule is relaxed. You might want to contact your parents too. Just ask Helena and she will try to get through to them, but some of the connections are a bit funny at the moment to India, but you might get lucky.’

‘Can I use the ’puter?’ I asked.

‘After induction, when you will be given the pass keys. Anything else?’

‘No–yes, thanks for helping me.’

She stood up and I followed. She turned, then hugged and kissed me on the cheek.

‘You are welcome, honey. Don’t forget, I’m here for you. If you need me, day or night, just call out, okay?’

‘Okay.’

With another hug and a wave, she left the room.

I stood up and walked to the mirror next to the closet. It felt weird wearing these clothes: I could really sense the skirt as it brushed up against my bare legs and the bra was somewhat restricting, making me aware of its presence all the time. Whether I would get used to it, I didn’t know at the moment. Then there was the silk blouse, soft and smooth against my skin; that was another strange sensation that was pleasant but totally foreign to me. Looking at my reflection, I shook my head, still not believing what a change of clothes and hairstyle had done for me. Standing in the doorway of the closet, I glanced to the right where all the non-uniform clothes were located. I was about to look through them but changed my mind–too much, too soon. I turned around and the door of the closet closed itself. I sat on the ’puter chair and turned it around so I was facing the vid screen.

‘Helena, can you try to reach my parents?’

‘Of course…one moment–’

The screen went blank for at least a couple of minutes, leaving me wondering how my parents would react to seeing their son looking like their daughter–

The vid came to life again and there were my parents, they were in the sitting room of the Ambassador’s residence. They were nearly six hours ahead of me so it was afternoon there.

‘Hi, Mum, Dad.’

My mother looked at me, astonished. Dad looked dumb struck too. The new, 3D holo-images were so lifelike that it almost seemed as though they were in the room with me.

‘Well say something–even laugh if you want to.’

‘Darling,’ said Mum, ‘you look…look, lovely.’

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ piped up Dad, looking rather shocked, ‘you look so much like your Mum when she was young and pretty.’ I smiled as Mum swatted Dad around the head and then turned back to me.

‘It’s true, John, you look beautiful. How are you feeling? Strange and upset, I expect.’

‘Helena, can we have privacy?’

‘Of course, John.’

I waited a moment and then answered.

‘I…I feel strange. It’s like I should be uncomfortable with this but I’m beginning to accept it. You don’t think that they have done something else, like drug me or other things when I was operated on?’

‘No honey; it would never happen that way. I would know and I promise you, no drugs will be given without the full knowledge or consent of your Dada and me.’

I smiled, remembering how I used to call Dad, Dada and Mum–Mummy.

‘Are you in any pain from the operation?’ asked Mum.

‘No, it’s almost as if I never had any bal–er–testicles.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve had to have this happen, honey. I think you are very brave.’

‘John,’ said Dad, ‘you are going to have it hard for a while but I know that you’ll get through it. You have an old head on your young shoulders and your thinking that you’re accepting things, a bit anyway, shows that I have every confidence that you’ll be someone we can be proud of.’

I could feel my eyes beginning to water and I could see that they were in the same way. After a moment, I asked the question that had been at the back of my mind since the transmission started.

‘Mum, Dad, what would you have called me if I had been born a girl?’

They looked at each other and then Mum spoke up.

‘We always dreamed that we might be the first parents to have a daughter after such a long period when no girl child was born. That doesn’t mean that we loved you any less when you were born but we did have a name–Rebecca.’

It was a nice name–for a girl. ‘M…may I use that name? I know that they will ask me–soon.’

‘Of course.’

‘Y—you won’t forget J—John, will you?’

Both my parents looked upset and ready to cry and my heart nearly broke because I wasn’t with them. Then Mum looked straight at me.

‘Never, you will always be our child, no matter what you look like outside, you will always be our baby–John or Rebecca, it’s only a name.’

Dad nodded and then spoke.

‘That goes for me too. We are both so proud of you.’ He stopped for a moment and then continued. ‘We so much want to be with you–we’ve missed you a lot. Problems in India and China are, if anything getting worse. There are more riots on the streets and the government are being ruthless in putting down insurgents. Since the Indo-China War, the unified government has been extreme in the treatment of their people, especially those who object to the methods used in gender changing. The UN are trying their best, as are the U.S of A & C, but until free and fair elections are held, things are going to be tough out here. What I am saying is that we will not be home for the foreseeable future so I want you to contact your Auntie Connie in Brighton. She’ll look after your interests. You know what she’s like–a bit scatty, but her heart’s in the right place and she’ll look over you and protect you, whatever happens. She knows about all this and is expecting a call, when you have time, all right?’

‘Yes, Dada,’

He smiled, but I could see from his face that he was very worried.

‘Rebecca.’

Who? Oh yes.

‘Sorry, Mum.’

‘It will take some time getting used to it darling. Look we have to go now. Ring us tomorrow. If we aren’t available, leave us a vidi-message.’

‘All right–love you both.’

‘Love you too, honey–and, Rebecca, you are very pretty.’

‘So are you, Mummy.’

‘Oh, get away with you!’

‘Bye, Dada, love you.’

‘Love you too, sweetheart, bye.’

The link went down and I was just left with the school crest on the screen.

I lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. I was very worried for my Mum and Dad. I hated the idea of them being in a country that looked like it was ready to explode. It put my little problems in the shade a bit. I would try my best to be the girl I was now destined to be. It would be hard, but for my parents and my sanity, I would try my best.

‘Privacy off , Helena.’

‘Thank you, John.’

‘I would like to be known as Rebecca from now on, Helena.’

‘That’s a nice name, Rebecca. Shall I alter the records and inform everyone who needs to know?’

‘Yes please.’

‘It is done. Your friends Tom and David wish to visit you. Do you wish to see them?’

I thought for a moment, a shiver of fear coursing through my body. Would they laugh at the way I looked or, worse still, would I laugh at them? Then I remembered the promise I made to myself–to try to be proud to be a girl.

‘Yes please.’ I replied, sitting up.

I stood and checked how I looked in the long mirror by the closet. Staring at my face I whispered ‘Rebecca,’ to myself and smiled shyly. The door chimed and I watched the colour drain from my cheeks.

‘It’s your friends, Rebecca.’

‘Open.’

I smoothed my skirt down and faced the door while it slid open quietly.

I stared at them and they stared at me––

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To be continued…
 

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My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.