Jaye Michael

PART THREE: REVOLUTION

Chapter Twenty Two: Chaffering

It is not enough to succeed.
Others must fail.
– Gore Vidal

OCTOBER 22, 8:00 A.M., ST. IVES HOTEL, ROOM 1728, FROM THE RESEARCH LOGS OF DR. MAXIMILIAN STERNLICHT

At the risk of shocking the more puritanical, I offer my feelings and observations unabridged. – M. Sternlicht

Responding to the wake up call from the front desk, I got out of bed and quietly padded over to the bathroom. I barely glanced into the mirror above the vanity as I headed directly for the shower. The need to clean off the residue of the last three-and-a-half days of illness was my first and overriding concern. About half way through the shower, my desire for cleanliness was finally assuaged sufficiently to permit bodily examination.

I was clearly female and, while not an exceptional judge of female anatomy, at first glance it appeared that my calculations had been correct. A significant portion of body hair washed off as I showered, I was thinner, having lost an estimated forty seven pounds. There was clearly more body fat distributed over my body. My memories seemed clearly my own, there were no unusual perceptual or sensory differences, although it was nice not to require spectacles, and I was able to note with some relief that cognition was unimpaired.

I palpated the breasts, solely in order to assure myself that they were tumor free. It seemed somehow risqué to perform this rather mundane procedure on myself and it was noteworthy that the aureoles became quite unyielding. Further manipulation confirmed that they were surprisingly sensitive and capable of inducing highly pleasurable and salacious thoughts. I noticed that the interior walls of my new uterus seemed warmer and as it was my intent to explore and clean that portion of my anatomy also I reached down to gently brush...

Editor’s Note: This page is missing from Dr. Sternlicht’s research log. The reader is welcome to speculate as to the missing events.

...the mirror clear of steam so I could further examine this engaging new body. It felt unusual but not uncomfortable to feel my unfettered breasts bobbing about as I cleared the steam away.

Finally having an unimpaired view, I completed my visual examination, which confirmed another expectation resulting from my research. To my untutored eye, I appeared to be between twenty and twenty-five years of age rather than my chronological age of fifty nine, presumably due to the absence of wrinkles, striations or sagging. I wondered what the impact of this trans-formation would be on my life expectancy.

As I brushed my teeth and applied deodorant, I was able to confirm that my senses were relatively unchanged. There might have been a slight increase in sensitivity but I could not confirm it from those mundane events.

Getting the tape measure I had brought from home, I returned to the bathroom to measure the changes in my anatomy. As the table below confirms variation was minimal.

In the bedroom, I called room service for an omelet; blueberry blintzes, coffee and orange juice and began dressing. The nylon undergarments felt smoother than the cotton I had been using until now, although the feeling of constriction from the sports bra felt a bit unusual, especially without a similar feeling around the rest of my chest and waist. The socks were socks and the turtleneck sweater top was no surprise. The pants were cut differently then I was used to with a higher waist and the shoes pinched at the toes but were bearable.

I added the daintier woman’s watch and bracelet and walked to the full-length mirror on the closet door to examine myself. I was quite satisfied with the transformation. It would have been difficult–no, impossible–for my own mother, were she still alive, to have recognized me. The height was unchanged and there were some vague similarities in the bone structure of the face, but that was it.
My introspection was interrupted by a knock at the front door to the suite. I cleared my voice and called out, “Leave it just outside the door like you were told.” My voice sounded higher, a bit more shrill than I liked. Despite my best efforts, it lacked the authority of my old voice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

From the Queen Anne dresser I freed the ash blonde wig from its head form and carefully slid it over my own head, taking time to tuck my black hairs under and out of view.

I planned on just a quick check to insure I had not missed any errant strands but the reflection in the mirror stopped me. That hair, that wavy ash blonde hair flowing down to just below my shoulders and framing my face; it was amazing. The transformation was complete. I had said it before, but now it was driven home in the most personal manner. Now I could truly say that even my mother could not recognize me. I was safe from Captain Schultz and his do gooders. I wondered if makeup or training in more graceful mannerisms would even be necessary. With a final cursory review in the mirror, I went to the door to get breakfast.

OCTOBER 22, 9:10 A.M., AN ISOLATED FARM, LOCATION DELETED CONSISTENT WITH PROVISIONS OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY ACT

“Stand with your feet about a foot apart, knees slightly bent and hold it with both hands. Keep your arms straight and gently squeeze the trigger.”

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

“Not bad for a first try, four out of eight on the target and one inside the rings. Your turn, Lyle.” Sergeant Challer carefully took the gun from Eunice’s hands and reloaded before handing him the gun.

OCTOBER 22, 9:20 A.M., R. J. MACY DEPARTMENT STORE, HERALD SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK, FROM THE RESEARCH LOGS OF DR. MAXIMILIAN STERNLICHT

The pantsuit draped itself in a novel manner over my body fitting tighter than the suits to which I was accustomed and the longer hair tickled annoyingly as I approached the makeup counter and took a seat.

“Good morning. I’m Taffy. May I help you?”

She appeared younger than many of my students; with a light green off the shoulder top made of some shiny material and a darker green skirt that was so short it would have been more decorous as shorts. I think I scowled as I examined the bright streaks of color covering her face, especially near the eyes. I know I almost walked away at that point.

“I’d like a makeover; something conservative and tasteful that I can apply easily and use during the day.”

“Certainly, Ma’am. Let’s see, with your hair color and skin tone light, warm colors would really highlight your face. How about peach or coral?” Taffy smiled brightly.

“Fine. Whatever. Just show me exactly how you apply each item.”

The cosmetician, nonplussed, turned away for a moment. “Er...a, yes ma’am.”

OCTOBER 22, 2:30 P.M., ST. IVES HOTEL, ROOM 1728, FROM THE RESEARCH LOGS OF DR. MAXIMILIAN STERNLICHT

Two hours of practice and I am now reasonably proficient in the application of makeup. I’ve scheduled my appointment with the drug company for a week from today. That will permit time to better acclimate to this body. I cannot wait to consummate the compact so that I may select a more suitable form. This one is much younger, but if it were not for the need to remain unhindered by Schultz and his group, I would not have chosen a form so different from that with which I am familiar, especially not a female form.

OCTOBER 22, 3:40 P.M., SUITE 1443, QUEEN’S CASINO AND HOTEL, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

“Li’l Missy, Ah’d like you all to meet Rita. She is what they call a transsexual, but he’d really like to be transgendered. Wouldn’t you’all?” Rita nodded. She was wearing a knee length white and blue dress with the fabric bunched over her breasts. Her black hair was short, but becoming in a flip. She stood somehow looking both proud and embarrassed at the same time.

“Why don’t you call me Joanie,” John suggested to her new partner. “‘Li’l Missy’ could really begin to piss me off after a short time.” She turned to Rita.

“So, you’re a man and you want to be a woman,” she asked, critically assessing the woman. “Prove it.”

“Huh?” Now Rita was truly embarrassed.

“You heard me. Prove to me that you are a man.” When Rita didn’t respond, she continued. “Come on, strip. Let me see a cock.”

Embarrassment was immediately replaced by anger as Rita placed her hands on her hips. “What the hell are you two, some kind of perverts? Where’s my coat? I’m leaving.”

“Li’l...Ah mean Joanie, what in tarnation are you’all doin’?”

“You!” she snarled at Rita. “Don’t move.” Turning her back on Rita, Joanie continued. “You want me to show you that I can transform a man into a woman, a REAL woman. That means you need to know that this ‘person’ standing in front of us is a man.”

“But Ah brought him heah. Ah know what he is and Ah have no interest a’tall in seein’ anotha man’s privates.”

“Stay and look. Otherwise, regardless of what you think you know you’re not going to believe.” Turning back to Rita, who had started to pick up her purse to leave but was now listening intently, Joanie continued.

“You! Rita! This is no trick. Ask yourself how much you want to be a woman. Ask yourself if it’s worth about an hour of treatment and three days of feeling miserable to be a woman. Ask yourself whether you’re going to be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out.” Joanie stood impatiently waiting while Rita’s face went blank and she stared off into space while she considered.
After almost a minute Rita came back and gave first the Texan and then Joanie an intense look. The Texan was clearly uncomfortable while Joanie was clearly impatient.

“What does it involve?” she asked. Her voice was timid, almost wistful.

“Not much. You are going to prove you are now a man to, and apparently beyond, my ‘partner’s’ ability to doubt. Then, you and I are going to go into the bedroom where I will give you your last fuck as a man. You will drink a really terrible tasting drink. I will take care of you while you get very sick as your body changes and three days later you are going to show this gentleman that you are really a woman.”

Turning to the Texan, she continued. “I assume she can stay here while she changes and I also assume you’re going to want someone standing guard besides me to prove this is not a con.”

He nodded.

“Then if everyone is done talking, let’s get this over with.”

Rita slowly reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.

OCTOBER 23, 8:00 P.M., WALTER REED HOSPITAL, BETHESDA, MARYLAND

“What the hell is going on here? What’s happened to me? Who the hell is that ‘person’ in the other bed?” Congressman Frank Goldman pounded angrily on the small view window set into the door to his combination bedroom and biohazard chamber while a nurse came running.

“Congressman, please calm down and return to bed.”

“Calm down my ass. I want some answers and I want them now.” His voice was only slightly lower than a scream with a hint of panic in it. He continued banging on the window.

“Congressman, the window is made of plastic three inches thick. You’re not going to break it, just hurt yourself. Now please calm down so I can leave to get your doctor.”

“I am as calm as I’m going to be,” was his response, but he did stop his pounding. “Now get me that doctor. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say for himself.” Face still red from anger, the Congressman moved his hands to his sides and slowly backed two steps away from the window.

“Thank you Congressman. It will take Dr. Isaacs at least fifteen minutes to get here. Why don’t you clean up and I’ll get you something more appropriate than those men’s pajamas? Wouldn’t that make us feel a bit better?”

“Make it a half an hour. I need a shower.” He turned and strode purposefully into the bathroom to discover a bit more about whatever had happened to him.
“Oh, and get whoever the hell that is in the other bed out of here. I expect a private room.”

NOTE: Five more chapters.