11th Sun: Chapter 4: Speculation

“How has your week been?” Dr. Jordan has a plate of chobbish and is munching away. I have (ugh) noodle rations. We’ve been having dinner together once a week for four weeks now. It’s been about four days since I managed to get off for the first time, and now I’ve been doing it at every opportunity. Sometimes I dress up, sometime just my thoughts are enough to get me off.

“You said I’d have a teenager’s libido. That’s pretty much true.” I still fantasize about Dr. Jordan’s mouth, but I’m learning to control it.

Dr. Jordan sounds professional when she says, “Oh?” But she shifts her shoulders a bit. I feel like that means she’s more interested than she’s letting on.

But I’m getting comfortable with her, and I’ve never had a strong filter, “I’ve been jacking it like crazy. I feel like I’m fourteen again.”

“Eleven,” Dr. Jordan’s voice sounds like she’s trying to broach something. I wave my chopsticks at her, my mouth is full. “Please put your legs down.”

I didn’t even notice. I have one leg up on the armrest of the chair and the other splayed out in front of me. The best I can do is give her a why? look.

“Eleven, I don’t know how long you’re going to be like this. Certainly for the next year while you make this run. Obviously there have to be tests, but your second birth took a huge toll on your brain.”

I take one leg off the arm of the chair, and sit up straight. I wrest an ankle on my knee.

Dr. Jordan continues, “So in the meantime you have to get used to having a vagina… ” She pauses while I fail to get the hint. “… which I can see right now, Eleven. You must know how a girl crosses her legs, if only from observation.” She makes some serious eye contact for a moment, “I find it … very … distracting.”

And then just like that she’s my regular doctor/friend again.

So I sit and put one knee over the other and feel my hips fall into place. It’s much more comfortable than I expected it to be. I start thinking over the past four weeks of sitting down and wonder if I’ve been doing it wrong all this time.

“So you’ve learned to masturbate?” Dr. Jordan gets more doctoral. But like, a really weird personal doctor, who wants to know if you frequently masturbate.

I’ve noodled up, so I can only nod, and I think I probably do it more eagerly than I mean to.

Dr. Jordan doesn’t wink. I’m almost positive she doesn’t anyway.

“That’s an important rubric. It means almost all of your skin has lost its birth sensitivity. How are the soles of your feet?”

“Okay, it doesn’t hurt when I walk anymore. The deck is cold. I haven’t tried socks yet.” I consider telling her about the heels.

I tell her about the heels.

I play it cool, she already knows about the clothes. But there’s something in my new voice. It sounds like I’m telling her a secret. That’s a girl thing, right? Girls do that?

And she listens, and she seems interested, and she says, “Show me.”


The bots have gone through and hung up all the clothes. I sort of expected them to be folded up and put in drawers, not on hooks in the wardrobe. I guess bots know how women’s clothes work better than I do. Which is to say: at all. There’s a lot I’ve never even tried on, I go straight for the sexy stuff when it’s special me time.

I sort thought the clothes and pick out a sun dress. It’s white and cotton, with little roses printed on it. I have Dr. Jordan on the monitor in the bunkhouse, and for no reason at all, I turn it away while I slip it over my head. Cloth on my skin feels weird, especially on my shoulders. It’s something I’ll have to get used to again.

The dress hugs my ribs, and is snug on my curves, while it floats over my hips and tickles my thighs. The mirror of dread is still on the wall, and I watch myself as I pick up the hem and swish it back and forth. I give a little twirl of my hips, for good measure.

“You twirled,” Dr. Jordan says, from behind me.

I actually squeal, and my fingertips touch my sternum reflexively.

“I can control the monitor,” Jordan says, and makes it swing back and forth.

I feel myself blush, partly from being caught changing, partly from some other emotion. For some reason, being the object of her scrutiny is making me nervous. And something else.


“You look good,” she says.

Then I find myself swinging a little on the balls of my feel for her, while I swish again. She tells me she wants to see the sandals. “I didn’t print any sandals,” I tell her.

“Eleven, you can’t wear a sun dress without sandals. Show me something else?”

I turn her around again, shrug the dress over my head, and pick up a simple pair of tight jeans. And a… “I don’t know how to wear this,” I tell Dr. Jordan. “The page wasn’t very descriptive.”

She turns herself around again, I don’t realize I’m not wearing a bra, or panties until it’s too late, and I feel my whole body flush. Dr. Jordan pretends not to notice, and my heart rate slowly comes down. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, Eleven.

Still I cross my arms, and Jordan carefully doesn’t appraise me. She just swings herself back around and talks to the wall. “Why did you print it if you don’t know what it is.”

I don’t know. “The model looked… ” I trail off before I can say sexy. That’s a red line right now. I still tell myself I’m not trying to look sexy, while I ogle my sexy self in the mirror until my clit is begging for it.

“It’s a halter top, hon. Tie the strap behind your neck.”

It’s crimson, and it’s close to my skin too. Now my breasts feel tightly confined. I don’t like that feeling as much as I want to. “It’s not very comfortable,” I say.

“You might get used to it. It looks good.” I feel like some lines are blurring here. That’s exciting. “Go ahead and take it off,” she nearly purrs.

I turn my back to her.. I look over the edge of my shoulder, through my eyelashes, and see Dr. Jordan on the is on edge of her seat. This might be why I do it really slow. Reach up, run my fingers over my shoulders, untie the top, pull it down.

“Try the jeans on?”

Oh crap, the jeans! “I forgot to put on panties!”

Dr. Jordan actually giggles when she shrugs.

I blush again, and pick the jeans off the floor. I haven’t put another top on, and the atmosphere is charged pretty hard. It’s like I’m getting dressed in a changing room, but a changing room where someone hot is watching me. We’re both aware that the social norms say this is an okay situation to be naked in. But I’m still naked, in front of someone.

Put the jeans on. I have to struggle to get them up to my waits, but the zipper works. I run my hands over my hips. The denim is tight, all the way down to my knees, where it flairs out. They feel less sexy, more everyday. That’s right. Wearing women’s jeans, I feel like I could wear them everyday. “They feel like jeans,” I tell her.

“Jeans do.”

I turn Dr. Jordan around again, to strip them off. This is incongruent with the way my tits are bare, and I’m not paying attention to that right now. Taking them off is difficult. It devolves into turning them inside out while I strip them down my legs. As I balance on one leg and try to shake the other loose from my pants I come to a realization: I’ve seen a dozen women do this. The reality of what’s happened becomes a little more real.

But now I have to put on the last thing, and it needs some panties.

Yeah, these ones feel just as good to put on as before.

Then the little black dress goes on over the top. This is tight, and takes a little bit of scootching to get into place. My thighs are skooshed together, and now I can feel myself getting a little wet. But once I’m arranged I look into the mirror and feel a thrill of shock. That woman is gorgeous. I totally want to be her right at this moment.

I turn Dr. Jordan around again, and pet my sides. I may rock my hips a little bit too.

“Let me see it with the shoes,” she says.

I have to find those, and find out suddenly that my old system for shoes doesn’t work with a dress on.

“Keep your knees together and squat instead of bending over,” Dr. Jordan tells me. “Don’t splay your legs and bend unless you want a lot of attention.” She watches me for a second longer, then, “Slip you feet into the shoes, don’t pick them up. I know it’s hard, it get easier with practice.”

After a little figuring I get the heels on, and this time I definitely rock my hips, as I bring my fingers over my hips, up my sides, over the line of my nipples and up to my shoulder.

I leave the dress on, and practice walking in the heels. It is not easy. Jordan follows me on a monitor, and we continue to talk. I’m getting used to the sound of my voice. It’s interesting, because even the vibrations in my throat feel different to me.

“No adam’s apple,” Dr. Jordan points out. And we talk for another hour or so, while my nipples get hard under the dress. We sign off so I can get back to my clitoris.


It might surprise you to know, that the Internet isn’t bad 90 light years into deep space. I made sure there was a quantum entanglement modem on board. On runs like this, I usually spend a lot of time chatting up women online. Cyber is cyber, even with a gulf of galaxies between you.

But I’ve stayed off of the chat servers for awhile.

I just realized that I can visit the lesbian servers without being banned on sight. They’re usually pretty aggressive with non-females trying to hone in. Turns out that watching women fuck each other is something every gender can get off on. But I’m in now.

Am I a lesbian?

It’s been preying on my mind for some time. I definitely fantasize about women, even if it’s myself more often than not. I have a bunch of bookmarks to porn sites, but it’s only in the past couple of days that I’ve started watching again. To be honest the amount of pleasure with a woman’s sex organs, and all of the thoughts around them, have made porn an unnecessary component of masturbation.

But two days ago I was on the net, and hit one of the streaming sites out of boredom. Sure, why not make the experience better? Without thinking about it, I just went to some lesbian porn, and while I was getting wet, and starting to role my clit in my fingers, I clicked on an old favorite.

It’s a human man and woman, and she’s my type. I like it because she scoots a buttpulg in her anus, and puts on nipple clamps that chain to a collar. Then she squats, pussy bare, to give some guy a blowjob.

I actually forget that I’m screwing myself for a moment, while my breathing gets much stronger. I don’t know what I thought when I was a man watching this, but I feel everything different now. Before, I think the turn on was that she was pleasuring herself, and him, because she needed it so bad. I never was much good at introspection though.

But I know what I’m feeling now.

I rewind to the beginning, as she spreads lube on the little blue plug. It’s not particularly intimidating, and now I find that relieving. She starts the lube over her anus with a finger, running it around in circles, and slips in just to her first knuckle. Then she runs the tip of the plug over her hole. She’s quicker this time, more eager to get it inside her. And when she starts forcing it into herself, she uses just the tips of two fingers to get it started, then eases it in with her palm.

She shows the camera the clamps, and picks up each nipple in thumb and forefinger to pinch them and apply. The chain goes to a collar around her neck, and she adjusts it so that her tits are getting pulled up, and sighs.

Some guy shows up in the frame, and she wastes a little time fingering her pussy, before she brushes her hair back and really gets to work blowing him.

What I’m feeling now, while I go back to pinching my own tits, and brushing my fingers over my clit, is that I want to be her. I want to do what she’s doing, and not just the plug and the clamps and everything… but… that.

There are far too many sexual preferences to discriminate against any one, though you still see some people put in the effort these days. While I knew I had lots of options I’ve always been comfortable with just some old fashioned hetro.

But now I’m watching the girl get sloppy, sucking dick. She licks his base to his frenum. She holds just the glans in her mouth and her cheeks pucker, and then she brings her lips slowly down, until she has the whole thing deep in her throat. And then she pops over her lips a bit and starts fucking him with her throat.

And while she’s doing that, a whole bunch of empathy is going on in my head, and I’m getting off on imagining that the dick is deep in my throat. That I’m the one feeling his head in my mouth, and tasting his sloppy pre-cum.

And now, I’m beginning to wonder if Eleven really wants to suck a dick.

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