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Warning - The following story contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult or reading descriptions sex stories upset you, do not read any further. HAIL TO THE CHIEF Chapter 1 - The Awaking Chapter 2 - The Invite Chapter 3 - The First Month Chapter 4 - Almost Healed Chapter 5 - Presidential Erections Chapter 6 - Honest Abe Chapter 7 - One Year later Hail to the Chief by Waldo Chapter 1 - The Awaking The six police motorcycles roared down the busy lunchtime Pennsylvania Avenue with their blue lights flashing as they eased traffic off of the busy main thoroughfare of Washington DC. One motorcycle pulled in front of traffic getting ready to go north on 14th Street and another one blocked the traffic going south. The other four police motorcycles cruised down Pennsylvania and headed to their planned streets to block the street for the Presidential motorcade that was due to pass down the avenue any minute. The policeman blocking the southbound traffic, made sure that the lead car in his target lane wasn't going anywhere and then turned his attention to the pedestrians on his side of the street. With a quick hand signal and a tweet of his whistle, he stopped some tourists getting ready to cross the street. Then the policemen looked around to see if he saw anyone else getting ready to enter the zone that he was suppose to secure. He adjusted his goggles taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror. His white skin was tanned from the constant exposure to sun on the DC police motorcycle squad. He squinted as he looked at the longer than police regulations strand of brown hair hanging down his forehead. Then he smiled as he remember that most men that were his age of 47, were not as youthful looking or still had as much hair. He frowned at the sidewalk tourist snapping pictures of him and as he scanned his security area, decided that there was nothing that required his immediate attention or assistance. He thumbed his talk button and said into his microphone "Swordfish 12 in position. Area secure." Somewhere in the nation's capitol, someone noted his announcement and acknowledged receipt. The policeman looked down Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction that the motorcade would be coming from and saw that the normally busy avenue was almost clear of civilian cars now, thanks to the other motorcycle policemen blocking the other streets. He listened to his police radio and determined that the motorcade was only about two minutes from his location. Suddenly from the corner of his eye, he saw someone step out on the Avenue. He turned and saw a family of tourist crossing the Avenue. "Stop. Go back on the corner until I tell you, that you can cross." he said into his microphone, using the bullhorn feature to broadcast to the tourists. They stopped where they were and looked at him. Under his breath, he muttered "Damn tourists. You will get us both killed." The family slowly turned and started walking back to the curb; just as another police motorcycle pulled up beside him. The first cop glanced and saw that it was the Sergeant responsible for the detail. The Sergeant looked at the tourists taking their time getting back to the curb and quietly said "Don't shoot another one of those assholes because they are stupid, Jimmy. I want to get off work on time today and don't want to spend the rest of the afternoon filling out damn forms. How about a beer after work?" Jimmy looked at his sergeant. The black sergeant was in good physical shape, was ten years younger than Jimmy and had been a rookie that he had personally trained back when he had been a sergeant. Back before he got busted. Jimmy looked at him. Sergeant Dan Greenwood. A real good cop. And one of the few men on the force that he still called friend. Then he said "Gotta go home and let the cat out." "Fuck the cat. Knowing you, you probably don't even have a cat. You have turned down every thing that I have suggested for the last seven months to get you out of your damn apartment. You have to get out of your house and start living your life over again. When Judy moved out on you, she took more than the furniture. She took your balls with her too." exclaimed the sergeant, looking around to see if the motorcade had turned the corner yet. Jimmy shook his head and said "Thanks, buddy. Maybe next time." as he saw the lead motorcade police motorcycle turn the curve several blocks away. The sergeant saw it too, slowly looked at Jimmy and then pulled out to proceed ahead of the motorcade. Jimmy looked around at the tourists that were lining the sidewalk. He had seen the presidential motorcade pass too many times to watch it now. He quickly scanned the crowd to see if he saw anything that looked out of place or anyone that looked like they were getting ready to do something stupid. The motorcade passed behind Jimmy and when the last vehicle was by, Jimmy put his motorcycle into gear and speeded up, so that he could pass the motorcade and position himself at his next checkpoint. ***** The banging on the door woke him up. He grabbed his pistol from the bedstand by reflex and then looked at the clock. It was 2:30 am. Who the fuck is knocking on his door at this god-awful hour? Jimmy stood and listened to the continual knocking on the door. It was clearly his door that was being knocked on and not his neighbor's. He walked into his small living room without turning on the light and looked through the peep hole. He muttered the shit word under his breath when he recognized who was outside his door. It was Harvey Case. Lieutenant Harvey Case. The man that replaced him on the Secret Service detail. His former best friend, fishing buddy and bar hopping buddy. It had been two years since Harve had been here and over six months since they had even spoke to each other. The knocking continued and Jimmy said "Who is it?" even though he knew. The knocking stopped and the muffled voice on the other side of the door said "It's me. Harve. Let me in, Jimmy. Have to talk to you." Jimmy slowly unfastened the chain and door lock. Then he opened the door and sat down in his TV chair, lighting a Camel as Harve walked into the room and turned on a light. Harve didn't sit down, but just looked at his former friend. Then Harve said "I have orders to take you out to Newington. Priority Presidential One. No refusal. I have a police escort to get you out there ASAP. You are to come as you are. No uniform. They sent me because I was on duty and knew where to find you." "What's going on?" "Don't know. I got the call twenty minutes ago and rushed over here while our police escort just got here. Get ready." Jimmy looked at him and took a slow draw of his cigarette, knowing that Harve hated smokers. He is one of those former smokers that quit and have to remind someone everyday how long it has been since he quit. Then Jimmy stood and said "let me grab some jeans." Harve nodded and Jimmy went into the bedroom, returning within a minute wearing blue jeans with his pistol belt, cowboy boots, and a rugby shirt. He grabbed his house keys and billfold from the counter. He followed Harve out the door, pausing only long enough to lock his deadbolt. He hadn't been a cop here in DC for over twenty years, without learning to secure everything. ******* The ride to Newington had been quick. It was a growing suburb just outside the capitol beltway, with a major express lane all the way from downtown DC. The police car turned on the siren and lights and drove at speeds exceeding one hundred miles per hour most of the way out to the beltway. Just before entering the area where they were headed, the police car slowed down and turned off it's attention gathering siren and lights. They did not want to attract attention to this non-descript building that housed some of the Secret Service staff. Everyone working in this building had a cover story for curious people. During the ride, Harve and Jimmy didn't say anything. Harve acted as if he was concentrating on his driving and Jimmy just ignored him. This used to be his best friend. The man that was a key witness against him at his hearing and the man that was selected to replace Jimmy on the Secret Service team that he used to head. Jimmy had been guarding the President and let a tourist piss him off. He punched the tourist, just as a camera crew covering the President focused on him. The film didn't show the tourist taunting Jimmy, only that Jimmy broke someone's nose with his fist, in the presence of the Press and the President. Even with Jimmy's exemplary record, there had to be a hearing and a punishment. Harve had to report what he had seen, which was exactly what was on the video that had been shown nightly and several times on the TV show Current Affairs. Jimmy had been demoted and transferred, so that he could finish his retirement which was now only two years away. Jimmy wasn't mad at Harve for telling the truth, but for getting drunk and telling someone in a bar that he deserved whatever he got. He told it to a reporter who made sure it made the news and as a result of the extra unwanted publicity, destroyed their friendship. Harve pulled into the garage and parked the car. They entered the elevator and Harve punched the codes to start the elevator. Jimmy had never been here because the service was just obtaining the building when he had been transferred from the service. The door opened on a lobby and a uniformed policeman sitting behind a bullet-proof glass window watched as Harve turned over his gun and showed his id. The policeman had watched them on a bank of monitors ever since they turned the corner onto the street and he was expecting them. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew to admit this pair and send them up to the restricted floor. After they signed in and were given temporary badges to open the authorized doors and use the private elevator, the policeman let them enter the locked area. They used their temporary badge to open the elevator. When the elevator stopped three floors up, another Secret Service agent was waiting on them. Jimmy knew most of the DC agents but this was a new man. Must be from the field. The agent said "Thank you, Lieutenant for bringing Mr. Carlson out here on such short notice. We will take him from here." Harve looked at Jimmy as if to say "Wish I could go with you on whatever this is. Good luck" and pressed the down button on the elevator. The agent waited until the door shut and then pressed a button on the door so that no one could enter the area while he was absent from his position. Jimmy was a little impressed with the security, which was the same level that they put on the President. And more than a little curious as to what was going on. But twenty-seven years being a policeman and secret service agent had taught him that he would be told what he needed to know and only when he needed to know it. The agent walked down the hall and opened a door, motioning Jimmy to enter the room. As Jimmy entered, the door shut behind him. In the conference type room, seven people who had been talking, shut up and stared at him as he entered the room. Jimmy knew none of them. One of the people sitting down, stood and held out his hand as he said "Roy Faircloth. Sorry to get you down here at this hour and on such short notice, but we have a major problem on our hands." Jimmy looked at him and said "My department clearance has been revoked and I only have the standard police clearance now." "Not a problem. We just need to have a quick little talk with you. Pull up a seat and sit down. Joan, how about getting Jimmy a big cup of fresh coffee. We got a lot to talk about." The only woman in the room dropped the pen that she had been writing with, on the table. She looked at Roy with a slight frown on her face, then stood up, walked over to a coffee pot and poured a cup. Jimmy sat down in the chair offered him and leaned back. No one said anything while the woman was pouring the coffee. Jimmy looked at the other people and noticed that all chairs were facing him and he was being sized up by the group. For some sixth sense reason, Jimmy knew that none of them were agents and that they were probably medical professionals or consultants. As the woman brought the coffee over, Jimmy thought that she might be the one secret service agent in the group. As she handed the hot steaming cup to him, Jimmy looked up at her. He didn't know her either, but she was rather attractive. She was clearly of mixed race. Her features were dark but not enough so that she would be called black. At the same time, her dark curly hair would not let her be called white either. She handed him the coffee and sat back down, pulling her skirt so that only a glimpse of the upper thighs was revealed to Jimmy. Roy pulled a big folder in front of him and said "We have been studying you and are very familiar with your personal and government history. You first came to our little project's attention about seven months ago and we requested more information on you, to include a very through physical and mental exam through your department medical department. The results are in here." Jimmy took a sip of his coffee and tensed. He didn't like being brought here in the middle of the night and didn't like the way this was starting out. Roy opened the folder and said "You passed your medical and mental examinations with flying colors and we put you into what we consider to be a very select group of current and former agents. We had some further tests on everyone in the group that we wanted to do, but unfortunately events that occurred earlier this evening forced us to adjust our schedule. For the last three hours, the seven of us have been going over the possible candidates and you are the almost unanimous choice for this project. We just need to verify some questions that need to be answered. Mr. Carlson, for most of your career, you have noted by your superiors as an outstanding police officer and agent. A man dedicated to his profession. Someone that would make the supreme sacrifice. Someone that would take a bullet, rather than risk the President or his family. Mr. Carlson, are you still that dedicated?" I didn't say a word and just slowly sipped my coffee. The room was quite and everyone was looking at me. I slowly looked around the room, looking into their eyes, trying to determine where this was going. I could read nothing, especially in Joan's deep dark eyes. When I didn't respond after twenty seconds, Roy asked again "Well?" "I don't know. I am only two years away from retiring and was looking forward to getting that job selling real estate back in my hometown." I replied. Roy looked across the room at the man to my left for a moment and then said "Look, we don't have much time. We spent a lot of our very short time, getting you here. We have to have answers and can't pussy-foot around." I looked around the room. Behind Joan was a mirror, which I assumed was a two-sided mirror and I felt that I was being watched and taped from behind it. I didn't know what was going on here, but I was not about to let myself be rail-roaded into something after the way that I was treated for the two years since my court-martial. As we sat there waiting for me to say something, a back door opened and William P. Zane, the head of the Secret Service entered the room. He had been behind the mirror. He sat down across from me and said "Hello Jimmy. It's been a long time." "Bill." I acknowledged. He pulled some forms from in front of Roy and said "Jimmy, you know if I am involved, it is a critical situation that is tantamount to a national emergency as it applies to the President's safety. I have to have you sign these forms, stating that you will never reveal what you are about to learn here tonight." as he pushed the forms to me. I signed them after glancing at them to see that they were what he said. As soon as I put the pen down, he said "Come with me." I stood up and followed him through the door, while everyone else remained in the room. We walked down the corridor and he opened a door for me. I stepped into the door and stopped. It was a big room, fixed up as a hospital room, with one bed in it. I couldn't see who was in the bed for the plastic membrane protecting the bed. Two doctors were working on equipment and looked up as we entered the room. Mr. Zane handed me a surgical mask which I put on. He nodded to a doctor, who led me to the plastic membrane and unzipped it so that I could look inside. My first glance revealed it was not who I suspected it to be - The President. The body under this sheet was too small to be him. Then I saw her face and long blonde hair. It was the President's wife - Carolyn Dawson. Chapter 2 - The Invite My knees went limp. I could see that her breasts under the sheet were slowly moving as if she was breathing, but she appeared cold and dead. The doctor would not allow me to enter the tent, and allowed me only a moment to examine her face before he zippered the closing. I turned and felt myself sweating, even though it was cold in here. My mind was whirling with millions of questions about how this could happen and why. Zane was still standing just inside the doorway. He said to the doctors "Please step out into the hallway for a moment." After the two doctors stepped out and shut the door, Zane said "We don't have much time. We must make a decision in the next hour and start the medical treatment or we must announce on today's evening six o'clock news that the President's wife is dead. Sorry to put you in this situation, but I thought that if you saw what we have to control, that you would be more receptive to our questions. Three of those people at the table don't know exactly what we have here, so don't mention anything about this. Now, let's go back and get those damn questions out of the way." I looked him square in the eyes and said only one word "What?" "Thromboembolism or blood clot. She is still alive because of our equipment, but she is brain dead. Without the equipment, she will quit breathing. Remember, don't say anything." I followed him out of the hospital room and back up to the conference room. As I turned to sit down, I glanced at myself in the mirror and saw that my skin was pale and that I was sweating. For a moment, I thought that I saw a movement in the two-way mirror as if someone else was behind it and standing too close to it. I looked back to the group sitting around the table and straight into Joan's eyes. For a moment, I was able to sense that she knew what I had seen back in that hospital bed before she removed all trace of emotion from her dark eyes. I knew then that she was a professional agent and would not let anything slip past her observant eyes. I sat back down and Zane pushed some papers in front of Roy. Roy said "If a situation presented itself, where it was your life or the President's life, what would you do?" I didn't hesitate as I quietly replied "I would position myself between the President and the danger." Roy looked at the next question and asked "Are you prepared to give up your life as you know it, in the service of your country?" "Yes." Roy looked at the next question and Zane stopped him by asking "Jimmy, let's get the bullshit out of the way. We need someone to volunteer for a critical sucide mission. Once started, there is no turning back or changing your mind. One that affects not only today's America, but we feel it also affects the America of the future. If you accept, Jimmy Carlson will disappear from the face of the earth today. He will cease to exist. There will be a grave with his name and body in it by the end of this week. And there is no backing out. I can't say anymore than that before you sigh the mission authorization papers. What is your answer?" I took a deep breath and faintly heard my own voice say "I volunteer." I picked my coffee up and took a quick swallow as Zane looked around the table as he asked "I believe him. But you are the experts. He has been examined before in other circumstances and you have read those reports and seen tapes of some of those interviews. Anyone think he is lying or the wrong person for a very critical, suicide mission?" No one said anything and Zane said "Ok, sign these papers. Clear the room Roy!" As I signed the papers, six of the people left the room. As Joan walked by, she said quietly "God bless you." I signed the papers as the door shut. I didn't even read them. The man to my left said "I am Doctor Swenson. When President Kennedy was shot in 1963, we started secret medical research on how we could reduce the emotional impact on our country as a result of attacks on the President or his family. While we are not able to make him safer, we are able to convince everyone that he is all right after an attack. About two years ago, we developed the last key to our solution. We now have the technology and skills to transfer a functioning, normal brain into a body that is in otherwise good health. We want to transplant your brain into her body." ******* No one said anything but just looked at me. I had suspected something along this tangent as soon as Zane asked the first question; but did not know how it could be accomplished. They want me to give up my life, and become a woman. A woman who is the President's wife. "I don't doubt that you can't do what you say. But what does that do to me?" I asked, hearing my voice get a little high pitched with tension. "We put you to sleep, transfer your brain to her body, and put her brain into your body. Then we will let your body die and bury your old body with full honors. One of the reasons that you were selected, is because you have no family, you are the same blood type as Mrs. Dawson and you are a professional agent that is familiar with the White House and presidential procedures. You have recently gone through a nasty divorce, you lost a lot of money in the divorce and do not have any current relationships with anyone. If you disappear, very few people will miss you. You are almost a perfect choice, except for your birth sex. You will wake up in her body, but with your memory. Then you will have to learn how to be a woman and most important, how to be her. You will in effect become Carolyn Dawson, wife of the President of the United States." said Zane. "What does the President have to say about this?" I asked, knowing the answer before I asked the question. "He concurs. And he will do his part. The First Lady and he were not as close as their Press Agents describe their relationship. If both of them did not have long term political desires, they would have been divorced a long time ago. We let a few women slip in to see him every once in awhile and she had a couple of undocumented movements during her frequent travels. You will have your own bedroom and only have to play the wife role in public. Sharing bedrooms is not a requirement." I stood up and leaned over the table, putting my face as close to his as I could as I said "There is no fucking way that I can pull this impersonation off, even if you are able to get me to wake up in her body. I know nothing about being a woman, much less about being her. My divorce proved that I do not understand female mentality. I could not replace a normal woman, much less someone as widely know from TV as her. She is too well known and has too strong of a personality for me to succeed. You need a woman, one of the female agents who has been watching and listening to her for the last couple years. I have been on motorcycle duty and not even in the same room with her. I can't do it." "There is no one available. We also wanted a woman to be our first choice, but the female agents familiar with her have the wrong blood type or other problems. Other female agents either have families or reasons where we couldn't even consider them for this mission. Believe me, it was a difficult decision to make because of your natural sex, but you are the only person in our whole department that has any chance of medically or mentally pulling this off. We can do the medical transplant portion, the schedule changes while you heal and learn your new role, and we can work with you as you learn how to live her life. You are the right person for this. You have to believe that you can do this and you have to do it. You have to let Jimmy Carlson die and walk away as Carolyn Dawson. You have to become Carolyn Dawson for the rest of her life." I shut my eyes and carefully pronounced each word as I slowly said "What if we just let her die?" "She is the most popular First Lady in years. She was the reason the President won the last election and will be the reason that he wins the next one. She has so much popular support that she could run for the term after and probably get it. She is the driving force behind most of the social change programs that are currently being discussed by Congress. She has done too much for America to let her die." "I can't do it." Zane jumped to his feet and leaned over the table with his face so close to mine that I could smell the smell from his lungs where he smoked his pipe. He whispered "That misconduct hearing did what no one else could do. It cut your balls off. You were railroaded just as I would have been, if my picture or anyone else had been shown on the news hitting a fucking geek in the face. I can't help that or make it up to you. But I never thought that you would let someone that you were responsible for, die. And that is what you are doing. If you don't make your mind up in a hurry and get on with it, she is dead. The woman that you swore to protect is going to die. The First Lady of the United States. That is who she is. Because you lost your balls and your dedication. Jimmy Carlson, can you live with yourself if you let her die?" ******* It is a beautiful day. I am on a warm, sunny Caribbean island and walking down a lonely, quite cove. But I feel funny. My throat is dry and I am having trouble breathing. As I try to swallow, I see the cove fade and a mist forms over my eyes. I can see a face leaning over me but I can't see who it is for the mist. Then the mist clears up a little and I can see a man's face wearing a surgical mask and cap. He is saying something but it sounds so far away. I try to ignore him and go back to my island but the man is insistent and I can faintly hear him now. He is saying "Jimmy, it's Doctor Swenson. Can you hear me?" I try to respond but can't because of something down my throat. I can only nod and then I return to my island. ***** "Talk to me. Who are you?" said the distant voice. I blinked my eyes open and stared into a bright light aimed at me. As I squinted my eyes, I could see three people wearing surgical clothes standing around me. I must have been hurt in a motorcycle wreck. I am in a hospital. The voice is very insistent "Talk. Say something. Don't go back to sleep. Who are you?" I opened my lips and could feel my mouth move. I could also tell that my lips and mouth were dried and sore. I struggle to say "Carlson". Trhough the fog, I hear my name spoken but don't recognize the voice. I faintly hear one of the voices say "Go back to sleep." ******* Someone is shaking me. I can feel them shaking me, but I am still sunning myself at the beach and have my eyes shut. I can feel the sun baking my body, soaking into every pore of my flesh, relaxing me. And then the voice comes back "Wake up, Jimmy." I slowly open my eyes and have a hard time focusing. Then I see the two men leaning over, wearing green surgical gowns. What has happened to me? Where am I? I try to sit up and the man closest to me says "No, Jimmy. You still need to rest. Your body has been through a lot of trauma." I recognize the voice. It is my boss, Bill Zane. No, my former boss. Then memories of my midnight meeting with him jerks me awake. I turn my head quickly and look at him. Behind the mask, he smiles and says "It worked. The surgery was a complete success. You are now in her body. You are Carolyn Dawson." I try to move, but can't because I feel so weak. I try to talk and hear myself grunt as I try to form words. The other man says "Please relax. The surgery was perfect. And you are healing. Your new body needs to rest and recover. There is nothing wrong." I didn't have the strength to lift my arms and could feel the tubes move as I tried to discover what was going on. Doctor Swenson held a hand mirror and turned it so that I could look straight into it. Staring back at me, with very scared eyes, was the face of Carolyn Dawson. It was not the way that she normally looked because the face was pale, looked sick, and did not have the normal make-up on that makes her look so pretty. There was no mistaking her face, even with the shaved head and very evident surgical stitches in what was the hairline. It was definitely not the face of Jimmy Carlson that I was seeing. I am in her body. It was not a dream. It really happened. I am now a woman. And.... I grunted "mmmyy baady. Whaaat? Zane said "Your body? It was as we described. Your former body died with her brain. We buried your body with full honors." I started crying. I couldn't help myself. I felt a needle stick me and I felt a warmth flow through my body as I fell asleep again. I felt the island draw me back to it's warm relaxing sunny shores. ****** They have propped the bed up so that I am sitting up. The protective plastic membrane around my bed has been taken down and I know that I am very awake although I hope that I am still dreaming. It does not seem possible that I am no longer me. No longer the person that I was born 47 years ago. No longer a man. I am now a woman. I am now the wife of the most important political leader in the world. For the first time in this body, I can move my new body some. I was very weak from the surgery. After drinking some water and relaxing, I discovered that I could talk with minimum difficulty. My new voice was different. Very different, but I could talk. Zane, Roy, Joan and Doctor Swenson were standing around my bed. Zane started "After you agreed to the surgery, we took you back to the operating room and prepared you for surgery. Within an hour of making the decision, you were out cold on an operating table, as Doctor Swenson started the procedure. By lunch time, your brain was in her body and her brain in your body. About one p.m., your body died when we removed it from the life support system. The brain was not capable of keeping either her body or your body breathing. At the same time, we canceled Mrs. Dawson's appointments for the following day, announcing a simple flu. The next day, we released a hospital statement that she would be out all week and canceled her immediate appointments. Reporters were searching all of the hospitals trying to find her and scoop the world on her health. After four days of that, CBS reported that they felt the White House was lying to the press. We called in the heads of the major new agencies and told them the truth. That Mrs. Dawson had a Thromboembolism and undergone emergency cranial surgery. We requested their cooperation and they cooperated for another three days until someone blew the story, per our plans. Then every reporter in the world started looking for her. We confirmed the story, gave them a bullshit security reason for lying to them, and then showed them pictures of you lying in bed, with your head shaved and tubes down your throat. There were pictures of the President sitting beside you, watching you. Since then, there have been several television specials about damage to trigeminal nerves and arcuate nucleus which is part of our cover story as to why we performed such radical surgery on you so fast. It has been two weeks since the surgery. How do you feel?" I looked down at my much smaller arms and body under the sheet and said "I feel a constant urge to pee." Zane laughed and replied "You have a catheter, so don't worry about it. How do you feel otherwise?" "Like a truck ran over me. Except for feeling a little funny whenever I look at this much smaller body, I feel very natural." Doctor Swenson said "We brought a couple more people into our inner circle to help us help you learn your new role. The female Secret Service agent that you met at the interview is now aware of what really occurred. Joan will be assigned to you, supposedly for your protection, but really to help you. Not only will she help you learn the little woman tricks and skills, but she will also help you learn the personality traits that easily identify you. From this moment on, you must refer and think about yourself as Carolyn. You must not mention any references to any former life or different sex. You must think, live, and be Carolyn Dawson. Bury the past and live for the future." Chapter 3 - The First Month The next day was when it really hit me. As I sat up, they untied my arms and I was able to examine my relative skinny arms. And the long slender fingers with the manicured fingernails. You don't know how weird it is, to look at your fingers and as they move when you flex them, you know that it is not your hand. And I did it. I pulled the gown down and looked at the boobs. Lying back as I was, they were kinda pushed down and didn't look too appealing from where I was looking. They jiggle as I move and it feels funny when I reach my arm across my chest and feel them. The areola are large as are the nipples. The areola is a little puffy and it is almost as if a smaller breast is sitting on the breast. I also looked at the vagina, but it also looked weird with the catheter sticking up inside the vagina lips. It didn't look very sexy. I held the hand mirror up and looked at my new face. The long blonde hair is gone and only a small tuff of very short hair exists, where the head was shaved for the operation. The hair is growing back in, but it is only about a quarter of an inch long all over my head. And it is dark, not her blonde color. The face is narrow. It is not a beautiful face, but is a pleasant face that can be made very attractive with just a little makeup. There are no flaws, except for where a mole was removed from the upper lip, and a slight scar just under the chin from a high school moped wreck. Wrinkles are just forming on the forehead, where she raises her eyebrows a lot. Around the mouth, there are traces of a smile wrinkle forming, from the way that she smiles so frequently. I look in the mirror as I touch the face. It seems so unreal to feel fingertips touch my face and look in the mirror at the strange face and strange hand. Remember that old Jerry Lewis routine, where he walks in front of a mirror and the image in the mirror makes exactly the same motions that he makes. Jerry knows it is not him and tries all sorts of motions to trick the other person. That is the way I felt. I wanted to do something, anything and see the other image miss or have too long a delay. While I was doing this self-contemplation, Zane came in with the bad news "The President is on his way here. He wants to get a picture of him standing beside his recovering wife. The press is clamoring for pictures." "I can't do it. I know nothing about her or how I am supposed to act." "Don't worry. You just came out of major surgery. All you have to do, is let him stand beside you, smile a little, hold up your fingers making an Ok sign, and grunt. We will cover for everything else and get him out of here." ****** We spent the next several minutes preparing me. Joan and Doctor Swenson changed my hospital gown, then Joan put a little lipstick on my lips and a little make-up on my cheek to give me a little color. Zane promised that the President wouldn't kiss me because of germs, but that he would have to hold my hand and sit very close to me, while they took the pictures. While we were talking, the President walked in by himself, leaving his guards in the hallway. I didn't say a word as he walked over to the bed. He smiled as he said "I don't know what to say to you now and will have to think about it some more. I don't think that I would have the courage to do what you have done, and I will make sure that I do what is expected of me. In a minute, I will let the photographer come back here. I will walk over to you, sit on your bed and hold your hand. Then I will sit down in the chair and talk to you. All the time, the photographer will be taking pictures. Don't pay any attention to him when I am looking into your eyes. Just focus on me. For a couple of the pictures, you will have to look into the camera and smile. Just don't say anything. If you have to say something, call me Reggie. Ok." I nodded my head and he turned to Zane as he said "Anyone that gets in here before she is ready, is dead meat." Zane nodded his head and looked at me. Then he walked over the door and opened it. A man came in, carrying two cameras and wearing another three cameras on straps around his neck; followed by someone that I recognized as the Presidents Press Secretary. The photographer looked at me and said "Hi, Carolyn. Don't worry about a thing. You will be the best looking woman to ever get her picture on page one with her surgical bandages on." I just smiled at him, as he took his light readings and adjusted his camera. Then he started shooting as he walked around the room, going through many rolls of film as he snapped so many shots. Then he said "Ok, time for the propaganda pictures." The President stood beside my bed and held my hand. For a moment, I frowned as I felt the strange feeling of what felt like an extremely large hand holding mine. I still thought of my hand as being the normal male hand and feeling this much larger hand wrap around my hand was very strange. After the camera clicked, I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and faked a smile. Then the President sat on the bed and acted as if he was talking to me. Then he sat in a chair, after taking off his jacket and loosening his tie, to look as if he had been here for awhile. Two or three more poses and then the Press Secretary eased the photographer out. The President looked at me and said "You did great. I have to get back to the White House." ***** They let me sleep and rest. When I woke up, Joan was sitting in the chair. She smiled at me and said "I didn't think that you would go through with the surgery. You have a lot of balls." I laughed as I replied "Where? I looked this body over carefully but I didn't see any." "You know what I mean. That surgery was untried on humans and to risk death while you give up your own life, for someone else's life is extremely difficult to even consider. They evaluated me as a possible donor because we have the same blood type, but then they found out that there could be some complications because of my sickle cell trait. So they passed over me and let me participate in the search for my replacement. Thank god, because I don't think that I could have gone through with it. You see, I am a lesbian and don't think that I could stand to be in bed with Reggie, much less kiss him. He doesn't have enough soul for my taste." "Shit. How do you think I feel?" I said. "Sorry. It is so easy to forget that you are not naturally used to the body that you inhabit. You look so natural and so much like her." "How many other people were considered?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "Twenty-three were being evaluated. But when it happened to her, you were the only one close enough." "When do I start my learning to be who I am supposed to be?" "Now." was the reply as Joan opened a photographic album. ****** A hospital bed was put in a bedroom in the White House and I was moved back there. Either Joan or Bill Zane or Doctor Swenson are my almost constant companions. With their assistance, I have learned so many trivial facts about the life of Carolyn Dawson that I find it hard to believe that I am not really her. The hardest part, was the first day that I was allowed to eat normal food. I am a steak and potatoes man and they bring me a little sprig of lettuce and some yogurt. No wonder she has a size 24 waist. I don't feel any different. Although I am still restricted to my bed and can't get up without help, I don't feel like I am any different. I am able to breath, turn my head, and move different parts of my body. I can't urinate or defecate yet because of all the tubes stuck into me as they keep the medicine flowing me. Part of my continued treatment is to make sure that this body does not reject the brain, so they have to monitor me closer than they would for the supposed surgery. I guess that I don't feel any different because this is the way that I would feel and act if I had been in an accident and was still in my original body. I am not doing anything yet that could be defined as feminine or that is normally associated with a woman. Except for letting Joan put a little make-up on my face, and keeping my nails manicured. Joan is my constant companion. At first, I was really confused over everything that was occurring to me and paid very little attention to her. But after we moved my hospital bed into the White House and my strength began to recover, I began to notice my surroundings. Especially Joan. She is a tall, dark, supremely healthy looking young woman. Her physique is tall and slender with wonderful womanly curves. Her father is a black policeman and her mother is a white lawyer. She inherited her father's athletic body frame and her mother's classic female face and curves. Her complexion is to light to pass for a black, yet too brown to pass for white. Her dark hair has a heavy natural curl but is not kinky. She liked to fix her shoulder length hair in a different style every day, but the style that I liked the most, was when she simply parted it in the middle and let it hang down, framing her beautiful face. Her large dark eyes had a chatoyant quality, as they would change from a dark unfathomable pool to a vivacious gleam showing her love of life. Her magic was her eyes, which were rich with mysterious power and hidden desires. As we spend many hours together daily, I become enthralled with the way that she uses her eyes to tease and captivate me. In my sleep, I am haunted by her wonderful eyes. Her luxurious skin showed there were no faults on her face and what could be seen of her body. She didn't like her nose but I thought it was cute. As she would read to me, my eyes would focus on her mouth and ruby red lips. Her lips were soft, full, and very voluptuous. I liked the way that her soft glistening lipstick highlighted her mouth and her snow white perfect teeth. Her daily exercise was swimming or bike riding. One day, she had on a sleeveless blouse. I liked the way that her shoulder and arm muscles showed her excellent physical shape without detracting from her femininity. Our first and only argument was about food. I was still hungry after eating my salad and wanted a hamburger. I learned more in the next ten minutes about proper nutrition than I ever wanted to know. She ate nothing but healthy foods, limited her food portions, and followed a regular exercise routine. Which I was to have to learn how to do also, because Carolyn also took care of her body. I felt some very strong, yet in my current position, strange sexual desires for Joan as we worked. Although I now had my own set of breasts and a vagina, I still found delight in staring at her high, proud, round, firm, voluptuous and sweet breasts and daydreamed about burying my nose between the cleavage that occasionally was exposed to me. And what wonderful breasts they were, as I watched them rise and fall noticeably with her every breath underneath her form-fitting clothes. Her legs were likewise perfect. Her thighs, which had attracted my attention the first time I saw her, were just the right combination of muscle and velvet softness. The top of her skirt exposed her dimpled knees, sloped calves and dainty ankles. It didn't take me too long to realize that my incumbency of Carolyn Dawson's body, would have strong lesbian tendencies, which I would have to hide. She wore a skirt every day, but one day as we were relaxing, she showed me some pictures of her in her billfold. There was one of her wearing jeans and a T- shirt, which I memorized every detail of. Most black women have large behinds, with some of them being too large. Joan very clearly had a large firm behind but it was proportional to her overall body shape, but it did not detract from her overall excellent physical shape. Her high, proud ass cheeks were straining the fabric in a delightful manner. Sometimes as she would read to me of Carolyn's many accomplishments, I would shut my eyes and listen to the music of Joan's voice. Joan had followed in her mother's footsteps and attended law school before applying for the service. Her sometimes husky voice had just a trace of her Atlanta accent, but the law school had taught her perfect diction. Yes, as I laid in bed resting with my eyes shut, I would frequently fantasize about Joan. My ex-wife Judy and I had a rough three years before we finally separated and I continued to live my monk-like existence for another two years. Joan was the first and only woman that I had allowed to get close to me or for me to say more than three words to her. Is it any wonder that I had very strong sexual thoughts about her? Even knowing that I did not have the physical equipment to do to her, what I wanted to do to her. My only hope was that after I healed and began to adapt to my new body, that I could experience an lesbian romance with her. As part of my training, Joan shows me pictures of people, places, and then quizzes me to make sure that I have the names and history right. Then she gives me more history lessons not only on myself, but upon topics which Carolyn was very familiar with. Prior to the surgery for example, I could not identify the members of the Supreme Court, but now I know their spouses names, where they live and when they ate with us at the White House last. We play a game to help me learn her history. They feeds facts to me and then ask me to relate to the facts as Carolyn would. To do that, I have to clear my mind and pretend that I am her. I start out by shutting my eyes and going over the following general litany before responding. I am Carolyn Dawson. My maiden name was Walker. My grandfather was Senator Walker from North Carolina. When my father refused to go into politics, granddad started working on me. I graduated from North Carolina State, with a degree in Psychology and President of the Student Body two years in a row. I went to work on President Johnson's campaign and had obtained the state party chairman's job by the end of the election. Because of my youth, good looks, money, and family ties, I quickly eased into national jobs, which is where I met Reggie. We dated and got married. I dedicated my life to helping him prepare himself for the presidency. As we were campaigning, it was quickly discovered that my natural personality was a very big plus for Reggie. In his first major election for Senator, the party was pushing me to run instead of Reggie. But I supported my husband. After two terms as Senator, he obtained a job as Ambassador to England for a quick appointment. Then we got Reggie a job heading up a major corporation, while maintaining our hats still in the political ring. When he announced for President, he was considered a long shot. But the favorite was photographed in a gay bar being too friendly to one of the bar patrons and they needed someone that had a slightly more clean record. With the party's support, we won. Barely, but we won. After he got the President, I became active in all sorts of civic affairs. When ever there was a tragedy, I was there to offer help and to get my picture on the news. I am currently forty-five years old. I have never been pregnant, thank god. My body is very good shape or was before the operation. I am five foot seven inches, weigh one hundred and seventeen pounds. My measurements are 36-24-34, and I used to have long blonde hair before the surgery. My cup size is a full 36 B or if I am bloated because of my period, a 36 C. I am still having my periods and have that to look forward to. I am beginning to get where I have to wear glasses to read and use contact lens. Otherwise, I am very athletic, play softball with my church team, jog, play tennis, like to dance, and used to ride a motorcycle before the Secret Service made me give it up. I also like to stop off for a beer after work. Maturity had given me a fine, classical beauty that men like to stare at and women check for signs of surgical assist. My face is smooth and perfect, a graceful symmetry of high, softly angled cheek-bones, warm, pouting lips underneath a delicate nose. I am the typical young, beautiful, and blonde woman that is beginning to show just a little age, but still attractive enough to get any man that I want to go after. The fuzz on my head is dark but there are traces of blond and a hairstylist will help me restore the correct color once my surgery area has healed some more. With my body, I could have been a fashion model or an actress, rather than a political wife. My family is dead except for an uncle that I have little to do with. I love my husband very much and forget about the hint of an affair that he was having when we announced for the election. My husband's name is Reginald Jerome Dawson or Reggie as he prefers to be called. He is six foot two inches, dark hair, and looks like he could have been a quarterback in college. He is eight years older than me and is beginning to get a little pot belly from the lack of exercise in the White House. His mother is still alive and her name is Martha but she likes to be called Marta by the family. While Reggie was never married before; before we got married, he did have a long affair with a reporter that now is the anchor for one of the local TV stations. I watched an interview that she did with me, where she tried to be nice but also was a little catty to me. I was ever so much the lady and ignored her slightly insulting remarks. I can look at the pictures of my staff and name every one of them and what they do. I know the layout of the White House from my days working there. I have listened to recordings of her talking and being interviewed until I can't take any more videos. Her face is intelligent with baby-doll features. With her looks, body, background and current position, she could have been a real bitch, showing her power. But in the videos, she displays none of the expected aloofness or her using her power to gain additional power. Instead she comes across as being a real honest person and someone that really cares. Her smile is not a fake smile and when she is with other people, she listens to them, with a unmistakable sincerity. I observed her little mannerisms, her speech patterns, her facial expressions, her hand movements and know every thing that she does. Only I have to do it in a very natural movement and so it doesn't seen rehearsed. The major problem is that I have to slow my native DC speech down to the more southern slower speech. One of my habits, is when I am thinking about something, I purse my lips. Sometimes, I stroke my upper lip and then pull on my left ear lobe twice before realizing what I am doing. Now that my head is healing from my medical problem, I need to pick up my life again and become active after I heal. After all, I am Carolyn Dawson. Chapter 4 - Almost Healed I felt kinda funny the first several times that I had to go through the above routine. But then I realized, that the more times I said it, the easier it was to say. The number of people aware of my masquerade just increased by one to twelve, counting myself. Liz Arroine, the special assistant to the First Lady, was brought into the plot. She doesn't know the real story but was given a cover-up story that uses stroke induced amnesia as the reason for my loss of memory. Because she has been actively participating in Carolyn's day-to- day operations for over two years, she is very familiar with the political life and will make sure that we stay on track. Zane, Reggie, and Liz came into my room today and discussed what needed to occur over the next two months, until I am able to take a more active role. It is the longest time that Reggie has spent with me. And somewhere in the discussion, I picked up a very strong feeling that Reggie is having an affair with Liz. ********* I have had two interviews so far. One was a newspaper reporter and the other was a television reporter. Both reporters were required to submit their questions in advance and I was prepped for the answers. Prior to giving the interviews, I was thoroughly rehearsed by both Joan and Liz. While I don't have my role down yet, the objective was to show that Mrs. Dawson is healing slowly, has to take her time recovering before she jumps back into a full schedule yet, and to give me some rehearsals for when I have to wing it by myself. During the rehearsal for the newspaper reporter, I almost revealed my desire for Joan to her. She was sitting across from me and asking the questions out of order and using different phrasing, to throw me off balance on my answers. I was doing a good job of responding and knew that she couldn't trick me. After answering correctly, one particular set of questions that was not even supposed to be part of the interview, she smiled at me. For a moment, I was able to see into her dark pools of eyes and to see some of the private Joan and I liked what I saw. But my eyes were fixed on her too long, and she gave an embarrassed smile as she realized that my glance was full of sexual desire for her. She became embarrassed at me showing interest in her. While she also had some interest in me, she had to maintain a relationship that could not be sexual. "Mrs. Dawson, there are rumors that you are considering running for President when your husband is finished with his maximum number of terms." Joan paused after asking a question that was not on the list. "Barbara, when my health returns, I plan to resume my life. I do not have any political ambition for myself and just wish to spend the rest of my life serving America as a volunteer. I will follow Reggie wherever he goes and do whatever is needed for my husband and my country." I replied, using a standard evasion answer and calling her Barbara because that is who she was pretending to be. "Good, you sounded very real as if you truly meant that answer. I'm getting some water, Want some?" she announced in a girlish-sweet voice. I stared at the open notebook on my lap. It was full of the most boring political junk. But everything there was something that Carolyn Dawson would be most knowledgeable about. If I am going to impersonate her, I have to learn this crap. I nodded to Joan and watched her as she walked across the room. She has a very fluid method of walking, almost gliding. I watched as she poured two glasses of ice water and she knew that I was watching her. As she turned to walk back, she teasingly stuck her tongue out at me. "I am feeling trapped. I have been in this damn bedroom too long and I need to get out and get some fresh air." I said "Only two more days of bedroom restriction and the doctor will let you walk around the grounds. Just relax and enjoy this pampering." she said. "Easy for you to say. You can go home, eat at McDonalds, and enjoy all of the comforts of having a life. I didn't realize what I was getting into, when I agreed to this." I said, feeling sorry for myself. Joan sat down next to me, and studied me as I stared out the window at one of the security guards making his rounds on the grounds. I didn't know this guy, but knew everything that he was supposed to be doing and looking for. And I envied him. I don't know why, but I started crying. I haven't cried since my mother died. And now I was sitting here on my bed crying. Putting her arm gently around my shoulder, with her other hand, she pulled a Kleenex from the nightstand and wiped my eyes as she whispered quietly, "It's all right. We were expecting this and you need to get it out of your system. You are not used to the hormones that are now flowing through your body and you feel discouraged from being in this room for so long. You want to get out and get some fresh air but we can't let you move around much yet. Isn't that how you feel?" I wiped my eyes and looked at Joan's face as I nodded. This was the first time that she had touched me. I felt so funny inside from the feel of her hands against my skin. Why am I making a fool out of myself? "Look how tense you are. Get that robe off and lay down on your belly while I rub some of the tension away. My hands are magic." she instructed. She stood up and tugged gently on my robe's belt. I smiled at her and knew that she was right. I am too tense and a backrub would relax me. I stood up also, undid my robe belt and let the robe drop to the floor. Then I laid down on my belly, remembering to position my boobs so that they were not pinched. I was wearing only panties and the cool air felt good on my bare skin. Joan's strong hands glided smoothly over my body as she covered my legs, back, shoulders, and arms with baby oil. What she was doing to me felt great and I could have fell asleep quite easily. After my back was coated with lotion, Joan said "Your panties are in the way." as she gently took hold of my panties, and slowly pulled them all the way off. As Joan began gently kneading my buttocks, my mind drifted off to a favorite lake that I liked to fish at. I felt so peaceful from just the touch of her hands on my bare skin. My entire body, every muscle and every nerve, was totally relaxed. Faintly I heard her voice say "Roll over now." and something sounded different. Her voice sounded husky all of a sudden. Wonder if she is coming down with a summer cold? I slowly rolled over onto my back and shut my eyes against the overhead light. I felt her warm oil slick hands rub my feet and my lower legs. Then she coated and rubbed the oil into my neck and shoulders, letting the oil soak into my dry skin. While Joan's hands spread the slick oil over my body, I start daydreaming about what I would have done two months ago in a situation like this. I would have had a raging erection before I ever rolled over and would have been trying to get her to give me a blow job by now. And then it happened. I felt a warm, damp sensation between my legs. Not really within my legs, but in my lower body oozing towards my legs. A slow warm, wet delicious feeling. My body was getting turned on from what Joan was doing to me. When she said "Roll over.", I rolled over, making sure to let my legs remain slightly spread. As she applied the oil to my upper chest, I watched her face. She slowly continued applying the oil until my entire body glistened with the warm oil. When she came to my breasts, she paused for a moment and looked me directly in the eyes. For just a brief moment, she relaxed her guard and let me see the desire that she was hiding. Then she turned her eyes back into their usual deep unfathomable pools. "I like what you are doing and really enjoy a nice massage. My new body's skin is very dry and requires a lot of lotion." "You don't have a new body. It has always been your body," she said correcting me. "Do I have a beautiful body?" I asked as she rubbed the oil into my breasts, causing my nipples to harden. She stood there beside the massage table, staring down at me as developed her answer. Then she took a breath, and replied "For your age, it is a very beautiful body." "Thank you. And thank you for being more than just my tutor. Thank you for being my friend." I replied. She grinned and applied oil to my leg, lifting the leg so that the ankle was resting on her shoulder as she applied the oil. "I enjoy having your hands touch parts of my body. Although this is a woman's body, I still have my old male desires. To impersonate Carolyn in public, I will have to hide those desires. But when I am in my private quarters with just you, I want to touch you. To hold you. To feel you touch me. Is that wrong?" Joan paused and said very quietly "No. It is not wrong and it is part of the reason that I am here. It was expected that you would have sexual desires that could not be initially satisfied by the President. At least not immediately, until you become more used to being a woman. The doctors recommended that a woman be selected that you could have sex with. And I volunteered. I am here to help you learn how to be a woman in many ways. To learn what it is like to have a female body and how to use it to make love to a man or woman." I took a deep breath and looked at her, with my leg up on her shoulder as she poured a little more oil onto her hands, and applied the oil to my inner thigh. "I want to make love to you." I said. She smiled and softly replied "Not yet. You still have some more healing before that can occur. But I can do this. Just lie there and enjoy." Joan placed her hands on my belly and resumed her massage of my oiled flesh. But the massage method changed. Where before, it was clearly a massage, this time was a sexual rub. She let her hands glide quickly over my breasts, taking just a small moment to gently pinch each nipple. It caused a reaction from me as I took a deep breath from the brief electrical shock of that gentle touch. Joan began working more and more on my breasts, alternating between deep, heavy kneading, and soft, gentle strokes. She bent over and captured one of my nipples with her lips as her tongue flicked at the nipple tip barely within her mouth, causing me to groan and stretch. As I reached for her head, to pull her closer, she jumped back and whispered "No. You have to be a good girl, if you want more." My nipple had hardened at Joan's gentle imprisonment. She bent over again and wrapped her lips around the other one as her fingers tw