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21st Century Fox by suki I wake up naked with the sun streaming through the big window of my room. There are no clocks or alarms anywhere. I have no idea what time it is. Time is unimportant here. I am allowed go to sleep and wake up whenever I please. I am encouraged to take naps whenever and wherever I feel like it. I throw my arms overhead and stretch my body. I stare down over my large breasts, my flat tummy, the smooth v between my thighs, my long legs, all the way down to my pretty painted toes. I feel warm and sleepy and horny in the warm sunlight. I can feel the sudden rush of pleasure from whatever it was they put in my brain flooding me with approval. "Yes daddy," I say out loud. I am not embarrassed. Instead I am proud to please him. His eyes are everywhere. I see one right above me on the ceiling over the bed. I rub my left breast with one hand and squeeze the nipple. I let my other hand run over my flat tummy and with my middle finger trace the moist slit between my thighs. I play with myself under daddy's gaze for as long as I can stand it and then I roll over on my knees and slip two fingers inside my new pussy. All I need is something to fill my bottom and mouth and I will be complete. But for now, this is will have to do. My body gives a little shudder and I gasp as a series of pleasurable convulsions shake me. I don't take long to come. It only takes thirty seconds or so. That is the average time it takes for a guy to come. It is the one thing I have left of my old self. I feel guilty saying "old self." Whatever they did to my brain having certain thoughts make me feel very sad and give me terribly painful tummy aches. The thought of my "old self" is one of them. I feel like I am going to be sick. I roll onto my side hugging myself. I can't help it. Sometimes the thoughts come. A girl who used to be my best friend put this particular thought in my brain. I don't remember her name even though we both came here together. Oh!!! Another tummy cramp. "I'm sorry daddy." I'll tell the truth. The truth is that I can remember her name if I let myself. I just try to block it out of my mind. I try not to think of her name because if I do I get the cramps again. It's just that it is so darn impossible sometimes. I haven't seen her since they took her away one night from the room next door. She was struggling and shouting and trying to fight the attendants. Some of the girls didn't bother to get up, but I recognized her voice and was curious what was happening. I walked lazily to the doorway. It was very hard to watch. She wouldn't obey them. They finally had to use some kind of device with a small blue light on it. They touched it to her body and she suddenly fell to the floor kicking and flopping around. She lost control of herself and pee-peed all over the floor. It was terribly embarrassing. They finally brought a stretcher and carried her away. A little later one of the grey uniform girls came and cleaned up the mess. I went back to bed and fell asleep. The next morning I remembered vaguely what happened at breakfast when I didn't see her in the cafeteria. We never saw her again. Sometimes I still feel bad for her. But I know it was her own fault. She tried to cause trouble by getting us other girls to think. I shouldn't even be thinking this but I have to be honest. I have to confess. The cramp in my tummy eases up. "Thank you daddy." It is always best to be honest with daddy. He has eyes everywhere. He can see right into your soul. I shudder even in the sunlight. Sometimes it can be scary to be loved so much. I don't want to let him down. I don't want to be a grey uniform girl. I swing my long smooth legs out of bed. I don't have to worry about making it up. The grey uniform girls do that. They do everything for us. We are different from they are. We are good girls. I walk almost on tiptoe to the pretty bathroom. It is necessary to walk like this because of the elegant arch they gave to each of my tiny feet. My small plump toes descend perfectly from large to small. The permanent nails are painted red. It is difficult to walk on my new feet without wearing high heels. Either way, with shoes or without, I have to take tiny steps. It is impossible to walk fast or to play tennis. It is impossible to run at all. But why would I need to run? Daddy is watching over me. I sit down to go pee-pee and when I get up the bowl flushes automatically. I know going to the bathroom is not something other girls talk about. But I have to tell everything. That's the way it is with me. There is no detail of my life that is hidden. I am encouraged to speak as freely and honestly to you as I am to daddy. Pretty soon everyone will be my daddy. That is the goal. That is what they say when they say anything at all. Mostly, though, they say not to worry about anything. That everything will be taken care of. That daddy loves us. So that is what I try to do. I step into the shower stall and the water comes on automatically. It is preset so it comes on very warm. I know then to use the soap on my body. I wash my long, shiny dark hair at night. The shower knows this and turns off earlier in the morning so I try to keep it dry. The soap is a soft, creamy bar that smells like lavender. It was determined that the flower I loved best was lavender. That's why I was given this kind of soap. Some girls have other scents: rose, peach, honeysuckle. I love lavender. It makes me feel sexy. I love to spread the soap on my breasts and over the firmly-packed cheeks of my girly bottom and especially along the hairless v between my legs. After I'm lathered up, I let the warm water gently massage my body, the pulse of it set to loosen and relax me. It feels so wonderful that I slip two soapy fingers inside me. I cant help myself. I look to the ceiling and smile into one of daddy's many, many eyes. The shower gently goes from very warm to cold and when it is colder than I can stand it I step out. It is a good thing the water gets cold or I don't think I would ever know when my shower is over. It feels so good. I would stand under the water far too long. I would miss other important things I am supposed to do. That is just one way that daddy takes care of me. The moment I step out of the shower the water turns off and I stand in a special cubicle where sucking warm air vacuums the moisture from my body. There is a red heat lamp overhead to make sure I don't get cold and when the vacuum turns off I am perfectly warm and dry. I sit at my vanity and brush the sleep tangles from my hair. First I look at my face in the mirror. I am not embarrassed to say this. I cannot pretend to be modest. That would be dishonest. The truth is that I look at my face for a long time and admire it. I am very beautiful. I was given this beautiful face and I am meant to enjoy it and feel proud of it. I will tell you what I see when I look into the mirror. My straight dark hair falls down to just above my butt and is cut blunt along the bangs. My eyes are dark and almond shaped and very exotic looking. They are enhanced by eyeliner permanently tattooed along the edge of my eyelids. My mouth is a full-lipped cupid's pout made even sexier by tattooed lip-liner and red ink. My nose is tiny and just slightly turned up. It is very cute. I also have wonderfully high cheekbones and a dainty little chin. When I smile, my teeth are perfectly straight and white and I have a dimple in each cheek. I love to smile. Something pleasant is released in my brain when I smile so I do it as often as possible. I do it even when things hurt me. I smile and I immediately feel better no matter how bad the bad thing is. But mostly I smile like I'm smiling now. For no reason at all. Except that it feels good to smile and I look beautiful. I give my hair one hundred strokes in the morning and evening. The number is one hundred exactly; no more and no less. I make sure I pay careful attention to what I am doing so I don't lose count. I stare at my face in the mirror as I brush and with each stroke I say what I am supposed to say: I am Maya180. I say that over and over as I brush my hair. Each time I say it I get an intense feeling of pleasure. I enjoy saying it. They explained to me how it would feel good to say it. They said it was the special name chosen just for me. No one else has this name and so I must take very good care of it. They said it was my mantra. That I should repeat it like I would my mantra. I'm not really sure I remember what they said a mantra was though. It is something very deep and spiritual. That much I remember. I shouldn't try to remember more. If I do, I'll get that bad feeling again. The fact that I don't remember is supposed to be a good sign. So I just keep brushing my hair, one stroke after another, until it shines like dark water in the sunlight. I am Maya180. I am done with my hair and I didn't even lose count! I didn't get any bad feeling at all this morning! I am getting better at paying attention. That is good. It is good to pay attention to small details. I don't know why. That would be a big detail and daddy takes care of those. So I don't worry about that. It is the small details that I am supposed to take care of. It is enough to remember to spray on my perfume. It is in a pretty little cut-glass bottle. I am supposed to spray it on all the places I would like to be kissed. One little spritz in each place. There are so so many places I would like to be kissed. Each of these places releases that good feeling in my brain. The whisper of the perfume on my wrists, inside my elbows, behind my knees, in the hollow of my throat, on my painted toes--oh, I told you there were so many places!-is almost enough to distract me completely with pleasure. The perfume, of course, is lavender. It smells so beautiful. I only wish daddy could smell it too and kiss me all over in all my special places. Oh well I feel hungry so I set out for the cafeteria. There is no door to my room. There is no door to any of our rooms. We don't need privacy here. We are all girls and we have no secrets from each other. We have nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing we can do that we can't do out in the open. We all do the same things. Besides, daddy watches over all of us. He is everywhere and he won't let anything bad happen. I slip my feet into a pair of high-heel sandals and head for the open doorway. In the hall there are other girls walking to one place or another. We all take their time. There is no hurry. We all walk high up on our toes, our bottoms swaying, our wrists brushing the outside of our thighs. It is just the way we walk. We all look very sensuous and content. Aside from the high-heels, the other girls are naked like me. We never wear clothes. Why do we need clothes here? Only the grey uniform girls wear clothes. There is only a small line at the cafeteria and I do not have to wait long for my breakfast. Everything operates so smoothly here. A grey uniform girl fills a tall paper cup with my special nutrition shake. I tell her I'd like the strawberry flavor today. She takes the cup and goes to the big silver machine and put the cup under the spigot labeled "strawberry." I know that under her grey uniform she is beautiful just like me. But her body has to be hidden because she has known the shame of displeasing daddy. It must be terrible to have to hide your body like that. It must be unbearable to know that daddy no longer wants to see you. The grey uniform girl comes back with my nutrition drink. She puts a straw in it and hands it to me. Her hair is up in an efficient bun and covered with a grey plastic cap. Her eyes are completely glazed over. Her face is without expression. There is something very disturbing about her. She looks as if she no longer feels either pleasure or the sick feeling. It must be terrible to feel nothing like a grey uniform girl. I sit at a table and sip my strawberry shake. There are a couple of other girls there and we talk about how much we like our shakes. We compliment each other's hair, eyes, breasts, and tummies. We are all very beautiful so there is no feeling of competition. We are all just variations of the same model of beauty. We appreciate the small differences between us without wanting to be different. We know that daddy loves each of us for exactly who we are. He loves each of us all the same. We are proud to be who we are. We are all sisters and we are also proud of our sisters' beauty. I love my sisters and I love my daddy and they all love me. I only drink half my shake before I am full. I don't have to finish it. I only need to drink as much as I want. There are no rules. I eat when I am hungry and sleep when I am tired. I leave the cup on the table. One of the grey uniform girls will come to take it. I head for the tanning room. It is a long room lined with plastic cocoons along each wall. Inside you can see each naked girl. They lie on their backs on a plastic platform with the tanning lights above and below them so you don't have to bother turning around. I walk up to the nearest empty cocoon, slip off my heels, and lie inside. I close the cover and immediately the sunlamps come on. The warmth feels good against my naked flesh. On both the front and back of my body I can feel the heat lamps. It is a sexy feeling to know that beside me other naked girls are lying and dozing as their skin slowly tans in their glass cocoons. I keep my eyes closed and I slowly drift off to sleep. I don't have any dreams. I never dream. When I sleep I just sleep and when I wake up I wake up. I am supposed to report any dreams I have to my counselor but since I never have any dreams I have nothing to report. My counselor seems pleased and that makes me proud. When I wake up the heat lamps are already fading to a dull orange. They know how much exposure I need. I don't have to think about it. I watch the bulbs slowly going out until just the filaments are lit. I watch them wink out all at the same time. I feel so deliciously toasty and warm but I am not sleepy. I am quite refreshed from my dreamless sleep. Actually I am more than refreshed. I am sexually excited. The warmth and the sleep and the nutrition shake and the constant eyes of daddy have made me rather horny. I can feel the moisture lubricating my the hairless slit. It is not embarrassing. It is a beautiful thing to be turned on like I am. There is no reason to hide it or pretend it isn't so or even deny it to yourself. It is just a fact. My body knows what it needs. It needs to be fucked. I throw my legs over the side of the cocoon, slip on my heels, and head for the room of fucking machines. Sometimes there is still the slightest feeling of shame when I go to the room of fucking machines. I don't know why. It is a perfectly natural a girl like me to be fucked. It is no different from eating or sleeping. But once in a while there is a small feeling of doubt. It is as if I were doing something wrong. It is very difficult to describe. What is worse, it makes the fucking less enjoyable because even though the machines make it feel so good the shame releases the unpleasant feeling in my brain. I try not to think about it. It's better not to think, I've always found. It is better just to follow my body. It always seems to know what I really need. Sometimes I wish I didn't have a mind at all. That is one of the good things about the fucking machines. It doesn't take long on one before all your thoughts are gone entirely and all you have left is the deliciously pleasurable feelings rising from your body. Many of the fucking machines are already in operation. I can see the girls mounted on top of them. The room is full of their soft moans, heavy breathing, and cries of passion. Every once in a while a girl would cry out that special cry that meant she had reached the ultimate purpose in her life. It is a very beautiful sound. One by one every girl in the fucking room will experience it. The fucking machines never fail to make a girl cry out that very special cry. I climb on top of one of the machines. This time I don't take off my heels. It is understood that daddy likes to see us fucking in our high- heels so we don't take them off when riding the machines. A great deal of the pleasure we get is in knowing that being fucked is pleasing daddy. I straddle the machine and rest my knees on the knee pads and lean forward. I grasp the special handlebar running across the front of the machine. The position reminds me of something in my past and I feel a little bit of the sick feeling again. Fortunately the machine immediately starts up, vibrating beneath me, and the feeling goes away in anticipation of the pleasure to come. I let out a little gasp as I feel the lubricated rubber cock push its way slowly into my baby-smooth slit. In the background I hear another girl give her special cry of fulfillment. At nearly the same time another lubricated rubber cock presses itself against my bottom. I am so relaxed and turned on that it slips inside me without any resistance. I start to moan. The special suction cups in which I placed my breasts begin to work on my nipples and I open my mouth greedily for the last cock that slides towards me on its mechanical arm. I am being fucked in every possible way. The cocks move quickly in and out and I can feel my breathing and heart rate increase. The fucking machine is relentless. I let out another desperate moan. God, this is the best feeling of all. I love to be fucked in my mouth, bottom, and slit all at the same time. I am trying to think of the man to whom I will be married after my time here is over. He is supposed to be very rich. That is why he can afford a girl like me. They showed me his photograph and I am supposed to picture him while I am on the fucking machine. It is a little difficult to think of anything right now but I force myself to remember his photograph. He is an older man with white hair and a very stern face. I close my eyes and try to see him as the machine picks up even more speed, fucking me three times at once, the suction on my nipples growing greater. I grasp the bar tightly. It is so difficult to concentrate on anything but the pleasure but I know I must try. When I do manage to picture him the pleasure only increases. I realize then with a shock of happiness that the man I am to marry looks just like daddy. It doesn't take long for my orgasm to come. It is only thirty seconds before the cocks release their fluid. I feel it shooting inside me in hard, hot jets. I greedily gulp down the salty fluid that fills my mouth as my body shudders on the fucking machine and I start to come. I feel my toes curl inside the high-heeled sandals and I begin lifting myself up and down on the fucking machine as it starts to happen. I hear my own voice cry that special cry as the most incredible tidal wave of pleasure rolls through me. When it passes, I am left so spent and exhausted on the fucking machine I fall into a light sleep. I wake up a little while later and decide to go back to my room for a nap. I take the elevator up to my floor and feel daddy's eye watching me the whole time. It feels so good to have him watching me. I love knowing that he is always there. I am certain he must be proud of the way I performed on the fucking machine. I slip my heels off and lay down on my bed and it doesn't take long at all before I am fast asleep. And that is when something very bad happens. It is something that hasn't happened for as long as I can remember. The last time it happened I must have been my "old self." The bad feeling comes when I think of my "old self," but it is nothing compared to the awful pain I'm in now. I am curled in a fetal position on the bed, my tummy aching terribly. I am so cold my teeth are chattering. My flesh is hot and sweaty and my heart is thudding uncomfortably in my chest. What is happening to me? Am I sick? Am I dying? I had dreamed of the grey uniform girl that served me my breakfast this morning. I know that it is forbidden to dream but I didn't do it on purpose. It just came to me. What's worse, it is forbidden to speak or communicate with a grey uniform girl. It is considered to be such a bad offense that I am terrified that even talking to her in my dream I have committed an unforgivable sin. I try to push the dream from my mind but I can't. I know daddy can see me, see me in this anguish, and I'm caught between wondering why he doesn't help me and the even more unthinkable possibility that he doesn't love me anymore. In spite of myself I remember who the grey uniform girl was. She was my friend Katya360. What she had said was all coming back to me in tiny fragments. But each memory caused me to double over in pain as if I were being stabbed from the inside. Katya360 said she was only trying to help me. She said she still remembered her "old self" and warned me that I was being brainwashed. She told me that I had been selected to undergo a special procedure that would turn me into the girl I am now. She tried to remind me of my "old self" and told me that it was their plan to make me forget my "old self" so that I would become just what they wanted: a beautiful, happy, bride-to-be for whoever could afford me. She told me that with the new century approaching and more and more women taking advantage of social, economic, sexual, and political equality there would be a shortage of girls like me. She said it was decided that with the advances in medical and psychological technology available it would be possible to make the "ideal" girl. Then she said the most blasphemous thing of all. She said that I was really a man. That I was a man like the man I was going to marry. That I was a man like daddy. Katya360 said that it was proven that men knew better how to sexually please another man. The only obstacle to men seeking pleasure from other men was a built in biological repulsion that men had for each other's bodies since no act of procreation could result from their union. Therefore it was decided to cull certain men who already had many feminine physical and mental characteristics from the population and turn them into women. Since procreation could easily be handled artificially, there was little need for the standard male-female relationships. Although limited at first to the rich, soon every man would be able to afford an "ideal" girl. Katya360 said many more things of a similar nature: how with less men in the world crime rates would drop, wars would be less likely waged, and there would be enough of everything to end the endless cycle of bloodshed that had kept the men of the world at each other's throats since the beginning of time. I can hardly make sense of any of it. All I know is that what she said is making the bad feelings come. Still I can't stop thinking about what she had said. Katya360 said she had seen the room where the initial transformations take place. She said she had seen the computer files in which the data of our former lives were recorded. She said a lot of other things I had tried to forget-and had forgotten until I'd had this dream. Now the memories are all flooding back and I feel so sick I wish I would just die if only to end the pain. I stare up at the ceiling and the small black eye looking down on me. "Daddy, daddy," I plead. "Please help me." I know that I have to see a counselor. I just don't know how I am going to be able to get to one in the state I'm in right now. I just lay there in agony, doubled over in sick pain, for I don't know how long. And then just as suddenly as the pain appeared, it vanishes. It was just a dream, I think. It was just a bad dream. No wonder why they didn't want us to dream. Dreams make you feel badly. It is important not to dream. I vow I will never dream again! It is a silly promise to make because I didn't choose to dream in the first place. But I make it anyway. I look up at daddy's small eye in the ceiling and sincerely promise him that I will never dream again. There are a lot of girls in the cafeteria when I pass by. I'm not hungry. I put off seeing the counselor until later. I feel much better now. Instead I decide to take a long walk. We are encouraged to exercise whenever we want but there is no set program. The delicious nutrition shakes we are given seem to keep up all in good shape. Still, if some girls want to work off some energy or just want something to do there is a pool and an exercise spa where a personal trainer will assist you. I prefer to walk. The sun is directly overhead and it feels good on my body. It is not quite like the light in the tanning cocoons. It is hard to explain why it feels better, but it does. I lift each leg one at a time and slip off my high-heels. It is more difficult to walk without them but I like the feel of the warm green grass between my bare toes. I love taking long walks around the grounds of the- Something happens when I try to think of what to call this place. What is it exactly? What am I doing here? I look back at the all-natural glass and wood building with the large pool in back surrounded by beautiful naked girls. I see the glass solarium and the greenhouse and the beautiful gardens. I see the volleyball court where two groups of five girls each are playing in a large pit of sand. I see all this and I wonder what it is I am supposed to call it. It strikes me as odd that for the first time I have thought about this. Perhaps it has something to do with the dream. I cringe in anticipation of the pain when I mention the dream, but no pain comes. Instead just an intense curiosity. What is this place anyway. Is it a hospital of some sort? What am I really doing here? I am supposed to be getting married soon. I've already seen my husband-to-be. Is this the place girls came to be prepared for marriage? If so, what a strange thing marriage is. I look up at one of the many eyes among the trees left standing on the grounds. "Daddy," I say. "What is this place?" I come to the end of the grounds and see the tall wire-mesh fence that I have come to many times before. There is barbed-wire at the top and I know it is electrified because there are warning signs on it and we have been told not to touch it. Sometimes I've seen birds and small animals lying at the base of the fence. The grey uniform girls usually try to take them away before we see them. They don't want us to get upset. But more than once I've wept to see a baby rabbit staring blindly up at the sky. Now I stare through the fence at the steep drop of the cliff just beyond it and the view of the blue-green sea. It always seemed to me that the fence was put up to keep out all the bad things in the world. At least I just took for granted that was why it was put up. Daddy was always looking out for us. He put up this fence to keep us safe. That is what I always thought. Now I begin to wonder. The thought I am having does not make me feel bad but it makes me ashamed to face the little eyes in the trees. It makes me ashamed to be seen by daddy. I am thinking that maybe the fence was put up not to keep the bad people out. It was put up to keep us in. I sit at the edge of the grounds and stare through the fence at the sea until the sun begins to go down. I watch it disappear into the ocean, turning the waves red and orange, and feel a dark cold breeze blowing against my still warm flesh. I shiver and decide it is time to go back. Again the cafeteria is filled with girls but I still don't feel hungry. I decide not to put it off any longer and go to a counselor. All of the booths are empty and I walk into the closest one. The door shuts automatically behind me. I put my left palm down on the special black sensor plate and a face and voice automatically comes on the screen. "Hello Maya180. Please slip the first two fingers of your right and into the finger sleeves on the panel to your right." I do as she asks. "Thank you Maya180. How can I help you?" It is a woman's face. She is not as pretty as the other girls or I but there is something about her face that is strong and dignified and attractive. It is a face that you feel you can trust even with your most painful and darkest secrets. I sit there staring at the face for a long time wondering how I should begin. How can I possibly tell her what is really on my mind? How can I say that I had begun to have suspicions about the place I had called my home for as long as I could remember? How can I tell her about the dream I'd had and the beautiful girl I'd known as Katya360 who was now a grey uniform girl? How can I tell her what Katya360 had told me? How can I ask her if even some of what Katya360 had told me were true? Certainly the counselor would deny it. But they were always supposed to tell the truth, weren't they? They were there to help us. I am very, very confused. Again the counselor asks in her pleasant but very straightforward tone. "How can I help you, Maya180?" "I'm not sure," I say honestly. "Is something troubling you?" The counselor's voice is neutral, inspiring trust, but suddenly I am not so sure I can trust it at all. "No," I say. The counselor's face gives just the hint of a frown. But it is the kind of frown that reveals more disappointment than anger. "You are not being honest Maya 180. Are you?" "No," I say. The sensors in the finger sleeves will betray me every time. "That's better," the counselor says. "Now why don't you tell me what is troubling you?" "My marriage is coming up," I say. "Yes?" "And I guess I was just a little nervous. I mean I don't know what will happen on the outside. I don't remember ever being there." "Your husband has been carefully chosen," the counselor says. "You have nothing to worry about. He loves you like your daddy loves you. The world on the outside is safe so long as you do as your daddy tells you. Daddy will always protect you. There is nothing to fear. Do you understand?" "Yes," I say. "I understand." The woman's face and voice are so sincere I almost want to believe her. For a moment I really do believe her and that is what saves me. "Thank you very much," I say. "Is there anything else?" "No," I say quickly. "Thank you." I pull my fingers from the sleeves. "Thank you very much." "Your welcome Maya180 and congratulations on your upcoming wedding." The counselor smiles warmly and the screen goes black. The door of the booth opens and I know where I have to go next. There is no place out of bounds for a girl like me. We are permitted to range freely throughout the facilities. After all, daddy's eyes are everywhere. There is literally no place we can go without him seeing us. If there is a place where we might get hurt or otherwise don't really belong someone will gently and patiently lead us away. Katya360 told me where the place is where the men are processed and the computer files are kept. I find it without any trouble at all. The dream has brought back all the memories and for some reason the knowledge that she was right all along acts as a kind of antidote to the bad feelings. Still, I have to keep one hand on the cramp in my tummy as I make my way to the building's basement. They are there just like Katya360 said. They are lying naked in sealed cylinders with tubes running out of them. They are in various stages of transformation. Some have breasts. Some have already undergone the extensive plastic surgery that have transformed their faces into those of beautiful girls. Only a few have the smooth plastic v between their legs. Most of them still have their penises. I walk among the rows of cylinders in stunned amazement. Was I once like one of these creatures? Was I once a daddy? It seems inconceivable. And yet here was the evidence right before my eyes. Katya360 had been right all along. I stop at one cylinder and see a creature, half-man, half-woman, and put my palm against the glass. The poor creature inside looks remarkably like me. At the top of the cylinder I read the small engraved sign: Maya181. I don't need to read the computer files to remember who I was. My name was Robert Morrison and I used to be an airline pilot. I was married to a woman named Jan. We'd tried to have children but it turned out I was sterile. Jan was extremely upset. Our marriage was already on shaky ground when she discovered I enjoyed wearing women's clothes. I had endured her affairs with other men and had even offered to undergo an experimental surgical procedure in the hopes it would correct my sterility. I had loved her with all my heart. I would have done anything for her. I remember being admitted to the hospital in Switzerland. Jan had traveled with me. She seemed very excited. I thought it was because of the new hope my upcoming surgery had given our relationship. I realize now the mistake I had made. I should have known something was wrong when the psychiatrist assigned to my case asked me so many questions about my crossdressing and sexual fantasies. They asked me a lot of questions about the time my father caught me dressed in my older sister's clothes. They could only have gotten that from Jan. She was the only one I'd ever told. I felt betrayed and hurt. Still, I tried to be as honest as I could. I really wanted to get better for Jan. She came to see me less and less. The doctors said it was for the best. Meanwhile they subjected me to test after test. Some of them seemed quite bizarre. I was made to watch x-rated movies while listening to what sounded like pleasant new-age music. At first the movies were the typical ones of men having sex with women. Then the women were removed from the tapes. I was encouraged to imagine who they were having sex with. Later they showed me tapes of men having sex with women who still had penises. Meanwhile they monitored all my responses with electrodes, including the electro- muscular impulses in my penis. I was always extremely embarrassed when I got an erection, especially when it occurred during the movies when the men were having sex with the men with penises. The nurses and women doctors did their best to make me feel comfortable and even encouraged me to enjoy these movies. Jan showed up on the day my surgery was scheduled. She came into my room right after the anesthesiologist left. It was then that she explained how she had sold my body to the 21st Century Fox Corporation. I would be turned into a new kind of woman just in time for the new millennium. I could hardly make sense of what she was saying. The drugs I'd been given were already taking effect. But enough of it sank in that I struggled to get up. It was useless. Jan just laughed and pushed me back with a little push of her hand. In addition to the drugs, I had grown considerably weaker in both mind and body. I knew there was no resisting the changes that had already occurred and were about to occur. I had fallen into her trap. As I lay there paralyzed and horrified, Jan told me how much she had made selling me. It was an astronomical amount. She would be able to live in luxury for the rest of her life. She made fun of my love for her and told me how much easier it made it for her to do what had to be done. Then she kissed me on the lips and told me how much I was going to enjoy being a real girl. That was the last thing I remembered. I feel a hand on my arm. I turn slowly and see a man in a white lab coat. He is at least six inches taller than me even with my high heels on. "Come with me," he says. I obey him without a word. I am a grey uniform girl. I wear a plain grey dress that hides my figure and a grey cap that hides my hair. On my feet I wear plain black shoes with thick rubber soles. The shoes are specially made to fit my high-arched feet but the look perfectly ordinary from the outside. I have been assigned a job. I make up the rooms of the beautiful girls on the fifth floor of the west wing. I walk passed their doorless rooms and look inside. If they are still there I do not disturb them. Sometimes they are sleeping or lounging in bed with a magazine. They are the kind of magazines that have mainly pictures and sexy advertisements. The articles are all about how to attract and hold onto men, how to make yourself more beautiful, what the latest fashions are, and how to be better in bed. I deliver the magazines to the rooms of the beautiful girls so they will have something to pass their time. They do not read the articles. They hardly look at the pictures. They just flip through them while they wait for the urge to sleep, tan, eat, or go to the fuck room. I remember how I used to lie on my tummy in bed for hours flipping through these same magazines, my ankles crossed behind me, without a care in the world. Now I must constantly be aware of the clock. I must be in certain places at certain times. The clock is awful. There are tones and alarms that I must obey no matter how I am feeling or what I am doing. I wear a little clock on my wrist and it tells me where I must go every hour of the day. I hate it. But I am a grey uniform girl and I have no choice. No one uses my name anymore and no one bothers to talk to me unless it is to give me a command. I cannot even go to the counselors when I feel sad. I feel sad all the time now. It is terrible being a grey uniform girl. The beautiful girls act as if I don't even exist. The other grey uniform girls act as if they don't even know what has happened to them. I tried to talk to Katya360 once but she just stared straight through me as if she didn't even see me. It is terrible. I wonder if I will be like that eventually. I wonder if I will no longer remember when I was a beautiful girl. Sometimes I think it would almost be better not to remember. It is torture to think that I used to be a beautiful girl. It is torture to think that I was going to be married. It is torture to think that once my daddy loved me. Now they have taken away everything, including my name. Sometimes I pass the doorless rooms where the beautiful girls live and I see one of them lying there leisurely masturbating under daddy's eye. They move so slowly and sensuously with the delicious knowledge that they are being watched. Sometimes they lie on their tummies like I used to lie, their pert little tanned butts in the air, as they stroke themselves to orgasm. Sometimes they lie on their backs, their knees drawn up to their chests, exposing their hairless little v's to daddy's loving gaze. They lick their lips and squeeze their hardened nipples and close their eyes and let themselves totally go in his presence. How wonderful it is to be watched. How wonderful it is to come for daddy. How much I miss that. Now I am not allowed to touch myself. I can no longer use the fuck machines. I can barely stand the sight of my own body. I am ugly and sexless. Now that I am a grey uniform girl no one will ever want me again. And that is not even the worst part. The worst part is that I had already been fitted with my wedding gown. It was beautiful and sexy. The skirt was short to show off my legs. The bodice was the most delicate of corsets: wire hidden in lace and it revealed just a bit of my tanned flat tummy. Over it all the headpiece fell in a wondrous cascade of filmy tulle as if I were standing under the mist in which a rainbow might appear. My shoes were little more than slippers made of gauzy fabric through which my painted toes showed. The bottoms were soft cotton so as to make not a sound, but the cotton muffled a hard sole that was arched severely to show off my altered feet. To top it all off, I was to wear a small tiara like a princess might wear, for on that day I was my daddy's little princess. He would be watching me proud as can be as I walked up the aisle. He would give me away to the man who would be my new daddy. That is how much daddy loved me. That he picked out a man to be my new daddy. And my new daddy and I would live happily ever after. Now that daddy doesn't even want to see me. Daddy doesn't look at my body. I am never to show it to him again. I am an embarrassment to him. I have to hide myself inside this ugly grey uniform. I am a grey uniform girl and daddy doesn't love me. He used to love me. He used to watch me all the time. Now I don't exist in his eyes. He has disowned me. He doesn't even see me. When I make up the rooms of the beautiful girls his eye goes blind. My daddy doesn't love me anymore. How can I go on? How can I live without my daddy's love? I stand outside the empty room of one of the beautiful girls. I am dressed in this ugly grey uniform. My hair is covered. My feet are concealed. My daddy won't even look at me. I stand here with the new sheets in my arms to change the beautiful girl's bed and I can feel the tears rolling down my face. I can feel the bad feeling coming on. It is worst than it ever was. I don't care. I hope it kills me. I crouch on the floor doubled over in pain. I lay on my side and draw my knees to my chest. The pain is going to kill me I am certain of it. I will die right now in front of the beautiful girl's room and daddy won't even watch me die. It is what I deserve. It is what I want. The pain is so bad. I am holding my stomach but I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a moan. I won't bother you daddy. I won't bother you anymore. I will just die quietly under your blind eye. I will die like a good girl. It is all I can do to prove I am a good girl now. I feel the hands lift me roughly to my feet to carry me off. They will take me someplace else to die. That is okay. I don't belong here. I am a grey uniform girl. It would be unpleasant for the beautiful girls to see me die. Take me away.take me away someplace to die. Only one last thing. I love you daddy. They didn't take me to a place to die. They took me to a counselor. I sit in the booth and place my left palm on the soft pad and the face comes on the screen. The woman looks neither happy nor angry. "Please slip the first two fingers of your right and into the finger sleeves on the panel to your right," she says patiently. I do as she says. The pain has gone away and I feel strangely removed from my body. I look down and see that I am no longer wearing the grey uniform. My feet are bare, my toes resting lightly on the floor. "How may I help you?" the counselor says in her calm and neutral tone. "I don't understand," I start, haltingly, my breath catching on sobs. "Why am I here?" "You are here because you understand." "I understand what?" For the first time I see the counselor laugh. "Exactly," she says. "Really, I don't understand," I say. I will never be able to understand the counselors. I will never be able to understand anything. "Please I am very sorry. I am a stupid girl. I don't know anything. Why am I here? Why am I no longer wearing my grey uniform. If you will just tell me" "You already know." I am close to desperation. I feel that this is some kind of test. I have one last chance. "What do I know?" I plead. "Please tell me what I know." "Who are you?" "My name is Maya180." "That is correct. And why were you crying and in pain only moments ago? "Because I was so sad," I say. "Why were you sad?" I feel the tears start to roll down my face. "I am sad because daddy doesn't love me anymore. I am sad because he no longer wants to see me. I am sad because I am a grey uniform girl and all I want is for my daddy to love and watch me. My name is Maya180 and I am a beautiful girl. I have been created to please. I want to please my daddy. Every man is my daddy." I continue to speak until I am no longer crying. I keep on talking as the good feelings flood my naked body. I keep on talking even as the counselor nods and smiles and explains that the other grey uniform girls could not accept their true purpose and that's why they never came back. They did not feel the things that I feel. They did not feel the bad feelings anymore. That is why they had to remain grey uniform girls. She says that many girls went through what I went through. It is the final crisis, as she calls it. She keeps on talking but I am hardly listening anymore. I am myself touching myself and telling daddy how much I love him and I feel his eye open again and I feel myself open and I am crying but I am crying for joy and my orgasm is tremendous as I heard daddy himself speak "Welcome to the 21st century Maya180." (the end)