TGTV
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TGTV: Murphy Brown free porn video
TGTV: Murphy Brown
By Heather St. Claire
Is it more blessed to give than to receive? I guess that's something I
had to learn about firsthand...although I'm not sure that changing a
man's sex against his will is the best way to find out.
If you've read some of my earlier stories in this series, you know
about me being given a free trial of a new cable service, called TGTV.
I can use the special remote to enter the life of any female television
character of my choice. Once in the program, the remote can also be
used to change the sex of other characters.
In earlier installments, I visited the Mary Tyler Moore Show as Laura
Petrie, Bewitched as Samantha Stevens, and WKRP in Cincinnati as Bailey
Quarters. Although I had used the remote inside a show once (to change
bratty Richie Petrie into sweet Rachel Petrie), I had, for the most part,
concentrated on the female experience and what it meant to me. It was
time, a voice inside of me said, to share the joys of womanhood.
I sat on my couch, rapidly surfing through the channels, looking for a
show that seemed to offer...possibilities. I stopped when I saw
Candice Bergen's face on the screen. Of course! Murphy Brown!
Another show based in the world of broadcasting, my real-life
employment field...a show with well-defined characters...yes, this
would be my next destination.
But not as Murphy. I waited until Corky Sherwood strode into the
bullpen. I saw the stiletto heels, the sleek, nylon-clad legs, the
body-hugging black skirt, the red silk blouse that enveloped two
luscious breasts, a multi-layered string of pearls wrapped around her
slim throat; a winning smile, laughing blue eyes, and a glorious head
of blonde hair. Yes, I had to be Corky. What guy with TG fantasies
could pass up a chance at a character who had once been Miss America?
Besides, Corky managed to evolve during the run of the show, from a
sort of Cajun Pollyanna to a bright, accomplished woman. On the other
hand, Murphy had been softened to a degree by motherhood; but she was
still the same basic character at the end of the show's run she had
been in the beginning.
My resolve was firmly set; with all in readiness, I pressed the
ENTR/RPLC button on the remote, and found myself looking around the
nerve center of one of America's top television magazines, FYI.
I wanted to look in a mirror, but knew I couldn't just rush away, so I
did the next best thing; I took a deep breath, and found myself
enveloped in my wonderful new female scents. It was a heady mixture
of perfume, hair spray, deodorant, skin cream and female juices that sent
a shudder of joy through my new form.
I had a mug of steaming coffee in my hand; a glance at the clock told
me it was morning; time for the daily story meeting. I sat down in a
chair facing the glass table and demurely crossed my legs. Oh, God, I
was in heaven already! I don't care how many times I get to enter a
beautiful woman's body; the rush is just as great every time.
To my left, sitting straight as a board, was FYI senior anchor Jim Dial.
He stirred his coffee with the same precision he did everything else.
Straight across from me was Frank Fontana, FYI's daredevil
investigative reporter. Frank wore a worried, depressed look on his
face. That shouldn't have surprised me; Frank always seemed to be
upset about something. Murphy was to my left, and I could sense she
was eager to get the small talk out of the way and pitch her story to
Miles.
Ah! Miles Silverburg, the youthful executive producer of FYI. I
immediately began to think about transforming Miles into a woman! If
Frank was upset, Miles was anguished...always worrying about something.
This was, after all, a man who had been known to drink Maalox straight
from the bottle. And what was he wearing? Gray slacks, blue blazer,
white shirt, striped tie. It was the man's uniform, for God's sake!
He had to be getting a volume discount from Brooks Brothers! I
imagined him as a new woman, the two of us going on shopping trips
together, me introducing her to new concepts...like colors!
But as my reverie continued, I remembered that Miles was destined to
become Corky's second husband! Hmmm...how might this mess up her
destiny? I was suddenly brought back to the present by the voice of
the still very male Miles, asking me, "I said, what do you think of
Murphy's idea, Corky?"
I thought for a moment about faking it, but decided the truth was for
the best. "Oh, I'm sorry Miles, I wasn't paying attention." Maybe it
wasn't such a good idea. Murphy glowered at me; it was an expression
so intense that my pussy, warm and wet the moment before, suddenly felt
dry and cold.
Miles, meanwhile, exploded. "People! Let's get focused here!
Remember, we're heading into sweeps month soon!"
I did the best I could to look contrite, apologized, and tried to focus
on Murphy's story proposal. It worked, to a degree, but there was
still this voice in the back of my head shouting, 'You're a beautiful
woman again! You're a beautiful woman again! How lucky can you be?'
When the meeting broke up, I took a moment to speak to Frank, who
seemed to be desperately in need of comforting.
"What's the matter, Frank?" I found myself asking, as I placed a
sisterly hand on his shoulder. "Another bad date? Another weekend of
dashed hopes?"
Frank's look of pain was heartbreaking. "How could you tell, Corky?"
I shook my pretty head and said, "Frank, Frank, Frank! How many years
have we worked together now? And you know, you never have been good
at hiding your feelings."
With that, FYI's daredevil spilled the story of another one of his
relationships coming to an end. It wasn't a surprise. He had been
dating a local model who seemed to have everything going for her a man
could ask for -- beauty, brains, intelligence and a sense of humor. So
of course, the relationship was doomed.
"Let me guess, Frank," I said as consolingly as I could. "This was
what, your sixth or seventh date?"
"Seventh."
"I bet she brought up the 'C' word." Frank just looked puzzled.
"Commitment, you dope!" I almost shrieked.
"Well, uh, yeah, I suppose..." Frank Fontana, the man who was utterly
fearless when jumping from an airplane, walking into a hostage
situation, or dodging bullets on a battlefield, somehow ran in terror
whenever the question of a long-term relationship with a woman
presented itself. What was wrong with him? For than matter, what was
wrong with most men?
"Frank Fontana!" I said, placing my hands on my wonderfully curved hips.
"This is a problem that I can't solve! Your therapist doesn't seem to
be doing you much good! All I know is that something very deep rooted
seems to be preventing you from being happy! For your sake, I hope you
get to the bottom of it!"
"Thanks, Corky," he said weakly, shuffling toward his office.
I put Frank out of my mind for a moment, and detoured to the ladies'
room. At last! A chance to look into the mirror, and see a female
face staring back at me; and a quite lovely one, at that. I was so
happy, I wanted to cry. But I held off, knowing that it would ruin my
makeup. Besides, I thought as I stepped into one of the stalls, there
are other wonderful things to keep me occupied.
Before I knew it, I was sitting on the toilet, my skirt at my ankles,
my hose and silk panties pulled down far enough to give me unencumbered
access to my new genitals. I had soon zeroed in on my clit, and found
myself rapidly fingering myself toward an orgasm. "Hello, beautiful,"
I muttered as my fingers found my clit. Ah, the only organ in the body,
female or male, designed just for pleasure. What had I read the other
day, this little nub had something like eight thousand nerve endings
in it? No wonder I couldn't keep my fingers away from it for too long
...no wonder any man with any real courage or imagination wanted
one of his own!
No! I shouldn't be doing this! What if I got caught? "The heck with
it," I muttered, and soon found my whole body racked with waves of
pleasure. I tried to contain myself, but soon was emitting a series of
low moans. I heard the door to the hall open, but it was too late. I
glanced down and saw the pair of flats that Murphy had worn that day.
'Oh, no!' I thought.
Murphy took a couple of steps into the ladies' room, then froze,
listening to my moans. "Corky?" she finally asked in that high, flat
voice she used when she was uncomfortable with a situation. "Oh God,
Corky, is that you? I know things must have been lonely for you since
you spilt with Will, but for heaven's sake, can't you show a little
restraint? I'm going to leave now, and we'll just pretend this never
happened, okay?"
"Yes," I said softly. "Sorry, Murphy." I listened for the door to
close, then waited several more minutes before I composed myself and
snuck out as quietly as I could, finding my way to Corky's -- my --
office.
Here was the essence of femininity. No big, bulky desk for Corky; just
a nice wonderful sense of self-assurance that I wished I could carry
with me back to my own life. It wasn't an ego thing...I just realized
how comfortable she was with who she was, and wished I could know that
satisfaction. But could that ever happen, unless I stayed inside one
of these programs forever?
Over the next couple of hours, I went through Corky's files and notes,
absorbing as much as possible about what *I* had been working on.
Profiles of people like Jack LaLane, Orville Redenbacher and Max
Factor...an investigation of pet grooming studios...I had to admit to
myself that this was mostly fluff. Oh well, someone had to give the
show its softer edge. It might as well be me.
Before I knew it, it was going on noon. We were all heading to Phil's
for lunch. Again. Did this group ever eat out anywhere else? The
answer, as I was to learn in the days ahead, was no. We always sat at
the same table, in the same seats, and seemed to order the same things.
I didn't get tired of Phil's salads, even though the lettuce tended
to be a little on the limp side, and he never heard of any kind other than
iceberg. I just had to look down at my slim waist, realize that I was
helping to maintain it, and I savored every bite. (I did steal a stray
French fry off the men's plates every now and then, though.)
As Murphy had indicated, this was the point in Corky's life where she
and Will Forest had already split up (Thank goodness...I don't think I
could have ever gotten used to being called Corky Sherwood Forest), so
her life -- my life -- seemed to be mainly about work. The days were
long, but satisfying. When I was home, I would usually find myself
slipping into a comfy nightgown, giving myself a facial, and catching
up on the latest fashion magazines. It was all very pleasant (even
when my period arrived) but something was nagging at me.
Namely, the question of who to change, and why. Miles kept seeming
like such an obvious candidate. Turning into a woman might not just
help calm him down, it might save his life. If I had ever seen a
walking candidate for a stroke or heart attack, Miles was it. But the
thought of him as my future husband kept staying my hand.
Who, then? Jim? Again, the idea was tempting. This was a man who
looked like he had put on his suit without removing the hanger. The
change could do him a world of good. It would undoubtedly allow him to
unlock feelings that had been buried deeply for decades.
But then, I thought of Doris. Doris and Jim. A classic couple, in the
old sense. Two marrieds who finished each other's sentences,
anticipated each other's thoughts. Sure, the fire of their passion
might not be burning as brightly as it once had, but to have the flame
still burning at all after a quarter of a century represented a real
achievement, in my view.
One day at lunch, I had a passing thought about transforming Phil. I
started chuckling to myself when I thought at least he might learn to
make a decent salad! I smiled as I imagined a painter working on the
front window, which might now read, "Phyllis'...Established 1919." But
when I saw *her* in my mind's eye hanging up ferns, I knew it wouldn't
be right. After all, Phil had inherited the place from his father
(Phil) and would be passing it along to his son (Phil) someday. There
always had to be a Phil's...and a Phil. Washington wouldn't be the
same without them.
I didn't spend all my time on this obsession, but I did think about it
every day. Sometimes, I would be shopping at Woodward and Lothrop,
look up, see a guy who had the look of a lost and lonely soul and think
maybe it's supposed to be a stranger. But that didn't add up, either.
It had to be someone I knew...someone I knew quite well.
I had been Corky for nearly six wonderful weeks when the light finally
dawned. (This included that year's Miss America pageant, which I
attended as a judge. What a thrill to be recognized as a former title-
holder!) Anyway, it was the Monday after I got back from Atlantic City.
Frank seemed lower than a snake's belly on the bottom of the swamp, as
I might have said back home in Louisiana. It didn't take feminine
intuition, or any real smarts at all, to know that another romantic
relationship had blown up in his face. After the morning staff meeting
had broken up, I asked Frank what he was working on. Turned out it
was another of his daredevil specials...an expose of a drug ring.
There was footage of Frank going undercover to make drug buys...Frank
bursting through the doors with the police as the arrests began...but
the scene that really got to me was Frank tenderly holding a young
child, maybe two years old, a daughter of one of the dealers. She was
wearing nothing but a soiled diaper, and was huddled in the corner of a
room, racked with sobs of fear over the chaos that had exploded around
her.
Frank tenderly approached the child, and with low, soothing words, won
her confidence. Soon, he picked her up and was singing her a soft,
happy tune. As the fear faded from the girl's face, a look of peaceful
contentment enveloped Frank's.
I'm sure that's when my course was set.
The opportunity came the following Friday. Not the best of days. I
had just started my period, and it was more uncomfortable than usual.
Miles and I had a blowup at work over my Cindy Crawford profile; I was
cranky, and tired, and just wanted to sleep.
In fact, I was already in bed at a few minutes after 10 when my
doorbell rang. Peering through the peephole, I saw Frank. "Corky?" he
said with quiet desperation in his voice. "You said we could talk
any time I needed to?"
As I opened the door, Frank caught full view of my lovely form in an
ice-blue peignoir set. "Oh, were you already in bed?" he asked with an
almost amusing lack of awareness. I saw that he was holding a take-out
pizza box and a six-pack.
"Don't worry," I said with a small sigh. "Come on in."
Frank plopped down on the couch, opened the pizza box, and opened
a can of Coors. I tried as best I could to listen attentively to the latest
disaster of his love life. But frankly (no pun intended!), it was
getting tough. I had only been Corky for what --43 days?-- but this
was at least the fifth time I had heard one of these stories. Only the
women's names changed.
I managed to finish one beer and one pizza slice while Frank polished
off the rest. At last, he seemed talked out. "Frank--" I began. But
he excused himself to use my bathroom. 'Serves him right for drinking
all that beer,' I thought. When he returned, I hastened to get to my
point.
"You're forty-four years old, Frank, and you're a deeply unhappy person.
You've never had a long-term relationship with a woman, you have this
huge need to prove your manliness with increasingly dangerous and crazy
stunts...(I paused, surprised how much one beer and my tiredness were
catching up with me)...and, and...you have no fashion sense!"
"Huh? What are your talking about, Corky?"
I was already reaching for the TGTV remote. "I'm talking about real
courage, Frank. The courage to make fundamental changes in your life.
The courage to make things better."
Frank seemed to be trying to follow what I was saying, but wasn't
really getting the drift.
"Frank," I said, leaning forward and looking him directly in the eye,
"do you trust me to have your best interests at heart?"
"Yeah..." he mumbled. "What are you--"
Before he could say another word, I pointed the remote at him and keyed
in the sequence. He was enveloped in a glowing light, into which the
form of Frank Fontana disappeared forever. As the brightness faded,
there was a woman sitting in Frank's place.
"Hi, Fran," I said with a broad grin on my face. "Welcome to womanhood."
Frank's Italian-American heritage was more apparent now that he was
female. His curvy, almost statuesque build was exquisitely displayed
by the blue wrap dress he...she wore. Her face was framed by thick,
black wavy hair that cascaded below her shoulders. Her nose might have
been a bit on the large size, but her full lips and large, flashing
brown eyes helped balance the total package.
As for the new Fran...it was clear that she was still in shock. Her
eyes were wide, her mouth was hanging open, and she was grasping her
new breasts in a way that made it seem she thought that if she
squeezed hard enough, they might disappear.
I heard a little squeaking sound coming from the back of her throat,
but she didn't seem to be able to form words -- yet.
Then, all of a sudden, she regained the power of speech -- with a
vengeance. "Corky!" she screamed. "What have you done to me?"
"That should be obvious by now, Fran," I said, unable to suppress my
grin.
"Okay," she said, calming down a bit. "Okay, I asked for that one.
But why?"
"Fran," I said gently, taking her newly-slim and soft hand in mine,
"think about it. You've been a fundamentally unhappy person. And the
reason finally became obvious to me. You've been living a lie, all of
these years. If I've ever met a female soul trapped in a male body,
it's yours."
She argued with me. Oh, she argued a good hour and a half, or more.
I briefly tried to defend my action a couple of times, but for the
most part, I just let her scream and cry her way through the shock.
Finally, she seemed to go limp, and I reached out to her.
Fran held onto my hand, but looked down at her lap for a long time.
She squeezed my hand very tightly, and for a moment, I feared she was
mourning her lost manhood. But when she finally looked up, she was
smiling...and crying. "Oh my God, Corky, oh my God, how did you know?
How did you ever know? Yes, yes, this is who I was meant to be!"
She reached out to hug me. We embraced tightly, and pretty soon, we
were both crying.
----
When you change another character using the TGTV remote, it also
*rewrites* their past. As far as anyone else knows, they've always
been a member of that gender. So there was no difficult transition for
Fran. No one seemed to be concerned that FYI now had three female
anchors and only one male; in fact, the show seemed to have overtaken
60 Minutes in this magically changed time line and become the most
popular program on television.
Who says the men control all the remotes?
Life for Fran didn't suddenly become perfect. She still had
relationship problems (with men, this time), but at least she was going
on second, third, fourth, even fifth dates. And with the bad times,
there were still Monday mornings when Fran didn't seem too happy.
But there were other Mondays...lots of them...when she came striding
into the office in one of her trademark pantsuits with a wide smile on
her face.
"Oh, Corky!" she would say, scraping just a fragment of lipstick off a
front tooth. "If every guy could know how great sex is from this end..."
"I know," I laughed. "There wouldn't be any guys left."
------
Within a year or so, the novelty of her new gender wore off, and Fran
settled into what looked like a lasting relationship with an editorial
writer for the Washington Post.
I have a feeling I'm going to be a matron of honor very soon!
THE END
Blaze
- 21.01.2021
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