Back To Basics free porn video

AUTHOR'S NOTE - This is my very first TG story. There's a tremendous amount of terrific TG fictionon the Web - reading it has been a dream come true for me. I've felt (IMHO) the best stories incorporate the fantasy of gender change (TV,TS, etc) with a plot that presents characters for us to appreciate. This effort is not as sophisticated as the work by such masters as The Professor or Darkside (to name just two), but I have tried to create a storyline that blends a variety of my personal TG fantasies with a common theme. As you might imagine, this tale is a bit autobiographical (althought not as much as I would like!) It is somewhat explicit - there is a fair amount of graphic sex, but that's not the focus of the plot. 'Back to Basics' can be considered freeware - it may be reposted on any website, as long as no one charges for its viewing. Reviews are welcome - that will tell me if I should attempt a second tale. Enjoy! O2bxx Back to Basics - by O2bxx 0200 hours. Lackland Air Force Base. San Antonio, Texas. 3769 Basic Military Training Squadron. I stood in formation with 40 other young men, all anticipating the arrival of our TI (Training Instructor - the Air Force equivalent of a drill sergeant). We had just gotten off the bus from the airport, signed in and been led to this spot outside our barracks. Even after dark, the asphalt was still warm from the heat of the July day - the humidity was high and the air was very still. Some crickets were chirping, otherwise, it was the calm before the storm. Tap. Tap. Tap. We could hear the brass tacks on the TI's shoes as he approached. I'd seen many movies about basic training, but I knew the reality would be much more intense. Still, I was confident I could handle it. My name is Jeff Cohen. I'm 25 years old. After I had graduated high school, I'd tried out the usual odd jobs - bank teller, factory worker, cashier, etc. I'd also completed about 2 years of college. But I was still drifting around - searching for something I could dedicate myself to. I was good at school, but I couldn't settle on a major - moving from field to field looking to pique my interest. Nothing really took. And since I had been orphaned years ago, I was on my own with tuition - my student loans were getting intimidating. As for work, I wasn't afraid of manual or clerical labor, but I certainly didn't want to spend a lifetime at it. And I didn't have the natural aptitude for skilled blue collar - carpenters, mechanics, etc. So I ended up, as many guys do, trying to find a job I could make a living at, while giving me a sense of purpose at the same time. The military? Yeah, the commercials were cheesy, but there was something to be said for making a commitment. When you signed an enlistment contract, you did not walk off the job. I figured I'd do my four years, get the GI Bill and some training. At the very least, I'd do a lot of traveling. And, corny though it sounds, I liked the idea of serving my country. After September 11th, it seemed a lot less corny. Why Air Force? Simple - it has the shortest basic training of any of the services - only a month and a half. Army and Navy last for 8-9 weeks, and the Marine Corp goes all out with a 13-week program. I also liked the Air Force approach to high-tech, and the enlisted troops were the least likely of the services to see ground combat. In the USAF, officers fly the missions, the grunts keep the planes running and the bombs loaded. So here I was, listening to the taps as the TI arrived. We stood at attention, arms by our sides, heels together, feet at a 45-degree angle. No one moved as the TI walked through the ranks, saying nothing, just making us aware of his presence. He was about my height, but with the 'Smokey Bear' hat, he seemed a lot taller. He paced around us for a while, looking us over. Then he moved to the front - about five rows ahead of me. His uniform was flawless of course. He wore the modern BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) - not starched - which would make the material more visible under thermal imagery. Nevertheless, the outfit looked like it came from the cleaners. His boots were so highly polished it was difficult to even see the black leather. The name 'Kugler' was stitched across the tag. Then he got the show going. "So you fools think you belong in the United States Air Force!" he thundered. His voice was perfect for the role - commanding and loud. "Understand right now - only the best get through me. I will weed out all of the slackers, drifters and losers. My experience tells me that I will lose a quarter of you before I am done. You will either measure up, or you can return to the ghettoes, dead-end suburbs and hick towns that spawned you." "When you work on an aircraft, if you fail to fix it correctly, you will kill the pilots and crew. If you give the wrong coordinates, you can send bombs off course and destroy innocent civilians. If you botch a first aid procedure, you can send your buddies to the morgue." "In our field of endeavor, we handle the deadliest weapons known to man. There is no room for error, no forgiveness for 'having a bad day'. Getting it right 99% of the time is not good enough when you are in charge of nuclear devices." "So you will perform, or you will be gone. And for those who need encouragement, we have all kind of ways to motivate you - ways you would not believe!" He seemed to smile slightly as he said that. If I had known what those 'methods' were, I would have gone over the hill on the spot, court-martial or not. But then, hindsight is always 20-20. It was for certain he had everyone's attention. I was surprised there was no profanity - apparently it was not considered PC. I was a little disappointed, in fact. After 'Full Metal Jacket', I was hoping for some remarkable insults - things such as 'you climb obstacles like old people fuck!' But Kugler was brusque, businesslike and direct. No embellishments whatsoever. He marched us up to the open bay dormitory - where two long rows of bunks with wall lockers awaited. We stashed our baggage, learned about securing our effects and where we were permitted to walk. Then he had all 40 of us strip and head for the showers. There was little bravado amongst us. No one was joking or arguing back. We were moved from task to task so quickly, there was no time to think about what was going on. Then too, it was 0200 hours, and we all were exhausted. That was part of the strategy, as you might expect. After the shower, we got into our underwear and then into our bunks. Lights went out, but it took a few minutes to fall asleep. The environment was intimidating and strange, as I knew it would be. Nevertheless, despite the 40 young men around me coughing and snoring, I feel asleep. I awoke to the sound of a trash can bouncing down the center aisle between the bunks. It was still dark out, but my watch said 0430. Great. Less than three hours rest. Kugler yelled, "Get your ass out of bed, NOW." His uniform still looked perfect, and he didn't seem the least bit tired. So we scrambled out of our metal bunks, struggled to make our beds properly - which we couldn't. Kugler would tear the linens off and have us start again. After three attempts, he seemed to be satisfied for the moment, though he warned us he would expect much better in the future. We fell out for chow, which was actually quite good. Then we were marched off to uniform issue. The sun was already very hot and I was very tired, and yet I seemed to be keeping up OK. We arrived at a long, three story brick building and stood in line for what I knew would be one of the biggest steps here - the haircut. The haircut is one of the best ways for 'deconstructing' the image a man has of himself. When you are buzzed right down to the skin, you look a whole lot different than before, and usually not for the better. Even the black men, many of whom already had closely cropped hair, were not spared. I sat in the chair, watched my hair fall away with a few quick strokes, and marveled at how cool my scalp suddenly felt. Guys I had seen look reasonably good with normal hair came out looking like geeks. I didn't see a mirror, but I was sure I was one of them. And that was the point. By the time the shearing was done, we looked a lot more alike than before. Breaking down self-identity was a classic theme of basic training. That was when we lost our first man. One guy seemed get more and more agitated as his turn for the haircut came closer. When his time came, he suddenly said, "I can't do this- I can't," - then he pushed several of us aside and headed for the door. He was quickly collared by the TIs and hustled away. The Security Police van was already outside - ready to take him to detention. It all happened so fast I didn't even learn his name. I couldn't know it at the time, but I would meet him again in the future - when both of us were learning new names, for ourselves. After the haircut, it was off to uniform issue. We stripped again, then were given regulation everything - socks, briefs, T-shirts, 4 sets of BDUs, duffel bags, boots, hats, etc. The whole process, including fitting, was done in less than an hour. Like all branches of the military, the Air Force was nothing if not efficient. Then came the march back to the barracks to stow our gear. We changed into the uniforms for the first time, then headed out to the drill pad. Between the haircuts and the BDUs, we were now almost indistinguishable from one another. Exactly as intended. My unit was known as a 'flight', the Air Force equivalent of a platoon. Learning how to drill - that is, to march properly as a flight, would be one of the most important challenges of the next 6 weeks. We hit the drill pad - a huge quarter-mile long slab of asphalt, where Kugler began to 'explain' the role of drill. Actually, Kugler never explained anything - he threw it at us with that booming voice of his. Some of this I already knew from my own reading and from friends who had been there, done that. The concept of basic training has changed little since the days of the Roman legions. The idea is to overwhelm the sense of a man's individuality, to break him down and rebuild him as a team player. Drill plays a big part of that, as do the uniforms, the aggressive correction and regimented activities. The military is not a democracy. While soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen are expected to think about their jobs and do them well, there is no room for questioning orders, debates or second-guessing as might happen in a civilian setting. The reason for this is obvious - in the heat of combat, there isn't any time for soliciting opinions or having an 'around-the-room' forum to decide what to do. Either everyone reacts as a team and follows orders quickly and correctly, or everyone dies. So we learned, as recruits have learned since the beginning. We learned the elements of close-order drill. We learned how to fold our clothes to avoid the wrath of Kugler. We learned how to get the barracks cleaned in the shortest time possible. We learned how to be awake before reville, so we could have our bunks made and our work-out gear on. We learned how to run in formation, get through the push-ups and sit-ups and all the rest of physical training. And we learned how the errors of one individual could impact the whole flight. Every organization has at least one person who just can't seem to get it together. Our albatross was a short and rather irritating fellow named Porto. He never seemed to be on top of things. We had to make his bunk for him, push him through PC (physical conditioning), take extra time to get his locker set up, and so on. This often made the whole flight late for various activities, which of course caused us extra laps, more push-ups, etc. The worse part about it was Porto's attitude - his incompetence seemed almost deliberate. Everyone had strengths and weaknesses - but we learned to help each other out. For example, I was a poor bunk-maker, but I was very good at shoe-shining. So I traded duties with another guy and we got both tasks done better than we would have otherwise. Everyone in the flight was able to do this kind of thing. Except Porto. After 5 days, the temper of the group was getting a little testy. I began to think a blanket-party (a la 'Full Metal Jacket') was in Porto's future. But I was wrong. Kugler and the Air Force had something far better in mind. At the close of the fifth day, we were marched to a remote part of the base, nearly two miles away from the main training compound. We arrived at a heavily secured building, surrounded by concertina wire and no- nonsense guards carrying M-16s. The gate was opened and all 40 of us were led into the building and down three flights of stairs. The facility itself was very plain - tile floors, bare cement walls, etc. We were clearly well underground when we entered a large room resembling a stadium-style movie theater. We took seats and stared at the screen - which was actually a glass window looking into a darkened room below us. We sat quietly for the next 5 minutes, occasionally casting surreptitious glances at Kugler, who seemed to be almost amused. It was only then that I noticed that Porto was not with us. At that moment, the lights came on in the room below, and we were able to see inside. Unlike the rest of the compound, this space seemed very high-tech. There was a bank of computer equipment - high-level servers, monitors and so forth against one wall. On the other side was a set of transformers and similar electrical devices with cables stretching to the middle of the room. And at the center was the most interesting part - a clear, plexiglass cylinder about 7 feet long and 3 feet in diameter, laid out horizontally. Inside it was a hospital-style gurney that had some form of rail mechanism, presumably to allow the gurney to be slid in and out of the cylinder. Then I realized someone was lying on the gurney, inside the cylinder. It was Porto. He appeared to be naked, except for a towel draped across his hips. His eyes seemed a bit glassy, and I wondered if he had been drugged. The rest of the flight shifted nervously in our seats. We had absolutely no idea what would happen next. Kugler spoke, "Remember when I said we had ways to motivate you? Pay close attention - I was not kidding." Two technicians in white lab coats entered the chamber. They walked over the computer consoles, made some adjustments, then activated a software file that had an icon marked 'XX' in large letters. There was a deep hum of a power transformer. A soft, blue glow appeared around the perimeter of the transparent cylinder. And then it began. I watched as Porto's body subtly, but unmistakably began to change. At first, it was hard to tell what was taking place - it was just that he seemed different somehow. Nothing was obscuring our view - the cylinder was still transparent and we could easily see through it - despite the blue glow. After a few moments, I could detect some specific alterations. Porto's face had clearly changed - the skin seemed smoother and his dark hair was longer. The humming continued and as I studied him a suspicion began to dawn in me. The hints that Kugler had dropped, combined with what I was witnessing led me to anticipate what was happening to Porto. It wasn't possible, was it? I shifted my gaze to Porto's chest - and there I found my confirmation. His nipples were already huge - far larger than any male's should be. As I stared, I could see the soft swellings forming beneath the now eraser-sized nipples. I could not deny the evidence of my eyes - he was growing breasts. At first, they were just points, but over the next few seconds, they began to develop into a true pair of ...well, tits. They grew most quickly just beneath the nipples, but then filled out around them to form a very full rack. It was like watching some classic time-lapse photography or modern morphing special-effect. There was no shimmering haze, no smoky fog, just a steady, relentless change. In less than 10 seconds, Porto had grown a chest that most women would be proud to own. I was no expert, but I estimated he was at least a "C" cup, perhaps larger. His breasts may have appeared bigger than they really were, because his shoulders and rib-cage were shrinking at the same time. Porto had possessed a fair amount of body hair, but that was all gone now. My own pulse quickened as I saw what was taking place. I heard a gasp or two from the men around me - I glanced at the flight and saw looks of astonishment on everyone's faces. Eyes wide open, jaws dropped in shock - I probably appeared the same way. I turned my glance back to Porto. I could see that the change was nearly complete. The breasts were already finished - full and lovely. I saw his skin become smoother all over his body - just like his face. It was more than just skin, however. His whole form had been altered. His legs were quite shapely and feminine, the knees and ankles less knobby. There was a delicate look to his hands and arms - a 'smallness' that seemed somehow right for his new body. His hips, still covered by the towel, were clearly wider than before, accentuated by the narrowness of his waist. He had, quite literally, all the classic feminine curves. And speaking of feminine - there was nothing male about his face. His nose was now upturned slightly - his lips were a bit fuller and his mouth, a bit wider. His eyes remained the same brown color, but they seemed larger - dominating his face in a way that a man's eyes did not. Those eyes were still somewhat glassy, but I thought I could tell a sense of shock in them. Porto had remained quiet and unmoving throughout the procedure, except for what I believed was one soft moan - that could have come from a woman's mouth. His hair was the last to change - lengthening, thickening and framing his now quite pretty face. Because he was lying down, I could not tell how long it ended up growing - but it was certainly compatible with his new appearance. The humming stopped and the blue light disappeared. One of the technicians stepped forward and slid the gurney out of the cylinder. Then he removed the towel draped across Porto's hips. My eyes were instantly riveted to what was revealed - Porto was now female in every way. Between his legs was a natural feminine triangle of dark pubic hair. There was no trace of any male equipment. Instead, below that hair, glistening softly in the fluorescent light, were the pinkish lips ...of a woman's vagina. And suddenly, the theater glass was dark, and we could no longer see into the chamber. The lights came up over our seats. It was just like getting out of a movie. Except this was real. There was absolutely no movement in the theater. I had never seen a group of people so still. Every man there, myself included, was in a state of disbelief. And yet we knew what we had witnessed was true. Porto had been turned into a girl. Kugler spoke, with a broad grin on his face. "What you just saw was no illusion. As you all know, Airman Porto was a liability to our flight, and in danger of being washed out of basic training entirely. But in the Air Force, we believe in rehabilitation - we don't give up easy. So Porto has been given a second chance - as a woman." "He is completely female in every way - even an doctor could not tell the difference, because there is no difference. As you might imagine, the technology to do this is still experimental and highly classified. Using it here serves two purposes. First, our scientists can continue their research on the effects of this process, and the enhancements to be made. Poor performers among our recruits can give the experts plenty of raw materiel for study." Kugler continued. "The second purpose is to provide a training tool to motivate any underachievers. Let this be an object lesson for you. Over the 5 weeks remaining in your training, you will be expected to excel in a variety of tasks - classroom work, drill, rifle range, the obstacle course, barracks inspections, and so on. Any man who fails any element of the training will be brought back to this facility, transformed as Porto was, and then recycled into a female flight." He paused, while I considered the implications of what he said. A brief digression here: in basic training, one of the worse fates that can befall a recruit is to be 'recycled' - that is, kicked out of your own flight, and made to join a 'newer' flight that was not as far along in the training schedule. Every day of training completed means one step closer to graduation - and with the intense pressure of basic, it was like marking lines on a prison cell wall until you were set free. Imagine getting through 3 or 4 weeks of difficult training, and then being forced to start again from week 2, or for the real hard-cases, day 1. So recycling was already something to dread. But now there was a new twist. To be recycled as a girl?! Not only would the airman have to repeat some or all of the training completed to date - he would have to do so as a female! Nearly 20% of all Air Force recruits were women and they went through basic training under conditions almost identical to the men. There were some modifications to the obstacle course; and as you might expect, the women bunked in a separate part of the barracks - but otherwise, the challenge was the same. This meant that there were no concessions to privacy; just like men, the women ate, marched, showered, and slept in an open dormitory. Kugler went on: "So now you understand. Screw up, and you will spend the rest of basic training wearing panties. If so, you will remain female until you graduate - upon which, you will be transformed back into a man. Of course, if you fail basic training both as a man and as a woman, the Air Force might forget to change you back. We'll just put you out the front gate in a nice dress and with $100 in your purse. San Antonio is a big city, and it wouldn't take long for a pretty young girl to make all kinds of special friends on the street." I was only partially sure he was kidding. When we finally returned to the barracks, we were given our usual 30 minutes of personal time. At the end of each day, everyone in the flight is allowed a short period to write letters, make phone calls, or just shoot the breeze. It's a small way to blow off a little steam. This night, we had a lot to talk about. As soon as Kugler left, everyone began speaking at once. "Did you see that - Porto's a goddamned girl!" "He's got bigger tits than my woman back home." "No way I'd ever let them do that to me!" "Ha - I'd bet you'd look great as a chick!" "God - do you think he, I mean she, will have to wear a woman's uniform?" "What if she has a period? I could never deal with that!" "There's one advantage - if she's recycled into a female flight, she'll get to hang out with 40 other girls whenever they shower and change." "Price is too high, man. What good would that do you if all you had was a pussy?" "Cohen - you're a college guy - what's your take on all this?" I thought a moment before responding. "Well, they didn't exactly cover this in Sociology 101. But...first thing to remember is that the Air Force has all the cards here. If they can turn a man into a girl, they could do just about anything to us." "What do you mean?" "Well," I continued, "Porto was not exactly a handsome guy, right? But he came out of that machine as a very cute girl. He was far better looking as a female - and I don't just mean we see him that way because we're naturally attracted to women. I'd bet any objective observer would consider him as better looking now than before. That means they have the ability, somehow, to 'enhance' our appearance. Because let's face it, Porto didn't seem likely to have the genes to come out that way." "Now, that means that this process is not simply genetic. If we went through that damn machine, they could do more than just make us into the girls we could have been if we'd been born female. They must be able to choose in some detail how we come out." One of the other guys spoke up. "So what's up with that?" "Maybe they could turn us into anything - at least as a woman. They might be able to change our race, or give us a 54DD rack, or make us weigh 300 lbs - all as a girl. So my advice to you guys is this - don't fight it! Chances are, at least some of us sitting here now are going to end up in that cylinder, and then finding out what it's like to wear a bra. If it does happen, don't give them any reason to make it worse than it will be. If you try to go over the hill, or fight your way through them, who knows what they could do to you?" Everyone was very quiet at that - then taps began to play. Lights out. We got into our bunks. But it was a long time before we fell asleep. 0500 - Reville We shot up quickly from our beds and started to get the barracks ready. But there was an undercurrent of tension beneath everything we did. After our first week at basic training, we had begun to master the daily routine of policing the dorms, marching, physical conditioning and all the rest. We had grown more confident in our ability to handle the pressure of basic, and most of us had begun to think we would make it. We knew there were many unknowns ahead, but we had developed the first hints of team camaraderie that is so essential to a successful military unit. But now all that was out the window. For we knew that any mistake - failing to prepare our lockers, marching out of place, not getting through the classes - could force us to endure something none of us had ever imagined. Becoming a girl. You may wonder why we didn't simply march off the base and call up the lawyers. After all, changing someone's gender against his will had to be a violation of some constitutional right, even if it wasn't written into a federal or state criminal code. But when a man signs an enlistment contract with the military, and then takes the oath, he agrees to be bound by the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The UCMJ is a separate body of law governing the legal environment of all military personnel. Free speech, right to assembly, the fifth amendment, and all the rest are restricted. Military personnel cannot go on strike, publicly denounce their commanding officer, or disobey lawful orders. There are good reasons for this. Fail to show up for work one day on your civilian job, and all you risked was being fired. Fail to do so in the military, and the Patriot missile battery you might be in charge of would not be operational, and people could die. So the UCMJ gave the military authority over us recruits in a way that no other institution could assert. We could, literally, be thrown in jail for just for walking way, and the military would have every legal right to keep us there for a very long time. Yes, there would be a court-martial, but that too was tilted in the military's favor. Of course, we had all this explained to us when we enlisted. And I had learned more about it from my friends who had already done their tour of duty. So we knew that failing to perform would have severe consequences. We just didn't know how severe. On the second day after we had witnessed Porto's transformation, we lost the next man. We were sitting in a class on Air Force history when I heard a guy a couple of rows over snoring. Falling asleep in class was a big no-no. His buddy next to him tried to elbow the man awake, but it was too late. The TI was already standing by his chair. The guy (Winston, his name was) came awake, and saw the instructor standing next to him. Winston gasped and a look of horror came over his face as he realized what had happened. And what was going to happen. Kugler spoke. "So, Winston, did you not get enough beauty rest last night? Well, I'm sure I can provide you with a chance to catch up. I suspect the girls in your new dormitory will be able to give you all kinds of tips on getting a good night's sleep ? even with curlers, make-up and all that." "Sir, I...I...," Winston stammered. "Save your strength, Miss Winston. You are going to need it - I'm told growing breasts can really tire a girl out - especially if she grows them in a single day. But don't worry - the Air Force will issue you some nice bras." "No, please...sir, don't let them do that to me!" "You did it to yourself, Miss Winston. Don't worry about packing up your gear. You are going to have a whole new wardrobe. Now get on your feet, young lady. As the song goes, you're about to take a walk on the wild side." Winston stood up, a panicked expression on his face. He looked wildly around the room for support. We all felt sympathy for him, but there wasn't a man among us who was going to risk having to wear skirts in a vain effort to plead Winston's case. He was led out of the classroom, literally shaking in his boots. And so it went. Over the next two weeks we lost four more men. One guy finished dead last three times in a row during our morning conditioning run. After the third time, Kugler called him out and told him he would be shopping for running gear at Lady Footlocker. Kugler mocked him by saying that, "Perhaps putting on one of those skimpy outfits worn by women track stars might make you run better." Another man dropped his lunch tray during chow. That would not have been a big deal in itself, except that his dishes spilled food over the highly polished boots of a TI. While he was hauled away he was told, "Maybe you need more time in the kitchen doing so-called women's work. Don't worry - we'll give you the right body for the job." After another member of the flight finished last on the rifle range, he was pulled aside. Kugler told him, "Since you obviously are not a straight shooter, I wonder if you might be gay. But don't worry, here we practice 'don't ask, don't tell'. If you are gay, though, then after you turn into a girl you should have a much easier time picking up cute guys." Kugler always seemed to have some silly comment to twist every man's mistake into a rationale as to why he deserved to be female. After two more weeks, though, I began to get optimistic about my own chances. I suspect most of us were in denial. Becoming a girl was such an incredible, impossible thing to imagine, that we just tried to tell ourselves it couldn't happen to us. We didn't spend much time thinking or talking about it - in fact it became a taboo subject for us. If we didn't acknowledge it, then maybe it wouldn't happen. Still, as we passed the halfway point of training, I felt more confidence. I was first in the classroom work, my bunk and locker easily passed all inspections, and I had no problem at all with the physical conditioning. 5th Week - Obstacle Course The obstacle course was the last major physical hurdle as far as basic training was concerned. During the 6th week there would still be inspections, the final academic tests and parade drill, but the worst would be over. We were marched about a mile and a half through the hot Texas sun to the start of the course. A large bulletin board documented the route for us. There were 25 obstacles - some simple (such as the mud crawl) and some a lot tougher. One in particular was the Weaver, a series of interlocking logs framed together and laid out at a 45 degree angle. We would be required to thread our way over and under - through the logs, while lying parallel to them. That was a true test of upper body strength. Another obstacle that had me worried was the rope swing - a climbing rope would be tossed at us - we would have to jump over a pond to catch it and swing to the other side. Miss the rope, and you got wet. There were several others barriers over water as well. So I paid close attention as Kugler described all the steps. We could run at our own pace between obstacles, as long as we kept moving. "But," Kugler said, "if you come back wet, you'll be sent to the dormitory for a shower and dry clothes. Of course, the dormitory will be different from the one you are used to. So will the clothes." We began. There were other flights from across the base already on the course - including women. They ran alongside of us - although they had their own, smaller barriers to climb, since the women didn't have the physical capacity to match the men. It was the first time we had been close to any girls since we had arrived at Lackland. Seeing the young ladies with their cute butts and tight t-shirts was very appealing. But then I found myself wondering how many of these young women used to be men. There was no was to tell by looking at them, although some of them seemed to move very awkwardly. That could have been just the normal range of athleticism to be found in any random group of people. Or maybe not. The Weaver was tough, and I was gritting my teeth to finish it, but I got through. I cleared the commando crawl (horizontal rope stretched over water) - it turned out to be a lot harder than in the ninja movies. Finally, I approached the swinging rope. Just one chance at it - I leaped out as the rope swung towards me - and caught it! I swung easily over the pond and approached the final barrier. At this point I was very confident. The last obstacle was a simple set of playground 'monkey bars' - 10 feet over a water pit. There was one girl halfway across the bars already - so I reached out and began to swing across. Big mistake. The girl in front of me suddenly stopped. She just hung off of one of the rungs about 5 feet from the end. With this obstacle, momentum was important - it took a fair amount of muscle to start up again if you stopped. I was forced to wait while she dangled there. If she had just dropped into the water, there would have been no problem. But she kept hanging on, barely able to keep her grip, and certainly not able to swing to the next bar. Meanwhile, I had to hang onto my own rung. I began to get very irritated with her. "Jesus, woman," I thought to myself. "Give it up - you're too weak to get going again - you're just a girl." Finally she dropped into the water pit. I took a deep breath, caught the next rung and began to move across again. I grabbed the rung where she had been - a few feet shy of the end. And slipped. She had left a fair amount of perspiration on the rung she had been gripping. And as I fell, I remembered the old saying - 'horses sweat, men perspire, women glow'. And I knew I was doomed to move from 'perspire' to 'glow'. I crawled out of the water pit, my heart pounding. I'd been so close! Kugler was already there - with one of his little comments. "Well, Miss Cohen - it seems you lack the physical strength I would expect from a man. But that's OK - we'll just make sure your body is adjusted appropriately. I'm sure you'll have no problem with the smaller obstacles for the women - once you become one yourself." I didn't bother to explain that I had the strength - I had just slipped. Basic training was not a place for excuses. Besides, I remembered my thought after Porto had been transformed - protesting might make it worse. "And Miss Cohen", he continued, "Since you seem to like the water so much, I'll see to it you're issued an appropriate bathing suit. I'm sure you'll look just great in a bikini!" I was absolutely horrified. This was really going to happen! Somehow, I thought I would be the exception. But I wasn't. They wasted no time - I was put in a Humvee and driven to the 'facility'. On the way over, I started to actually shake at the thought of what was about to be done to me. I was going to be turned into a girl! There were smirks on the faces of the drivers as we arrived at the compound. The gate opened, and two MPs appeared to escort me in. One of the drivers called out. "Be sure to look me up when they're done with you. I'll show you what being a woman is all about!" The MPs told him to shut up - then they took me by the arm and led me into the underground portion of the reinforced facility. At the end of a long, gray cement corridor a door was opened into a space that looked like a doctor's examining room. I was told to remove all my clothes, and to put on the paper-like smock laying on one of the tables. The guards left me alone, one of them with a genuinely sympathetic expression on his face. I began to undress, my hands trembling, fumbling with the buttons on my BDUs. I kept saying to myself that this wasn't going to happen. But I knew it was. I removed my boxers, wondering if I would ever wear them again. I put on the flimsy smock and sat down on the table. All the while, I kept imagining what it was going to be like to be female. Like any other guy, I had grown up with a lot of curiosity about girls. As a young boy, I was already aware of the 'culture' unique to girls. Their clothes, their long hair, the way they interacted with each other was so different from my own experience. In addition, their world was more restricted to me than my world was to them. While they could wear pants, I could not wear dresses. And so forth. They played by their own set of rules. Puberty intensified everything, of course. It was no longer just a matter of girls' lifestyle that piqued my interest, it was their physical nature. In high school, my buddies and I would read Playboys and compare notes. We wondered what the girls in our school looked like under their pretty clothes, we wondered about their feelings towards boys and sex. But we never spent much time wondering what it would be like to actually be a girl. Sure, on occasion we would idly speculate on how it would feel to have breasts, or to experience a girl's orgasm - but for the most part, our curiosity about females centered on the mystery of their bodies and the resulting impact on the whole topic of sex. All of us boys had heard about the difficulties of periods and the complicated rituals of femininity - hair, makeup, clothes, gynecological exams, etc. All of us (myself included) shuddered at the prospect of having to endure such things. After one of these discussions, we would say we were glad we were boys, and did not have to worry about all that. I was pretty confident we meant it. I know I did. In college, I read of a sect of Judaism in which the men gave a prayer of thanks to God each day for not being born girls. Such was the resistance of men to the idea of experiencing womanhood. Well, I was about to experience it. And yet, although I was very fearful of what was going to happen, there was a small part of me that was intrigued about having all those feminine mysteries revealed in a way I could never have imagined. And knowing that it was temporary made it a bit easier to accept. At that moment, a man in a white lab coat entered the room. He closed the door behind him and then looked at me. "I know you are aware of what is going to take place. Do not worry, the procedure is entirely painless, and can be reversed - as long as you follow certain rules. Contrary to what the TIs may say, we are not here to punish or embarrass you. Rather, you have become a participant in an experiment that will have powerful repercussions for all of humanity, once our work here is finished." "My name is Dr. Aberdeen. I'll be explaining more about all of this, and about your new body, after we complete the change. Let's begin." He directed me to swallow a large blue pill, which I suspected was a tranquilizer. He then took my blood pressure and pulse, listened to my heartbeat and respiration - all the usual elements of a simple physical to evaluate if a body was ready for stress. He then had me lie down on the examining table. A strap was pulled across my midsection. I could move my arms and legs, but I could not get up. Two men who appeared to be orderlies wheeled the gurney-styled table out of the room and down the long corridor. As I was moved along, I could see the fluorescent lights on the ceiling passing one by one. I started to count them, fascinated by them, and I realized I was already feeling the effects of the drug. We arrived at the room I'd hoped I would never see again. Several technicians were already there, adjusting the equipment. The paper smock was quickly removed and a simple white towel was draped across my hips. Just like Porto. I looked up at the darkened glass and wondered if there was another flight of trainees watching us from the theater. I was wheeled over to the cylinder. The men lifted the top of the gurney and set it on the rails leading inside. I was quickly rolled in. Once surrounded by the plexiglass I felt a sense of fear begin to rise - but Dr Aberdeen spoke then. "Do not fear, Cohen. This will be quick and will not hurt at all." Somehow, probably due to the drug, I relaxed a bit. One of the technicians stepped to the computer console and clicked the icon marked "XX" - which I now understood. The sound of humming transformers increased and the blue glow flashed into life around me. And it began. Remember what it's like when your foot falls 'asleep'? That's exactly what I felt over my entire body. It was a pins and needles sensation that was uncomfortable, but not painful. Then I felt that sensation intensify on my face. I recalled how Porto's change had begun. My face seemed to feel altered somehow, my lips filling out and the silhouette of my nose that was visible when I crossed my eyes appeared smaller. But then the tingling sensation moved to my chest, and I suddenly became aware of my nipples. They hardened instantly and swelled in a way they never had before. I watched in amazement as they became larger and larger, the dark areola the width of silver dollars and the cones, my god, the cones were the size of thimbles. And then I felt the skin beneath them expanding, ballooning upwards, raising the nipples higher from my torso. At first I had the chest of a pubescent girl. But then they rounded out and my new breasts continued to grow. A-cup, and they expanded. B-cup and still they grew, wider and fuller. Finally, as I estimated their size at C-cup they seemed to slow down. From my prone position, I actually had to raise my eyes to see my nipples, they had been lifted so high. Oh my god - I now had a real pair of breasts! I felt this strange new sensation of 'fullness', my chest feeling stretched and swollen and tight and my huge nipples oh so sensitive. Even after the tingling sensation shifted elsewhere on my body, my nipples - indeed, my entire chest, continued to feel somehow 'lively'. Speaking of the tingling, my legs were next and I could also sense the bones in my hips shifting along with them. Imagine the feeling when your joints pop while stretching - that was what I perceived as my hips and legs adopted what I knew would be an appropriate feminine shape. I then felt a sensation of expansion around my butt, similar to what had happened with my breasts. I could actually feel my lower back raising slightly off the gurney as my hips swelled - lifting my body up. It seemed as though I was sitting on a small cushion - only it was part of me! Then the pins-and-needles feeling moved between my legs, and despite the tranquilizer I gave a whimper of fear - only to shock myself with the new pitch of my voice - it was the soft cry a girl might make - a bit husky, but too high for the deep speaking voice I had before. Oh God, it's really happening! I don't want to have a vagina! I don't want to be a girl! Stop this...! My thoughts scattered though, as I began to sense what was happening 'down below'. The familiar, comforting presence of my testicles seemed to withdraw into my body. I still felt I had a scrotum, but it seemed flatter somehow, empty in a way I could not really describe. As for my penis, I felt it shrink and shrink and shrink. Strangely enough, it seemed to get more and more sensitive the smaller it got. But despite the sensitivity, it still seemed as though it were disappearing. It was a strange mix of feelings - as if I still had a penis - but only the very tip and fixed firmly against my body. I knew what it had become ? a clitoris. I then felt more strange sensations inside my abdomen. Intellectually, I could imagine what was happening. My gonads were becoming female in nature - moving higher and deeper into my body and changing into ovaries. I could also sense other things (a womb, perhaps) forming inside my belly as well. It wasn't anything dramatic - just a subtle, but unmistakable sense that there were parts inside me now that I did not have before. Finally, although the rest of my body hair appeared to be either softer or gone entirely, the hair on my head spilled out, around my face and onto the pillow. After so long without any hair, it was very strange to feel it again - though compared to the other sensations, it was rather minor. But it did tell me that the process was coming to an end. The blue glow faded. The gurney was slid out and the towel was removed from my hips. I couldn't see anything down there - even when peering between my breasts! Which confirmed for me the obvious. I was no longer a young man. I was now a young woman. The men in the chamber paused for a moment - all of them looking at my nude, female body, still lying on the gurney. One of the men had an expression of desire on his face. I felt so vulnerable, but I could barely move, and had nothing to cover myself with. Then another man stepped forward and set the paper smock over my chest and hips. My nipples instantly reacted to the material - itching a little bit in a strange way. Dr Aberdeen spoke. "Take her back to the examination room and make sure she is comfortable. I'll be there in a few minutes." Shock went through me as I heard myself referred to with the feminine pronouns of 'her' and 'she'. Yet another sign of the profound change I was experiencing. The orderlies wheeled me back down the hall. This time, I did not look at the lights - rather, I focused on the rise and fall of the smock on my chest as I breathed. Even a short intake of air seemed to elevate it so much higher than before. I stared, amazed at the outline of my breasts under the paper - they seemed so huge! We arrived at the room and the orderlies slid the gurney onto the examination table. They removed the strap around my waist, but made sure the smock covered my torso and hips. They were professional and did not leer, for which I was grateful. As they left one said, "Don't worry - you'll be fine. Once you're done with basic, they'll change you back. Think of it as an adventure!" That made me remember the slogan 'It's not just a job, it's an adventure!'. I supposed that was true - if learning how to put on make- up and skirts could be considered as such. God, what had I gotten into? I was alone for the first time and the tranquilizer seemed to have worn off. I slowly raised my arms off the table and brought my hands near my face. My arms looked much thinner and my wrists were so slender. And my hands! They were so fine, so delicate looking. I remembered holding hands with girlfriends in the past and thinking how small they had seemed, as if my hand nearly engulfed theirs. Now mine were like that. I was just working up the courage to reach below the smock when Dr Aberdeen entered the room. "There, that wasn't so bad was it? I won't insult you by pretending this could be anything but a shock - but it's not painful at all. Now let's have a look at the results." He then removed the smock. Both of us directed our eyes instantly to my chest, taking in the full breasts and the huge nipples that pointed skyward. "Yes, you certainly developed a healthy pair didn't you?" The doctor then stepped down to the end of the table. He raised a set of what I recognized as stirrups and quickly placed one of my feet in the left brace. When he reached for the other, my reaction was instinctive - I tried to bring my legs together. "Relax, young lady. I am a professional, as is the rest of the staff here. I know this is uncomfortable, but all women in the military must have regular gynecological exams. I'm not doing a full cervical or pelvic check, just a once-over. It won't hurt a bit." Reluctantly, I let him set my other leg in the stirrup. My God, I was lying on an examination table, in a girl's body, completely naked, my legs spread apart, my...vagina utterly exposed. I had never felt so vulnerable and so embarrassed in all my life. No man was supposed to experience this! He put on a pair of gloves and smeared a bit of Vaseline on one finger. While he was preparing, I stared at my raised legs. The first word that came to mind was smooth. They had no hair whatsoever. My thighs actually seemed wider at the hips than before, but quickly tapered off to knees that were not the least bit knobby. My calves seemed sleek and my feet were tiny. Even my toes were cute. There were no outlines of muscles in the way my male legs had. I could tell, even from my prone position, my legs could rival my breasts in terms of feminine appearance. Dr Aberdeen then bent between my thighs. I felt him part what were surely the lips of my vulva. It was as if the skin of my scrotum had split. It was not painful - in fact, under other circumstances, it might have been pleasurable. He then gently pressed one knuckle of his finger against me. I felt a strange pinching sensation - as if my body was resisting him somehow. Then, as he worked his knuckle a bit deeper, I could feel the impression of being penetrated - in a place where I could never have imagined it. It was perhaps the most profound confirmation possible of my new sex. His finger felt huge inside me, and I couldn't help wondering - if that was just a knuckle - how was an erect penis supposed to fit in me? I swore at that moment I would never find out. There was no way I would ever let a man do that to me! Yet, like before, I felt a hint of something pleasant - as if there was potential for a new sensation that could be quite interesting. Then he withdrew his finger. "Everything looks fine," he said. Easy for him to say - he's not the one that's just been turned into a girl! "Now then, Miss Cohen. Why don't we get you up? It's time for you to have a look at yourself." Slowly, he helped me to a sitting position. As I rose, I felt my breasts sway, and their weight tugged gently but firmly against my chest. Without my willing it, my dainty hands reached up to cup them. Dr Aberdeen chuckled. I looked at him almost angrily. "Don't worry, Miss Cohen, I wasn't laughing at you. It's just that every single man who has been through this has reacted the same way - spending the first few moments feeling himself, or rather should I say, herself up." I directed my attention to what I myself could feel. My hands appreciated the breasts the way I always had on other women. My chest felt soft, yet firm, warm and pleasant to hold. But to look down and see my own breasts from this angle - incredible! And the sensations from inside! My nipples, already huge, seemed to become even harder - reacting to the gentle touch of my hands. It was amazing that they felt so far away from my torso and yet were still part of me - a little bit like touching the tip of my aroused penis. The nipples were sooo sensitive. I couldn't help it - I began to stroke my breasts gently. Like what I felt when the doctor had examined between my legs, there was a potential for pleasure - but this seemed much quicker than before. Both of my breasts were now tingling, not just at the nipples, but all throughout the soft flesh. I continued to stroke them and felt them actually swell in size - my nipples now feeling as though I had two miniature erections on my chest. It more than pleasant, it was becoming delightful! Dr Aberdeen coughed behind me. "I think that's enough for now". Sheepishly, and a bit reluctantly, I pulled my hands away. He stepped over to me and helped off of the table and onto my bare feet. Slowly, he assisted me in walking across the room, where I saw a full-length mirror. And my reflection. Remember the line from The Who? "I'm not schizophrenic, I'm bleedin' quadrophenic!" That's how I felt as I saw my image as a girl for the first time. There were at least three separate thought processes going on inside my head all at once. It was as if several people had started speaking simultaneously - in my mind. The first thought was almost clinical. In a detached, passionless way, I took stock of what I saw in the mirror - a very pretty and very naked girl with long chestnut colored hair falling in gentle waves to her shoulders. She had a pert, button-nose, large blue/green eyes and a hint of baby-fat still in her cheeks. Her complexion was light, which contrasted nicely with her hair. Her shoulders were narrow, as was her waist. Her chest was very impressive. Her breasts were above average in size, although certainly not centerfold quality. But what made them so attractive was their perfect form - classically shaped like champagne cups. The large, medium-pink nipples pointed straight forward, as did the entire breasts beneath them. There was no hint of any sag or droop. Her breasts looked so firm that I wondered if she would even need a bra. The girl's tiny waist sloped smoothly outward to hips that had a clearly feminine slant. They were wide, but very proportional to her shoulders and legs. Her hips were probably a bit larger than an athletic female, but were just shy of voluptuous. In other words, they were sexy without being exaggerated. Her legs, as I remembered from before, were very smooth and sleek - in nice balance with her upper body. Between her thighs was a very small triangle of dark, curly pubic hair. It was so sparse I could just catch a hint of her vagina beneath - but with her legs pressed together it was difficult to see. Two things were certain. First, she was completely female in every way. And, she looked to be about 18 years old. This led to the second train of thought in my mind, one of horror. I was this girl. She was me. Whatever I was as a male was gone. As I breathed, blinked and moved, the girl in the mirror breathed, blinked and moved in exactly the same way. There was no denying or evading that I was not a man - with everything that implied. Sexual identity is a powerful component of who we are. We're all shaped from birth by society and by our bodies to feel and think and act based upon our gender. I'd spent a lifetime being male. It was part and parcel of how I saw myself - and how everyone else saw me. In fact, it was so fundamental that I never even doubted it. Few of us probably ever do. Now that I was so clearly female, I wasn't sure of whom I was. Did Jeff Cohen even exist anymore? This thought struck the very core of me and made me question every concept I had about myself. And this potential new identity as a girl was doubly disconcerting - because I had always thought girls to be, well, a little...inferior. God knows that wasn't PC. And certainly I'd never thought of women as less intelligent. I'd worked with too many smart girls at college to fall for that foolishness. But I did have that traditional male perception of women as people often ruled by their bodies and emotions. And I had, as many men do, a certain slight condescension about women's physical strength - as well as a bit of smugness about all the female rituals of hair, make- up, clothes, etc. I felt that, as a man, I was 'above' all that. Not any more. As for the third pattern of thought - well, that was probably inevitable. I was looking at a very pretty, nude, teenage girl. I couldn't help but be attracted and even aroused by what I saw. This girl was not quite beautiful, but she was extremely cute and her body was truly lovely. Of course, getting aroused as a girl was different than as a man. I had nothing to make erect. But my breasts began to tingle once again, even though I was not touching them. And there seemed to be a slight pulsing deep inside of me. And between my legs - perhaps just a touch of moisture wetting the insides of my thighs. I quickly turned my mind away from thoughts of my new sensuality. It was bad enough to look like a woman without imagining sex as one. And yet I also felt a faint sense of pride that my body could be so appealing. God, was I succumbing to feminine vanity so quickly? All three sets of thoughts coalesced at once as I began the mental process of assimilating what I had become. The human mind can be very resilient, and I realized that on a variety of levels, I had already begun to accept that I was now female. That didn't mean I liked it! I spoke for the first time. "Oh my God, I'm really a...a...!" And even though I was prepared for it, I still was in shock at the sound of my new, soprano voice in my mouth and ears. Dr. Aberdeen replied. "Girl? Yes, you are. And as you can see, you're a very pretty one too. Now, let's have you sit down while I brief you on all this." He helped me back to the table, seemingly dwarfing me with his height and size. He was not a big man, but I was so much smaller now. As he put one arm around my shoulders, I found myself leaning against him instinctively, actually seeking the protection of his body. As I sat on the table, I became aware again of the 'padding' that seemed to be part of my hips. And when I brought my legs together, there was a strange feeling of emptiness - not so much the sensation of having a vagina - but rather, the lack of my male equipment. I did not like being so exposed, so I crossed my legs, one knee over the other. That made me feel less 'open', but the vacant feeling between my legs became even more pronounced. I was still acutely aware of being naked and I felt a strong desire to cover my breasts. It apparently didn't take long to for even a newly created girl like myself to develop a sense of modesty about her chest. Dr Aberdeen handed me the smock, which I draped across my shoulders and over the front of my torso. Then he began to speak. "You've heard of the famous incident at Roswell, N.M. in 1947?" I had, of course. Everyone has. Legend said that some sort of UFO crashed near Roswell that year. There were many eyewitness reports of strange lights in the sky, bizarre aircraft flying overhead, explosions and so forth. The Air Force, which operated a test facility in the area, worked very hard to sweep all of these accounts under the rug. There were the usual explanations given - weather balloons, Venus, and experimental aircraft, etc. But the legend lived on and even grew over the years. Many UFO cultists, conspiracy theory buffs and others were convinced that the US government had indeed encountered an alien spacecraft then, and had both the bodies and the ship in a heavily secured facility known as Area 51. TV shows like the 'X-Files' and 'Roswell' had capitalized on the public's fascination with the story and it was as much as part of our popular culture as any Kennedy assassination plot or Bermuda Triangle legend. But the Air Force had consistently denied any knowledge of the incident, and had kept any real proof (if there ever was any) from reaching the outside world. Dr Aberdeen continued: "Contrary to the belief of some, there was no crash of an alien spacecraft in Roswell that year. However, the Air Force did encounter an extra-terrestrial ship in 1947. But it had crashed some years before. About 2.5 million years, as near as we can tell." I stared at him, open-mouthed. This was amazing enough to take my mind off my new gender! At least for that moment. "While preparing a test bed for an experimental flight, the Air Force uncovered what was clearly a spacecraft - that used a technology far beyond anything humankind had at the time. The very act of digging it out created a massive electro-magnetic feedback of some kind. That in turn led to all of the lights and sounds the eyewitnesses reported. No one was killed, but it was obvious that this discovery represented both great potential and great peril." "The Cold War was just beginning, and if the fact that we had direct access to an alien technology ever became known to the Soviets, we might have seen WWIII on the spot. They never could have permitted the West the opportunity to gain such an edge." "So the government sealed the whole thing up at our Area 51 facility near Groom Lake, Nevada - and we've been working at unlocking its mysteries ever since." "Were there any bodies?" I asked - still trying to adjust to my newly high voice. "None. In fact, we don't believe the ship was intended for interstellar journeys. It seems too large to be a simple probe, like our Voyager spacecraft. But it was too small and lacked the facilities and power sources for long-term travel. We are confident that it was a lifeboat. Perhaps it was launched accidently from its mother ship, or perhaps it was able to bring survivors from a disaster to the Earth's surface. But they would have died out long since." "So how did that lead to all of this?" "In recent years, we've managed to make great progress in mastering the science of their race. The remarkable advances in computers have played a key role. The aliens had a technology that permitted adaptation of protoplasm, living tissue. Even though the aliens were not likely to have a chromosomal or DNA background similar to ours, we were able to make it work on laboratory animals. This was because their device did not make alterations at a cellular or genetic level - but rather all the way down to the subject's molecules. We found many pre-designed programs that were intended to cause specific changes. One of the first we tested turned out to be for gender transformation. Apparently, the aliens had a dual-sexed biology, as we do." "Why would they have such a program?" "Who can say? Perhaps it was a cultural phenomenon, associated with some ritual. Or perhaps they simply enjoyed the experience of both genders, and switched back and forth for fun. We may never know. There are other changes programmed into their machines, but we're still trying to figure them out. For now, reversing sex is the one change we've been able to control with quite a degree of specificity." Recalling Porto, I said, "So that's why all the men who go through this process come out so pretty." "You're correct. We can make very fine alterations based on hair color, breast size, facial features and so forth, since this has nothing to do with the subject's genetic background. Obviously, we can't have a parade of supermodels or Chippendale-types walking around the base - but we do make an extra effort to reconstruct the subject in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. It's proven very interesting in helping the subject adjust to his or her new gender." "Then this can be reversed." I said hopefully. "Absolutely. As we told you, the process goes both ways. But there's one catch". Somehow, I knew there would be. "While any male can be transformed into a female, there is a limit on females who can be changed to men. If a woman or girl has experienced an orgasm, a true sexual climax, then she cannot be made male." "Why would the technology stop that?" "It doesn't. The alien transformati