Greatest Lie, Chapter 11 free porn video

The Greatest Lie--Chapter 11 A Whole New Me, The Same Old World By Alexandra Rios "En fran?ais," as they say, "plus ?a change, plus c'est la m?me chose:" the more things change, the more they stay the same. When Tran and I got back to Minneapolis from our trip to Thailand for our sex-change operations, it was every bit as dark, frigid and depressing as it had been when we left. We returned to the same tiny, dreary apartment in a drug- infested, sleazy stretch of Hennepin where both rent and life was cheap. Hennepin hadn't changed; it only seemed less inviting after our thrilling and successful trip to my more temperate home town, "LaLa Land," and then on to the "Land of Smiles." Returning from balmy Thailand to the dark and cold of Minneapolis so shocked my weakened body that I considered blowing off school entirely. But that would have been stupid. I had received a full scholarship and I had greased the rails for a really easy semester. I had it so easy that even if I weren't an academic genius it would have been difficult for me to screw up. Still, it was so cold and I was so weak that I couldn't stand going outside. So I just skipped another week of classes instead. Tran had given up her place and moved in with me. I loved her like a sister (OK, even more than that), and after all we had been through couldn't think of living without her. But after three consecutive days of being housebound by below-zero weather, subsisting on delivered food, I was going crazy. "Tran, I have to keep at this homework. Can't you please go out and get us some real food: broccoli and brown rice or something? We can't live on kung pao and pizza indefinitely. That's hard enough on anyone's colon, not to mention ours," which had been sectioned to lengthen our neo-vaginas. "You go; I don't want to freeze my boobs off." "Tran, they're saline. Like the ocean. They won't freeze." "I can't go. I'm Vietnamese. We don't like the cold." "Tran, you grew up in Northfield! That's just forty-five miles from here, and you?re not even Vietnamese, anyway--you said you parents were Hmong. You must be used to the cold here by now." "I got used to being warm. I think I'm going back to L.A., make more pornos with Pavel." That, I had to admit, did sound attractive. I had good reasons for leaving L.A., but they felt less compelling than ever as the frosted windows rattled from another blast of arctic wind. Tran's face brightened. "Maybe we should call somebody. Tell them we are starving, and get them to bring us food." "Who do you have in mind?" Tran threw out a few suggestions: my law school friend, Mark; my advisor, Professor Finch; our hockey star boyfriends, Rick and Randy. Since Tran and I had left for winter break, we had shared a fantasy about the delirious welcome they would have prepared for us on our return: flowers, gifts, lingerie, passionate kisses and close embraces. Even though we had been back for three whole days, we hadn't even heard from them. We were wondering if they had forgotten us. "Do you think we should call them?" Tran asked. "We can't. They'll totally get the wrong idea, that we're, like, desperate or something." "You're right," she said unhappily. She was reclining on a triangle pillow, her thighs parted, preparing to dilate her neo- vagina with a one-inch stent. She covered it in KY jelly, then grimaced as she penetrated herself. "You know you should be doing this too," she reminded me through clenched teeth. "It's so O-o-o, hard, O-o-o," she groaned, as the nylon stent stopped less than halfway in. "It's stuck again! Ouch! God, what's going to happen if I get a cock stuck in there?" "It'll be the happiest day of your life," I joked. "No way, who would want the same old cock all of the time!" Tran replied mischievously. I took a break from my translation of "The Knight's Tale" to hip- hop lyrics and took my place on the floor next to Tran, a Xeroxed law case in one hand and my own stent in the other. We had started dilating a few days earlier, with our narrowest, one-inch stents. It was gonna be a hard row to hoe. Our penile skins had both been too skimpy to fashion vaginas deep enough for sex, so our Thai surgeon, Dr. Sanguan, had lengthened them with sections of our colons sutured to the ends of our inverted penile skins. He had used grafts of scrotal skin to form labia and our glans to form clits. Now that the sutures had dissolved and the scars and bruises were fading, we could see he had performed miraculous work. We had lovely, though tiny, female genitalia where our cockettes had been. We were not yet complete, but we looked close enough to pass muster in the bedroom. But these deliciously tempting treats were forbidden to others for at least two months, or perhaps even longer. We were not supposed to attempt intercourse until we had successfully dilated with our massive one-and- a-quarter-inch stents. These forbidding tools had to lay unused until we successfully mastered their one-inch and one-and-a-quarter-inch mates. And the one-incher had me stymied. I could not force it past the stricture where my penile and colonic grafts met. I removed it, re-lubricated it, and re-entered. "Just keep it moving, Tran," I advised. "Just like you-know- what." Tran giggled. "Just think what Rick and Randy would do if they saw us playing with ourselves like this." "I think I know what they would do, and we're not ready for it." "Sh-sh, I'm going to close my eyes and imagine it's Randy," I heard Tran begin to breath harder and moan sensually. "It's not working, it's not helping. I've had enough!" She pulled out her stent and threw it across the room in disgust. She got up and dialed a phone number impatiently. "You're not calling them?" I implored. "No, I'm not. . . . Yeah, hello, beef and broccoli, extra broccoli, please, no beef, and brown rice. . . . Yeah, for Tran again, on 1385 Hennepin, Unit 22. . . . Yeah, call from security. Make sure it's hot. And bring chopsticks. Bye. . . . OK, Alexandra, I got your broccoli. Call me when it arrives. I'm taking a bath." I continued with my dilation and my reading for another half-hour until the phone rang. "Tran, I'm running down to get dinner," I yelled. I had made as little progress with my dilation as I had with my case. A feeling of cold and fear overtook me as I walked down the stairwell: had I gotten in over my head with this operation? And what was I supposed to be getting out of these court decisions? When I returned, greasy bags of Chinese in hand, I phoned my mentor, Mark Whitman. "Alex, it's good to hear your voice. . . . You're back? I didn't see you first day, not that it mattered." "My trip got kind of messy at the end. But everything is fine now." "Don't worry, because Epstein didn't show either. He's on another honeymoon." "I didn't know he was getting married." "He didn't." "M-m-m." "Don't even think about it, Alex." "All I'm thinking about are these law cases. I mean, what am I supposed to be getting out of them? I mean, am I supposed to be memorizing them or something? They're so long and boring, and there are so many." I tried to hide the panic in my voice. "I always forget that you're a baby. Here's what you do: You read the facts really fast, then get to the holding, which is what the court decides. You figure out which facts and laws they used to get to the holding-- that's the rationale. Then you figure out what's wrong with the rationale, such as which important facts were omitted or what law was ignored. Finally compare the holding with the earlier cases and figure out how they fudged the outcome--that's what's wrong with the holding. "Then go onto the next case, do the same things again, and figure out what this bunch did differently from the last. That's it--law school in a nutshell. "And remember, Epstein loves to hear what's wrong with judges. He thinks they're all idiots." "So you're really not learning anything from the cases." "Well, actually, you have to memorize all of the holdings for the final. But what you are really trying to learn is how to show all other lawyers and judges--except you, Epstein and me--are a bunch of idiots. You're learning how to criticize others." "Oh, I can get into that." "Wait 'til you read the assignment for this week. You'll find something to hate in the Gardiner case. We're meeting at Epstein's house next Saturday. See ya then." The siege of unspeakable weather gave me an excuse to ditch classes for another week and regain my strength thereby. When the below-zero days finally ended in a glorious January thaw, students held festive tee-shirted snowball fights in the quads and I emerged at last to attend my first classes. As I strode across campus to catch the bus to the suburbs in a tight- sweater and an open jacket, I realized my new profile drew appreciative looks and smiles from nearly every guy who saw me. When I got in sight of my bus stop, I realized my bus was already taking on its last passengers and I was about to miss it. When I started to run to catch the departing bus, my boobs started bouncing painfully--I had to slow down. I was about to give up in frustration, when a stranger interceded and saved my day: he yelled for the driver to stop and held the door for me gallantly as I boarded. I rewarded him with a "Thank you," and a demure smile. I got a "Wish I was going your way," from the handsome stranger as I boarded. Inside the bus, another guy offered me his seat and then chatted me up for the rest of the ride. "God, this is great," I thought. "Every guy who saw me noticed me, feasted his eyes, and then wanted to please me. Life is going to be a party." Epstein had stayed late in Acapulco, avoiding the foul weather to which Tran and I had returned, but he had assigned a thousand pages of legal cases; we would have a triple session at his house in Edina to make up the lost class time. His girlfriend, Lynn, a third-year law student, would also participate as a student in this class. What a class! It was an upper-level seminar, so everyone wanted to be there and weigh in with an opinion. Let me tell you, judging from the cross-section presented by the students of this class, Minnesota, hell, America, seemed a pretty weird place, if you grew up in West L.A., as I did. I mean, this class was a strange brew. On one hand, you'd find hipsters from Madison, Ann Arbor, even Berkeley; on the other hand, you found the bright but na?ve hicks: strict Lutherans from Duluth or wherever that had been brought up to believe dancing to be sinful and that gays had been sent by the devil to pervert the innocent. I mean, in L.A., you'd have to go to West Covina or someplace to find such rustics. And there we were, sitting together in Epstein's breakfast room, me and Lars from Fargo, head-to-head on the Kansas Supreme Court's decision: "In the Matter of The Estate of Marshall G. Gardiner." I had been up half the night, first reading and then having nightmares about the case. J'Noel, a forty-year old post-op had made good, become a professor, and then married Marshall, an eighty-something millionaire: a story like Anna Nicole Smith's, but with a trans twist. Good 'ole Marsh had promptly left us for that great board of directors in the sky, leaving behind no will. His son wanted the money, and went after J'Noel. Epstein turned to me. "Ms. Rivers, please state the facts and holding of the Gardiner case." I smiled, pleased that he had remembered to use my new name, and stated the case: The case involves J'Noel Gardiner's claim to the estate of Marshall G. Gardiner. J'Noel was born male, had sex- reassignment surgery and had an amended Wisconsin birth certificate showing her gender as "assigned female." Marshall, an elderly widower, was a donor to the college where J'Noel was a professor. He fell in love and married her with knowledge of her past. Gardiner died without leaving a will the following summer. Gardiner's estranged son Joe sought to claim the entire state, arguing that the marriage was invalid. Kansas had passed a version of the "Defense of Marriage Act," by which the state forbids recognition of same-sex marriages. Joe argued that as a matter of law J'Noel, as a genetic male, was incapable of legally marrying his late father. The trial court agreed with Joe, ruling that under Kansas law, anyone born male remains male, and ignored the Wisconsin birth certificate. The Kansas Court of Appeals reversed, finding that the district court had improperly determined as a matter of law that J'Noel remained a man. The lower court needed to conduct a trial about whether J'Noel was male or female, based on the scientific and medical factors relevant to determination of gender. The Kansas Supreme Court reversed the appellate court. Even though the terms "sex," "male" and "female" were not defined in the Kansas "Defense of Marriage Act," the court held that J'Noel's sex was male, based on definitions taken from an old edition of Webster's Dictionary, which looked to genetic and biological factors only. I read the holding: A male-to-female post-operative transsexual does not fit the definition of a female. The male organs have been removed, but the ability to "produce ova and bear offspring" does not and never did exist. There is no womb, cervix, or ovaries, nor is there any change in his chromosomes. As the Texas Supreme Court had held in the earlier Littleton case, case, the transsexual still "inhabits . . . a male body in all aspects other than what the physicians have supplied." J'Noel does not fit the common meaning of female. If the legislature intended to include transsexuals, it would have been a simple matter to have done so. I concluded, "So the court held the marriage was invalid and awarded the entire estate to Joe and nothing to J'Noel." Epstein asked, "Ms. Rivers, do you see anything wrong in the reasoning of the Kansas Supreme Court?" "It's a terrible decision by weak and lazy judges. Maybe they are pretending to be ignorant but are really biased. "Why should they assume that the Kansas legislature had in mind outdated dictionary definitions of 'sex,' 'male' and 'female?' Given the attention paid to transsexuals in the media, why not assume that the Kansas legislature was aware of transsexuals and intended that the courts treat them according to their gender identity rather than their genes, particularly in a case where Wisconsin had officially recognized the sex change? "These judges rely on their own limitations and preconceptions in areas where they admit they have no guidance from any objective evidence of legislative intent. I think it's a terrible decision." Peter Swenson, a Young Republican type, replied hotly, "Aren't you doing just what you are accusing the court of? Where there is no contrary intent, shouldn't we let the plain meaning of the statute speak for itself? Last time I looked, this was still a republic, where elected legislators make the laws, not the judges." Epstein took my part, and responded, "So what they are saying is that the Kansas legislature must have ignored all of the science and publicity about transsexuals in defining gender. Of course they knew about transsexuals. The statute is an abomination, but it was only aimed at prohibiting gay marriage. Why interpret such a statute broadly? I think Rivers has a point. Should one infer a deprivation of rights based on silence?" Alec Olsen, another Heritage Foundation type, interjected, "Why should we assume Kansas legislators were ill-informed? Why not assume the obvious, that they were relying on common understandings of these terms? After all, they were enacting the 'Defense of Marriage Act', not the 'Protection of Transvestites Act.'" Mark Whitman replied, "Point taken, but no one anticipates that legislatures are enacting laws to fit eternity. Isn't the role of courts to interpret?" I added "Science, medicine, and society change far faster than legislatures can enact laws. This 'Defense of Marriage Act' was enacted eight or nine years ago--look at what's happened in the meantime." Alec rejoined, "Yeah, I'm looking. What difference does that make? That there are more unwed mothers, gay couples having kids? Are courts supposed to reshape laws to fit fads, and facilitate social extremism? If Marshall had a young child, would you going to give J'Noel custody? Are we seriously considering honoring transsexuals on Mothers' Day?" I exploded: "OK, you won't let J'Noel be a mother. You won't let her sue for her husband's death or inherit from him. You say she's still a male. Will you let her be a Scoutmaster?" Alec sneered "No, but that's because society has an interest in protecting children from exposure to aberrant behavior." Epstein replied "OK, she can't be a Girl Scout or a Boy Scout. Fine: if she can't marry a male and adopt his child, can she marry a female, and adopt a woman's child?" Alec answered, "Same issue. If the law gives the privilege of marriage to males and females, then no, she can't marry either a woman or a man, because she has the outward appearance of a woman in the chromosomes of a man. And she can't adopt as a matter of child protection." I countered "I don't get it. A transsexual can't marry a male and can't marry a female. Who are they supposed to marry, another transsexual coming from the opposite direction? What if that person has a kid?" Peter interrupted, "Absolutely not. They can't marry at all, under Kansas law." Mark said, "You've got to be kidding me, what about 'equal protection?'" Peter responded, "It doesn't apply to protect transsexuals." Epstein was apoplectic, "It protects everyone: even non-citizens! Are you saying J'Noel has no 'equal protection' rights at all? That we can deprive her of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?" Alec retorted, "No, but we can restrict her from exercising privileges that are specific to gender. At this point, she doesn't have a gender in the eyes of the law." Epstein said, "Reminds of that story, 'The Man Without a Country.' 'Woman without a Gender'--pretty barbaric for twenty- first century jurisprudence. Is that where we're going? To paraphrase my favorite movie, 'Toto, I think we must be in Kansas!'" Mark rejoined, "It's ridiculous and cruel to deny J'Noel any legal rights dependent on gender. Gender is her precious possession. Even the Kansas State Supreme Court acknowledged her sacrifices. Can they really mean that in claiming her gender, she relinquished it?" Peter retorted, "But the court said it was up to the Kansas legislature, not the courts applying 'equal protection,' to defend her. And it hasn't, and shouldn't." I argued, "But you argument goes far beyond that. You think that she shouldn't have a protected right to claim her gender. Why not?" Alec answered, "Because 'equal protection' prevents discrimination based on attributes that the individual can't change. J'Noel chose to change her body and sexual identity. Therefore, she doesn't deserve to be protected." Epstein summarized, "So you can deny J'Noel all 'equal protection' rights: the right to work, to vote, to petition the government?" Peter polished his glasses. "I don't propose to suspend all rights, I suppose, but certainly the privilege to assert legal entitlement where gender is an issue." I dissected this position. "You believe the state can deny her the rights to assert, as a male or as a female, any legal right that's dependent on gender?" Peter responded, "Yes, because J'Noel really possesses neither the gender of a male or a female." Epstein posited. "So you are saying that transsexuals are neither legally male nor female, that they belong, if you will, to a third gender?" "I'm not a social scientist, but I guess you could say that." Epstein continued "And obviously, this minority is a tiny minority?" Peter admitted, "Yes, I guess so," oblivious to where Epstein was leading him. Epstein pounced: "But we reserve the greatest degree of equal protection scrutiny for small, unpopular minorities. How can we tell transsexuals that their recourse is in the legislature, not the courts? I doubt the transsexual lobby throws a lot of weight in the Kansas Legislature." Peter backpedaled, "People like J'Noel are different from other minorities!" Mark pursued, "Because they are sexual minorities, and we have special rules for sex? Sounds pretty Victorian to be a basis for constitutional law." Alec attempted to find an escape: "No, because they choose to be what they become. We protect only those who have immutable characteristics. J'Noel is different because she voluntarily undertook to become what she became." I sprung the trap: "You assert that she volunteered to be transsexual?" "No, but she chose to take the hormones, have the tracheal shave, and to have the other surgery." I went on, "So you are saying those who have these procedures should be punished, even when these procedures are medically recommended?" Alec asserted, "No, but when J'Noel had them, she forfeited the rights to full citizenship, either as a male, or as a female." Epstein questioned, "And what compelling state interest requires such an extraordinary deprivation?" Peter argued: "Doing otherwise brings chaos to society, the family, to the expectation of normality. We must, I suppose, tolerate everyone, even the criminally insane, but we don't have to accord them full status as citizens. J'Noel, like a schizophrenic, is simply too destructive of the social order to be given free rein. The state must be empowered to limit her freedom to protect the rest of us." Epstein pronounced, "Gender apartheid, for a tiny and powerless minority?" Alec begged off, "Unless the legislature decides otherwise." Epstein questioned, "That does appear to be what Texas and Kansas have decided. Is it right? Is there a role for the federal courts here?" Epstein's eyes scanned the classroom, meeting mine only for the same moment as the others. I had the last word: "Absolutely; you cannot deny equal protection based one's outward aspect, as long as it reflects an immutable internal trait. And the Kansas Supreme Court ignored yet another section of Article Four of the United States Constitution when they did not extend 'Full Faith and Credit' to the State of Wisconsin's recognition of J'Noel's sex. "Incidently, this ruling may permit transsexuals who are gay to marry persons of their own sex, which would thwart the very law that this ruling was intended to protect. I wonder, will ever get to see a lesbian couple, one of whom is a post-op transsexual, tie the knot in Kansas and use this ruling to bust the chops of the Kansas court system?" I heard a few snickers as I finished. Half the group nodded in agreement; the rest vehemently disagreed. Epstein concluded, "Fascinating. I think we mined all of the ore out of that vein. Next case, Olsen." We worked through a dozen cases that way, until lunchtime. Then we broke, and Epstein invited us to stay for sandwiches. I grabbed Whitman. "I can't believe Epstein did that to me. Was he trying to 'out' me?" "No, that's what Epstein does! He puts you under the microscope and lets the rest of the class dissect you. Welcome to law school, little sister. But you were sensational. You made those two look like a couple of idiots. And they're third year! Don't say anything--here they come." Alec smiled and said "No hard feelings, OK?" "None here," I responded with a smile and a flutter of my lashes. "Comes with the territory, doesn't it?" "Wow, you were really great. How did you learn so much law?" Alec asked. "I'm a quick study." "But you're new, aren't you." "Actually, I'm an undergrad. A freshman." "No wonder you're still a liberal. Get a little closer to real life, and things start looking different, unless you become a weirdoes' rights type like Whitman here. How did you end up in this circus?" Peter nodded toward Epstein. "I wrote something for one of what you called Mark's weirdoes' rights projects, and Epstein liked it. So he invited me." "We won't hold that against you. Will we, Alec?" "No way. Where do you live? Are you in a sorority?" Alec inquired. As we talked, I noticed that each time I switched eye contact to one, the other transferred his gaze to my breasts. Should I be flattered, or worried? Was I too big, or not natural? "No, I'm way too busy for all the socializing. I'm all work and no play. In fact, I have to do some work-study tutoring in a few minutes." "Underprivileged, undernourished urban youth?" Peter asked sarcastically. "No, over-privileged, oversexed hockey players." I tossed my hair carelessly. "Can you get tickets?" Alec demanded. "I've never had occasion to ask," I purred demurely. "Cool, good to meet you. Ask for four tickets for Wisconsin," Alec replied with a breezy wave. "And bring a friend," he added arrogantly. "Oh, shuerrrr!" I replied, adding a 'Fargo'-ese umlaut to my vowels. "See you next week," Peter chirped. When they were out of hearing, I whispered to Mark "Do you think they have any ideas, you know, about me?" "I think they've got lots of ideas about you. But I don't think they related you to the Gardiner case, if that's what you mean." "What do you mean?" "Just the usual ideas guys have about fantastically beautiful girls." I blushed. "Do you mean me? Do you like the new me better than the old one?" "It's the same you, the same me and though you're ever more beautiful, and I'm just as square. How's Tran, er, Teri?" "She's great, you know, we're both, ah, recovering still." "Ahem, and how's that going?" "Want to see for yourself?" "No, ah, not really." He was blushing. "Sorry, I know. I was only kidding." I looked at my watch. "Gotta go. So I did all right?" "Better than that. You were born to be a lawyer." I walked off smiling, but inwardly musing, "Born to be lawyer, or a hooker?" God, this life kind of sucked. For every real person like Mark, there would be a thousand powerful, bigoted poseurs like Alec and Peter. I would have to be on guard every moment in the company of such affable haters. My work study advisor had assigned me to a tutoring group for "Special Needs Students." Of course, the special needs of this group was their need to retain athletic eligibility without letting studying interfere with the rigors of training, traveling and playing for Minnesota's championship hockey squad. My assignments were math and English. I met my first students, Mike and Karl, in an assistant coach's office. Karl eyed me hungrily and asked, "Hey, teach, how do we get detention?" "Yeah, we want to stay after class," Mike quipped. "Hmm, I usually give detention to bad boys. You're not nearly bad enough for that." "We'll work on it," Karl promised. I worked them through some practice exams in trigonometry. They were clueless, until I illustrated the concepts of sine, chord and tangent with analogies to the ricochets of hockey pucks off sticks, boards and helmets. Then it began to click, and they got the practice test on the third try. They were drunk with success and ready for relaxation, and demanded that I join them for a happy hour at the Sigma Chi house. I was struggling to extricate myself from their advances when I heard the welcome sound of a familiar voice. "Alex, is that you?" Rick bounded into the room, and lifted me in a joyful embrace. My lips dodged his and I whispered in his ear, "It's about time, I mean, the nick of time." "Oh, sorry Rick dude, we didn't mean to skate on your ice! OK, dude?" Karl apologized. "Hey, that's cool man, how were you to know this babe was my good friend?" "She's a great teacher. You're a lucky dude," Mike added, shuffling away while saying, "Next week, right here, right?" "Good luck on your exams, guys!" As soon as they were gone, Rick closed the door and said, "Wow, I like what Santa brought." "If you had waited much longer, it could have been the Easter Bunny. What's the matter with you?" "You know, we were like, busy, getting back into it and all." "Too busy to call? Gimmee a break." "You didn't call me. I dunno, I wasn't sure, you know, how I would feel. I mean, we're so, you know . . . different." "You mean I'm so different?" "You sure are different now. You look, like, awesome." He reached for me, and I did not object as he fondled my still-tender breasts. "Careful, I'm still very sensitive." He slipped his hands under my sweater and gently caressed the silk and lace of my underwire bra. Then he tilted my head back for a passionate, breathy kiss. My anxiety and pique subsided, and I succumbed to Rick's firm but fond embraces. His hands eagerly explored my new contours, then impatiently fumbled at the clasp of my bra. I guided his clumsy fingers to help him free my breasts from their lacy confinement. He stroked my still-scarred nipples a bit too eagerly, and I gasped, "Be gentle!" He pulled my sweater up and over my head, and I twisted my neck from the turtleneck, hair tousled and face flushed with the effort and with growing passion. Rick stared, goggle eyed, and gently cupped my perfect, conical boobs in his large, strong hands. "Alexandra, they're, I mean you're, fabulous." And this was the moment I had longed for and dreamed of since those sweaty, opiated, painful days on my bed-sore ass in Phuket. All that I had been through was requited in that one phrase, from a guy who'd ignored me until he practically tripped over me on his way to the shower. What was I thinking? What kind of passive, chick thing had I lapsed into? Fuck, what did I care? He wanted me. I wanted him. Then a shiver of paranoia ran through me. If he was so transfixed by my boobs, if he saw my pussy, he would fuck me until I hemorrhaged and bled out on the floor. My passion quickly found common cause with self-preservation, and I tugged at his shorts. His manhood was nestled in the shell of a jockstrap and cup, familiar and unhappy memories of my own pathetic athletic experience. His sweaty meat bounded from the confines of his gear. He was tangy with the sweat of a hard practice, and I gagged with the first lunges into my throat: had it been so long I had forgotten this art? Soon, my muscle memory reasserted itself and I reacquainted my lips, tongue and tonsils to the rhythms of his groin. He grappled for my breasts and pussy, but the wet suction of my lips and cheeks on his cock distracted him and brought forth an instant anointing of precum to my glistening lips. He seized my bobbing pony tail and soon was straining and spasming, as the sensations of my lips and tongue on his cock and my breasts pressing on his thighs brought him under my control. My breasts massaged his muscular thighs with each lunge of my lips down his shaft to his lap, and he murmured, "I wanna fuck you," and began to roll me off his lap, but I shook my head and resisted, and he surrendered to my insistent blow job. He let out a guttural moan, and banged my head savagely onto his cock as he orgasmed wildly, down my parched throat into my hungry tummy. He popped out with his last thrust. I firmly squeezed his balls, sending a squirt sprayed into my eyes and hair, before the last droplets oozed onto my breasts. As he relaxed on the coach's couch, I wiped his spilled seed from my neck and reapplied my gloss and mascara. He looked up and smiled and said, "That was great, worth the wait. What a great surprise, ah, surprises." Now that I had momentarily unmanned him, I felt safe to disclose the whole truth. "I'm full of surprises. Are you ready for more." "Oh, there's more? Like what, a tattoo?" "Close your eyes, and no peeking." I wriggled out of my jeans and let them plop to the floor. I stepped to within his reach. He squinted at my panty-clad form, so I warned him more firmly, "I said, no peeking!" and he closed his eyes obediently. "Now, slide down my panties, and open your eyes." His eyes practically popped out of his head, and I noticed the coiled snake between his legs sprang to life. "Whoo, Alex, you got a pussy!" He rose and grabbed me from front and behind and reached his hands through my vacant crotch, and then fingered and pried open my tiny labia. I winced and said, "Careful, I'm not nearly ready," but he was already pulling me onto his lap and pressing his re-hardened cock head against the narrow opening. "Really, I can't and you can't--it's too new." He had gone deaf and was trying to enter me with his drained penis, but to no avail. "I can't believe it, it's so perfect, you're like a real girl. Just like I'd always dreamed." "This is how you wanted me in your dreams?" I felt a warm glow light me from within. "Exactly," he replied, and rolled me onto my back and grabbed and pulled my ankles over his shoulders. He pressed against me again, but his cock lacked the energy to do any damage, and I covered my vulnerable vagina. I lectured him sternly: "None of that yet. You could ruin it or hurt me." He nodded but ignored me. I warned him again sternly: "I mean you could really injure me if you do it before I'm ready. I'm not big enough or strong enough inside yet." "How long do I have to wait?" he complained. "At least another month." "No way! Well, how about the old way?" He reached beneath me and began fingering my ass. "Not there either, they had to operate there too. Please, don't, it could be really dangerous. You could rip my insides and I could bleed to death. You wouldn't want that, would you?" He shook his head vigorously. "Wait for me until I'm ready, and I promise I'll save myself for you, even though you are too big. And in the meantime, we can do this." I licked his balls playfully, and then took him back into my mouth. To my amazement, he was hard again, but my renewed blowjob would not bring him back to climax. He shook his head in frustration, and said, "It's not enough." "Wait there, I have an idea." I grabbed a tube of lubricant from the bottom of my purse and spread it between my breasts. I lay down on the floor and beckoned, and said, "Sit on my tummy." I gasped as he crushed my rib cage, but wrapped my tender breasts, nipple to nipple, around his cock. "Now rub it there," and he began plunging into the tunnel of my tender breasts. It was a glorious sight to see his cock head bounding and receding through the circle that my boobs made around him. I was thankful that I had prevailed on Dr. Sanguan to use the 350cc implants, which had given me the very generous C-cups which now sheltered and surrounded Rick's insatiable cock. Soon, he was pounding away. Though my breasts ached from the relentless pressure, they were sufficiently healed to endure his thrusts. After a few minutes he came and my collarbones were adorned with another necklace of molten pearls. Rick collapsed to the floor next to me, breathing hard. "I guess you must approve." "God, I'm sorry I had trouble controlling myself, I was just so overwhelmed. It's so incredible. You're irresistible." "Thank you. But you have to promise me, no trying to fuck me until I say. Otherwise, you shouldn't see me. The doctor really warned us, nothing for another month at least, and maybe not until after another operation." He thought for a minute. "What do you mean, us? Tran had an operation too?" "Yeah, and don't you dare tell Randy. Let her surprise him." "So she's not ready either?" I hit him playfully. "No she's not, and don't even think about it." "Yeah, right," he muttered. Of course I knew I could never trust him, but with Tran, I could at least keep an eye on him. And I wasn't so trustworthy myself. "Really though, you have to let Tran surprise Randy. Don't spoil the surprise for them." Besides, I had to remind Tran to unman Randy with a blowjob before she let the cat out of the bag, or Pussy would get her tail pulled. Randy was even more uncontrollably libidinous than Rick. Suddenly, I heard the sound of an opening door and footsteps. "Someone's coming," I said. Rick replied, "Holy shit!" We quickly pulled on our clothes, straightened the disheveled cushions on the couch, and were seated, books in hands, at the desk when Assistant Coach Barnes entered his office. "Getting in a little extra credit with the tutor, Rick?" he snarled sarcastically. "Yeah coach, Alexandra here is really helpful." "I'm sure she is," he said, sniffing the air ostentatiously. "What subject are you working on, French?" "Math, actually. But I'm fluent in French, if anyone needs it." "They all need it. They're just not studying it, huh, Rick?" "Right, coach," he said with a masculine guffaw. "Listen here," he said wagging his stubby finger at me. "Do what you want, with whoever, but no French tutoring in my office, if you catch my drift. Now pack up and go. No, just you, Mademoiselle Tutor. Rick, I want another hour on the ice from you." I packed up and left, my face burning with embarrassment. I called Tran, and warned her that Randy would soon know our secret. "So if you want it to be a surprise, call him now." "Alexandra, did you already do him first?" "No, but if you insist, I will. Rick will get over it, if you do." I was warming up to the concept. "I have an idea. Let's both surprise him." "Tran, you are such a bad influence." I took a quick shower and was doing my make-up when Randy called on the intercom. Tran let Randy in, and after a brief murmured conversation I heard the familiar sound of squeaking bedsprings. As I applied fresh make up, I eavesdropped on my best friend and my former lover. They began with polite, slightly stiff greetings, and progressed to giggly, breathy kissing, and then to fierce, athletic passion. I listened to sounds of lips sucking, cheeks popping against a lunging penis, the slight chokes and gags that occur in really determined blowjobs, and in brief interludes, a few lovers' words between all their gasps and groans. As I applied my gloss, I recalled vividly how Randy's wild cock had rammed down my throat and into my ass. His groans become grunts, the squeaking of the bed become deafening. I remembered the exquisite rush of energy that his orgasms brought, and I envied my friend. I heard their breathing gradually subside, and their murmurs rise, as I brushed my hair to smooth, silky perfection. I chose the perfect moment, just before Randy took his post- orgasmic piss. I emerged from my hideout, wrapped at the bodice with a towel, and said, "Randy, shame on you. Too busy to say hello to an old friend?" Randy looked over his shoulder and said, "Whoa, Alex, I, I- ah . . ." and then I plopped on the bed next to him, opposite Tran, and let my boobs escape from the unraveling towel and slide under the sheets by his side. He was immediately transfixed. "Wow, they, ah, you look, like, great! What a great surprise!" "Go ahead, you can touch me," and he began fondling me. I murmured gratefully in response, and Tran propped herself on Randy's shoulder to observe approvingly. She commented, "I like hers better than mine, too. It's OK. Admit it, they're softer." "I love yours too," Randy said politically, rolling onto his back to observe, and fondle us, in stereo. He did look really happy, relaxing between two beautiful girls, each hand on a breast. "I really got a handful here," he joked. "I gotta surprise for you too," Tran said. "What's that?" Randy asked. "I like these surprises so far." As her answer, Tran took his hand from her breast and pulled it down her tummy. Guessing her intent, I slid his other hand toward my new pussy. Tran won this erotic race, and Randy said, "Whoa, what's that? I mean," and with that he reached my vagina, saying, "Wow, this is unbelievable, you're like, regular girls, lemmee see." He rose to his knees, threw back the sheets, and said, "Wow, this is like a dream. You're incredible. I wish I had two cocks," and I noticed his cock was stiffening again. "Like, I don't know where to start." "Start here," I said, and wrapped my lips around his member, which was still salty with his last orgasm and Tran's saliva. "Or here," Tran said, gently nudging me away and taking her turn. He reflexively and relentlessly tried to escape our lips and mount Tran. "No way, our doctor says we must stay virgins for at least, ah, six more weeks. Maybe more." He tried to mount me. "Really Randy, it's not safe for us to have sex yet. We're not healed inside." "Oh, shit, it's just irresistible. I got to have you, now." "No, not yet, let me give you another blow job." "Both of us," I offered. "OK, but let me at least touch you, let me see." We squiggled our pussies down toward his astonished face, and began giving him a double blowjob, occasionally warning him not to push his fingers into our still healing vaginas, and occasionally soothing our cock- sore lips with a kiss of the others swollen mouth. Nineteen year old guys are one of God's gifts: after about twenty minutes of this divine revelation, he came again in a fountain of cream that oozed gently from the purple hood of his cock. He dozed as we showered together. I remarked admiringly to Tran, "Too bad these pussies don't work as good as they look." "I'd be a happy girl then," Tran replied. "And he'd be a happy guy, too. Keeping him on the outside is going to be impossible, and Rick is no better." "Well, what is it, another week and we can do it the old way." "You think? But will they want to?" I asked. "I think they won't know the difference." "You're so bad! How will we know it's safe? I don't think Sanguan makes house calls to Minneapolis." "We had the same operation at the same time. After your big operation last year, Student Health has to give you a free examination. That's how I'll know. If you're ready, I'm ready. And I'd better be ready soon, because I'm s-s-s-o-o horny. And s- s-s-s-o-o broke." Mr. Watanabe's hush money was running out, and my scholarship and grant money barely covered the room. I was sick of being a starving student, and Tran and I were sexual entrepreneurs by nature. Not only did Rick and Randy need to be satisfied, but so did our own financial needs. The next morning, I called Student Health and asked for an appointment with Dr. Peter Prince. His assistant had me come in for blood tests, and Dr. Prince made room on his schedule the morning that the lab work was done. I made a point of blowing my hair and dressing to the max. It was still freezing by my standards, but a tight ribbed turtleneck under an open pea jacket over my new body warmed me and the atmosphere all around me. Dr. Prince wandered absently into the waiting room, looking about absently and called out, "Alexandra Rivers," and gazed around vacantly, his gaze passing over me and returning only after he had searched the room. With a startled nod of recognition, he exclaimed, "O my God! That's you, Alex!" "You didn't recognize me?" "Well, now I do, but you look . . . fantastic!" "Do you like my new look?" "You look lovely. Come with me," he said, recovering his professionalism. "I gather your overseas trip was successful?" "So far, so good. I'd like your opinion as to how successful." "Perfect, I've arranged a gynecological consult. And I think we better take a peek at your colon." He led me to a waiting room and I was both alarmed and pleased that the examination table was equipped with stirrups. "Put on this robe, and lie down," he said, handing me a pink paper gown. I'll be back." "No med students, OK?" He nodded. I lay on my back, and slid my feet into the stirrups at the end of the exam table. They swung open, and I was naked and open. I loved the feeling of vulnerability this contraption gave me. But how would I look? I had peeked with a mirror, and Rick and Randy had stolen glimpses as they pried apart my squeezed-together thighs, but this was my public debut. I pulled the edge of the gown to cover myself, and rested my hands on my breasts, like a prone Botticelli Venus. Dr. Prince knocked and entered with two colleagues, and mumbled introductions. "Tell us about your procedure?" I described it and they nodded, mumbled, and conferred as they peered, palpated and prodded me. "This is going to feel a little cold," the ob-gyn warned as he slid an icy object into my vagina. "Tell me if it hurts." "No, it feels like a Popsicle, but it doesn't hurt. . . . Uff, that hurt." "You've got some blockage at five centimeters. How is the dilation going?" "Better than at first, but I can't get anything bigger than the one-inch stent past that part." "Scar tissue at the junction of the penile inversion and the colon tissue." "Oh, no! Dr. Sanguan warned me--I didn't dilate hard enough." "It was inevitable. It's like grafting a apple branch to a pear tree. You can do it, but the tree forms a knot." "Can you fix it?" "I don't think anyone but the original surgeon should operate. I wouldn't know where to begin." "He's in Thailand. I can't go there for months." "That's OK, it shouldn't be done for a couple of months, unless you want to do it more than once." I was crestfallen as they completed their exam. With that one exception, I was perfect. The colon re-section had healed perfectly, my hormones were perfect, my breasts were perfectly centered and positioned, as were my external labia, which were small, but even and parallel. My vulva still lacked labia minora and a clitoral hood, which I already knew would have to be finished in another operation. The upshot of the exam was that my vagina was almost perfect, except for a single cincture of scar tissue, which rendered it useless for sex! After the ob-gyn and the proctologist left, Prince and I talked. "You're disappointed?" "Of course. I mean, I knew it could happen, but I tried so hard. And my boyfriend is going to be so bummed." "Well, if he cares about you, he'll wait." "I don't know, you know how boys are." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "Alexandra, I'm confident that you'll figure out how to keep the boys coming." I smiled at this double- entendre, and glanced up at Prince. Had he intended it? Was he coming on? He had a perfect, professional poker face. "So other than that one little problem, all systems go?" "You're perfect. My hat's off to you and your surgeon. He's an artist, and you're a masterpiece." I glowed with pleasure from his compliments all the way home. Tran was, as usual, dilating and watching an Asian video when I got home. "Shit! I can never get the larger stent in," she cried in frustration. "Forget it, you probably got it too--the ring. We gotta get back to Phuket." "Let's go now! I'm bored and sick of cold." "Tran, we don't have the cash for the tickets, much less the surgery. And Dr. Prince recommends we wait two months anyhow." "You got any good news?" "Well, sort of: my colon is completely healed." "Oh great, we can start getting fucked in the ass again? I was just getting used to not getting it there," she said bitterly. It had been about six weeks, our longest abstinence ever. "What was it like starting again?" she asked. "I got back into it after the first few times. But we're different now, so I don't know. And Rick definitely wants my pussy." "He won't even know. If it's tight and wet, he'll fuck it without noticing or caring. I fooled lots of guys before," Tran predicted confidently. The weather had improved, so Tran went out canvassing for my 'T- Girl Sex Worker Study,' and I had an interview with Lulu, an almost passable, homeless transsexual. Lulu was sullen and uncommunicative, and refused to take the intelligence evaluation. She asked, "So why's a high class bitch like you axin' about my life?" "What makes you think we're so different?" "Shit, look at you, look at me." "We've got more in common than you think. I'm trans too." "Well fuck me! Aren't you a peach? But you're all ladylike, and you can pass, and you're ejjakated. They kicked me out in eighth grade, been livin' on the street since. Whaddaya know 'bout my life, and why do you care?" "I'm trying to help the world understand us and see us as people, not freaks." She reluctantly complied with my questionnaire. She took Meth every day and she believed that she was Princess Diana, hiding from the killers who had tried and failed to kill her, then faked her death in Paris. Her chest, butt and face were distended with pumped silicone. She never used condoms, even for passive anal sex. She was troubled by the fact that almost half of her tricks wanted to be fucked by her, as she preferred the passive role and despised the fairies that wanted her to fuck them. She'd been dressing and streetwalking for three years, and didn't know her HIV status. She lived in an abandoned furniture store with three other trannies. She worked alone and met her clients on a couch under a railroad underpass. She'd been busted for solicitation three times, but had never been convicted, though she had charges pending from a bust last week. That was why she had come to me. She'd gone down on a guy before she realized he was a cop, and couldn't afford a lawyer. I was patiently recording her tragic, bleak story, when the phone rang, and kept on ringing. I picked it up and before I could say anything Rick reminded me that he was coming over for a "study hall" in a half- hour. "Make it an hour, I'm with a client." "What do you mean?" he asked jealously. "I mean I'm busy," and I hung up and continued with Lulu. "Have you ever had a job?" "Washing dishes at a pizza place, but they fired me. Said I was a faggot." "Ever try to get a job as a woman?" "Get lots of jobs as a woman. I mean, blowjobs," she said, dead- pan. I burst into laughter, and as she laughed at her own jest, we made eye contact for the first time. She searched my eyes, I knew, and realized that she saw she and I were sisters of the spirit and flesh. After that, an hour was hardly enough for me to record her secrets. But Lulu and I both had assignations, and as I gave her a hug good-bye, I wondered whether the fates of that doomed soul and my own would differ in the end. A minute after Lulu left, Rick buzzed and I let him up. He was visibly agitated and smelled like he'd had a few beers. "Let's get high," he said, producing a bong. "I can't, I have some work to do later," I said, as he lit up and the bong gurgled ferociously. "Wanna hit?" he gasped, puffing acrid fumes. "Not yet, it's too early. And we're supposed to be studying." "It's only the fourth week of classes." "Actually, the fifth, and only two weeks until mid-terms." "Oh, fuck it, I haven't even bought all of the books yet," he said, finishing the bong and throwing himself on my bed. "C'mere," he drawled through his emerging buzz, sliding down his jeans. I slipped my fingers over the waistband and worked them down his massive, bulging thighs, then pulled down his boxers. I slipped his thick, hardening cock between my lips and began sucking. The usual baptism of precum was skimpy, and he was unenthusiastic in his response. "I need to be inside you," he announced. "I really want to fuck you." "I don't think I can. You're too big, and I'm not ready." "Oh c'mon, can't we just try it? I really want to try it." "No, just blowjobs for now," and I resumed sucking, but he was unresponsive. "Please? If you can't handle it, I'll stop, I promise." As if, I thought. "You won't be able to stop yourself. You're like an animal when you're aroused." "Yeah, and an unsatisfied animal now. I just can't stand it. You're, like, turning into some kind of cockteaser. I might as well be with one of those sorority cunts. I thought you'd be different." Well, I was, but that was the point, wasn't it? I had to succumb, or lose him. "Get comfortable, I'll be back." I went to my tiny bathroom, stripped to my bra and panties, freshened my hair and makeup, and then lubed my anus. My sphincters rebelled at the intrusion of my finger. "God," I thought, "what agony would his penis inflict on that disused passageway?" I snuggled into bed next to him, and he smothered me with wet and wild kisses to my lips, neck, and hair, then progressed to my breasts. He freed them from the enclosure of the lacy lavender bra, then cupping them in his hands, licked, kissed and nibbled each nipple. The incisions around my aureoles had healed and full sensation had returned. Ripples of pleasure flowed from my nipples and spread over my entire nervous system. I moaned, "Don't stop," as his tongue left them and began tracing a path to my navel, then down my linea alba, across the fading but still visible smile-like incision at my bikini line, to my tiny, little girl-like labia. I had kept shaving my rather flat mons, and Sanguan had warned me that a second operation was required to construct truly passable labia minora. The delicate lips that he had constructed were those of a pubescent girl, rather than a woman, but that only heightened Rick's interest, and he pressed his tongue through them as deep as he could into my tender, narrow vagina, then flicked my still-unhooded clitoris. My nervous system had only begun to reoccupy this region, so these sensations were faint and distant, but exquisitely subtle. But his mouth tired of this effort, and of the massage my foot and ankle gave his cock. He rose above me, and gave me a wet, delicious kiss, and pressed my thighs open. He pried open my labia and tried to enter me, and the sensations of pressure and strain were immediate and alarming. If he could get it inside me, that club would surely shred my still healing vagina. Visions of a painful, bloody death filled my imagination, but there was no stopping this rampaging libido now. I broke free from his lips and said, "No, not that way, let me get on top, it'll be easier for me." Easier to deceive him! I sat astride his flat, steely abdomen and grabbed my lube, as he fingered my quivering vulva. I applied lube to my rectum, rose up, and as I descended I pointed his erect cock away from my vagina, and into my ass. "Go slowly, so you don't hurt me," I reminded him, and he nodded, and then thrust upward as if his body was indifferent to his brain's promises. He slid up my lubricious ass, and muttered, "Oh, that feels good, you're so tight," as my body convulsed at this sudden intrusion. A white-hot sheet of pain seared me, but I froze my scream into a silent grimace, and averted my eyes from his gaze, as he lunged his thighs upward and pressed down on my hips, to further his penetration. "Is that too much?" he asked, and I nodded through pinched and tear- filled eyes: I could not speak, without crying out in agony. He backed out a bit, and my contorted, rigid body collapsed with relief, and he fucked me from beneath as I lay in a swoon, my soft breasts massaging his washboard chest, and his heaving breath tickling the hair behind my ears. Post op anal sex was more painful and less pleasurable than I had remembered it. The removal of my penile tissue during the sex reassignment surgery had displaced the fulcrum that had previously made the levering of large cock in my ass enjoyable. Instead of feeling the delightful friction of my cock-engorged colon rubbing against penile tissue, I now felt like Rick was banging away into a void, jostling and threatening the precious, fragile structures that Dr. Sanguan had painstakingly constructed. I found myself recoiling from this invasion rather than reveling in it. When Rick rose to a sweaty, grunting climax, I felt only relief. I extricated myself from him swiftly and removed and disposed of his condom before he could guess at his cock's recent destination. Then I bounded to the bathroom to cleanse myself of all evidence of my duplicity. "That was fantastic," he gushed. "I can't believe how tight you are." "It's not just how tight I am, it's how huge you are. You should register that thing as a dangerous weapon." I gave him a playful squeeze. "It's not natural--it's like, a big mushroom or something." "No wonder it loves to hide in your little cave," he replied. "You know, you're much better than a regular girl. No fishy pussy smells, no PMS, no periods, no babies, no bitchiness," he recited. "No commitment, no marriage plans, either, right?" Or no waiting around for female orgasms, I thought silently. "Well, that's not what you want either, is it? I mean, I really like you and everything, but who needs all that structure and pressure? I think you're perfect." I looked down at my arrogant, athletic god. He was perfect: handsome, rough-hewn, and horny. He began to harden again as I lowered my lips to his groin, and tickled my nipples on the sinewy surface of his thighs. "God, I hope the next time is easier," I thought to myself. And it was a little easier that night, and each time he came to me in the weeks that followed. Tran had "lost her virginity" to Randy a couple of days later. We compared notes as we dilated on a dismal winter afternoon. "Do you think that Randy knows that you're having anal sex?" "I don't think so. When guys are horny they are so stupid. They don't notice anything but their cocks, and don't remember anything afterward. I used to fool guys all the time, even before I had the operation." "I'm not sure whether or not Rick knows he's still sodomizing me, but I doubt if he would really care. I mean, he probably would like to be the one who broke in my pussy, but he just wants to bury his cock in and cum into a tight wet hole. I mean, I know he likes me as a friend, and needs me as his personal tutor, but he really values me most as his boytoy--the beautiful object he can touch or fuck whenever he wants." And though I never regained my desire for anal penetration, I loved being the object of his attentions, and willingly endured this now self-sacrificial sex. His wandering hands and throbbing, insatiable cock reminded me of how beautiful and sexy I had become, and I liked being his sex object on that level. Dr. Prince's hormonal wizardry, and the continued absence of testosterone from my system rounded and softened and softened me; as my natural breast development continued, my hormones made my new breasts even more the cynosure of men's eyes. And the changes certainly didn't stop Rick's kisses and caresses! As the scars faded at my surgical sites and my nipples and clitoris re- innervated: the pleasure of his ministrations increased, though at a subtle pace. I didn't even mind when he suggested a swap with Randy for Tran, for as beautiful as my friend had become, I was confident that Rick would want me back. Since the two jocks had emerged as rising stars on Minnesota's hot hockey team, other guys, even law students like Alec and Peter were constrained to keep a respectful distance, as though our association with these celebrities enhanced our mystique to the point of inapproachability. I enjoyed being the brilliant and beautiful mystery woman at this hockey star's side, and being part of the cult of envy and adulation that Rick attracted around campus as he and Randy emerged as surprise stars on the defensive line of a championship team. Rick delighted in being seen with a beautiful genius who was too busy with her independent studies and research to socialize with the run-of-the-mill jock and frat crowd with whom he hung out. I offered him the best of both worlds: freedom to play the field at frat parties, and knowledge that he had a sure thing waiting for him at the end of the party. I even came to look forward to watching them play hockey, though the brutality and violence left me worried for their safety. Still, it was a turn- on to watch them help the team to a victorious season with thunderous, crushing body checks to their opponents and murderous slap shots on hapless goalies. After all, the same body that left opponents gasping or inert on the ice was slamming into my vulnerable flesh in bed. Minnesota hockey's triumphal advance to the NCAA tournament was like my own life that semester: an unexpectedly easy and thrilling campaign. And though he took me completely for granted, Rick was sweet to me, calling me every day to be stroked and bolstered: despite his success, emotionally, he was just a young boy and desperately needed the emotional comfort and praise that I was only too happy to provide. So it came as a complete surprise when he called me and said in a cold and angry voice, "Alexandra, we're through! It's over." "What do you mean! Why?" I replied, though I immediately suspected the cause. "'Transsexual Hookers?' How could you do such a thing? A gay porno flick? I'm so humiliated and disgusted! I can't believe I'm sharing you with scum like that guy in the movie." "I'm sorry. I needed the money, you know, for Thailand. I'll never do it again. But I just had to, then." "That movie's gonna be around forever. You've been scanned, spammed and .jpg'ed all over the Internet." "No one needs to know. I mean, I really don't even look the same now, do I?" "Randy and I recognized you right away." "But you knew me then. No one else has to know." "We know. And what about your law school friend? He knows." "He's been trained to keep secrets. Please don't do this to me." "It's done. Just forget it. We're through, got it?" He hung up as I held the receiver in stunned silence. I remained there motionless for a moment, barely able to breathe, until I began shaking uncontrollably. Then I dissolved into sobs and hot bitter tears. Like the tentacles of some alien monster, the residue of my past had emerged to choke me and submerge me in misery. Randy had given the same brutal brush-off to Tran, so at least we could suffer this sorrow and humiliation together. She was more experienced and had lower expectations, so she was more resilient and less bitter than I. "They were OK, but too much work, too much sex, for not much in return: just some hockey tickets and pizza dinners. We need to meet some richer guys." I agreed, as our funds were dwindling alarmingly. We had scalped most of the remaining hockey tickets, and Tran was doing outcalls from her little black book to supplement our funds. "Only fetish and blowjobs," she informed the tricks over the phone. "No sex!" Most of her old clients were not interested in her as a post-op. Guys are so weird. I was busy wrapping up the "Transsexual Sex Workers" interviews, writing up the findings, completing "Hip-Hop to Canterbury" and tutoring the rest of the hockey team. Mike and Karl started taking greater interest in me after word spread that Rick and I were history, but Coach Barnes warned me away with angry stares. I was so bored and horny I considered taking on part of Tran's workload, but instead I concentrated on finishing my research and on writing a new grant proposal: to elaborate the work in Mi