Finding Janine free porn video

Finding Janine By BobH (c) 2003 They say it takes a year. In terms of dealing with the first phase, with the raw, open wound that is your grief, that's about right. After a year, the initial pain dulls to the point where you begin to occasionally smile again, and going on with your life seems like more of a possibility, but the sense of loss never truly goes away. Janine Fox was my wife, and she was my life. Every day with her was a joy. I could hardly wait to get in from work every night to see her and I would always take the last few flights of stairs to our apartment at a run. I loved her, she loved me, and we were deliriously happy together. That happiness was taken away in an instant one year ago by a drunk driver. We were childhood sweethearts, but we had been married less than two years when she died. I was utterly devastated and almost inconsolable. My family rallied round - Mom, Dad, and my brother Brian - but though they were a comfort, it wasn't enough. I know they were worried about me in the early days, convinced that in my grief I might do something stupid, but there was never any danger of that. I didn't want to join Janine in death; I wanted her to rejoin me in life. I was only 22 years-old. I wasn't supposed to be a widower. Still, at their insistence, I gave up the tiny apartment Janine and I had shared in New York's Washington Heights and moved back into my old bedroom in the family home in Forest Hills. I guess they wanted me where they could keep an eye on me and their obvious concern for me, while not as necessary as they thought, was a very real comfort. It was odd being back in the room I'd moved out of two years earlier, however, like stepping back in time. There was the bookshelf groaning under the weight of all those Hardy Boys books I'd loved as a kid but hadn't looked at in years, the baseball bat and catcher's mitt in one corner, the posters of the 'miracle' Mets, of Pamela Anderson, and of Lucy Lawless as Xena, that decorated the walls. Because of my melancholy, it didn't feel like coming home, though. I suppose everyone, when they lose a loved one, fantasizes about them miraculously reappearing, whole and healthy. They dream about how wonderful it would be to see them again, even if only for a few minutes, to tell them how much they loved them and missed them. This is natural, and probably healthy, but for me it gradually became a morbid obsession. What Janine and I had together was so wonderful and so special that I found I couldn't, I wouldn't, let it go. And so I spent more and more of my waking hours wrestling with the problem of getting her back. However impossible the task was, I was determined to find a way. Soon, I could think of nothing else. It consumed my waking hours, just as dreams of Janine consumed my sleeping ones. I spent hours in libraries, and online trawling the web, looking for something, *anything* that could bring her back to me. There was nothing. I began to despair. My break, when it eventually came, arrived out of the blue one sunny Friday morning.... The men of the Henry family were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast together as we always did before setting off to our respective jobs - I was a floor manager at Macy's - and I was thinking about family, and relationships and wondering, if Janine had lived, how our relationship would have looked when we'd been together as long as Mom and Dad. They still loved each other in their way, of that I was certain, but there didn't seem to be much passion left between them. When Brian and I were kids, they used to flirt openly with each other - much to our embarrassment - but now they seemed to have fallen into a resigned but comfortable rut. They never flirted in public any more, and Mom no longer took the pride in her appearance that she used to. She seldom wore make-up these days, or made any attempt to conceal the grey beginning to show in her hair. The clothes she wore now were always conservative, 'sensible', and kinda dowdy, too. Perhaps this was just what inevitably happened when you had kids. These were the thoughts going through my head when Mom brought in the mail. There was nothing unusual in her doing this, but on that particular day she handed me a blue envelope with gold embossed lettering in the top left corner that identified it as being from some outfit calling itself 'MANY WORLDS INC'. "Probably just junk mail mail," she said, "but they shelled out some serious dough on those envelopes. Seems a shame to throw something that nice in the trash without opening it first." She was right about the quality. The paper was thick and heavy, almost like some sort of parchment, and it had my name right there on the front: Donald J. Henry. What was impressive about this was that it had been handwritten in black ink in one of the most ornate scripts I'd ever seen. If someone had taken the time and trouble to individualize the envelope like that it would be churlish not to open it. The letter inside was written in the same script, and what it said sent a tingle down my spine: Mr. Henry, Have you ever thought to yourself there must be a better world out there some- where, one where you are more financially successful, where a departed loved one is still alive, or where you have that family you never found time for in this one? Well we here at Many Worlds Incorporated have news for you. There *is* a better world out there, many of them in fact. There's one for each of the examples we gave above and for many more besides. There's one for almost any scenario or situation you could think of or desire. And we have the technology to get you there. Our services do not come cheap, but the results are second to none. Satisfaction is guaranteed, or we refund your money and return you to this world. You have been assessed as a suitable candidate for our services, but don't delay. They are on offer to you for a limited time only. Ring the number given in the letter heading to make an appointment to see us, and do so today. Yours in expectation, Dr. Isaac Questor, Alternity Director & CEO "You okay, Don?" asked my brother, concern in his voice. "Only you look like you just saw a ghost." "It's nothing," I said, "just someone trying to interest me in investment opportunities." "Not in Nigeria, I hope?" he grinned. "No, not Nigeria," I said, smiling back at him. Brian was two years younger than me and two inches taller, well built, equally brown-haired, and with a scar over his right eye from a childhood incident involving an apple and a crossbow. Boy, did I get it in the neck from Dad over that one! I liked Brian a lot, but that didn't stop me lying to him about the contents of the letter. What it said seemed utterly fantastic, couldn't conceivably be true, but if there was even the slightest possibility it could reunite me with Janine I wasn't going to let anyone talk me out of trying it. I suppose I was clutching at straws, but when straws are all you have left you clutch at them for all you're worth, believe me. Which is why after work that afternoon, at the time agreed to during the phone call, I found myself taking an elevator to the thirteenth floor of the Ditko Building in downtown Manhattan. The elevator opened directly into the company's reception area. An attractive woman was sitting behind a desk, while picked out in gold lettering on the pale blue marble wall behind wall her was: MANY WORLDS INCORPORATED WE HAVE BRANCHES EVERYWHERE. "Good morning, Mr. Henry," said the young woman, rising from her desk. "Please come through. They're expecting you." She ushered me into a fairly nondescript office where two equally nondescript-looking men in slate-grey business suits rose from their desks, hands extended. "I'm Mr. Smith," said the first, shaking my hand. "And I'm Mr. Jones," said the other, taking my hand the instant his colleague released it. Neither Smith nor Jones had any distinguishing features at all, nothing that would make either stand out in a crowd in any way. They were both average-looking, but average in a way that seemed almost to be a distillation of averageness. It was more like they were generic, as if they were what you would find inside if supermarkets stocked blank white boxes labelled 'businessman'. You could pass them in the street and forget them an instant after you set eyes on them yet, paradoxically, such extreme averageness was almost unnerving. It was unusual enough to qualify as strange, and I found myself shuddering without really knowing why. "We're pleased you've decided to see what we can offer you," said Mr. Jones. "So tell us - what is your heart's desire?" "It's my wife," I said, licking my lips, "Janine. She died a year ago and I want her back. You're supposed to come to terms with it and move on when you someone you love dies, but I can't. I've tried, but I just can't. I have to see her again, to hold her and to tell her how much I love her. We were supposed to be forever. She wasn't supposed to die like that, to leave me all alone. I want her back, I demand her back. Life without her is...wrong, it's just wrong. It's not supposed to be like this, and it has to be put right." "I believe we can help you," said Mr. Smith. "When you were selected as a suitable candidate for our services, we determined this was the most likely request you would make of us and so we searched for a world where Ms Fox is still alive, one where you and she would be a loving couple, and we believe we've found a match." My heart soared at the news, but there was something I didn't understand. "What exactly do you mean by 'other worlds' and 'finding a match'?" I asked. "I mean, I've watched Star Trek, and I think I know what you're talking about, but...." "It's the 'many worlds' theory that derives from quantum mechanics," said Mr. Jones, "hence our name. The theory holds that every action that can have happened in a given situation *will* have happened somewhere. Just as there are worlds such as this one where Ms Fox died, so there will be others where she did not, and still others where she never existed in the first place. The problem has always been how to reach these parallel universes, these alternate worlds, how to prove they actually exist at all. Well we've solved the problem and proved the hypothesis. Like the theory of evolution before it, the many worlds hypothesis is no longer just theory but cold hard fact. We've found those worlds, and we can send you to them." "But Janine," I said. "If what they showed on Star Trek is right, the Janine of another world could be a lot different to my Janine." "That's true, but I promise we won't send you somewhere where she has a neat little beard," said Mr. Smith, smiling. "Yes, on some worlds she will be very different, but on others only slightly so. The trick is to find one where she is, in most essentials, the same person you remember. One where you will know her, will see the same soul shining through her eyes." "You say 'in most essentials'. How different would she be?" "She would be just as fit and healthy, maybe even fitter, with the same values, intelligence, and sense of humour you're familiar with. She would have the same face you remember, the same body, and she would be deeply in love with you. Everything you want, in other words. As I said, we've found a match, something which can sometimes be a little tricky." "If you can do all this," I said, "how come I've never heard of you before? To do what you claim you can would require technology way more advanced than anything we have now." "That is so," said Mr. Jones, "but technological advance has progressed faster on some of the alternate Earths than it did on others. Our technology comes from one of these. It's why we're so discreet when it comes to selecting potential customers. We've no desire to come to the attention of the authorities on less advanced worlds, such as this one. So do you wish to engage our services and proceed?" I hesitated for a second, mind racing, but I knew what my answer would be. I'd known what it would be from the moment I realized such a thing might be possible. "I'm in," I said. "Let's do it." There was a fair bit of paperwork to fill in first, and I baulked initially when told how much it would cost. "We ask for ten per-cent up front, with the balance coming due when you're sure you're satisfied with our services," said Mr. Jones. "We arrange things so your wealth travels with you, so payment is never usually a problem. If you aren't satisfied, we return you to this world and your money is fully refunded." I wrote a check for the down payment, and then I was taken into another room and strapped into a chair that was surrounded by banks of machines whose purpose I couldn't have begun to fathom. A large, bell-like cowling festooned with all manner of tubing and strange devices was lowered over the chair, plunging me into darkness, but I didn't care. All that mattered was that I would soon be reunited with Janine. There was an audible hum as the various devices were activated, and my head began to spin. I could tell I wasn't actually moving but there was no way of letting my head know. The spinning grew in intensity, and soon I blacked out. When I came to, I was still sitting, but no longer strapped to the seat. I opened my eyes, blinking as I got used to the light. As they found their focus, I saw that I was facing a young woman I had never seen before. At a glance I took in the long blonde hair, tumbling like liquid gold in a great mass of curls over the soft, pale skin of her bare shoulders; that beautiful, angelic face with its prominent cheekbones, large baby-blue eyes, tiny nose, and full lips, all expertly made-up; the large, ripe breasts, lifted upwards by the red leather corset constraining her midriff. All this I took in that first instant, the instant before I realized I was looking into a mirror. "What the f..." I said, stopping as I heard my sweet, high voice for the first time. Looking down past the soft, alien orbs now thrusting from my chest, I stared in disbelief at the shiny red stilettos I was wearing with their four-inch heels, at the sheer black stockings, attached to the garter straps sewn into the bottom of the corset, the long painted nails glistening at the end of my tapered fingers, and the gold bracelets around my slender wrists. Most of all, I stared at the shapely thighs revealed at the top of the stockings, and the carefully trimmed black triangle at their apex. Gingerly, I reached down to the vagina - to *my* vagina; I had a vagina!! - and carefully explored it with my index finger. This wasn't a dream. Impossible as it seemed I'd been transformed into a woman, but why? Coming out of my shock, I started frantically searching the dressing table before me. There, among the dizzying array of cosmetics, lay a driver's license. The photo on it matched the face in the mirror. The date of birth given there was mine, and the name read: Donna Jessica Henry. As I struggled to come to terms with this, I heard a key turning in the front door lock. The door to the bedroom was open, and I glanced through it and down the short hallway to where I knew the front door would be, realizing for the first time that this was the very same Washington Heights apartment we'd lived in together. And then there she was: Janine. She was standing there in blue jeans, T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Her dark hair was short and spiky rather than shoulder length, but it was her. Janine. "Hi, honey," she said, giving me that familiar grin I knew so well, coming over to me and putting her hands on my shoulders. "Wow, let me look at you!" she said. "You look just gorgeous. Knowing you get in before me, and you're going to be waiting for me every evening, looking like this, is what keeps me going all day." I could hardly breathe, could hardly think. Janine. It was Janine. She took me in her arms and kissed me, long and deep, crushing my breasts against hers, before pulling away enough to run a hand lightly over those breasts. She slid it down across my small body and into my now very wet pussy, and I just melted. We had been the same height before, but now I was three inches shorter than her in my heels, and weighed much less, so she was easily able to sweep me up off my feet and carry me into the bedroom. Laying me down on the bed, she tore off all her clothes and climbed on top of me. And there was that face I had missed for so long, her face, inches away from my own, smiling down at me. "Janine," I whispered, finally finding my voice. "I know, baby, I know" she cooed, her hand sliding up my stockinged thigh and finding my pussy once more, "I know how much you want it, and I've got just what you need." Breathing became difficult again, no longer from the shock of seeing Janine but because of the waves of sexual pleasure that coursed through my body at her touch. I'd wanted to feel that touch again for so long, and the reality was overwhelming. She brought me to the point of orgasm several times, stopping at the brink on each occasion, leaving me begging for release but not giving it to me. When she judged me ready, she rolled over off the bed and stood up. From a bedside drawer she took out a strap-on, quickly donning the harness and adjusting the dildo in its ring. It looked eye-wateringly long and thick. Before being brought almost to orgasm by her expert ministrations I might have baulked at this development but now, in the fever of sexual arousal, I eagerly welcomed it, pulling my knees up to my chest as Janine got between my legs and manoeuvred the head of the dildo between the lips of my vagina. I felt myself stretching to accommodate its impressive girth, gasping as Janine drove it deep inside me with a sudden sharp thrust of her hips, slicking it with my juices as she fucked me with long, quick, surprisingly forceful strokes. I had never experienced any sensation as powerful. My orgasm when it came was overwhelming and I screamed out, lurching up and clutching at Janine, riding that glorious, repeating sensation for all I was worth. Janine held me as I slowly came down from what was the most intense sexual experience I'd ever known. When I stopped shaking, she withdrew, undid the harness, and placed the strap-on on the bedside table before turning back to me, a small, mischievous smile on her face. "My turn," she said. I now rolled on top of her and we kissed, Janine sliding her long arms down my back and cupping my buttocks, moving her hips slowly up and down, and me, too. I moved down her body, kissing her neck, her nipples, her navel, running my hands over those familiar contours I'd ached to feel once more. It was strange doing so with unfamiliar hands, seeing those long, painted nails at the end of my tapered, women's fingers; feeling my ample breasts with their thick, prominent nipples brush her own small, high breasts as I moved down her torso - and being turned on by that sensation. I gently parted the lips of her pussy, careful not to scratch the labial folds with my sharp nails, easing back the clitoral hood and tonguing the exposed head. Janine even tasted the way I remembered, and with that realization came the confidence that even in my new and smaller form I could still pleasure her. I knew every inch of that body, knew exactly what to do to make it sing, and I proceeded to do so. Janine's body was a wonderfully responsive instrument, and I gave a virtuoso performance, playing it better than I ever had before, giving her a symphony of pleasure. She bucked and writhed under my tongue and my fingers, gasping and screeching her ecstasy. I played her, and I was note-perfect. "Oh-my-god!" croaked Janine as her orgasms subsided. "That was un-fucking-believable!" Sated, she pulled me up beside her and we lay there, each smiling at the other. I ran my trembling fingers slowly over that face I knew so well, over those features I thought I'd never see again. I could feel my eyes brimming with tears. "Why the tears?" she said, holding my small body tightly to hers, and looking concerned. "What's wrong, baby?" I could hardly say it was because I had seen her die, had buried the woman who was my life, could hardly tell her I had travelled to another world, another reality, to be reunited with her. "Because I'm so happy you're here, with me." I sobbed. Which was the truth. I felt like I was going to burst with happiness. I knew Janine could tell there was something I wasn't telling her, but she didn't push it, for which I was very grateful. Instead she stroked my hair, gently rocking me back and forth, giving me her trust and her total, unconditional love. We lay there for another half-hour, wrapped in each others arms, legs entwined, talking quietly. She did most of the talking and I listened, drinking in that face, the familiar phrases and cadences of her speech, the bad jokes and worse puns she was always so fond of, running my hand over her body every few minutes to reassure myself she was real. It all still felt like a fantastic, wonderful dream. But if it was a dream, I didn't want to wake up. For the first time in a year, I felt like I was home. Eventually, Janine got up and threw on a robe. "I'll make us something to eat," she said. I got up, too, and began undoing my corset which, fortunately, fastened from the front. I couldn't imagine how you'd get into it by yourself if it didn't. "Please don't," said Janine, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm definitely gonna want my wicked way with you again before the evening's over, and you look so damn hot like that. Good enough to eat." "You can eat me any time," I said, smiling sweetly. Janine gave my ample rump a playful slap, then headed for the kitchen, chuckling. I looked for a robe like Janine's but in my size to go over what I was wearing but, predictably, all I seemed to possess in this line were various negligees. Sighing, I slipped one on then, curious, compared the contents of my closet with those of Janine's. It was quickly apparent, as if I hadn't already guessed, that she wore the pants in this relationship. And I mean that literally. There wasn't a single skirt or dress in her closet while mine was entirely devoid of trousers. She possessed no high heels at all, where among the large and impressive range of shoes I owned were none with heels of less than three inches. In my world, Janine had also preferred trousers, mainly blue jeans, but she had worn skirts and dresses on those formal occasions that required them. I examined myself in the full length mirror on my closet door, thinking about my situation. Smith and Jones claimed they had found a match for the Janine I remembered, and they had. Save for her hair, and the firmer muscles I felt under her skin during our lovemaking, she was physically identical. In the way she talked and moved, the way she felt, smelled, and tasted, she *was* Janine, the Janine I remembered. When I looked in her eyes I saw the same soul there. Could it be, I wondered, that all the versions of a person across all the countless alternate worlds on which they existed had the same soul, that each was somehow a reflection of a greater, shared soul? Of course, the larger the differences between them the harder seeing that commonality would be, but where the differences were slight it would shine through. Viewed in that light, what made Janine different in this world - her sexual orientation - counted as a trivial difference. It's main effect was that whereas Donald James Henry was her ideal partner in my world, Donna Jessica Henry was who she desired in this one. But perhaps it went deeper than that. It was odd that in both worlds I was her partner, despite how different I was in each. Could it be that we were somehow destined to be together, whatever we looked like? And if so, what had happened to the version of me whose place I had usurped? What had happened to the original Donna Henry? I examined my reflection more closely. Seeing my face in repose for the first time, I could see that my lips formed a natural pout when at rest, giving me the look of a sullen teenager. With my prominent butt and breasts, and my tiny waist, I certainly fit the description of 'hourglass figure'. My new body seemed to be all curves, a distinct contrast to Janine's slim, almost boyish figure. Then there was my height. I could see I'd shrunk a full seven inches and now stood at no more than five-three. Janine towered over me, and everything looked bigger than it had before. I was puzzled as to why I looked so different as a woman to how I had as a man. Had I ever given the idea any thought, I'd have expected my female self to be recognizably a version of my male self, but I looked drastically different. I could see traces of my mother, my father and other relatives in this body - even in my height, which I appear to have inherited from my Mom's mom - but I was puzzled as to why the genetic lottery should have resulted in a set of characteristics so entirely at odds with how I'd looked before. One of the universe's little mysteries, I suppose. Being so short, I could see the advantage in never wearing heels less than three inches high. Walking in those shoes was an interesting experience, too. If I thought about what I was doing, I got awkward and stumbled. If I put thoughts of walking out of my mind and just walked, I glided along in them effortlessly. I guess that was down to muscle memory. In this reality, I would have been wearing them since my teens, and my body remembered. It's a shame muscle-memory didn't apply when it came to something like make-up which required conscious thought. I had no idea how to apply it and get a result as good as what I'd seen in the mirror before making out with Janine had messed it up. Still, it was only the lipstick that had been wrecked, so I removed it with a wetwipe. I had told myself I would do anything to be with Janine again. Well now I was, but in my wildest dreams, I wouldn't have guessed this was what it was going to take. If I was going to stay in this reality it would mean becoming the pretty femme she thought I was. Could I do that? Did I want to? If I expected to keep her then the answer to both questions would have to be: yes. It was something I would need to decide one way or the other, and probably soon. Somehow, I doubted Many Worlds Inc., allowed you a long trial period. Looking around the room, I spotted a box I recognized. As in the world I knew, this turned out to contain photographs Janine and I had taken over the past few years but hadn't yet got round to putting in albums. I pulled some out at random. They showed our life together, and I was struck by how similar it was to our life together in my world. Many of them were virtually identical, except for me being short and female in them, of course. In every photo, I was wearing make-up. It seemed I was the sort of girl who wouldn't be seen dead in public without it. I can't say this came as a great surprise, but my lack of expertise in that area could cause problems if I wanted to keep up appearances. There were several of me, Janine, and my family together. It looked like they accepted our relationship, despite us being a gay couple here, which was good to know. There were also a couple of photos of me dressed for work at Macy's. A quick check in my purse - it was obviously mine - produced an employee pass that showed I now worked the cosmetics department and was something called a 'beauty advisor'. Great. I knew hardly anything about make-up, but come Monday and I'd be expected to talk knowledgeably about it and advise other women on the matter. "Dinner's ready, honey!" called Janine from the kitchen. She had cooked up some pasta and green pesto, a quick and simple dish we'd always been fond of, and opened a bottle of wine. As we sat down to eat, she activated the answerphone to check any calls we'd received during the day while at our jobs. "You-have-two-messages" intoned the electronic voice. "Hi, guys!" said a female voice I didn't recognize. "The Lesbian Action Committee's finally got off its collective ass and got the letter-writing campaign opposing an amendment to ban gay marriage up and running. We need you to come in and stuff envelopes Wednesday evening. Later." "If you ever expect to come down the aisle and stand beside me in that big white dress, we'd better not miss that," said Janine, placing her hand over mine and giving it a little squeeze. "Hello, Donna; it's Mom", said a familiar voice at the start of the second message. "When you come to dinner tomorrow, don't forget you're staying over this week so Janine can get an early start at her job Sunday morning. Remember to bring your toothbrushes." "I'm not looking forward to Sunday," said Janine. "I have to get the new operating system installed on the firm's server, and the new user interface individually installed and up and running on all twenty- six computers by the time everyone starts work on Monday. It's gonna be gruelling." So she was still sysadmin at that small dotcom out near JFK airport. This world's similarities could be oddly comforting. "You still having problems with that jerk of a supervisor?" I asked, curious to see just how closely her work experiences tracked. "Chuck?", said Janine, "Oh yes. He's been behaving himself more recently, though, ever since someone hacked into his home computer and posted a list of the more, ah, unusual websites he regularly visits on the company intranet." "I wonder who that could have been?" I said, arching an eyebrow. "Beats me," said Janine, her face a picture of innocence. "I can't imagine who'd do such a thing. How about you? How are things going with your job?" "Oh okay, I guess," I said, noncommittally, having no idea at all who my particular colleagues might be or how we got along. Our small talk continued in this vein until the end of the meal. In my new, small body I ate a lot less than I would usually do, with the corset probably reducing that still further. When the meal was over, Janine poured the remaining wine into our glasses and we carried them over to the sofa with us. Janine sat at one end of and I snuggled up to her, her arm around me and draped over my shoulder, and we watched the evening news on TV. After a while, she started playing with my nipple, getting me aroused again. She shifted position, allowing her to slide her other hand along over my belly and down into the rapidly moistening cleft where my thighs met. I wasn't going to wait for her to carry me into the bedroom. Instead I pulled away, jumped to my feet, and dragged into that room myself. This time when Janine wielded her strap-on she had me get down on the bed on all fours and mounted me doggy-style, again sliding into me with a single, confident thrust. Firmly holding on to my hips, she pumped away with the same powerful hip-thrusts as before while simultaneously pulling me further on to the dildo. The feeling of my engorged nipples rubbing back and forth on the sheets as she fucked me was intensely erotic, and it wasn't too long before I came, moaning and gasping my pleasure. When this day had started out, the idea that before it was over I would be writhing in ecstasy on the business end of a dildo would have seemed ludicrous to me. Yet compared to the miracle of having Janine back it was nothing, of course. I pleasured her in my turn, as I had a few hours earlier then, after I finally got to strip off that corset, we curled up together and, eventually, fell asleep, her arms around me. And that, despite all the mind-blowing sex, was the best part of the day. We were together again, Janine was back, and all was well with the world. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was momentarily shocked to see Janine. Then the previous day's events came flooding back. So it hadn't been a dream after all. Janine was lying next to me, head propped up on one arm, looking down at me and smiling. " 'Morning, sleepy-head," she said, leaning over and softly kissing me on the lips, a gentle action that nonetheless set me quivering with pleasure. "Hi," I said, reaching out, hand trembling, to touch her face. "God, I love you!" "And I love you," she replied, face suddenly serious. "You're the missing part of me. Without you, I feel incomplete." "That's exactly how I feel about you, too." We kissed again, one thing inevitably led to another, and we spent most of the day making love. Later that afternoon, as Janine drove us to my folks' place, I marvelled at how we didn't seem able to keep our hands off each other. There was a hunger and a passion to our love-making that was more like that I recalled at the start of my relationship with Janine in my original world. That level of physical passion is difficult to sustain over a longer relationship, so it was surprising we had it here, several years into Janine and Donna's. My father greeted us at the door to their Forest Hill home, hugging us both and kissing me on the forehead. "It's great to see you, princess," he said, ushering us into the entrance hall. I was taken aback by his enthusiasm since Dad had never been the most emotionally demonstrative of men, but I got a bigger surprise when we went through to the kitchen and I caught sight of my mother. "Mom," I said, as she turned from her cooking to greet us, "you look great!" And she did. The greying brown hair I remembered was now longer, professionally styled, and blonde, while her casually stylish dress hung on a trimmer, more toned body than I recalled. She was even wearing make-up. "Why thank you, Donna," she said, sounding genuinely pleased at my compliment. She gave me a hug and an 'air kiss' that didn't actually make contact with my cheek since she no more wanted to muss my make-up than she did her own. "Yeah, your Mom's still a hottie," grinned Dad. "Oh, George!" said Mom, blushing slightly and giving him a look that somehow managed to combine reproachfulness and approval. "They're both right, Mrs. Henry," said Janine, sliding an arm around my waist, "you're looking good." Just then, a lanky figure came caroming into the room, the same mass of energy he had always been. "Hi, guys," grinned Brian, looking almost the same as when last I'd seen him, "I hope she's been treating you right, sis." "Hey, I've got no complaints," I said, "none at all." There was one significant difference in Brian's appearance: no scar. "Right," said Mom, taking off the apron she had on over her dress, "the food has to simmer for about twenty minutes before it's ready, so lets go out to the back garden." We all trooped out through the back garden. Brian picked up a Frisbee on the way and then he, Dad, and Janine started throwing it between them. No one thought to include me, not due to any oversight or snub but because this clearly wasn't something my female self did in this world, and probably not just because I was wearing three-inch heels. This explained the missing scar. Trying to shoot an apple off her brother's head with a crossbow just wasn't something the girl I was in this world would ever have done. "Let's sit and talk," said Mom, lowering herself into the lounger on the back porch and indicating I should join her by patting the cushion beside her. I sat down next to her with a sigh. "Is everything OK, Donna? Only you don't seem quite yourself," she said. "I hope nothing's wrong between you and Janine." "No, no," I said, "things couldn't be better between us. And I'm fine. Really." "OK," she said, sounding mollified, "only I do worry about you sometimes. I know Janine loves you and would never let anything happen to you, and that you're a grown woman now, but it still feels strange not having you living here with us where I can look out for you." "I get that, but I had to fly the coop some time and, truly, I don't think I've ever been happier than I am with Janine." Looking out at the Frisbee game, and admiring Janine's skill, I decided to find out a bit more about my childhood in this reality. "Was I ever into games like that when I was younger?" I asked. Mom gave me a brief, startled look, then started laughing. "Oh, Donna, you know you weren't. You were the girliest girl I've ever known. You were only interested in playing with your dolls and wearing really pretty dresses, with lots of ribbons in your hair. You loathed doing anything that might mess up your clothes or even get you slightly dirty. Sports were right out. About the only time you ever got messy was when you raided my make-up case. Even as a small child you were obsessed with cosmetics, and I guess that never changed. You couldn't understand why I wouldn't let you wear make-up and you pestered me about it all through your childhood. I eventually gave in when you were fourteen, remember?" I nodded, though I had no memory of this at all, of course. "With all the hours you spent in front of a mirror after that, you got very good at it. That's one of the reasons I thought something might be wrong when I saw you today. You do a much better job usually, dear." "We were running late, and I was literally applying it as we were rushing out the door," I said, with a shrug. This was a lie I made up on the spot, but she seemed to buy it. The problem, of course, was that while the daughter she knew had been a dab hand with make-up since her early teens, I'd never worn it before yesterday. Far from applying it on the run, it had taken me a half-hour to achieve a result even this minimally passable. "Do you ever wish I'd been less girly and more of a tomboy?" I asked. "God, no!" she said. "I was always delighted you were the way you are. Your brother Brian provided all the youthful male energy this house needs. And having such a pretty, feminine daughter kept me on my toes, too. If I was going to be compared with you, I wasn't going to let myself go like some women do as they get older." So that was it. I hadn't considered how my being female in this world would have altered the whole dynamic of my family, but it had, and in almost entirely positive ways. Mom and Dad were obviously happier and a lot more affectionate towards each other here and, as I noticed during conversation over dinner and in his banter with Dad and Janine over drinks later, Brian was clearly more confident, too. I guess not growing up in the shadow of, and being compared to, an older brother also had its advantages. At the end of the evening, he passed us on the landing as Janine and I made our way to my room. "Remember my room is next to yours," he said to Janine in a mock-serious voice, "so if you're going to fuck my sister, please try to do so quietly." "Of course," said Janine, in a similar voice, "but only if you promise not to make too much noise jerking off over your porn collection." Brian guffawed loudly at this, then went into his own room, still chuckling. "You two are a laugh a minute," I said, as we entered my room, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks. I'd momentarily forgotten just how different it would be from the room I had known. The familiar bookshelf was there, but Nancy Drew mysteries had replaced the Hardy Boys books I'd lovingly collected. And there was a row of dolls sitting on top of them. The corner where my baseball bat and catcher's mitt had resided was taken up by additional closet space and there was a vanity table complete with necklace-festooned mirror where my desk had been. On the now pink walls were posters. In place of those I had hung there were one of Martina Navratilova in her prime, and another of Sigourney Weaver from the third Aliens movie. The final poster, however, was the very same one that had occupied that spot on the wall in my world. It was strangely comforting to know that, male and female, I had had the hots for Lucy Lawless as Xena. I was roused from my reverie by Janine's hands sliding under my arms and cupping my breasts, which she proceeded to fondle. "Mmmmmm, that feels good!" I sighed, placing my hands over hers. Janine led me over to the bed, and soon were we under the sheets and naked, kissing and fondling one another. Our lovemaking was just as intense and exciting as ever. Janine had not brought her strap-on with her, so we each pleasured the other orally. Still, I was surprised how much I missed it. Janine was gone before I woke the next morning. After a leisurely breakfast, I said my goodbyes to my family and made my way home to Washington Heights on the subway. The Heights had been shabby and run down twenty years ago, but now things were worse. The influx of drug dealers in the nineties had made it a more dangerous neighbourhood. Still, as with everywhere, it still had its nice bits, and I still held out the hope it would eventually move upmarket. It was in Manhattan, after all. I remember being astonished when I first caught sight of the apartment blocks built out on metal lattice structures clinging to the steep sides of hills; now they barely rated a glance from me as I made my way from the subway station to our apartment. Ordinarily, I'd have stayed with my folks for lunch, but I'd been in a hurry to get back. I had a lot to do if I was going to be even half-competent at my job tomorrow. The problem was that it depended on my skill with, and knowledge of, make-up, none of which I possessed. So I had a lot of study to cram in if I was going to fake it. Thanks to the wonder of the internet, I was able to look up the basic theory, find out exactly what things such as 'concealer' and 'foundation' actually were, and the rules as to which combinations work best with which complexions and colourings. I also got to practice on myself with the large array of cosmetics I owned, putting theory into practice and keeping at it until I could do a passable version of the make-up I was wearing in recent photos. All the study and practice I crammed in took all day, and left me surprisingly tired at the end of it. As I was preparing myself to turn in for the night, the phone rang. "Good evening, Miss Henry," said a familiar voice, "I trust you will be able to come in after work tomorrow in order to discuss the balance of our fee and whether or not you are satisfied with our services?" "I'll be there," I said, heart pounding. "Good. You'll find our offices are in the same location on this world as they were on yours." Sometime during the night, Janine got home and climbed into bed next to me, snuggling up to me and soon falling asleep. I was only drowsily aware of this at the time, but when I woke the next morning we were positioned like two spoons in a drawer, her body following the shape of mine, her breasts pressed against my upper back, pubic hair tickling my buttocks, legs entwined with mine, one draped over my hip. I felt wonderfully warm and protected with her wrapped around me like that and it took a great deal of will to pull myself out of bed, taking care not to wake her. Once out of bed, however, I stood for a minute or two just smiling down on the sleeping figure who was everything I had ever wanted and who I loved with all my heart. My first day working the cosmetics department at Macy's as Donna Henry went pretty well, all things considered. The basic principles I'd memorized the previous day seemed to work and such skill as I'd forced myself to acquire was adequate to the task at hand. I would get better, I knew, but I was happy not to have made any obvious gaffes. When my shift was over I was tired but happy. Today had been a test, the final one to prove to myself whether or not I could actually function in this world as Donna Henry. I now knew that I could. Smith and Jones were in the reception area of the Many Worlds Inc. offices when I arrived. At least, I think it was them. They looked identical to the pair I'd met on my own Earth. Or did they? I suddenly realized I had no clear memory of what either looked like, only a vague impression. It was very disconcerting, but I managed a smile as the one I was kind of sure was Mr. Smith looked up at me and smiled. "Ah," said Mr. Smith. "How good to see you again. I trust the situation we engineered was all that you hoped it would be?" "Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to change sex," I said, "but being with Janine again was even better than I dared hope it would be. You were right about her being the same woman I loved before, but couldn't you have found her on a world where I was male?" "Alas, no," said Mr. Jones, his voice tinged with regret. "Though there are an infinite number of alternate worlds, I'm afraid our name is quite accurate. We have a presence on 'many worlds' - several hundred, in fact, with new portals being opened regularly - but nowhere near all of them. An exhaustive search of those we can access where a version of Ms Fox exists indicated this to be the one where she was the best match for the woman you remember. If the gender issue is an insurmountable problem, we will of course refund your deposit and return you to your world of origin." "No, that won't be necessary," I said, pulling out an envelope containing a check for the balance of their fee. "The choice between losing her again or becoming the woman she loves in this world is really no choice at all. I lost her once. I can't lose her again. I do have one question, however." "If it's knowledge we are able to impart then, of course, we will," smiled Mr. Smith. "It's the woman I displaced," I said, "the original Donna Henry. "I have to know that she's alright, wherever she is." "I assure you this world's first Donna Henry is extremely happy with her current situation," he said. "In fact, I can say with total certainty, she would not change it if she could." "That's a relief," I said, and it was. I'd decided I was staying as her come what may, but I'd been feeling guilty about her fate. "It's been a real pleasure doing business with you," I said, truthfully, "but I really must go now. I have to get myself ready for when Janine gets home from work." EPILOGUE: A Performance Review Meeting was company policy after every operation, but Smith and Jones were as nervous about it as employees of any other company would be in similar circumstances. "And was the client happy with the results we were able to achieve for her?" asked Isaac Questor, examining the file before him. "She seemed very happy," said Mr. Smith, "a thoroughly satisfied customer." "Let's review that, shall we?" said Questor, activating a touch pad on the file. A holographic image appeared in the air above it. It showed Smith and Jones in the reception area of a branch office of Many Worlds Inc., when the customer they had been expecting arrived...... ***holo sound activation begins*** "Ah," said Mr. Smith. "How good to see you again. I trust the situation we engineered was all that you hoped it would be?" "And then some," said Janine Fox. "Donna is everything I was looking for in a woman: intelligent, beautiful, very feminine, full-figured yet petite, and head-over-heels in love with me. When I entered the apartment on Friday evening and saw her there, waiting for me, it was love at first sight. And her family! Having her for a partner, and being totally accepted by her family, is perfect, exactly what I asked of you. I can't get over how she and they remember us having been close friends as children, and lovers since our late teens." "Then we've fulfilled our contract with you?" said Mr. Jones. "To the letter," said Janine, handing him an envelope containing a banker's draft. "Here's the remaining ninety per-cent of your fee." "Thank you," said Mr. Jones, accepting the envelope. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you." "There's something I have to know before I go," said Janine. "If it's knowledge we are able to impart then, of course, we will," smiled Mr. Smith. "It's just, well, Donna. Where did she come from? I mean, you said you could alter reality to give me what I wanted, and I vaguely knew Brian Henry when we were in high school together so I know he was an only child. Did you somehow create her?" The men both smiled at this. "You give us too much credit," said Mr. Jones. "Creating living human beings, creatures with souls, and particularly fully formed adults like Miss Henry, is way beyond our abilities. The answer to what we did lies in our name. Did you never wonder why we chose it? We found her on an alternate Earth, one where you and she had been deeply in love. When we inject someone into another reality, as we did when we introduced her to this world, that reality alters to accommodate their presence. Memories, records, photographs, etc., all shift to make it as if they have always been a part of that world. For any individual, there are a range of possibilities as to precisely who and what they would have been had they actually been born into that world, and we are able to a large extent to control those variables and so shape their situation in that reality. Hence, we made her the daughter of the Henry family, and someone you had known since childhood." "I see," said Janine, thoughtfully. "Well, thank you. She's the woman I've been searching for all my life." With that, she turned and left. *****holo sound activation ends***** "Yes, the client seems extremely satisfied with our services," said Questor, terminating the holo display. "It's as well you didn't tell her everything, however." "Indeed, sir" said Mr. Jones. "She didn't need to know that we can only inject someone into a reality where a version of them doesn't already exist, that the only person we could find who met this requirement and whose family was one she could plausibly have known since childhood, unfortunately turned out to be male. 'Unfortunate' since the 'childhood sweetheart' bit was a requirement of her brief." "Yes, it's a shame our name is so accurate," mused Questor. "We're currently able to access many worlds, but not yet *all* worlds. The couple of hundred we can access limit our options somewhat." "True, but not an insurmountable problem in this instance," said Mr. Smith, "since we can dictate so much about the person an injectee would have been had they been born in the reality we send them into. Gender is a minor genetic difference, so Donald Henry could easily have been born Donna Henry in Ms Fox's reality. We biased her physical appearance to fit Ms Fox's stated preferences, within the limits the Henry family gene pool allowed us, of course. And, naturally, there's no reason at all that such a daughter couldn't have grown up to be a lipstick lesbian. When Miss Henry enquired after that reality's first Donna Henry, I was able to answer, truthfully, that she was happy with her lot since she was the first and only Donna Henry that world had ever known." "I thought the bereavement was a masterstroke," said Questor. "Why thank you, sir. I'm rather pleased with that innovation myself. Our devices will not let us create fully formed, living human beings but, as you were the first to realise when you were a Mr. Smith, there's nothing to stop us creating fully formed dead ones. Or, at least, memories of them. Having found Donald Henry, we needed to make him susceptible to Ms. Fox's charms. Fortunately she had never existed in his reality, so what better way of achieving this than to alter things so that a heterosexual version of her had been his wife in that reality, one who had died a year earlier? When memories, records, and photographs alter to accommodate her presence, it hardly matters that she never actually existed." "Quite. And leading Donald Henry to our offices in his world enabled you to make him a client too, thus extracting a second fee for an operation already in play. Very impressive work, gentlemen, very impressive indeed. You can both expect substantial bonuses next quarter." Questor dismissed them with a smile. When they had gone, he activated the intercom on his desk. "Please send in the next pair, Miss Jones," he told his secretary, before settling back in his chair. Now to see how the Smith and Jones in the next world had done.... THE END