Fugue Parts 1 2
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Fugue: Parts 5-6 free porn video
Fugue: Parts 5-6
Written by Liam Slade
Originally posted to Fictionmania, only to be reproduced with author's consent.
http://www.liamslade.com
Part 5: Taking Flight
Jane Doe still did not really know who she was. She was told that she
was Diane Hill, a Psychology student at the University of Toronto. In
her mind, she'd been a businessman named Dean West. This conflict
between her mind and body had made her angry and paranoid for weeks
following her awakening from the coma.
A visit from a young suitor named Aaron had only agitated her further.
The arrival of her parents presented her with incontrovertible evidence
to contradict what she had sincerely believed at the bedrock of her
consciousness: that she was a man who had, somehow in her sleep,
mutated into a woman, and lost a good part of his memory.
What she didn't realize is that nature abhors a vacuum, whether of
matter or of identity; and that eventually who they told her she is was
going to impede upon the person she thought she was. Whether she
sincerely believed it or not, she was eventually going to have to
become Diane Hill once more, or some variation thereof.
It wasn't long after that last session that she began to accept her
predicament with more understanding. When she went to apply makeup for
the first time, the movements came swiftly and gracefully, as if she
had carefully cultivated a routine, even though to her, it was all new.
To her body, however, it was utterly regular.
Not long after, there came a time when she decided she had to leave the
hospital. She was pacing around the room when Nurse Barton came in.
"I think I'm ready to leave," she told her plainly.
At this, the Nurse smiled. Despite her constant sexual advances, Diane
had become one of her favourite patients. "I'll get your clothes," she
said, going to the closet.
Jane had never even dreamed of looking in there. "Please," she groaned,
"please let it be a T shirt and jeans."
"Sorry," said the nurse, producing a short skirt and cleavage revealing
blouse, "but you were having quite a night on the town in this get-up."
Jane merely rolled her eyes, muttering, "Okay, I wasn't ready for
that."
"You're not going to be ready for these, either," the Nurse smirked,
dangling a pair of thong underwear and a matching bra from her index
finger.
Nevertheless, they were the only readily available clothes for Jane Doe
to wear who found herself strangely adroit at the ability to dress. She
imagined herself as the type of guy who'd always fumble with a bra
clasp, but her fingers were surprisingly nimble.
Once dressed, she took a look at herself in the mirror, staring into
her own emerald-green eyes, and running her fingers through her now
short-cropped hair. It had grown in a little and she resolved to let it
carry on.
Despite the very picture of femininity at which she gazed, Jane was
still remorseful that, all the same, she still felt she had no idea who
she was. Though she had grown accustomed to the face in the mirror, it
was no less alien, and no less painful to look at.
Still, when all was said and done, Nurse Barton cheerfully wheeled her
to the door, waving a fond goodbye to some of the people she'd met
during her stay. At the exit, she stood face-to-face with Nurse Barton.
It was the first time Jane Doe really felt like she was on the same
eye-level with another person, as they were both about 5'4, and she
felt like she should be taller. They just looked at one another for a
minute, before embracing in a hug, friendly grasping one another and
saying their farewells.
Then Jane Doe kissed her on the cheek. Not a mere friendly peck, mind
you, but a passionate kiss that reminded the nurse of everything Jane
Doe had already talked about.
It was a gesture that was unwelcome to the very straight but yet quite
unattached nurse. She was attracted to Jane Doe only as a beautiful
specimen of a person, and not in any sexual way. She could not, unlike
Jane Doe herself, get her mind around the fact that they were both
physically female. "Otherwise," remarked the nurse, "you'd be perfect."
Still, that did not stop the nurse from offering a friendly peck back.
Jane Doe arrived at home that night in time for dinner with her
parents. Sitting in the living room, her mother told her, "Diane
there's someone here who really wants to see you."
Immediately taken aback, Jane Doe began searching nervously. The sound
of male footsteps descending a staircase was heard. In her heart of
hearts, she secretly hoped it was Aaron. Over the past few days, she'd
thought about the young man who saved her with increasing fondness, and
regret over the harshness with which she'd treated him.
It was not. The young man in question was a few inches taller, and a
half a degree more handsome than the rough-looking Aaron. He had the
air of arrogance and entitlement to him that she did not like. That was
probably because what he really felt entitled to be with her.
"This is Mike," said mother, "your fianc?e."
Jane Doe found it very difficult to breathe, and said nothing of
substance until dinner. To awake to a life in a new gender had been
difficult for her. To meet a man who so obviously wanted to resume a
relationship with her was the worst.
Over the course of dinner, Jane Doe's parents shared with her a number
of stories about her childhood and recent life. They and Mike had a
number of laughs, fondly remembering, but she could feel nothing but
awkwardness knowing that these stories should be familiar to her, but
were not.
The evening was devoted to failed attempts at jogging her memory. They
brought out photo album after photo album, which was met with merely
feigned interest. They brought out some of Diane's needlepoint, which
served only to disgust Jane Doe, since a more feminine activity was
unimaginable to her.
All the while, Mike had this gleam in his eye, this knowing look he
would occasionally shoot at Jane Doe, which made her more uncomfortable
than ever. The thought of sharing a roof with this man was repulsive,
let alone a bed. When it was time for her parents to return to their
hotel, he headed up to the room they had once shared, anticipating that
she would join him.
She did not. Instead, she took a pen and a pad of legal paper from a
drawer (after much searching,) and scribbled down a vague "Dear John"
to Mike. Then, as her would be groom slept, she quietly packed as many
arbitrary articles of clothing as she could into a suitcase, and took
flight.
She arrived soon after at the apartment address that had been left in
her room by Aaron. When he answered, he was wearing a grey T shirt and
jeans, with a corn dog in hand. Upon seeing her, he merely stared, as
did she, until she tested him by asking, "what's my name?"
Confused, he responded, "it was Dean, wasn't it? Dean West?"
Convinced Aaron's place would be a healthier environment, she merely
blurted out, "I need a place to stay."
She explained how uncomfortable she was at her own house, about how
Mike only seemed to want to have sex and that she couldn't trust him.
She explained that she was finally starting to get a handle on her own
identity and didn't want anybody to put that kind of pressure on her.
With very little persuasion, he agreed to let her sleep on his couch.
They, however, spent the entire night drinking coffee in a shop around
the corner, talking not about her lack of identity, but about sports,
movies, and TV. It was the most satisfying conversation she'd had since
awakening, and knew immediately that she was finally on the right
track.
///
Part 6: The Last Session
The tape recorder clicked on, the tape began to hum and a male voice
cleared his throat.
"June 1st, 2005. Dr. Harold Bekker MD speaking," said the voice.
A relaxed, almost jovial female voice added "this is Dina West, and
you're listening to one hour of uninterrupted music on Toronto's home
for Classic Rock, Q107." The voice giggled, saying "sorry, I just
always wanted to do that."
"If you're quite finished?"
"Yeah," said the female voice, confining itself to a whisper.
"I noticed you've changed your name once again."
"Hey, be fair. I was always Dean West, to me. It was the hospital guys
who called me Jane Doe, and my parents who called me Diana Hill. I'm my
own woman."
"In all of our sessions that may have been the first time you freely
referred to yourself as a woman."
"Times change. If you had to haul out the garbage for a month, by the
end you'd think you were a garbage man."
With a note of humour, the he chuckled, "again with the garbage man
metaphor?"
"I think it's the only way I can really explain what I've been going
through."
"So, you've been adjusting well?"
"I've been going along. I made some big changes, my environment was...
too much. I had to move. I've filed all the papers to change my name.
I'm starting my life back up."
"That's all very good. But the biological situation versus the mental
one; do you still feel the conflict?"
"A little. I mean, I don't feel totally girly, but having the bra on
all the time is a pretty good reminder. And the snugness of the
underwear. I don't wear the make-up. Tried it, didn't like it."
"That's fairly superficial. How do you feel about yourself?"
"I feel... well, right now, I might just say that my gender has
absolutely nothing to do with who I am. I'm not a man, I'm not really a
woman. I feel good, though. I'm letting my hair grow out."
"Again, superficial. How do you feel about those around you treating
you like a woman?"
"Well, there's Aaron."
"The young man who brought you in, yes, I remember."
"When I first moved in with him, he was doing stuff like opening doors
for me, but I told him not to, so he didn't. And as the days went on we
got on like two old buddies just hangin' out."
"So you're just friends with this man. You still aren't comfortable
with intimacy."
"Not--" she interrupted itself, "no. No, I'm really not. I mean, as a
man, speaking mentally, I really want sex. I'll be honest, I look at
virtually all the pretty women I see; I can't shake that habit. Then I
think about what sex would involve, like somebody invading my body. And
that just doesn't seem right. So yeah, no, not comfortable."
"Are you defining yourself, then, as a lesbian?"
"Weelllll," the female strained and hesitated, "I don't know. I'll tell
you this. The other day, Aaron and I were out, having dinner, talking
about baseball, and he made this really lame joke about shortstop. I
laughed at it, out of, like, pity, and I realized that maybe I was
doing that because I wanted to be nice to him, and after that I
realized that when I was around him, I was really being, you know...
flirty, I guess. He's the only person I get really feminine around, and
it makes me feel... kind of nice."
"Then you have feelings for Aaron?"
"Maybe."
"Well Dina, I think that the very fact that you're considering that
shows a remarkable development on your part, although it would be
perfectly understandable and acceptable if you chose to remain with a
same-sex lifestyle."
"I should hope so," scoffed the female voice.
"And I think this may mark the end of our sessions, if you feel you're
ready."
After a pause of consideration, she agreed, "yeah. You know what? I
feel good. Thanks, Doc."
"You're certainly welcome, and please, any time you feel stressed or
burdened or out of sorts, don't hesitate to call me. I'd always like to
be there for you."
"I appreciate that. You're a good guy."
"And you're a fine..." the male voice struggled before completing his
thought, "person."
The two were both heard to laugh as the tape recorder clicked off.
End of story.
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