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To the readers: This is my second TG oriented story. I want to thank the reviewers' constructive criticism received on my first. This story is not particularly sexy, but really represents more of a general story with a major TG element or elements. As with Avarice, it has a strong scientific bent. I hope you enjoy the story. ESJr _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Mind over Matter by: Erin Shoemaker, Jr. To Whom It May Concern: I am going to tell you a strange tale, and it is made even stranger because it is true. The events that I will discuss below actually happened to me, and hopefully by their elucidation can free those who find themselves at odds with their current sexual arrangement. I expect that the technology that I helped create will soon become commercially available, and can alleviate some of the suffering of the transgender community. ------------------------------------------------- "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dr. William Lambert," the speaker said as he gestured for me to come up to the podium. "Thank you Dr. Smith, and thank you ladies and gentlemen for inviting me to come and talk to you today. I am very happy and honored to take part in this important symposium, especially since I get to discuss my work on human sexuality with you. " So began my formal talk at the Symposium on Human Sexuality being sponsored by the American Society of Social Evolution and Behavior. I had been invited to speak because my research into the realm of transgender psychology had been recognized as enlightening by the greater membership. You see, I study, or at least I did study, the biochemical, physiological and neural patterns exhibited by transsexuals and how these differ from heterosexuals. The overall goal of my research was to be able to provide a biochemical outlet for transsexuals that would eliminate their drive to become a member of the opposite sex. In this way, the tortured individuals who are stuck between one world and another can at least find some peace of mind, and move on with their lives. I continued, "What is it about being a woman that is so attractive to men? Is the physical softness and smallness of their bodies and clothing? Is it their more or less passive nature mostly free from physical conflict with each other? Is it the perception that women share a common bond of sexuality that men do not? Is it a desire to be thought of as nurturing rather than aggressive? The list could go on and on. Now, please note that I will speak of primarily about female transsexuals, that is, men that wish to become women. However, and with some important exceptions, particularly in the realm of psychological motivation, most of the points of discussion are equally applicable to male transsexuals - those women that wish to become men. I should also mention that the latter case is far less common than the former." My talk was mostly well received. The room seemed receptive when I discussed the results showing fundamental differences in the biochemical physiology of the TG brain, and the accompanying correlations in differences in conscience behavior. But the room became decidedly chilled when I began to discuss my desires to formulate a drug that would free transsexuals from their desires to become transgender. As I went into this natural outcome for the research, I could hear rumblings within the audience, and although I received a, more or less, normal round of applause upon finishing, the questions I took were brutal. "But if you chemically change the desires that are innate within these people," asked one young Adonis, "aren't you, in reality, forcing them to live a lifestyle that they are not genetically predisposed to live by their very nature? Wouldn't this be just as torturous as their present conflict of sexual identity already is?" "Why would transgenders be willing to trade one jail cell of psychological frustration for another?" And finally, "Your ideas, however high minded and altruistic, are really nothing more than trying to fit their round peg in your square hole." And so I returned to my lab after the symposium, both angry and depressed at the reception that I had received. I knew that what I was doing would benefit transgenders, and could allow them to move past their preoccupation with their own dysfunctional gender identity and become functioning members of society. I was only trying to heal them. * * * * * * A short time after my return, I received word that the Dean of my college wanted to see me. So I hurried across the campus to the Administration building, and entered his office. After a short wait, I was asked by the Administrative Assistant to go into the inner office. Seated there, with his back to me and gazing out the window, was the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, Dr, Bradford Higgins. As I entered, he turned slowly in his chair and said, "Come in Bill, please sit down." He looked worried. As I sat he began, "Bill, I've known you for about six years now, and I know you are a brilliant biologist and psychologist. Your reputation while here at our school has brought in many many grants, and gone a long way to building up the reputation of the school in general. "Thanks Brad, I appreciate that," I said back cautiously. He continued, "However, the President and the Chancellors have received so many complaints about your current line of research, in particular your goal of finding a cure for transsexuality, that I am forced to take action. This is not of my doing - I know you and know your true intentions. But the general public, the Chancellors, and in particular the Governor, fail to see the benefits to such a costly avenue of investigation. You know as well as I that transsexuals are still highly stigmatized by the general populace. And given the high expense of this neurological research in a time when the Governor is fighting madly just to balance the budget, well, I think you can understand the reluctance to fund this further." I sat stunned for a minute. "Are you telling me I'm fired?" "No, no," he replied as he waived his hands in front of him. "I am saying only that you need to shut down this project, and pick-up with something more conventional and applicable to a larger set of the population. I know you were once working on the aging process weren't you? There's a lot of money in this, particularly now that the Baby- Boomers are becoming geriatrics by the score." I could see the writing on the wall. I was being forced to make the decision of either stopping the research I had spent the last three years on, or resigning my position at the University. He could see my angst, and moved quickly to defuse the tension. "Look, think about this for a week or so, and then come back and see me. I hope you will choose to investigate new avenues. I don't want to lose you." Then he leaned forward and ran his finger down the page of the appointment book that was open before him, "How about 10:00 on the 6th? Sound Ok to you?" Without really even thinking about that date or time, I agreed and he scribbled the appointment into his book. Standing, he extended his hand to me to shake mine and said, 'I'm sorry about this Bill. This comes from the top. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help." I shook his hand without looking him in the eyes, turned and left his office determined that I would find a way to continue to explore my research, come hell or high water. * * * * * * The months dragged on and I began to, at least outwardly, renew my previous work on aging. I even managed to get an NSF grant which allowed me to hire a post-doc to assist. During the interviews for his position, one of the candidates, Tom Brown, who initially struck me as a very strange person indeed, nevertheless showed an incredible knowledge of biochemistry and neuroscience, as well as state-of-the-art computer analysis techniques. He had written several programs designed to carefully map the incredibly complex nerve nets of the human brain. Since I could see how this might fit in with just about any sort of study on human biochemical behavior, he was hired immediately. As Tom and I became accustomed to working together, I became aware that he could almost precisely predict what I was about to ask him. That is, as we worked and he observed the procedures, he would already be on his way to obtain the next reagent before I even asked for it. It made the work progress rapidly, and within only six months, we co-authored and submitted a paper to Cell Biology for publication. I was pleased with the way the aging studies were progressing, and so was the Administration. So much so that they awarded the Chancellor's Prize in Science to my laboratory for that year. But my heart was still anchored in my transgender work, and I cautiously continued some of my investigations clandestinely. In spite of our success, I still had mixed feelings about Tom. It was not his science or his education - no he was brilliant in these regards. Instead it was the way that he carried himself. He was extremely effeminate, and seem positively delighted in calling male students he would observe on campus names such as hunk, stud muffin, and love machine. To women he would, most often as not, refer to them as 'sister'. He often wore garish pink shirts, golden necklaces, and I could swear he plucked his eyebrows. 'Oh well,' I thought - 'Weird but a top notch researcher. I can live with some oddities. Besides, what he does on his off time is none of my business.' About six months after our submittal, Tom and I were sitting in the Commons Cafeteria having a coffee. He was his typically gregarious self - pointing out this student or that, and making suppositions about their sex lives. Then without warning, he turned back to me and said, "Bill, I know what you're doing with regard to the transgender research," and he stared at me to see my reaction. I tried to take the unexpected remark in stride, but I could tell I flinched a bit upon hearing those words. Playing dumb, I said, "What do you mean/" "I know that you have secretly been continuing your work to find a "cure" for transgenders," and he made little quote signs in the air with his fingers while saying this. "Now don't freak out," he said and he reached forward and touched my forearm. "I think it's great. In fact, about the only reason I applied for this job in the first place, was because I have studied your previous work, and found it exciting to no end. I was hoping that you would trust me enough by now to allow me to assist you with it." And he paused and awaited my answer. "Tom," I replied, "You know that the Dean has forbidden me from researching that topic anymore, don't you?" "Yes I do, but it doesn't matter to me. I'm a post-doc, and probably always will be. What University in its right mind would hire a weirdo like me to teach the sons and daughters of America, huh? I want to do something really meaningful for the trans-community, and this is about the only game in town. As you have undoubtedly noticed, I have a rather unique approach toward the role of gender. This is almost a personal vendetta to me, and I really want to help." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Here was probably the most brilliant young student I had met in my six years at the University, and he was dying to work with me on my 'special' project'. "Tom," I began, 'I can't ask you to take the risk. If we are found out, your reputation would be shot just as much as mine. You're still young, and can make a major career in just about any aspect of biochemistry to you want to. I don't want to see you throw that away by hitching up with me on this." "Hello! Is anyone home up there," he asked as he pointed to my head. "I just told you I don't care about the risk. If we bring this off, we'll be so famous that no University in its right mind wouldn't hire me, or us! Come on Bill, let's do this thing." I sat for the longest time staring at him, trying to figure out if this was really happening or if it was all just a come on. Would he cut and run, or worse, turn State's Evidence if the secret got out? I could see the impatience building in him, and so I said, "Well we can give it a go for a while and see how things work out. But you have to promise me, if something happens and we, for whatever reason, decide to part ways, this stays between us, and no mention of it will ever see the light of day. Agreed?" "Well boy howdy," he exclaimed in his typically excited voice. "You got yourself a researcher." And we shook hands on the deal. * * * * * * And so it was that we began our collaboration into the biochemistry of transgender brainwaves. We would work together, side by side, until the wee hours of the morning. Although I had to teach one lecture section each semester, the Teaching Assistants allowed me to continue the breakneck schedule that we had imposed upon ourselves. His earlier research complimented mine completely. Using MRI and other scanning techniques to acquire the raw datasets, he was able to create software that could combine and synthesize them into a single, highly precise and accurate map of the interconnections of the brain. Since I understood the neural patterns typically exhibited by transgenders, he began work on synthesizing patterns that would take the information I had, and create a diametrically opposed pattern of brainwaves. By understanding the 'opposite' pattern, we should be able to create a biochemical stimulus that will produce the necessary brainwave patterns, and thus eliminate the desire to become a member of the opposite sex. We worked tirelessly. While trying to keep a low profile to the rest of the Department, we worked night after night. Occasionally a colleague would ask what we were up to working so late, and I was able to placate them with one story or another. And so we continued for month after month, and we were making good progress, or so I thought. Then around Finals time, much of my energy had to be devoted to my class. The writing of the final exam, the setting up of the lab final, study sessions, the grading, and calculation of final grades all kept me from the lab for several weeks. But eventually the semester was over, and summer had arrived. I looked forward to the campus emptying out and Tom and I being able to carry on the project without so much scrutiny. As I returned to the lab, Tom called me aside and said, "Bill I want to show you this. I've been busy while you have been doing your teaching thing...." And we walked into a little side room to the lab where we had been storing some equipment. There in front of me was a large lab cart which held a piece of equipment I had not seem before. It looked like a signal generator and amplifier, hooked up to and computer on one side and two remote small broadcast antennae that looked like miniature radar dishes perhaps seven or eight inches across. Sitting on top of the computer was a monitor, and in front of it a keyboard and mouse. Tom reached forward and switched on the computer at which time the entire affair sprang to life with little lights flashing and turning on and off all over the equipment. The little antennae began to rotate in half circles as if scanning the area in front of them. "What the hell is this?" I asked. Tom answered excitedly, "Bill, I think this can answer our needs. I've been able to create this equipment to fulfill my side of the research. This machine can actually reach out and penetrate the skull to broadcast the signals we desire directly into the brain. If we can get an accurate scan of the subject's brainwaves as a baseline, and we already know we can do this using my previous work, we can overlie the changes we desire onto that pattern. In other words, this is our mechanism for generating the desired brainwaves directly into the subject's brain. I haven't tried it yet, but all my tests indicate that it should work. " I was flabbergasted. "By God, young man, this is fantastic. How did you ever manage it?" "Oh, a little here - a little there. Mostly, I've been running on Vitamin C and energy drinks for the last three months. I am afraid that I've used up quite a bit of our grant money, but if this works, it can be used to solve almost every mental illness on the books, and we'll have money up the waazoo." I didn't know what to say as I walked around and looked at the various controls and pieces of equipment. As I reached forward to put my hand in front of one of the antennas, he quickly grabbed my arm and pulled it back. "I wouldn't put my hand in front of those yet. I'm not sure what effect they will produce without having an adequately stored baseline pattern. Best we wait a bit." And I retracted my hand. "Goddamit Tom!" I said loudly. "This is fantastic! This solves half the problem. This is absolutely fantastic!" I said again. "I think we need to celebrate. How 'bout dinner on me tonight?" "You got it big Kahuna," he said jokingly. * * * * * * Over the next month or so, Tom and I began to concentrate on creating the biochemical agent that would allow the broadcast brainwaves to be incorporated into the subject's brain. This was a very difficult problem, in that any attempt to re-organize a subject's neural net almost invariably was fatal. It was not such much that we could make the brain pliable, it seemed to be hung-up on the brain not knowing how to re-organize itself once it became so. Finally it occurred to us to try applying the 'plastic factor', as we began to refer to it as, to the subject after they were already held in the broadcast field. In other words, provide the brain with the desired coordinates necessary to produce the new patterns, prior to applying the agent which would allow the brain to physically re-organize itself. We began to have success with this technique. Or at least, the subjects didn't die. And so we became hopeful that we had stumbled on the correct path. Up to this time, we had been testing the research in animal models, specifically rabbits. The problem was that there simply are not any transgender rabbits, and so we began to debate attempting to switch from pre-clinical to clinical tests. This would clearly let the cat out of the bag however, and so we were stuck wondering how to take the research to its next logical step. We agreed that a reductionist approach might get us closer to our end, and so I sent Tom out to various places around the country where test subjects would be available and willing to undergo several of Tom's scans - for a modest re-numeration of course. In this way, we would have the data on hand when we figured out a way to bring this off clandestinely. He met with great success, and within only a couple of months had gathered several hundred scans of both male and female transsexuals. Since it was summer and virtually all the faculty was gone, no one noticed his absence. Upon his return, Tom began to feverishly analyze these patterns. However, without adequate 'normal' patterns to compare it to, he would not be able to discern how the TG brainwaves were different. As a result, it naturally fell back on him and me to supply this information. So as a result, both Tom and I had ourselves scanned by the various techniques to serve as the baseline. Now, we realized that the sample size of two was hardly adequate, but we had little choice in the matter. In spite of this handicap, Tom was able to identify about a half dozen anomalous wave patterns found only in the TGs that were essentially the opposite in hetero brains, at least our two hetero brains. Interestingly, and undoubtedly because of the fundamental differences in chromosome structure, several significant differences were also observed between male and female TG patterns. What this indicated was there were differences in the way the male and female TG's brains were genetically wired to produce the same behavior, namely, the desire to be a member of the opposite sex. Operationally, this meant that we needed to divide the research into two separate camps. So having, more or less, completed the one side of the working hypothesis, we returned our attention to the biochemical mediator of the proposed change. As I mentioned, we had already come up with a formula which, when supplied to the brain, basically allowed it to change its connections. And so we started thinking that we had arrived at a point where we would need a human subject to test the effects of the drug and the broadcast simultaneously. We had arrived at the moment of truth. This is the subject which occupied our energies for the next week or so. How could we use a human subject without the other people knowing? For that matter, how could we ever find someone who would be willing to undergo such treatment? As we discussed our little problem, it became clear that without knowing the exact effects of the combined treatment on a human, we would first try to test the signals against themselves to determine any adverse physiological effects that may occur. That is, we would broadcast a 'normal' pattern into the brain of a 'normal' person to see if any side effects occurred. But where to find the subject? Students, however willing, usually had parents watching their university progress, and were simply too high a risk. So it fell upon us to look to the general public to find a "volunteer". Friends or family were out, and we could not exactly advertise for a test subject. So we came to the realization that we would have to take a more unethical approach. * * * * * * I left the house late that evening, and proceeded to drive to the neighboring town of Exeter. It had a well know 'red light' district, and we knew we could find a subject there, however unwilling. As I drove through the little town and passed through the closed-up business section with it high water tower above, I could see a faint fog or haze beginning to lap at the lenses of the street lights. Soon it would be foggy, and so I needed to make this quick. Fortunately, the choices were many. Exeter had long been recognized as a relatively safe place for university studs to sow their wild oats, as it were. And because of the politics and economics that the student bodies brought to the little town, the local law enforcement mostly looked the other way. As a result, prostitution was more or less a common 'fixture on the wall' of Exeter. I had visited the area a couple of times over the previous years to partake of the frivolity, and so I knew my way around some. I pulled into the parking lot at Meg's Bistro, and went inside to the bar. It was a rowdy place with many young college men playing pool and air hockey while swizzling down beer after beer. The music was tool loud and actually hurt my ears as I first entered. I walked over to the bar and ordered a Guinness, receiving a rather odd look from the bartender who had been dispensing typical American piss-water beer all night. As I drank, I scanned the room for a willing subject, and it didn't take long before I spotted her. Sitting in the corner against the juke box was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Young, long blond hair, and at least as far as I could tell, a body to die for. As I looked at her, she noticed my gaze and smiled broadly back while gesturing to me with her slender finger to join her. I did so immediately. We went through the customary motions.... "Let me buy you a drink.... Come here often?...... Would you like to go to my place.... " and so on. Eventually we rose and walked out to my car. I told here I lived near the University, and asked if she would be interested in making a lot of money by going back that way and spending the night at my house. She hesitated while looking me up and down, and then asked how much. I told her I would give her $1,000 for a night with me, and her eyes enlarged three times. "You bet honey," she said, "let's go". And so we headed back toward my town. As we drove we talked a bit about this and that, with nothing really substantial discussed. I did find out that her name was Linda Davenport, and that she had been student at the University until her parents got divorced and she no longer could count on their financial support. As a result, she had fallen in with a young 'entrepreneur' at Exeter, and was making pretty good money. As we reached my town, I called Tom on my cell phone and gave him the signal. Then I asked if she would mind if I stopped by my lab to pick- up some things before we went to my place. "It's your dime," was her response, and we soon found ourselves walking along the deserted hallway of my building to my lab. We entered, and I rummaged around with this and that trying to make it look like I was trying to find something. Eventually I worked my way into the little side room, and called to her to join me. As she entered, Tom sprang at her from behind the door and shoved a large glob of gauze around her head and into her face. I could smell the chloroform as she struggled again him. But she quickly lost consciousness and slumped to the ground in front of him. We had our subject. We picked her up, and laid her on top of the large table we had installed there. Next, I administered a healthy dose of Phenobarbital to keep her quiet while we took care of business. We knew that the campus had security cameras, and that we had been photographed entering the building. So we decided on a little ruse. We removed her clothing and Tom stripped and put it on. We had preselected blond hair, and so he removed a wig we had purchased from the cabinet and placed it on his head. I was surprised at how feminine Tom looked in her clothes. Although harried, I could not help but stare at the naked beauty that lay before us. She was absolutely perfect in every detail, and I found myself becoming aroused as I looked at her. "Come on," said Tom forcefully, and I snapped out of my lethargy. We applied the straps to her arms, legs and neck to prevent her from escaping just in case, and we left the little room and locked the padlock that I had installed on its door. Then, as we left the lab and walked down the hall, Tom took my arm in his and we walked together to be sure and give the camera a clear record of having the young woman leaving. It was perfect. Even the time stamp on the recording would show that we were only in the lab for about five minutes, and that there would not have been enough time for any hanky-panky, should anyone ask. We left, and I drove Tom to his apartment. Upon him leaving and walking up the walk, I found myself mesmerized by just how much he really looked like a woman. 'Wow', I said to myself, 'he could really fool anybody.' And so I drove home to try to catch a few hours of sleep before we began our human testing the following day. * * * * * * The following morning I arrived at the lab to find our subject was still out. Again I was stunned by her beauty and could hardly concentrate on the work at hand. It wasn't long before Tom showed up, and we started to work feverishly on setting up the equipment. Seeing how distracted I was by the young Aphrodite lying before me, Tom took a towel and threw it over her to provide some cover. The plan was simple, we would broadcast our 'normal' brainwave pattern into her head and then inject her with the 'plastic factor' to see if she had any ill effects. We established her resting baseline metabolism, and placed the two antennae on either side of her head. Tom switched on the machines and the little radar dishes began to rotate back and forth while transmitting the brainwave pattern into her. Then it was my turn, and I injected 15 cc's of the factor into her left jugular vein. As the serum moved through the heart and lungs, it eventually found its way into her brain. We watched and waited. Then suddenly we heard the beeping of the EKG. We turned to see that the tracing was normal, but that the heart rate had increased to about 230 BPM. Tom noted this in our notebook and we turned back and continued to watch. Nothing else happened and her heart rate began to return to normal. We continued to observe for about ten minutes, and still saw no observable distress. So we decided to take turns sitting with her until she began to come out of the anesthetic. Tom took the first watch - up until noon. Then I came to sit with her until six o'clock PM. As Tom was walking out of the door, she suddenly made a small moan, and I could see her fingers begin to twitch. Tom came back and together we watched as she began to return to consciousness. Her eyes began to slowly open and we could see that they were wildly darting back and forth while trying to focus. I placed my hand on her shoulder and quietly said to her, "Linda? Linda can you hear me? I'm a doctor, and you are in the hospital. You've had an accident." As I spoke she turned her head toward me, and looked up in recognition. She attempted to speak, but found her mouth stuck shut. Tom took a damp cloth and bathed her lips with some water to open them. She smacked her lips and said simply, "water". Tom produced a little paper cup and fed her a small amount into her now open mouth. She swallowed and asked quietly for more, but Tom told her that she should wait because of the anesthetic. Eventually he continued to give a sips and she was able to speak. "Am I OK? Why am I strapped down?" "Yes," I said. "You're OK. We had an auto accident on our way to my house last night, and you were knocked out. Don't you remember? This was the closest place I could bring you for help, so here you are. I needed to examine you for injuries, and didn't want you to fall off the table, so we strapped you in. How do you feel?" "I guess I'm OK, but I have a little headache," she replied. "What time is it?" "It's about one o'clock." I answered. "Do you feel like you can sit up?" "I guess so," she said and Tom and I undid her straps and helped her up. As we did, the strategically placed towel fell down onto her lap exposing her breasts. She did not seem too worried, presumably since her occupation routinely demanded such of her. She sat for a minute and I could see she was still a little confused. "Tom, could you retrieve her clothes please?" I asked. "Yes Doctor," he replied and went over the counter and returned with her clothes. As she stood up, she became wobbly, and so we grabbed her arms to support her. She eventually snapped out of it, and began to dress herself as we watched. Again, I began to feel myself getting aroused at the sight of this exquisite creature so close in front of me. I wanted her in the worst way...... But soon we were on our way back to Exeter. We had to take Tom's car since she would be thinking that mine was crashed. Throughout the drive, I continued to observe her and ask her questions designed to test her reasoning abilities and cognition. Although still groggy from the drug, she seemed to be completely normal, and by the time we reach Meg's again, she appeared to be completely recovered with no ill effects of the treatment. The three of us went into Meg's, and sat down at a table. Within two minutes, a young man approached and stood before us at the end of the table. "Where have you been?" he asked her. She looked up in surprise, and answered, "I've been over at the University. We had an accident last night, and I got knocked out." "Are you all right?" he asked her. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little goofy," she replied. It was time for me to take care of this. "Please join us Mr. .... " and I hung the word to allow him to complete the sentence. "Ballentine," he said as he sat down next to Tom and extended his hand to shake mine. "Nick Ballentine. And I want to thank you for bringing my girl here back home. I was getting a little worried." Then he stared at me for a few seconds and said, "Say don't I know you? I think I took biochemistry from you over at the University a few years ago." "Yes, yes," I said. "I remember you. You were a top notch student. Did you ever graduate?" "Well, it seems that I can make more money doing this than slaving all day in a lab. And believe me, it's a helleva lot funner." I smiled and reached back to get my wallet from my pocket. I took out the $1,000 I had there and cautiously slipped it across the table to him. "This is for the trouble I've caused you," I said quietly. He took the money and quickly stuck it in his shirt pocket without even looking at it. "Thanks Doc," he said. 'I'm sure this is more than fair. Besides, I know where you work if it's not," he said turning to me and giving me a menacing look. I reacted with a smile, and said, "Well good then, we are done here. Please be sure to call me if Linda here develops any complications from our accident. I will be willing to help in any way." "Okey dokey," said the pimp as Tom and I stood and walked out of the bistro. On our way back, Tom asked, "Well, what do you think?' "It looked OK to me. I didn't see any adverse effects at all. I think probably the phenobarb did more damage that anything else." He agreed and we drove on in silence. We both knew that we had reached another plateau in the research. We would need to do a full blown test on a TG to see if our system worked. It was time to shit or get off the pot. * * * * * * Over the next week our efforts came to a halt as we sat and pondered exactly how we could continue the research. Somehow we needed to find a pre-operative transsexual who would be willing to potentially loose their desire to become transgendered, and become 'normal'. At first I thought that would be an easy task. My perception was that most TGs, at least those that have not gone through sexual reassignment surgery, would jump at the chance to relieve themselves of the internal conflict and be free of the torture they faced on a daily basis. This was the entire basis for the research to begin with. As we talked about how best to accomplish this, Tom's attitude seemed to change. He became quite terse with me, and would often play the Devil's advocate by insisting that many TGs would never be willing to give up their innate desires. Instead he seemed to be championing the technology's potential to increase the desires to become a member of the opposite sex by, if you will, supersaturating the brain with the aberrant brainwaves. This was clearly not the purpose of our endeavors, and I immediately told him that we would not be doing that. As a result, he seemed to become less communicative, and less willing to express his thoughts. This in turn, caused me to become concerned that perhaps he was going to leave the project, and potentially turn me in to the Administration. As it turns out, this was to be the least of my worries. Because of our impasse, we thought we would spend some time cleaning up the lab after our rather marathon session of several months of intense work. Reagents were low and out of place, glassware needed cleaning, even the one little window was filthy and needed to be cleaned. I was not assigned a class to teach that upcoming first semester of the school year, but instead was given Departmental administrative work to do to compensate. So we decided that we would spend the last weekend of the summer break cleaning up our 'home away from home'. I drove into the lab early that Saturday, to find that Tom was not there yet. So I began to move things around and try to organize our clean-up efforts for better efficiency. I took all the dirty glassware and piled it into two large tubs for washing and autoclaving, checked stock on our chemicals, and so forth. By 10:00, I was beginning to wonder where Tom was, but continued to do my work. Finally at some point, I thought I would begin to work in the little side room which housed our illicit experiment. As I opened the door and switched on the light, I stood staring at the apparatus in front of me. My mind flashed back to the night when we had drugged the prostitute and tested our equipment on her. As I moved into the room, I shook my head in disbelief as I thought, 'How the hell could we ever have done that? We were so lucky.....' But then without warning, the door to the room slammed shut, and I could hear the lock being worked on the other side. Not particularly alarmed, I walked over and tried the handle. It was locked securely. I pushed against it with my shoulder, but the sturdy door would not budge. Then I tried knocking and calling, in the hopes that someone didn't realize I was in there when they closed it. All this was to no avail, and I began to become a bit panicky. As I continued to knock and call, I suddenly noticed a flash from behind me. I turned to see that a small petri dish of material had been ignited by a spark from two wires and a deep green gas was rapidly being generated by the ongoing flame. I rushed over to try to extinguish it, but as I did, a large volume of the gas rose and engulfed my entire head. I began to cough and choke as I stepped back and doubled over. I fell to my knees, and then all went black. I awoke lying on the laboratory floor with a massive headache. "What the hell had just happened?' I thought. I slowly rose and sat up, but as I did my head throbbed with the kind of pain you feel with each heartbeat. Nevertheless, I knew I had to see what had happened. I looked over to see the room's door still closed as I got to my feet. With my hands bracing me against the table, I looked to where the petri dish had been, but saw nothing. I shook my head rapidly back and forth, and after the moment of pain and confusion ended, I walked to the door and found it opened at my touch. I walked into the main lab to see that things were just as I had left them, and there was no sign of Tom, or that he had even been there. So I turned to look at the clock on the wall that hung over the door to the side room, and saw that it now read 6:25. Turning to look at the little window, I could see that the sun was beginning to lower in the west meaning that I had been out for about seven hours or so. I sat down at the little lab desk and rested my forehead in my hands. I felt terrible. So after several deep sighs and blowing off excess CO2, I decided the best thing I could do was to go home and get some rest. But where was Tom? Whey hadn't he come in and rescued me from the room? My mind buzzed with questions, pain, confusion..... When driving home, my thoughts continued to wonder about Tom, so I decided I would drive by his apartment. I parked in front, walked up the walk and through the gate, around the central pool area to No. 18, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again, and tried the doorbell. Still nothing, so I turned to leave. As I was headed out the gate, an older man called after me and said, "Are you looking for Tom?" "Yeah," I replied. "Have you seen him?" "Well," the old man answered, "He moved out last night. Said he was gonna to go to Costa Rica for an extended period." And the old man waited for my reply. I sat dumbfounded. What the hell was this all about? My assistant, my confidant, my partner in crime suddenly bailed on me and the project? As I stood, I suddenly realized that the old man was still there. "Uh, OK, thanks Mister," I said and went back to my car. Sometime later, I collapsed onto my bed. My mind was still reeling, not able to comprehend the events of the last twelve hours. In spite of this whirlwind of activity in my head, it wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep, to spend a fitful night tossing and turning in response to the angst I was feeling. * * * * * * I awoke that Sunday morning feeling fine. In fact, I felt better than I usually fell upon waking up. My mind was clear, my body felt well rested and energetic, and I was terribly hungry. So I rose, slipped on my favorite old t-shirt, and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I did, I looked at myself in the mirror, and could not help but stare. There was something different about the way I looked. I couldn't put my finger on it, and so I leaned into the mirror and pulled at my lower eyelid to examine my eyes. Nothing really different - they seemed the same, only perhaps a few specks of brown in the otherwise deep blue irises. Shaking it off, I went into the kitchen and was eager to prepare a full breakfast for myself. Ham, eggs, and toast were all on the menu for that morning, and as I sat eating, I suddenly took notice of my hands. My fingers seemed to be thinner and more tapered than I remembered them to be, and my wrists seem to have similarly become slender. I turned them back and forth in front of me, looking at them and wondering about it. But I brushed it off as holdover from whatever that gas had done to me the previous day. Although it was Sunday, I knew that the new semester was going to start that week, and I really wanted to get my lab cleaned up. So I decided to return to the school and finish what I had begun the day before. I went upstairs to get cleaned up and dressed, and so slipped off my boxers and t-shirt and jumped into the shower. As I washed myself, I noticed that the drain to the shower had become clogged. So I reached down to remove the obstruction only to find that it was clogged with a mass of hair. 'This is weird,' I thought but grabbed the mess and threw it out the shower door at the trash can. 'Where did that come from?' I thought, but continued on with my shower. When drying off, I placed my leg up on the toilet seat to reach my feet. As I rubbed my leg dry, I saw that more hair was clinging to the towel. I held it up, pondered it, and then looked down at my leg. Almost all the hair had been removed, and my leg was smooth. Additionally, my feet seemed to mimic the changes I saw in my hands - they had become slightly longer and thinner, and the ankle appeared to have narrowed. They tapered into my calf which itself appeared smoother and more streamlined. Quickly, I switched legs only to notice the same conditions on the other. Now I was getting concerned. Had that gas caused me to loose all my hair. Would my head hair begin falling out too? And I grabbed my head to pull on my hair. With a sigh of relieve, I examined my hand to fine no globs of my hair there. In fact, if anything, it felt like I had more hair that my normal modest-length hair style. Out loud I said, "OK this is getting weird," and I again went to the mirror to look at my face. It was me all right, but again there just seemed something different about it - but look as I may, I couldn't figure it out. I returned to the bedroom and grabbed my jeans and a shirt to head off to the school. As I slipped on the jeans, they felt funny. The waist, which usually fit rather snugly, was loose, but at the same time, the seat was tighter. I reached around to feel my butt, and noticed that they were indeed tight. Uneasily, I turned to walk to the get the shirt, and as I did, I almost tripped on the bottom of the pants. They seemed to be two or three inches too long. Pulling the shirt on over my head the fabric rubbed against my nipples and I experienced a distinct little shock as it did. I grabbed my breasts to find that they seemed slightly larger, and that their touch sparked a little ripple deep within my abdomen. Not only that, but my shirt also seemed two sizes too big. "What the hell is going on here." I asked myself, and I again felt the twinge of concern building in my head. With all this going on, I decided that it would be a good idea to just stay home rather than go to school. Besides, I could always get the graduate students to clean up my lab. And so I went back downstairs and decided to sit out on the patio to catch up on some reading. I sat on the chaise-lounge and began to thumb through the latest issue of Cell. Many of the papers were so esoteric, that they seem lost of most of the members, and I was no exception. I read an article on mDNA, and began to scan through another on the protein structure of ribosomes, but it was too much and I eventually drifted off to sleep. I awoke sometime that afternoon as the breeze began to blow my hair across my face and tickle me into awareness. I brushed aside the hair without even thinking, and found that the journal had fallen onto my stomach. As I reached forward to remove the book, I looked down and froze in terror. Only the far side of the journal was visible because the upper end was hidden by my even larger breasts. I sat up immediately and grabbed them with my hands. What I felt sent me into shock. I had grown two distinctly female breasts - and my hands - my hands and arms were obviously shorter and narrower than before. I jumped to my feet, only to fall back into the lounge as by balance was off. I arose again and realized that my hips and ass had expanded and were pressing tightly against the sides of my jeans. My waist had apparently continued to narrow, while I had continued to shrink in size. My pants were now at least 4 or 5 inches too long. As I rushed into the house to see myself, by new breasts bounced and pounded against my chest. I had to grab them to prevent them from shaking. I entered the house and tripped over the too long pants, so I quickly reached down and took them off. As they feel by their own weight to the floor, I looked in awe as my legs were now completely devoid of hair and had taken on a sublime female shape. Rushing into the downstairs bathroom, I stood in front of the full length mirror there. But I didn't stand long - what I saw caused me to fall to the floor in front of the mirror. For standing in front of me was a new person - a female person. It shocked me so bad that I had crumpled and collapsed on the floor. My hair had grown at least eight inches, and had become a rich blond color. I leaned over to the mirror to closely examine my face. It still had a character that definitely me, but had changed considerably. My skin was soft and pink, my cheekbones had risen slightly, my jaw was considerably narrower, and my teeth seemed to have moved forward showing the front incisors more prominently. Even my eyes were different, and were then showing even more brown color than before. My eyelashes had become thicker and longer, and my nose had shortened and had turned slightly upward. I couldn't believe what I saw looking back at me. I touched my face, rubbing my eyebrows and cheeks as I stared, mouth open, in bewilderment. As I again stood and looked at myself, the big question suddenly surfaced.... I reached down and pulled off my boxers and looked. I gasped as my mouth fell open and I saw that I no longer had a penis, but instead had apparently developed female reproductive organs. I grabbed the space that had once been occupied by my maleness, only to find - well - nothing. I moved my hand up and down searching for my lost appendage, thinking that perhaps it was still hidden somewhere. It was to no avail. Instead, for the first time, I found my vagina, and I felt and rubbed the area in curiosity. As I did, the little abdominal spark that I had felt earlier came rushing back to awash me in a shudder of tingling warmth. I then tore off my shirt and saw that what I had felt on the patio. I had developed two female breasts. They were not exceptionally large, but clearly were large enough not to be mistaken for anything else. The nipples had become larger, and the areolas had likewise grown and become a deeper shade of pink. I grabbed them again and squished them in my hands to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Turning and looking at my backside, I could see the fundamental shape of my spine had changed, and my tailbone projected further back, producing a much deeper small of my back. My butt had become larger and rounder, and tapered smoothly into my slender waist. I again confirmed what I was seeing by grabbing my cheeks and squishing them in my hands, which caused me to again feel the internal spark I had earlier received. Dropping my arms and turning back around, I could do nothing but stare at myself for what seemed like an eternity. I ran my hands all over - legs, arms, face, ribs, back everywhere I explored. In spite of my shock, I found the feeling sensuous and exciting to some degree. I actually began to flirt with myself in the mirror, doing little dances and sticking my ass out while bending my knees and putting an innocent look of surprise on my lovely new face. I was actually getting turned on by it. Finally I surrendered to the fact that somehow, I had become a woman, a beautiful young woman, like it or not. I walked over and again put on my boxers and t-shirt. I entered the living area, and sat on the couch trying to figure the whole thing out. Then it dawned on me. The gas! Someone did this to me while I was knocked out by the gas. But who could.... Then it became as clear as day - it was Tom!. He had done this to me. He had transmitted the supersaturated female brainwaves from Linda Davenport into my head as he had been trying to convince me to do. Somehow, my mind and its new connections, was now exerting its own force on my body and re-arranging my cells and physiology to provide the correct home for them. But why? Why would he do this? He was my friend and colleague. As I thought and thought about it, I began to become aware of an upwelling of emotion within me. Soon, I began to feel sorry for myself and what had become of me, and I began to cry. I rolled up into a ball on the couch and sobbed as I thought about what I would do now. I was a new person, and the man that had been Bill Lambert was gone forever. What would I do? Who would take care of me? How would I make a living and survive? Why had my friend done this to me? As I lay crying, I heard the sound of a truck pull up in front of the house. In about a minute, there was a knock on the door and the doorbell rang. I sat up, and tried to dry my eyes. As I walked to the door, I could hear the person on the other side singing. I opened the door to find a FedEx delivery man standing with his back to me, moving in conjunction to the music coming from his little earphones. He turned and stopped, frozen except for his eager gaze which was energetically moving up and down my body. He placed a very large grin on his face, and said, "I have a package for Bill," and he handed the box toward me. I took the box, set it inside, and said, "I will sign for it," But as I did, I shook in disbelief as my voice had now been raised an octave or two, and what came out was not my voice, but the voice of a sweet young woman. He smiled again and took back the electronic sign off sheet, and turned to leave. As he left, walking back down the walkway, twice he turned and looking back at me gave me broad smile. I took the box into the kitchen and using a knife, opened it. Inside I found a bevy of girl's clothes - bras, panties, stockings, tops, skirts, and so forth. As I fondled the clothes, I found that I was immediately beginning to envision myself in them. I was feeling like a kid in a candy shop. But I also found a note. So I sat down on the stool and began to read: Dearest Bill I thought you might be able to use these things. I'm sorry about having done this to you, I really am because in a very special kind of way, I've come to love you over the past year. But our movement needs to make a strong statement, and I was ordered to do this once they learned the project was completed. If my theories are correct, by the time you receive this, your changes should mostly be complete, and you will have become a woman. This is a permanent affair, and will not and can not be reversed. For you see, while you slept today and your body changed, I removed my machine, all the records, and the computer chips from the lab. There is no proof of ever having done this experiment, which, I believe, is in keeping with our original agreement if we should ever part ways. Your insistence upon trying to cure transgenders cannot go on. We TGs are just as proud of our sexuality as anyone else, and although the conflicts of being born in the wrong body are a problem, we would not trade these feelings for anything - they are part of us. What we have just proven possible is a far more appropriate solution than trying to change our internal inborn desires - a way to relieve our emotional turmoil by actually transforming us into complete functioning women. It is only appropriate that you be the one to first become transformed. Now you will now know what it is to be stuck in the wrong body for the rest of your life, and perhaps have a little more insight. But I am concerned about you - as I said, I actually have come to love you. So I have contacted our friend in Exeter, and asked him to pay you a visit. He is always looking for new recruits. I have told him that your name is Tamsen Scott, and that you might be interested in working for him. I would expect him to show up soon. So I wish you the best of luck in your new life, and that you enjoy the precious gift I have given you. I know that soon I will also be joining you and the sisterhood, and perhaps we could get together for a drink and a laugh - just to wax nostalgic about our previous lives. Love, Theresa (Tom) So that's it.... I was right. It was Tom that had done this to me. I sat for a few mintues digesting the letter over and over, occasionally reaching over and running my hand through the undergarments in the box, feeling their silky texture. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore and I jumped to my feet, stripped off the last male clothes I would ever wear, and began to dress myself as a woman for the first time. I pulled open the package of Jockey cotton panties, and selected the red pair. As I stepped into them, I realized how my articulation at the waist was so very different as I bent forward. I slid them up over my thighs, and pulled them into place. I was really beginning to feel a little sexy about doing this. I selected the matching bra, and having difficulty hooking it behind my back, hooked it in front, and then slid it around. As I fed my slender arms into the straps and pulled the bra up over my new breasts, it felt wonderful - almost like I had always wanted to do this, but was held back by something. I became so excited that I ran back into the bathroom to look at myself. 'My god,' I said to myself - 'you're fucking beautiful,' and again moved close to the mirror and inspected my face and my now completely brown eyes with my hands. The red panties and bra were perfectly accentuated by my bright blond hair and incredible figure. I grabbed my breasts and began to message them. As I did, my head automatically fell backwards in awe and I could feel the hair hitting my back like a soft cascade of cool water. I didn't really understand what was happening to me, but I began to coo softly as I worked them. Suddenly as I brought my shoulders together in response to a small shudder, I felt a wetness between my legs. My hand slipped slowly down to my new femininity, and found that my panties had become damp. I slowly slipped my hand underneath and probed lightly. As they encountered the dampness, almost instinctively my hand began to move around and around the slippery surface. I was beginning to lose myself in rushes of hot and cold spasms as my head continued to snap back and forward, throwing my hair back and forth as it did. I began to moan, as my fingers discovered and then parted my lips in search of the hidden treasure which had now become part of me. They found what they were looking for, and I slowly slid my fingers slightly into my new vagina. Then further in, then out, then in again - more and more rapidly until I fell onto the floor and surrendered myself to the crash of electricity that slammed and radiated through my very essence. I lay exhausted and panting on the bathroom floor, sweat beaded upon my forehead. My mind was completely fried by what I had just experienced, and in my new feminine voice I said softly to myself, "That was fuckin' amazing." But before I knew what was happening, there was a knock on the front door. Sitting up suddenly, I became very self-conscious and even a little embarrassed when realizing what I had done and that I was now lying in my underwear on the bathroom floor. I swiftly rose, and tip- toed to the door. Through the peep-hole I saw Nick Ballentine standing there, looking around the neighborhood. He turned back and knocked again, calling as he did, "Tamsen? Tamsen are you home?" I undid the lock, and opened the door slightly. After peeking around the corner at him for a second, I opened the door fully and allowed him in - into my new life. --------------------------------------------------------------------- So, here I sit with Linda in Meg's Bistro waiting for my first trick of the night. I have been working for Nick for about a year now, and Linda is my best friend. She really helped me learn the ropes when I agreed to work with their little enterprise, and because of my skill with numbers, I have been able to help Nick with the accounting. I bet that Tom, or Teresa as I'm sure she is called now, will be showing up here any day now. I can't wait. I have found that as time progressed, the desires implanted in my brain have begun to become accepted by my new body. That is, at first, making love with a man was rather repulsive, but as time passed, I found that I began to enjoy it more and more. I know that I have no choice anyway, but the conflict between my previously male self and my new female self is almost completely gone. I am beginning to enjoy my new life, in spite of loosing everything that I had. I now want, no need, to feel the warmth of a man inside me, and to feel his strong arms around me as he fills me with his seed. So in essence, the joke is on Tom, or rather Theresa by now. Far from being tortured by this new life, quite the opposite has happened. I have fallen in love with this new life, and the wonders of my new body. I love feeling the sensuousness of my sexuality, the company of other women, and I desire more than anything else to thank her for doing this to me. I would never want to go back, even if I could.