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The previous director of the program - a man whose real name I never knew and who disappeared completely without warning - once called us "a conspiracy theorist's wet dream." He was right. Who would believe that our government routinely searches the country to find people whose intelligence reaches a level where they are considered a potential threat (informally, it's called "Operation: Scary-Smart"; it's so secretive that I never learned its official name) and placates them by offering them considerable resources and a handsome salary to work on various brainstorming, scientific, military and medical projects? I wouldn't have...if I hadn't been one of those drafted into the program. Indeed, I was tapped for "duty" while I was still attending university, and my induction into the program turned out to be a dream come true...of sorts. The dream of an anti-social loner whose greatest ambition simply to work and be left alone. "So what do all you smart guys work on?" you might ask. The truth is, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. First, it's all classified. That's a no-brainer. It's so secret that none of us are even allowed to know or communicate with each other. I don't even know how many others there are besides me. One thing I will tell you - to give you an idea of how broad this program really is - is that one of my projects ended up having significant commercial value, so much so that the agency "leaked" the details to a major manufacturer and created a multi- million dollar market for a device which is sitting in your living room right now, something you wouldn't want to live without. That's all I'll say. I didn't see a dime from the project beyond my normal salary - the government owns everything I do - but I more or less guaranteed my position for life with the agency with that one product: I established myself as having commercial value. For the most part, my research needs are relatively inexpensive, and I've had few complaints. I think the philosophy our program runs by is, "give them what they want, keep them out of trouble, and maybe we'll get something out of it." I know I've never been hassled for results. All I have to do is turn in a monthly report and meet with the higher ups when it's deemed necessary. And that's that. This month, for reasons which will become obvious, my report was ten percent useful and ninety percent bullshit. This was deliberate, because for once, I was working on a project that was so secret, I had to cover it up with other extraneous stuff to make sure no one came snooping around. The reason for my secrecy is that my previous research and experimentation into this area had the upper brass so paranoid and petrified that I was instructed to walk away from what I was doing, and all of the records of my experiments were destroyed. All well and good, but I'm a true scientist in the keenest sense of the word: I live to discover things, I live for my work, and in this case, my patrons' concerns were, if nothing else, proof that I was delving into areas no one had gone before. I simply couldn't drop it. Instead, I worked on several side projects to keep my superiors (I use that term for a laugh) satisfied while devoting my attention to my secret project, a project so outrageous that, right up until the night I succeeded, I harbored serious doubts to my sanity, much less my effectiveness. A little about me, before I divulge my project and its results. Some people envy my intellect, and I find that the ultimate cosmic joke. My intelligence is a curse. It's a curse in that it helped ostracize me from everything that normal people do. From childhood, I was a misfit, and I suffered for it. To make things worse - much worse - I was cursed with a decided lack of good looks. Fat, dumpy, with dull eyes that don't reflect an iota of what's hiding in the brain behind them, I was easily the most unpopular kid in high school, roundly hated. Girls wouldn't even so much as look at me unless they were going to make fun of me or humiliate me. By the time I started college, I was a bitter, bitter man, so scarred by rejection that I isolated myself away from the rest of the world. I had no real friends. When I was scooped up by the program, I was a basket case, too damned smart for my own good, painfully lonely, and a twenty-three year old virgin who had not so much as even been on a date. I never had a social life before I entered the program, and the way the program was set up discouraged me from ever having one. I was the poster boy for reclusive genii. I could never truly explain how I work. It's on a higher plane than ordinary people can understand. Even the quasi-geniuses assigned to analyze my output with the program aren't truly capable of understanding what I do and how I do it. They're content to analyze the results, even if they can't fully understand them. Thus, it would be pointless now for me to attempt to explain exactly what it is that I was attempting, other than to give you a generalization that it started as an effort to create limbs and organs for transplant purposes. Genetically perfect: no chance of rejection. Big dream? Sure. I don't know how have small dreams. Standing right behind this dream was the one of using such body parts to achieve eternal life. How's that for ambition? "Is it like cloning?" asked Jed Meyers, our program director (just in case that's what you're thinking). "No," said I, and while this wasn't exactly true, it wasn't really a lie, either. When you deal in the realm of science in the experimental stage, it's easy to fudge answers to questions like that one. What I can tell you is that my first few experiments had results that some found genuinely horrific. (Small minds; nothing in science is truly horrific if you learn something from it.) They resulted in products which had to be immediately destroyed. I won't argue that it was dangerous territory in which to tread. It's understandable - but from a scientific perspective, unforgivable - that some of the higher ups at the agency pulled the plug on these experiments. And it was I who plugged back in the moment their collective backs were turned. I always work alone. No one can keep up with me. Keeping people from knowing what I was doing was the easy part. The extra equipment needed for this experiment was expensive, but I ordered it in installments over the period of a year, so no red flags were raised. I also concocted rather clever reasons for needing this gear, so no one suspected a thing. When it came time for the final experiment, there was no other choice, naturally, than to experiment on myself, and that added another level of tension to the project: danger. I was very much aware that if things went wrong the way they went wrong in the past, I could end up dead...or worse. (Much worse, actually.) So serious was the nature of my work that I even made arrangements for detailed information to be sent out in the event that something were to go wrong. In actuality, I had little to lose. My work was my life. I worked. That was all I did. And while I have to admit to the occasional exhilaration my work gave me, the truth was that I had become a miserable human being, I was very much aware of it, and, in some ways, when I went through my preparations that evening, I almost welcomed the thought of not waking up when it was all over with. My self-destructive streak is well-documented in my personality profile. You should read it some time. Interesting piece of work. I worked eighty-one straight hours prior to the execution of my great experiment, and when I strapped myself in and prepared for a sleep preparation to reduce me to unconsciousness, it was doubtful that I really needed it at all, for exhaustion overtook me far more quickly than the drug could have. There is something to be said about the feeling of surrendering to sleep with the knowledge that there is a chance you will never awaken again. But I awoke and almost instantly knew where I was, what I was attempting to do...and then quickly thereafter that I knew I had succeeded. The truth was that I was so convinced that I would not succeed, that now that I had, I was warmly terrified. Moving was difficult, as I was moving muscles which had been generated rather than built up organically. I attempted to sit up, found that I couldn't, and collapsed back down, exhausted by the strain alone. After resting for what seemed like a small eternity, I mustered up the strength to speak, calling hoarsely, "It worked!" I felt a momentary jolt of fear to hear a weak voice call back, "I know." It was my voice. Not the voice I was used to hearing in my head when I spoke, but rather the voice I was so familiar with from the recording logs from my experiments. The adrenaline rush I experienced - was it excitement or fear? - was enough for me to be able to open my eyes, and even though everything was blurred and unfocused, I perceived enough to see...me, sitting up on the table next to the one I occupied. "My God," I heard the voice say in astonishment. "Is it...my thoughts, my memories. Did you retain them?" I tried to nod, but had to croak "Yes..." in a voice that was unfamiliar to me. An octave higher than I was used to. "Birth date," my familiar yet unfamiliar companion barked, now recovering from the shock he must have gone through and concentrating with scientific furor on the project at hand. "November sixth." "First pet..." "It's me!" I insisted. "It worked! Perfectly. Trust me." "First pet," he demanded. I sighed. "Charlie. Beagle. Hit by a car outside our house. We buried him up the hill in the back yard. Wooden cross stayed there for years." "Amazing..." "Tell me about it." "My god," said my body with my voice, now peering over me, just inches away. "What have I done?" What I had done was generate a duplicate of myself. Don't ask me how. You wouldn't understand, and I couldn't explain it in simple terms. What I can tell you was that, again for reasons beyond your comprehension - and almost behind mine, though not really - the duplicate almost certainly had to be female. (Indeed, the horror which had officially closed down my experiment earlier had to do with a same- sex duplication.) At the moment, what had me amazed was that my consciousness was in the body of the duplicate. This took me completely by surprise, although, weak as I was, I was paying attention to every aspect of my duplicate's actions, words, gestures. It was me, all right. "Did you experience any physical effects?" I asked weakly. "None that I'm aware of, other than what can be attributed to the sleeping pill. How about you? Are you in any discomfort?" I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get my strength up. "I'm so weak. Everything feels different..." "Of course..." "But nothing feels wrong. There's no pain. Just weakness..." "Wait. I think I can fix that." I remembered leaving the medical kit out just in case something had gone wrong, and now, through my barely opened eyes, I saw myself preparing an injection. I knew it was a stimulant. I felt him prodding the thick flesh of my hip - in spite of all the newness of what I was feeling, I could feel that like my male self, this new body was endomorphic. "There'll be a little sting..." I knew there would be, and I felt it, which, under the circumstances, was a good thing. "Give that a few minutes to kick in," he said as he retrieved a stethoscope from the bag. I felt the cold metal of the instrument against the skin of my flesh, and it was only then that I realized - I should have already known - that I had considerable breasts. I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, but I asked, "How do I look?" "Everything looks normal," he said. "There's no signs of mutation as a result of..." "I mean...do I look...normal?" He paused in his examination. "I know, it's a dumb question," I said. "No, it's not. And the answer is that you could be my female fraternal twin." Somehow, I didn't want to hear that. "But if it makes you feel any better," he continued, "I think we look better female than male." I felt a pounding in my chest, then a rush of energy, tingling through my body as the injection took effect. "I want to try to sit up now," I said. My male body - I had to start thinking of him as Joe, now that I most certainly was not - moved around behind me, grasping my shoulders and helping me as I moved the upper part of my body forward. It took tremendous effort, but I did it, opening my eyes. My vision was getting clearer now, and I looked down at myself, seeing a large, naked body, much of my view obscured by my new breasts. Unlike the breasts of most women my size, however, they were firm and pert, undoubtedly the result of their newness. I noticed that the tingling sensation caused by the drug had cause my nipples to erect. They were large, too, and tingled more than the rest of me. "I'm dizzy," I said. "You're okay," Joe said, steadying me by my shoulders. "How's your vision? Hearing? Sense of smell?" I nodded. "Everything seems to be working." "Incredible. And...and it's really you...us...in there?" "As far as I know," I said. "Of course, you can't be sure about me, just as I can't be sure about you." "Of course," said Joe. "But that's the same conclusion I would come to. Do you want to try to stand? To walk?" I shook my head. "Not yet. In fact, I'm not feeling so hot. I need to lie back down." Joe helped me back to a prone position. In spite of the stimulant, I got the feeling I was going to pass out at any time. "While you're lying down," Joe said, "let me do a more extensive examination." Although I knew what he meant, and although the prospect had no appeal to me whatsoever, it was, of course, what I would have done, and I submitted to having my legs spread and knees drawn up while Joe ascertained that I was, indeed, female. "I - we - did it," he said. "You are most certainly a woman." "I didn't need you to tell me that." "I wish we could get you to a real doctor. I'd like to make some internal determinations... There's so much that could have gone wrong." Of course, I knew what he meant. "I could die at any minute, couldn't I?" I could see the concern on his face. "You don't seem to have any external physical abnormalities." He was still looking between my legs. Surely, he could have made that determination by now. "A doctor's too risky for now," I said. "I know." "I just want to sleep for a little while..." I said. "Really? I gave you enough amphetamine to keep you up for three days..." "Maybe I'm not receptive to it...or maybe I need the rest." Joe nodded. "I'm cold. Can you cover me up?" I could barely keep my eyes open as I watched him scramble around for a sheet to drape over me, and was out before he had me completely covered. "How long have I been asleep?" was my first question. I was still lying on the medical table, and parts of me were numb from lying in the same position so long. I shifted to bring the circulation back. Joe was sitting on a stool, writing notes. "About six hours. How do you feel?" "Better, actually," I said, venturing to sit up on my own. It was still difficult, but not nearly so much as before. "Good. I expected this to happen." I was about to agree with him, but then wondered what was the point? "I need to try to make it to the bathroom." He nodded, put down his notepad, and came to my side. Walking was far more difficult than I expected. It was as though I had to give a hundred different muscles a crash course in how to work together, and I stumbled several times, Joe supporting me with an arm around my waist. My sheet fell off, but modesty wasn't my concert at that point. Of course, I realized that I would have to sit to empty my bladder - one of many, many adjustments I knew were ahead of me - but it was no big deal and, in fact, a tremendous relief. There was a t-shirt lying on the floor from the day before, and Joe put it on me. It fit quite loosely, and it was then that I realized that although I was plump, I was much smaller than I once was. I sat there, resting, watching Joe observe me. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I think so," I said. "But I'm not sure whether my stomach can handle anything." Joe nodded. "I'll fix some soup. Let me help you to the living room, and you can rest a little more..." My mind was spinning as I waited for Joe to prepare our meal. The initial panic and confusion I experienced after my creation was giving way to deeper, more pragmatic, but, to be sure, equally rattling thoughts. Remember, I was dealing with something no human being had ever dealt with before. There was simply no point of reference. I felt fear, but I knew that fear would color my thoughts, keep me from thinking logically and efficiently. I had to control it. That was key: Control. I had to stay in control. There was a lot to think about. Who was I? What was I? Was I really a human being as we defined it? Did one have to be born in the traditional sense to be real? I had thoughts. I had emotions. I had senses. I wasn't entirely sure that Joe thought so because, were I in his place - and I easily could have been - I'm sure I would have my doubts. I was equally sure that Joe was going to consider me a burden, a complication...also because that's what I would have thought. This complicated things even more, because I was suddenly aware of the fact that although Joe's mind and my mind were in perfect sync at the time of my creation, it was absolutely inevitable that we began drifting away from that point on. I still had all of Joe's memories and life experiences - and the resultant behaviors which they caused - but only up until that fateful moment earlier in the day. What was happening now was an entirely new trip, and I had to be aware that this was going to color my connection with Joe and vice versa. Joe delivered soup to me in the living room and we began to eat in silence. I knew he had to have been racing through thoughts as quickly and intensely as I had, but now I wasn't entirely sure of the conclusions he drew. I think we were both waiting for the other to speak. Joe spoke first. "Reassimilation is out of the question," he said, though whether he was speaking to me or to himself wasn't initially obvious. "It's a physical impossibility." Of course, I knew this. But what his words told me was that he considered the idea of reversing the process as something positive. "Even if it wasn't," I said, "I'm alive. I don't want to cease to exist." Joe nodded. "I've got to get used to that concept." If Joe's mind and my mind were still on the same tracks, he never would have considered it. Joe looked at me. "Maybe we should tell someone...someone at the agency." Now I knew that he wasn't thinking straight. "Are you out of your mind?" I asked. "They'd cart me away in an instant, to some lab somewhere, and I'd disappear. On some dissecting table." "That's not necessarily true," he said. "Maybe not, but you damned sure don't know for sure." I looked into his eyes. "Look, please understand here: I'm alive. I'm a living, breathing, thinking human being now. I'm no longer data, the results of an experiment." Joe nodded, looking off into space. "This is so complicated..." "Of course. I - I mean, we - should have taken that into consideration before we got into this, but we didn't, and now we have to deal with it. But we can do it if we're smart about it, if we take baby steps, and if we think things through." I lay my head back on the couch. Even that small exertion had exhausted me. "Are you all right?" Joe asked. I nodded. "Just tired." "So where should we start with all this?" "I need clothes. I need to settle into some sort of normalcy, because the sooner I can do that, the sooner we can set both of our minds to determine the best way to proceed." I went silent from a thought which hit me instantly and like a sledgehammer. "You know," I said, softly as I felt a knot turn in my stomach. "The simplest solution would be for you to kill me." Joe looked up. I couldn't read the emotions in his face. "As far as the world is concerned," I said, "I don't exist. If you killed me and were able to dispose of my body - you know how - no one would be the wiser. The reason I'm bringing this into the light, Joe, is that I don't want to die. I truly want to live. Do you understand?" Joe just looked at me for a few long moments. "How could you suggest such a thing?" Did I detect a note of insincerity? "I'm a scientist. In science, we don't ignore a possible solution just because we find it distasteful." I saw him flinch, as I would have, to be chastised by something so obvious. At the same time, I got the genuine feeling that I had taken a big step towards preserving my own life. At first, the efforts involved in obtaining a functional wardrobe for me provided a little necessary comedy relief. It occurred to both of us that our life had been so bereft of female companionship that neither of us knew nothing about sizing women's clothing, and in the end, I had to go to the internet in order to determine how to go about finding out what size clothes I would wear. It was on my second day of life that we decided to give it a go. There wasn't a tape measure to be found in the house, of course, so Joe fashioned one out of some lab equipment. I asked him if he would measure me. I was still woozy and awkward with the way my new body balanced. It was going to take some getting used to. It was when Joe approached me with our improvised tape measure that things began to adopt a new dimension. "Forty-two inches," he said as he wrapped the tape around my hips. He moved up and went around my waist. "Thirty six inches..." And then... He of course had to put his arms around me to reach around my back for my bustline measurement, and when he brought his hands around to bring the two ends of the tape measure together, he stopped and made a strange sigh. I looked up at him and instantly knew what was happening, although the implications of the look in his eyes took a few moments longer. I've mentioned it earlier, but I don't know whether I've actually emphasized enough just how little contact I've had with women over the course of my life. Never had a girlfriend. Never had a date. Every once in a while, some smart-ass macho male asks me whether I'd thought about hiring a hooker, and it strikes me how ridiculous the idea is. It's human nature that when one cannot get something, one wants it all the more. With me, in the area of female companionship, it wasn't so much the physical interaction I craved, it was the idea of acceptance. I wanted a woman to want me, and that never happened, so I kept on wanting it more and more. That's why a hooker would never have worked with me. In fact, it would have the opposite effect. The look in Joe's eyes had been triggered as his hands moved along the sides of my breasts through my t-shirt. It was as though the entire idea suddenly hit home: There he was with a woman. Not just a woman, but a woman who completely understood him, understood his long-deprived wants and desires. He knew - we both knew, I have to admit - that under the circumstances, mercy sex was entirely in order. As for me, I have to say that up to that point, I'd had no libido at all. There wasn't time. There had been so many other things to think about, I didn't need that kind of complication. At the same time, however, I knew what was going on in Joe's head. I knew because he was thinking thoughts I'd thought months earlier. I guess it's confession time here. Back when this project first came together, when it became obvious that it was inevitable that the duplicate had to be a female, there were times when my mind drifted to the idea of creating a female companion, a woman who would know me, know who and what I am and accept me for it. But don't labor under any kind of misconception that this was the purpose of my experiments. That would be insulting and degrading to the work I put in, the true reasons behind my motivation, and the dedication towards its success. Of course, at the moment, none of that really mattered. We were on a completely different playing field. I looked up into Joe's eyes, which were half-commanding but half-imploring. I was a mix of emotions, practically frozen on the spot, but, somehow, I knew the right thing to do: I nodded. And that was all it took. His hands dropped the tape measure and moved to grab my breasts through the t-shirt, supporting their weight as he kneaded these unfamiliar globes of flesh. His index and ring fingers rolled my big nipples between them. His hands were cold, and I felt the tingle as my nipples erected. I was certain he believed that it was his touch that stimulated me, sexually, but it wasn't true. I felt nothing but physical sensation; I did not want to be groped. I just knew that I had to allow it. He surprised me by reaching down and tugging up at the hem of the t- shirt, and yet I did nothing to stop it. Indeed, when the time was right, I raised my arms so that he could pull it over my head, and as it dropped to the floor, I got a chill down my spine at the realization that I was now standing naked before my old body, and I knew what my old body would want from me. Now I was not so sure I should give in completely. His hands went back up to my breasts now, and there was more urgency in this new, skin-on-skin touch. He took my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and pinched them, hard enough for me to gasp and whisper, "Easy...easy..." I have to re-emphasize here that I was feeling absolutely nothing sexually. This was an invasion at the moment, and it was all I could do to endure what he was doing...and try to quell the queasy grinding I felt in my stomach, wondering what I was going to have to go through. He let go of my breasts and moved closer to me, putting his arms around me, pulling me close. His hands moved over my back - it might have been pleasurable or relaxing under different circumstances, but not now - then down to cup my ass and pull my hips into his. Before I could even hope that the excess flesh of our bellies could keep us a reasonable distance apart, he turned into me so that I could feel his erection pressing into the side of my hip. Damn, I caught myself thinking, but to even consider that he wasn't aroused after all this was simply foolish. When he leaned his head downward to kiss the nape of my neck, the sudden jolt of tingles from being kissed there brought me into focus, and I could feel his disappointment as I pushed him away and said, "Wait. Slow down." He stood there, looking at me, trying, I think, not to be angry. "What is it?" "We need to think about this," I said, reflexively bringing my hands up to cover my nipples. "There's a lot going on here. A lot of risk. What if I were to get pregnant?" While I had to ask the question for practical reasons, it was also and admission that I was willing to go all the way with him, an impression I didn't especially want to give him. He blinked, then thought for a moment. "You would probably give birth to an exact replica of me. Only one genetic pattern." He waited for me to reply. "That's as may be," I said, "but then I'd most definitely need medical care. And that would mean telling someone, because there's no way I'd ever get a doctor to give me the time of day without an identity. This is all way too complicated to give over to our emotions, or our libidos, or whatever semantic you want to attach to it." I could tell I'd taken the wind out of his sails somewhat. "We could get condoms," he said, although he realized as well as I did that the nearest store was a good hour's drive both ways. "Okay, look," I said, reaching down to pick up the t-shirt from the floor and at least just hold it in front of my body. I was feeling incredibly vulnerable trying to make a valid argument stark naked...and as a woman. "Look, let's lay our cards on the table here and see where we stand." The one good thing about the situation, I realized, is that there was no need for bullshit or the typical male/female mating games. "I'm not going to deprive you of sexual gratification. We both know that you deserve it, and if it was you who occupied this body instead of me, I would have the same expectations." He nodded. To most people, such a cold-facts negotiation about sex might have been off-putting. To him - as it was to me - it was somehow warmly reassuring. "So what I propose, for now, is that I...satisfy you without intercourse. If you can promise me that we won't even go there for now...I'll...do what I can." He looked at me and nodded. This was a victory I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to win. I led him to the couch in the living room, suddenly conscious of the way my hips were moving now that I had an oversexed genius behind me, staring at my ass as I walked. I gestured for him to sit down, then I sat next to him, leaning my shoulder against his. Unhesitatingly, I reached over and unzipped his pants. He adjusted himself so that his gut wasn't in the way, and soon, I had dug into his underwear and fished out a cock which was, simultaneous, both familiar and alien to me. Without saying a word, I wrapped my fingers around the warm shaft and began stroking him in a steady rhythm. I wasn't ignorant in the slightest that he was expecting a blowjob, and that there was some disappointment in that I intended to service him with my hand, but he was so excited that he didn't protest, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes as I did my dirty work. I tried to approach it scientifically, if such a thing was possible. I reminded myself that it would be best for everyone concerned if I got him off as quickly as I could, and I figured he was so worked up that he would come quickly. And yes, I did consider shifting my position to that I could use my mouth on him, but at the moment, the thought was simply too off-putting to consider. I had a feeling, however, that before long, the point would be moot. As my fist pumped his cock, I could tell by the look on his face that this would not take long. That face. It depressed me just to look at it. It was no wonder I'd had no appeal to women: a face like that and a brilliant mind? It would be too much to handle. I felt sympathy for Joe now, and was...well, almost happy that I could do this for him. And once I started thinking these thoughts, I once more considered biting the bullet - so to speak - and letting him feel what oral sex was like. But that was when his hips started to buck, and a low groan began building in the back of his throat. His body stiffened, then spasmed, and he ejaculated. The first two spurts had enough force to shoot into the air, landing on the carpet two feet in front of him. This was followed by several more gushes of his sticky, white emission, which dribbled down over my hand as I slowed down my efforts and let him drift into the afterglow. "Oh, God," he sighed. "Was that good?" I asked. I didn't normally like asking stupid questions, but this seemed appropriate. He just nodded. I pulled my hand away. It was dripping. Gross. I reached for my t-shirt and wiped my hand clean, then wiped his crotch, watching his dick go soft as I tended to him. I got up from the couch and headed to the bathroom to put the shirt in the hamper and get myself another. When I returned, he had this odd smile on his face. I sat down next to him and he rested a hand on my bare thigh. "That was wonderful," he said. "Good." "Can I...can I do anything for you?" he asked sheepishly. "You mean...sexually?" He nodded. "No," I said. "I mean...not right now. I'm still...getting used to things, if you know what I mean." He nodded again. "I guess I can understand that." "But," I added, "you could finish measuring me so that I can get some real clothes..." It was a problem, but it was small enough for us to laugh about it and work together at solving it, dissolving far more tension that it caused. Simply put, I needed clothes, and Joe would have felt mortified having to walk into our local big box store and purchasing a shopping cart full of women's underwear. The solution required some effort. We both rode to town together in the van the government had given me. He drove, and I was in the back, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and sweat pants so loose that they would have dropped to my ankles in three steps without me holding them up. When we got to the store, Joe went inside and purchased a sweat suit and a pair of sneakers my size; that much he could handle. Once he got back to the van, I was subjected to the indignity of having to put the suit on while he watched, and he made no secret that he was ogling. "Do you know how weird this whole thing is?" I asked as I squeezed into sweat pants which were about a size too small. "It doesn't bother me at all," he said. "Does it bother you?" "Maybe 'bother' isn't quite the right word." He shrugged. "Then who cares how weird it is? I'm enjoying it." I zipped up the front of the jacket and put on my sneakers. The jacket was tight too. "You know," I said, "what's really got me confused is the fact that in my mind, I know that I should be repulsed by all of this. I mean, I certainly don't have to tell you that I don't have repressed gay feelings, right?" He nodded. "And yet, it didn't bother me, before, doing what I did. I don't know that it did anything for me - I know that it didn't - but...but the fact that you enjoyed it so much...even the idea that you're enjoying watching me get dressed...It's flattering. It's something I - we - never felt before." He looked at me with a serious gaze. "Do you think that the physical changes you've gone through are effecting emotional and psychological changes?" I thought about this for a moment. "It's too early to tell." "But - and be truthful about this," he said. "Does it bother you that I'm so sexually charged over you?" "Not as much as it should," was my answer. He wasn't satisfied with it. "That's not good enough. Because right now, I'm totally obsessing over the idea of getting you into bed. I can't even think about working. And I'm confused, too, because I know what's inside your head. I know who you are, what you like, and I know that you can't possibly be completely okay with all of this. And that should make me less inclined to want to go after you." There was silence for a few moments. Then I smiled at him. "Okay, look. I don't mind at all, okay?" I wasn't sure I believed that - or maybe I did - but it had an effect on Joe. As we walked to the store, he put his around my shoulder, a move which, for some reason, really surprised me. I had other things to worry about, however. The sweat suit Joe had bought was too small, and clung to me tightly. My large, braless breasts bounced with every step, and the friction of the material against my nipples made them erect, poking visibly at the cloth for every one to see. Joe thought this was funny, and, as if it would make me feel any better, pointed out that the suit clung to my ass in a way that was almost obscene, and although this made me outrageously self-conscious, it clicked in the back of my head that I was somehow proud that Joe had noticed. I realized that I had to seriously re-evaluate what was going on in my head and with my body. Specifically, the idea that what I was saying to Joe when we discussed this was somewhat different than what I was feeling. It was almost as though I were deliberately being dishonest with myself, that I was resisting some of the elements of the change. There had been an emotional evolution, I now realized, between the time I had given Joe his hand-job to the present. Now, the intimacy of that act genuinely meant something to me, and what's more, I had to accept the fact that I would not only tolerate Joe's further advances; in several different ways, I was looking forward to them, and with this acceptance, I had to realize that by extension, I was setting myself up for my first real sexual encounter as a woman. To confuse the point for you even further, I was bothered by the fact that I was not bothered by it. Our shopping trip was a lot of fun. Underwear was first on my mind, and that's where we spent a lot of time. A streak of self-consciousness around Joe had me favoring plain, conservative underwear, and it was Joe who guided me towards the more exotic. Finding my size was difficult, but not impossible, and I ended up with quite a few lacy items. Early on in the selection process, I sought Joe's approval on my choices, giggling...like a girl. I was enjoying this way more than I should have been. Joe even picked out a sexy nightgown for me, and was disappointed that I couldn't find one that would fit. A little more searching, however, and I came up with something just as nice. "That's for tonight," Joe said with a dirty smile as I tossed it into our buggy. Searching for clothes wasn't nearly as exciting, but it had to be done. Still unsure about my sizes - the sweat suit dilemma told me that I couldn't trust the tape measure entirely - I was more or less obligated to try everything on, which felt a little awkward, still having no underwear. But I was a trooper, and after what had to be more time than I'd ever spent in a store in my life, I had a small, practical wardrobe. I didn't mention it to Joe, but this small venture into the outside world told me that I most certainly didn't want to spend all my time hidden away in the lab, which, I believe, was where Joe expected me to stay. "What about makeup?" I asked. "Do you think I should try some makeup?" Joe shrugged, but his smile told me he liked the idea. "Let's go all the way with this..." I didn't know what I was doing in the make-up department, but I took some educated guesses. I figured I'd have plenty of time to practice, and, if nothing else, improve a little upon what the experiment had given me. As we checked out, I noticed - Joe wanted me to notice - the package of condoms that he dropped in the buggy. "Tell you what," Joe offered as we walked back to the van. "Let's get you dressed and we'll go somewhere for dinner." This came as a mild surprise because I never ate in restaurants before, but then I realized that the reason for this was because I felt self- conscious eating alone in restaurants. It was as if I was broadcasting the fact that I was a social outcast. So I could fully understand Joe wanting to eat out now that he had someone to eat out with. And don't forget, I still had that same sense of not fitting in as well as the relief of having someone with whom I could fit. Getting dressed in a van under normal circumstances would be awkward. Doing it with unfamiliar clothing, and unfamiliar body, and with Joe leering at me was beyond awkward. Somehow, it was a relief to get into a pair of panties: the simple reassurance of something that fit the right way and that, for want of a better word, protected the parts of me that most needed protection. I resisted Joe's suggestion of choosing the leopard-patterned bikini briefs and instead went with some plain old cotton hipsters. Joe teased me about my granny panties, but I pleaded with him to let me take things slowly. He seemed to understand. I struggled a bit with the bra, to Joe's amusement, and ended up turning to him for help getting it hooked in back. The relief of having my breasts supported for the first time is something I'm sure I could never adequately describe. This was a lacy white number, with cups transparent enough to let my dark nipples show through just a little bit. I didn't know this until Joe pointed it out for me, and when my hands reflexively covered the fronts of my breasts, he laughed and reached out to pull them down again. "I like it," he said. The rest of my chosen outfit was rather conservative: a pair of black pants and a white blouse. After we'd driven to the restaurant of our choice, I caught a glance at myself in one of the large mirrors in their foyer. The effect was - not bad, not good, just...well, strong. I think I got a sense of my new true identity for the first time. Purely by accident, I'd chosen clothes which flattered my plus-size figure and gave the impression that, with some work, I could even be mildly attractive. Of course, I'd have to do some serious experimentation with the subtleties of makeup, and my hair - which, during my creation, had simply grown in uniform length on my entire head - would certainly have to be worked on. But the potential was there...and it excited me. Of course, don't think that I didn't consider the possibility that I was losing my mind. "I like that..." We had been seated and were working on a shared appetizer when Joe made the comment, pointing his finger at my chest. I had to look down to see that he was talking about the cleavage which peeked out of the top of my blouse. I almost, out of reflex, reached up to pull it closed, but caught myself. "Of course you do," I said, rolling my eyes. But I smiled. "But doesn't it bother you that you're ogling me? I mean, knowing who I am up here?" I tapped at my forehead. "I should," he admitted. "But I'm finding that my libido distracts me from it." "What's even weirder," I added, "is that the craving I - or we, or whatever - always had to be accepted, liked, attractive - is just overwhelming me when it comes to this." "It's strange," Joe agreed. "It's a fulfillment on both sides. It's like we're allowing our emotions to overrule our minds here." "Maybe," I said, "we needed to do that. We've been needing to do it for years and years, and this is the opportunity." We went silent for a minute. Our eyes locked, and there didn't seem to be any need to explain things any further, because we simply knew. We knew it wasn't perfect, either. I was no beauty queen supermodel, and he was...well, he was a man. We were both going to have to accept some heavy duty compromises in our "soul mates." The thing was, at the moment, that was all right. We were strangely quiet during the drive home, and it wasn't just because we were satisfied with our meal. There was a five-hundred pound gorilla with us in the van: We were going to have sex when we got home. And at the moment, it seemed like the less said about it, the better. I was getting butterflies in my stomach, for sure, but they weren't doubts, just anxieties. Earlier in the day, while giving myself a thorough examination for the first time, I realized that I was, physically, a virgin, so, if everything I've read over the years was true, my first time was going to be difficult. I wondered whether Joe had figured this out as well. The silence continued once we got to the house. We carried in the bags, Joe went off to check his e-mail, and I headed to the bathroom. I took a quick, dried myself, and as I looked into the mirror while I toweled my hair dry, I was suddenly, inexplicably transfixed on what I saw. I'm aware that there's no way of explaining the feeling of staring at the reflection of an image which, according to every instinct one possesses, shouldn't be there, something that is utterly different from what had been there the past three decades, so I won't even try except to tell you that I was practically frozen in place. Although I was much heavier than what you'd consider your "traditional" beauty, there was something undeniably physically appealing about me. A lot of this I put down to the newness of my body. The skin was soft and supple as a baby's because, technically, it was. My breasts were very large, but had a great shape, and no signs of sagging at all. Gravity had not yet had a chance to take its toll. In spite of my curves, there was no cellulite. I turned around and looked over my shoulder at an ass I would have admired a few days earlier. I was a big, beautiful girl, and I knew that Joe was most appreciative of this. It was almost scary. I had brought the sexy nightgown into the bathroom with me, and put it on after my shower, then studied myself in the mirror once more. The nightgown was black, with a rather sturdy black bra on top and diaphanous material draping down from it, coming down to the middle of my thighs. It worked well with my big body. Were I the male in this crazy scenario, I would have found it sexy...which meant almost certainly that Joe would. I opted to go without panties, and the material of the gown was more than sheer enough so that Joe would see this instantly. I figured panties would just complicate things. As if they weren't complicated enough. For a moment, I was scared to come out of the bathroom. I wasn't sure where Joe was, and I felt enormously self-conscious, dressed as I was. Even though the whole idea of wearing the gown was to make an impression, I wanted nothing more than to rush into bed unnoticed and bury myself under the blankets. That wasn't going to happen. I heard Joe's voice calling for me: "You going to be in there all night?" No. I wasn't. I opened the door and walked towards the bedroom, peeking around the door first to see Joe, lying on the bed. He was still dressed, and smiled widely at me when he saw me. "Are you ready?" I said, trying to put a bit of a seductive tease into my voice. Why was I doing this? Because I knew it was what Joe wanted. No further explanation. "Absolutely," he said. With a graceful - sort of - little turn, I entered the doorway, spreading my arms in a grand "ta-da!" gesture and watching his face. His smile reassured me that I had not just made a fool out of myself. And when I heard the low, almost scary tone of his voice when he commanded, "Turn around," I felt chills down my entire body, puckering up my nipples and making my skin flush. I turned my back to him. "Just stay like that," he said. Not surprising: I well remembered that my favorite view of a woman was from behind. I never expected that I would be the one being viewed. In my mind, I imagined what I must have looked like. The way the lace on the nightgown tickled me as I moved, I guessed that the very bottom of my ass was peeking out at him from under the hem. I was glad I'd decided against wearing panties. And now came the suspense, as I heard the bed creak: he was getting up. I heard his socks as they shuffled across the carpet, coming nearer. I shifted slightly from one foot to the other and felt, for the first time, wetness between my legs. I wasn't just excited; I was damned excited, and only faintly realized that the line between male and female had, in my mind, in my body, been crossed, and it didn't feel awkward. It was the most natural thing in the world. All things considered. He came up behind me and reached up to cup my breasts in his hands, finding my distended nipples with his forefingers and thumbs, pinching them, drawing them outward from my body as I felt an electric shock moving from my nipples down between my legs, and the moan that came from me was so involuntarily that it took a moment to realize that the sound came from me. The next sound was me saying, "Do it harder," and that, I'm afraid, was quite deliberate. How do you describe the feeling of losing control to passion? Of letting one's libido overrule reason? Here I was, only days away from being one hundred percent male, and I can tell you that whatever it was controlling both my body and my mind was entirely female. Joe eagerly pinched my nipples harder, giving them a half-twist, and the pain it caused me got confused somewhere along the way to my brain and something down between my legs convulsed with pleasure and I let out a strangled scream. I didn't want it to stop, not now, not ever. And of course, Joe picked up on this immediately. "Like it rough, huh?" he said, breathing hard himself. "You want more?" I nodded - I think - but we were now moving around so much it would have been impossible to notice it. "Say it," he hissed, and though his voice was full of affected menace, it excited rather than frightened me. "I like it..." I moaned. "I want more..." Moving too quickly for me to really register what was happening, Joe released my nipples, grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. I didn't even start to assess my situation before he grabbed the sides of my head and pressed his lips hard against mine, digging my lips apart with his tongue, invading my mouth as he reached around and grabbed my big ass in his big hands and pulled me into him. I was dragged forward with his momentum, kissing him back and grinding myself against his leg, feeling, for the first time, the rush of sexual pleasure combined with emotional lust, and it was beautiful. I was his, without question, and the rush from my newly-discovered submissive streak only put fuel to the fire. Did he sense it? No way to tell, except for his next move, which was to release me from his bear hug, pull back, and grab my nipples through the thin cloth of my nightgown once again, only this time, he pulled upward, hard, pulling me to my tiptoes, helpless in his grip. As I struggled to maintain my balance and keep the pressure off of my nipples, I felt him pulling me forward now, towards the bed. I had no choice but to be led, pain and pleasure coursing through my body now, and as I moved, I realized that I was now soaked between my legs, my wetness smearing between my thighs. Having spent ninety-nine percent of my lifetime in the body Joe now occupied, I knew that he didn't have an athletic or even mildly coordinated bone in his body. It took my completely by surprise, therefore, when he executed a brilliant maneuver where he pulled me forward, off balance, falling towards the bed, then maneuvering his own sizeable bulk so that he was sitting on the bed's edge, with me falling perfectly over his lap. Or, rather, not so much perfectly, but in a perfect position, face down, with my legs spread and my pubic bone jammed against his knee. Just as quickly, he had his big left arm around my shoulders, pinning me down on one end, and his leg hooked around my inside leg, very effectively immobilizing me. I struggled, but his strength was considerable compared to mine. Of course, there was no doubt at all what he had in mind with me in this position, and there really wasn't anything I could do about it. WHAP! As much as I was expecting that first slap, what I didn't expect was how much it would hurt as Joe's huge hand landed squarely on the left cheek of my ass, with enough force to actually move my body forward on his lap. "No, wait..." WHAP! "Shit! That hurts!" "It's not meant to tickle," he said, a laugh in his voice that belied the force of the next- WHAP! "Wait, wait, you're hitting too hard!" WHAP! WHAP! He hit me with tow consecutive blows in the exact same spot, which made me squeak and struggle to get off of his lap. He tightened his grip, to demonstrate to me how helpless I was. "No, seriously, it's too..." WHAP! "Please!" WHAP! Could it be that I was actually crying? "Please..." There was no mistaking it in my voice. I was crying. Whether it was from a sense of mercy or something else entirely, as I lay on Joe's lap, awaiting the next explosion of pain on my tortured ass, he threw me a curve ball, and I started when his hand slipped between my legs. For some reason, I was mortified for him to find how wet I was, and when his fingers glided effortlessly through my profuse lubrication, I heard him chuckle. "You like this, don't you?" he teased me. WHAP! "Answer me when I ask you a question," he demanded. He was playacting, I knew, but he was doing a damned convincing job at it. "I like it," I admitted with a sniffle, "but you're hitting too hard." "Such a naughty little girl," he said, moving his fingers around, and when he spread my wetness to my clitoris, my entire body contracted and I let out an involuntary yelp. This was all he needed. I always remember thinking in the past that if I ever did get a girl, I'd know what to do from having fantasized so much about it. Turns out, I was right, as Joe twisted his wrist in such a way that my clitoris was at the very tip of his index finger, which he began flicking back and forth very quickly. My body seized up at the initial sensation, my voice caught in my throat, and my only thought was that the pleasure was so intense and overwhelming that I might have preferred to go back to the spanking instead. The next two or three minutes were a blur, and I was aware I was making a hell of a lot of noice, but that I had no control over it. Joe was playing me, like a violin, slowing up, speeding down, prolonging my release. I had a death grip on his thigh with my right hand as he brought me closer and closer to the edge of orgasm, and then, finally, mercifully, he took me over the top, and I screamed when it happened. He allowed me to calm down, my body going through jerks and spasms as my muscles slowly returned to normal. I was just about to sigh with relief, when... WHACK! Oh, no... WHACK! "Please, Joe, stop...!" WHACK! "Stop...I'll do anything...!" And that was precisely what he wanted to hear... If Joe's kiss at the bedroom door represented - no pun intended - one threshold crossed over, at least it could be said that it happened in the heat of passion, with an almost uncontrollable force, with a kind of resist-or-die momentum. What happened next was, certainly, a quantum leap, much more sharply defined by its deliberateness: here I was, on my knees, my feet tucked under my burning ass cheeks, my face only inches away from Joe's turgid erection, with no question at all that I was about to give my first blowjob. Joe lay back on the bed, pillows supporting his head and shoulders so that he could see over his belly and watch what I was doing. This definitely raised the bar on the emotions I was feeling, and my stomach was in knots as I took his dick between my fingers and stroked it a couple of times as a prelude of what was to come. A drop of clear fluid had accumulated on the tip of his penis, and the my compromised sense of logic told me that the best thing to do was to taste it. Unfortunately, my mouth was so dry from my recent exertions, that I couldn't really taste anything, and, if I was actually more concerned that my dry tongue would feel like sandpaper to Joe. Fortunately, there was a half-empty can of soda on the bedside table, and I took a drink before proceeding further. There are no real instincts when it comes to approaching the fine art of cocksucking for the first time, I discovered. It was largely improvisation and whatever I'd learned from the countless hours of pornography I'd watched in my lifetime. I took things slowly at first, running my tongue up and down the length of Joe's shaft, and he seemed to enjoy this, judging by the look on his face. It seemed like a jump to actually take his cock into my mouth, and I hesitated quite a bit before taking a deep breath, opening wide, and allowing my lips to take in the crown. I sucked, and drew a small amount of fluid into my mouth; again, there was not enough for me to register a taste, but my efforts were enough to elicit a very nice moan from Joe, who shifted his hips forward to penetrate my mouth more. It was an implied request, and I made an effort to take as much of him in as I can. Unless you've ever tried this, I doubt you can realize the difficulty involved. I never thought I was particularly well-endowed, but opening my jaws to accommodate him made them instantly sore, and when I heard Joe grunt and say, "Watch the teeth..." it forced me to open even wider. With great effort, I got all but an inch of him inside - enough to get my nose tickled by his pubic hair - but not without gagging; this wasn't something I could do repeatedly. Instead, I stuck to establishing a slow rhythm, and taking just a few inches of him, in and out. He didn't seem to mind. After less than a minute, he stopped watching me, let his head fall back, and moaned, "That feels so good, baby..." He called me baby... "I think we need to wait on taking your virginity," he said, his voice low and breathy. "I want to finish in your mouth this time..." Oh, great. It wasn't that the idea was totally unappealing - it was and it wasn't - so much as that it took me by surprise. Putting your mouth on a cock is kind of like a tacit commitment; you're kind of obliged to see things through. I wouldn't have had the heart to simply pull my mouth away and say, "Look, this is really repulsive, and I don't think I can do it anymore." That would be cruel. I know how sensitive Joe had to be to rejection; I simply couldn't do it. But now, the stakes were higher, and as I kept my rhythm going, I had to think about what I was going to do when the moment came (no pun intended). As lost in the moment as I was, I knew that the thing to do was to swallow. But could I swallow? I had no idea. I'd never tasted semen. I didn't know how I would handle it. I guess I was going to find out. My jaw was killing me after two minutes or so, and I had to vary things up, letting his cock slip out of my mouth and going to work at licking him lovingly while I kept him stimulated with my hand. When I returned to sucking, I kept stroking him, so that my mouth and my hand were performing the same rhythm. I could hear from his breathing that I was doing something right. Exactly how right I didn't realize until I felt his thighs begin to shudder, and his breathing grow more shallow. Any second now. And I was right. He let out a long, tight groan and I learned my next lesson in the art of giving head. When he began to ejaculate, Joe had thrust up his hips to bury himself deeper in my mouth. What I discovered was that I couldn't accommodate the semen this way, and had to pull my head back so that my lips just barely surrounded the head, still moving my hand as he shot spurt after spurt into my mouth. It seemed like an incredible amount, and I realized that his copious discharge was the result of how excited this entire episode had gotten him. Unfortunately, when it came time to swallow the awful-tasting stuff in my mouth, I gagged with the effort and damned nearly threw up. Figuring a lap full of vomit would ruin the moment, I grabbed for the top sheet and brought it up to my mouth, depositing the whole load into it. Even still, his cock continued to pulse, and two or three small spurts oozed from his wilting penis. To show my dedication - he was watching me now - I licked up these last few drops and swallowed. I didn't gag this time. I just smiled as I crawled up the bed to lay next to him, my head pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arm around me, stroking my naked back. It was time for some pillow talk. "So," I asked, "what was all that?" He shook his head just slightly. "I don't know what that was." "I do," I said. "It was the manifestation of the fantasies we had...back when we were the same person. You know, the S&M stuff? Think about it." He did. "I guess you're right." "And," I continued, "since our fantasies were essentially identical, when it started happening, we just kept pushing it forward and forward." "I was a little worried I was hurting you." "You were," I giggled. "My ass is still burning. But I liked it. I liked it a lot." "Does that mean you want to try it again?" I nodded. "Yes, but...what was so exciting was that it came as such a surprise. I didn't know what was happening until we were right in the middle and it was too late." "Were you disappointed that I wanted to finish in your mouth? That I didn't take your virginity?" I stroked his chest. "A little. But when it does happen, that will make it so much better." "It'll happen," he said. "Give me about half an hour." It was twenty-five minutes before he sweetly asked me if I would suck him again to get him ready. I was pumped up an - I now recognized - horny as hell and ready to get my pesky hymen out of the way. I eagerly went down on him, and it took almost no time at all before his dick was standing at attention, ready to attack. I half wondered - half hoped - that he would get rough again, but to my surprise, he took things in the entirely opposite direction. He pulled my head from between his legs, sat up, and kissed me tenderly. Soon after, I was kissing him back, and we made out like this for quite a while. This wasn't just lust. There was something more there. I could feel it, and I knew he felt it too. We had crossed another line. Gently, he put his hand on my shoulders and laid me down on the bed. For a moment, he hovered over me, looking down. He reached up to stroke one of my nipples to full attention, and I was absolutely stunned at the sexual impact something so simple had on me. To say I was putty in his hands was to understate, and he proved this by moving down on the bed, resting a hand on either of my knees, and gently urging my legs apart. I felt deliciously naughty as he studied the most intimate parts of my anatomy, just smiling admiringly. Soon after, he readjusted himself so that he was lying on his stomach between my legs, his face hovering between my open legs. I wasn't expecting this, and to be frank, I wasn't sure I was ready for it. This changed when I felt his tongue on me, opening my thickly-lubricated vulva like a knife going through butter, making me quiver and moan involuntarily. Even though the next ten minutes were a rollercoaster ride of my body's sexual responses, I was aware enough t admire the care and attention he took to pleasing me, experimenting with different techniques until he found the exact way to send me into throes of ecstasy. (My body best responds, apparently, to slow circles around my clitoris with the tip of a tongue. The lighter the touch the better. So now you know.) He brought me to a climax four times before he stopped. What he did next was just...perfect. Perfect and simple. He scooted forward on the bed and just held me in his arms until my trembling body recovered from what he'd put me through. And once the tremors stopped and my breathing returned to normal, and I was experiencing a sense of peace and tranquility I don't think I'd ever known before, I heard him whisper softly, "Are you ready?" My insides tensed up once again. They had to. I nodded. Joe kissed me softly, then reached over to the bedside table, to the box of condoms he'd purchased earlier, and did his best to open one of the envelopes without breaking the mood of the moment. What he didn't realize was that I was so locked into the moment that I almost didn't notice. Almost. It was quite a contrast from our frantic, animalistic first encounter. He was incredibly gentle, almost timid in his approach. He sat up on the bed, rested a hand on each of my knees, and eased my legs apart. And it was at that moment that I went into a kind of sensory overload, with chills all over, my skin flushing hot, my nipples hardening so tightly they were almost painful. Joe moved between my legs, and at the first touch of skin on skin, I almost jumped out of my skin. He eased his big body forward, lying on top of me but supporting himself with his arms, looking down on me with a look that was a combination of concern and lust. "Are you sure you want this?" he said. In a way, it was a dumb question, but asking was a gallant gesture, I guess. I nodded again. Balancing himself on one arm, Joe reached down and lined his penis into position. That touch alone set off another set of chills. "This might hurt," he said. It did hurt. I'd like to be able to write that losing my virginity in my second life was a wonderful experience, but that wasn't how it happened. Later on, I did some research and found that women who waited until their thirties to lose their virginity often