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I sunk into the soft leather of the couch. The smell was wonderful. Nothing like leather. Nothing. I settled in and waited for that first question. Each psychiatrist I had seen over the past two years - I had seen several - started off differently. Maybe it's my paranoia - a word which appear often in my numerous psyche profiles - but I'm convinced that there's an underlying egomania rampant in all who choose the profession. They take pride in cracking open people's heads. I guess you could say that I have an aggressive ambivalence towards psychiatrists: Each time I was ordered to see one - I was never a voluntary patient - I loathed the idea, considering it to be a deep violation of my emotional privacy. At the same time, I never finished a set of sessions with one where I didn't feel better. Curious, isn't it? "Should I call you Josie? Or do you still go by Joe?" she asked. Her name was Karen. Young. Pretty. Professional. Distant but friendly. On sight, I liked her better than most of the others. She had a practiced voice, smooth as honey, but concealing a wall of authority. "Of course I don't go by Joe. Everyone calls me Josie," I said. "How long," she began, "have you been with The Program?" I must have winced. She must have seen it. "Why the reaction?" she asked, and under any other circumstances, I might have simply blown things off and changed the subject. The truth was that at that moment, I was resentful as hell at having to see another shrink as the solution to a problem that had absolutely nothing to do with my mental health. So I vented. "I hate that name," I said, "'The Program.' All clean and sanitized, like it represented order and organization, and people who knew what the hell they were doing." "You blame The Program for some of the issues you're having?" "I blame The Program," I said, "for my entire, miserable life." "You're going to have to help me to understand, Mrs. Vargas," she said. I hated being called "Mrs. Vargas" because it reminded me that I was still married to Mr. Vargas. "I've reviewed your files thoroughly. You seem to have a relatively stress-free life. Your husband has a good job. You have supplemental money from The Program. All in all, you seem to be leading a much better life than you ever did as a man..." Her ignorance of the facts - or was it her pat assumptions that financial security automatically equated to happiness? - annoyed me. "It's complicated," was the only answer I could think of at the moment. "We have plenty of time," she said. Of course we did. The government was paying her by the hour. "I feel cheated," I said. "Like I didn't get what I was promised." "Mrs. Vargas..." "Call me Josie..." "Josie... I've treated many participants in The Program, so I'm well- acquainted with the terms and conditions under which you..." "So you're their apologist, huh?" I interrupted her. "I thought so." To her credit, she didn't seem offended. "I'm an independent contractor, Josie. By law. I'm obligated to be objective. I'm simply saying that the contract..." "I know what the contract says," I said flatly. She paused, then, in that calm, flat voice, said, "Let's get some background. How long have you been with The Program?" Okay. It was time to go through the motions. "Two years. I converted four months..." The initial proponents of The Program insisted, at the time of its inception, that its existence was an absolute must, that the fate of humankind depended upon not only its existence but its financing, which, within three years, outgrew the defense budget. As outrageous as this claim might seem, it was true. It had taken, we now know, four years before the virus which sterilized all natural-born human females was even discovered to exist, and by the time its ultimate symptom had been discovered, it was too late: the birthrate worldwide had dropped, and even before the medical world fully understood what was going on, the economic experts had gone into complete panic mode. It didn't take an expert to figure out what was happening, or, more importantly, what was going to happen in the next three decades. If the birth-rate dropped to zero - which was where things were surely headed - the economic consequences were beyond cataclysmic. There would simply not be a new generation to look over the current generation. And then... if the very last births on earth were now upon us, we were looking at the obliteration of the species. Predictably, every half-assed scientist and statistician fed the doomsday statistics to the media, who gobbled it up like hungry rats. Little wonder, then, that The Program got all the financing it needed. Little wonder also that instead of the spirit of cooperation among nations one might expect at so desperate a time, it turned into a race. This one had a big prize at the finish line: the country - or, more exactly, group of countries - who could find a solution would unquestionably rule the world. When the United States announced that it had found that solution, the entire world took notice, and although they were carefully veiled on details and methodology, there was universal agreement that if it worked, there was still hope for our species. The Program - it was never officially given any other name - and its creators were hailed as heroes. Ten years after the fact, I have a somewhat different opinion of them. "I applied for the same reason a lot of guys did back then," I told the doctor. "I was broke, no prospects, no future. It seemed like a great way for a brand new start in life." "Yes," she said, "but how did you feel about all of the baggage that was attached to it? I mean, certainly, it represented a new start, but how did you feel about that kind of new start? As a woman? As a mother and wife?" "You mean as breeding stock?" I said, too bitterly, and reminded myself to be a little more guarded. "If that was the way you saw it..." "No," I said, "and that's kind of my point. That wasn't the way I saw it. Part of me bought into the whole 'saving the human race' hype, part of it was for selfish reasons, and the first two psychiatrists I had to see made me well aware of what it was I was getting into." "Did the idea of being a woman appeal to you on any level, or was it just the ancillary benefits?" "I think I accepted it; I don't know that it appealed to me at all. Especially not at first. But I got used to the idea." "Then," she said, not judgmental but not sympathetic, "you lied on your application." "Yeah," I said. "I suppose I did." She said nothing, but wrote down a note in her book. The agreement was as complicated as it was permanent. Male volunteers were sought nationwide to become "wives." The physical transformation - a top secret process - would be done free of charge, and the candidates matched with volunteer "husbands." The agreement called for the couple to produce a minimum of three children. Government benefits for these couples were plentiful and lucrative, with bonuses for additional children. It was a way, conceivably, for people with no other hope to live financially comfortable and secure lives. In my case, things had gotten so bad that I'd become suicidal, and had sunk to the point where I was convinced that anything would be better than what I had. The idea of financial security - backed by the U.S. government, no less - had great appeal. "Of course," I admitted to the doctor, "I had incredibly mixed feelings about it all. I was a heterosexual male, unquestionably, and the idea of becoming another man's wife - and all that went along with it - had no appeal to me in itself. I slipped into a 'how bad could it be?' mode, and compared it to my life at the time. It was a no-brainer." "It's still a radical change." "And to be honest," I said, "that in itself appealed to me... I remember the day I got the acceptance letter," I continued. "I knew what the letter was from the envelope, but I was one hundred percent convinced I'd be rejected. I didn't think I had what it took, I thought I did horrible on the psyche evaluations. I opened the letter just to go through the motions. "And yet, there it was, in big, boldfaced letters: 'Congratulations!' I remember my heart jumping to my throat, getting chills all over, and getting this combination of excitement and apprehension all at the same time." "Did you consider backing out?" she asked. "No. Truthfully, no. I thought, okay, I'm committed. It's time for a new life. I signed the papers and waited until it was my turn. Of course, in the meantime, I found out who my husband was going to be. "I guess I was na?ve or ignorant, thinking that they were going to match me up with someone in another part of the country, and I'd be whisked away to start my new life." "No, they specifically work to match you with someone local." "I know that now," I said. "I found it out when I saw the name, and realized it was someone I already knew." "Jake Vargas," she said, as though I didn't know. "My stomach dropped at first. I knew Jake casually, someone I'd run into every now and then in town. Pretty much a loser, just like I was. The kind of guy who doesn't have what it takes to attract women, and comes across kind of creepy." "A lot of the volunteers fit into that category," she said. "I can see why. And soon, I came out to my friends with the news of what I was planning to do. You've got to remember that back then, it was almost a patriotic thing to do; there was no shame in it, and you got to sort of bask in the light of the fact that you were doing your service to mankind. So nobody I knew derided me for my decision, but many of them found the idea of me being matched to Jake absolutely hilarious. I guess you have to know Jake and my friends to understand. They knew how desperate Jake was for female companionship, and the idea that I would be the one providing that companionship was an endless source of amusement to them. My female friends, in particular, seemed to delight in the idea that it was me who was going to have to keep him sexually satisfied, that I was going to be legally obligated to do so, to become the mother of his children. At first, I don't think anyone believed I would go through with it, but as time wore on, they realized that I pretty much didn't have a choice. "My friend Misty took it particularly seriously. She's old fashioned in a lot of ways, with old fashioned values, particularly when it comes to marriage. In fact, it was she who insisted that Jake and I have an actual, honest-to-goodness wedding once I'd made my conversion. "But I'm jumping ahead of myself..." "When did you first talk to Jake about this?" she wanted to know. "What was his reaction?" "I called him and told him, and we met for lunch downtown. It was one of the single most awkward moments of my life. Here I was, meeting with this guy whom I was going to marry, to sleep with, to do all kinds of things with, and yet, at that point, I was still who I was. "He reacted better to the idea than I did, I think. And to give him credit, he did put me at ease. More than I had been, at least. In the end, we agreed that we wouldn't spend any time with each other until after the conversion. It seemed like the natural thing to do. "After that, things went on the fast track. I spent a month or two in heavy therapy as the doctors planned the conversion. I always had the feeling things were moving too quickly, though, that I should have been given a little more time. I suspect this was so that I wouldn't change my mind." I turned my head to look at her. "Is that deliberate? Is that why they do it so fast?" She shrugged. "I don't know how they plan those things." I didn't believe her. "In no time at all, I'm in the hospital for the pre-treatment, and now I'm really scared out of my wits. You know the actual medical procedure, right?" "I do." "They're telling me that they're going to put me to sleep for five days, and then I'll wake up and the person who I was will be history. Can you imagine what that's like, the day before they're going to put you out? They had to tranquilize me first, literally. If I could have backed out, that was when I would have done it. I remember crying all that day, wondering whether I was making a terrible, terrible mistake." "And then?" I sighed heavily. "Then they did it. Of course, I don't remember anything while I was out, and the first few hours after I woke up are pretty much a blur. I remember my friends being there in the room with me as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I wasn't aware of my physical self at that point. I wasn't really aware of much of everything. I don't think it was until my second day of drifting in and out that I could really wrap my mind around what had happened, and it was Misty who was there for me when I asked how things had gone. At that exact moment, I realized that my voice had changed, and the whole thing struck me all at once. "Misty told me everything had gone well, that the doctors had done an exceptional job, and that they were looking at me leaving the hospital in two weeks. But that wasn't what I wanted to know. I wanted to know...if the change was...well, if it was done right." "Your records say you ranked in the top ten percentile of successful conversion." "Yes, but at that moment, I just wanted to know that everything was in its right place. Misty told me she had peeked, and that everything seemed to be perfect. A few hours later, I had Misty help me, and with a mirror, I got to see for myself." "What was that moment like?" Karen asked. "That moment when you got to see what had happened to you?" "It was all a daze, like I was numb. Hard to accept at first, like I was watching some bizarre television show. None of it seemed real. Until I had a while to come to my senses, to think about what was happening. And then it was all too real." "But you had your friends there for support." "That's true, but I was still aware of this...tension, or aura, or whatever you want to call it that was in the air. My friends were supportive, sure, but there was the fact that they knew, you know, that I was being set up to be this horny guy's sex toy. I caught some of the snide jokes behind my back, and to my face, for that matter, when Jake's name came up. And then, of course, came the inevitable: that first visit from Jake himself." "And what was that like?" I chuckled dryly. "He brought me flowers...that first time. You know what converts look like right after the procedure. I was all swollen, bruised, and when they first told me he was there, I didn't want him to come in and see me like that." "That's significant," she said. "Significant why?" "Well why would it be important enough to you to be concerned about what he thought?" "I was concerned, and in reality, that was the first inkling I had that maybe I had changed inside as well as outside. And that inkling became stronger when he walked into the room. I felt an immediate sense of need for him. Not physically, or sexually, but emotionally. This was my fianc?e, and I needed his support, and so when he approached me, I actually held out my arms for him to hug me. He was a little surprised - he had to be - but he came towards me and I can still remember that feeling, burying my face into his chest, and starting to cry a little. It was overwhelming, like the emotions completely took over my conscious mind. "When we broke the hug, he asked me how I felt, how I was doing, all kinds of concerned questions. And he sat in the chair next to the bed and he held my hand, and I realized that what he was doing was something that was utterly inconceivable back before the conversion. He accepted the concept of what I was now, and as I derived comfort from his affections, I realized that I was accepting it, too. "He didn't spend long that first time. I pretended to be groggy and that I needed to sleep, and he seemed relieved, so it was mutual. But as he got up to go, he leaned forward to kiss me, and while, in that first instant of realization, I tensed up with the realization of what was about to happen, I just as quickly relaxed and tilted my head up so that he could put his lips on mine. I kissed him back, and felt the butterflies in the pit of my stomach and the feeling that he was satisfying a genuine need, and I reached up and put my hands on his shoulders to hold him there for a moment. "When he walked out, I was a million times more confused than I had ever been." "But it's not a unique phenomenon," the doctor noted. "In fact, it happens a lot, and it's considered a valuable part of a successful match." "In my mind, it was beyond understanding," I insisted. "There I was, alone in my room, realizing that I had accepted this man - this geeky man, whom I had never taken serious before - as my mate, and a far corner of my mind was screaming at the ridiculousness of it all." Karen shifted in her chair. "Nothing you're telling me seems at all out of the ordinary. In fact, from the sounds of things, you had an easier emotional transition than a lot of other subjects. Did your acceptance concern you?" "Everything concerned me at first, as I tried to stir this all around in my head. Part of me still felt a desperate need to hold on to some part of my masculinity, part of me realized how futile it was. "The next day, I had a visit from an old friend, Mike, the publisher of our weekly newspaper. He wanted to visit me and offer his support, of course, but he also wanted to do a story on the conversion. He promised that it would make me look like a hero, and I believed him, but the questions he asked me...let's just say that at least a few of them were questions he could never use in the paper, and gradually, I realized why. Mike was always something of a horn-dog. Happily married, but there wasn't anything in a skirt that he wouldn't flirt with, and I slowly came to the conclusion that he was...well, not coming on to me, but...it's hard to understand. Like he instantly began thinking of me in the same way he thought of every other woman in the world." "How did that make you feel?" "Creepy. It was kind of an epiphany, but something I should have realized all along, that suddenly, even as hideous as I might have been at that point, I still represented something to men that I had never represented before." "A potential sex partner..." "Exactly. And I don't know why it wasn't so obvious, even before the conversion." "Perhaps it took someone close to you to bring it into focus." "That's exactly what it was. Midway through his visit, he asked about my breasts: what size they were, which I actually didn't know at the time. I knew they were big, but it wouldn't be for another day or two before Misty actually measured me for a bra. The point is that there was something...not creepy, but, you know, very real about the fact that Mike was asking about my breasts, which means that he had been looking at my breasts, and when a guy like Mike looks at a woman's breasts...what thoughts were going through his mind? I could hardly believe it was just...you know, innocent. That wasn't Mike." "Did he do anything else so forward?" "No. He left. We agreed that he could take pictures after the swelling had gone down, and he left. Nothing more to it. "The a few days later, Misty brought over some of her friends and they held a little party for me. They called it a wedding shower, but I think they did that just to make me feel awkward. They all gave me clothes - Misty had measured me that morning. A lot of it was practical clothing, but a few of the gifts I got had a naughtier twist. Some sexy underwear, stuff like that. And each time I got one of those gifts, I would hear comments about how much Jake was going to enjoy it, and I know I blushed, and I know that this was why they did it. "Later that evening, Jake came to visit again, and this time, he walked straight in and kissed me - in front of Misty and a few of the girls who were still there. A little awkward, especially because I had a distinct physical reaction to his kiss, and felt obligated to hide it." "What sort of physical reaction?" I hesitated before answering, "It was a distinctly sexual rush. My nipples erected. Chills. I was aware that I was lubricating. I've read somewhere that when the conversion process was being perfected, they found up a way to amp up the sexual response for the subjects." "That's true," she said. "Dr. Edward Nelson wrote an excellent paper on the subject. He and I went to grad school together." "Well, I can tell you that it works, and there I was, literally falling to pieces over the kiss of this man with almost no sex appeal. And everybody in the room knew it, too, no matter how hard I tried to hide it." "What happened next?" "My friends stayed for a while - I think they wanted to watch us together, for some reason - then they left us alone. That was a memorable moment." "Why is that?" "Well, you know, there we were: Husband and wife, almost, but still strangers. He was, of course, eager for me, and I, almost beyond my will, was in his spell. Of course, there was no way we could have had sex yet - I hadn't healed enough - but the sexual tension was...overwhelming. For a few moments, we just sat in silence, him holding my hand, until finally..." I sighed. Even the memory was affecting me. "Finally, he asked to see my breasts." The doctor smiled. It was her first show of any emotion. "He did?" "Yeah. He took on this really macho air, like, 'They're mine, and I deserve to see 'em!' but I could tell it wasn't really sincere, so it was cute rather than revolting." "And did you show him?" "Of course. It was awkward, because I was still in a hospital gown, but I worked it down my shoulders and there they were. He immediately reached out and touched them, and it drove me crazy. He toyed with the nipples, and I swear to you, I came close to climaxing. It was so intense that I had to pull his hands away and pull my gown back up." "Was he disappointed?" "I think he understood what I was going through, and I'm sure he was disappointed, but he didn't protest. He did, however, ask to see between my legs." "Did you show him?" I got momentarily weak and let a slight smile play upon my lips. "No. Emotionally, I wasn't ready, and at the same time, I was afraid that...well, that things might have gone too far. I made some kind of joke that we had to wait for our wedding night, and since Jake was so used to rejection anyway, he didn't argue. Instead, we sat and talked a little longer, then he went home." "Did he kiss you goodbye?" I wasn't expecting that question, though, looking back, I suppose I should have been. "Yes. And it was quite exciting." "Good," she said, and I was starting to wonder whether her interest in the story was becoming somewhat more than professional. Probably not. "As a matter of fact," I added boldly, "after he left, I made my first attempt at masturbating as a woman." "Really?" "Yeah. Unsuccessfully, I'm afraid. I just wasn't healed satisfactorily. What was significant, though, to me, was that the sexual desires which drove me that far were strictly feminine." "Explain," she said. "His kiss, plus all that had gone before it, exposing my breasts to him and so on, left my head spinning." "Did you fantasize about Jake?" "Yes. Absolutely." "What kinds of fantasies?" "Sexual fantasies." "More specifically..." It felt like a violation of my privacy, and there was a defiance in my voice when I said, "About being fucked, about him throwing me down on the bed and having his way with me, about being desired by him, giving him pleasure. I fantasized about how big his cock was, about what it tasted like, about how it was going to feel taking my virginity, what it was going to be like being his wife, being his sexual slave. Good enough?" "I'm not trying to irritate you with these questions, Josie." "Maybe not," I said, "but I'm damned sure going to give you honest answers." "That's what I want." "Anyway," I said, calming down just a bit, "I was too sore to really do anything, which, I guess, was my first encounter with female sexual frustration. Another lesson learned, right?" "You seem to be interpreting these feelings in a negative light, like they're bad things. But I've talked to many converts who would have gladly traded places with you. I've treated converts whose feminine instincts never kicked in, who found themselves in situations where they had to face nightly sexual encounters which were absolutely repugnant to them. I'd say you were pretty lucky." "This is only the beginning of my story," I said. "Fair enough. Go on." "It was two days later that I was released from the hospital. Misty insisted that I stay with her and her husband until the wedding ceremony she had arranged for us. It was a crash course in being a woman. Her daughter, Sharon, was spending time with me, teaching me about makeup and clothing and such." "Did you not have a series of orientation sessions prior to your conversion? That's standard practice?" "I did, but it's different when you're a man being taught that stuff than it is being a woman, where it matters right now. More than that, though, was the fact that I knew I'd also lucked out with my looks. I didn't make a bad-looking woman, so I wanted to emphasize that. It became terribly important to me emotionally, for whatever reason. I didn't want to be seen as some kind of half-baked convert, because I've seen those people. I embraced my good looks, my figure, my breasts, and I wanted to do everything I could to present it all in the best possible way." I turned to look at her over my shoulder. "I'm sure The Program appreciates that, don't they?" "I don't speak for The Program." "Well every piece of promotional material I've ever seen from them features converts who are absolutely stunning. I think it's very important to them, public-relations wise." "That would make sense." "Anyway," I continued, "I only had a few days to prepare for my wedding. On one level, it was really superficial. Misty is kind of a superficial person, in her own sweet way, and to her, I think it was just an excuse to have a celebration. For me...let's say that I knew I was putting more stock into it than maybe I should have, but I didn't care. I forced myself to believe in the make-believe for a little while. No harm, no foul, right? "If nothing else, I owed it to Misty. She went all out, completely above and beyond her call of duty. She even found a wedding gown for me; her daughter-in-law is about my size and still had hers, so Misty altered it for me. It was incredible. The dress, I mean, really low- cut, with my boobs damned near spilling out. And Jake in a tux. Ridiculous, looking back, but it was like...I don't know, some kind of mad dream or something. One hundred percent plastic fantasy: enjoy it if you want to. I did. I got drunk, danced with men who had known me as a man for years...the works. Matter of fact, Mike was there, and when he got to dance with me, he said, 'Confidentially...' - I remember that word, 'confidentially,' - 'Confidentially,' he says, 'I'd give a month's pay to stick my dick between those tits...' and damn me, but I was actually flattered. I think I said something like it was too bad he hadn't signed up for The Program or something, but it was a nice little moment between us, and when the dance was over, he patted me on the ass - very discretely, nobody noticed - but it was...it affected me, let's just say that, and it drew my attention towards the effect the attentions of men had upon me." "These are all very womanly traits.." "Maybe," I said. "But you could also argue that everybody wants to be attractive. I just came to the conclusion that with big tits and a broad ass, I wasn't going to be attracting very many women..." I chuckled at my own joke. "Of course, I couldn't dwell too much on Mike's little love pat, because after all, it was my wedding night." "So how did that go?" "It was almost surreal, actually. The point where everything became real. Up until that point, everything was moving too fast to really register and sink in. But then, there I was, in a hotel room, alone with my husband, and there was no backing down now. My marriage was about to be consummated, and the look on Jake's face as he closed the door behind us was...predatory. I was his to be taken, and he knew it, and I have to admit that at that moment, fear and anxiety overruled any eroticism I might have felt. It was as if I had to cross a hurdle before it would be my time to enjoy any of this. "That's not to say," I went on, "that Jake didn't do his best to put me at ease. He did. He was surprisingly gentle with me, considering that he had been waiting so long for this moment. In the end, it was...okay." "You're not going to share the details?" I looked over at her. "You really want me to?" She nodded. "I think it's critical if I'm going to understand how you got to where you are now. These initial experiences, they leave an indelible imprint. They shape you, make you who you are, whether you were born a girl or converted into one." Now, at this point, you might be thinking that this woman was just a little too interested in all of the gruesome details. I was thinking that too. At the same time, however, I must confess to being just a little bit eager to share these details. It felt good to share them with someone, and it led me to concede - just a little bit - that perhaps this session really was doing me some good. I sighed before I began. "Well," I said, "let's see. We made it into the bedroom, and Jake started to undress me. It was like he was unwrapping a present, really, marveling as each inch of me was revealed to him, and me, well, I was beyond overwhelmed. It was terrifying and it was erotic, and it was intense, and what affected me the most was that I knew I couldn't stop it. "He'd stripped me down to my bra and panties and just looked at me, and the way his eyes moved over me was like being taken in its own right." And then I laughed. "What's funny?" she asked. "This next part. See, I felt that the situation was completely out of control, out of my hands, and I felt a desperate need to regain some modicum of control, anything, just so that I could stop the world from spinning out of control around me." "So what did you do?" I smirked. "I decided it was time to give myself a crash course in the fine art of giving a blowjob..." I have to admit, I was deliberately going for shock value here, but she wasn't going to give me the satisfaction. "That's a significant step," she said. "In fact, there are a lot of converts who can't get past that aspect of their new sexuality. I've seen it quite often. As a matter of fact, that's one of the criteria used in determining the success or failure of an individual case." "The willingness to suck cock?" Again, shock value, again wasted. "The inherent repugnance of the idea to a heterosexual male. True conversion to heterosexual female is one of the signs that the conversion has taken root emotionally as well as physically." "Well, I wouldn't say that I was lustfully driven to give Jake head. It was more of a sense that it was only right, or fair, or something like that." "So much the better," she said, clinically dry as ever. "There are many naturally-born women who feel little more than a dutiful need to perform fellatio." "What about you, doc?" "Excuse me?" "Do you like giving head?" For the first time, her fa?ade showed a slight crack...but only momentarily. "It's against policy to talk about me," she said, friendly but definite. "That's not really fair, is it?" "Standard practice." She moved on, a little too quickly. "So how did your first experience with fellatio turn out?" "How do you think it turned out?" "I mean, was it enjoyable for him? Enjoyable for you?" "Enjoyable wouldn't be the exact term I'd use, I don't think. First of all, things were just a little bit unpredictable, because I hadn't counted on how excited he was, how much he'd been anticipating our first real sexual experience together." "How do you mean?" "It was over in a snap. Thirty seconds, tops. I didn't even really have time to prepare, and when it happened... put it this way: I had fully planned to be the good little wife and swallow, but he was so excited that there was no way I could do it, and I ended up coughing and gagging while he covered my face and hair with it. At least we got a laugh out of it, I have to admit." She smiled, which, for her, was a concession. "But what I really succeeded in doing," I said, "was forestalling the inevitable. Now I had to wait a little longer to lose my virginity." "But it happened that night?" I nodded. "Jake wasn't going to let that go by. He was excited again in less than an hour, and I had to give it up." "Was it painful?" "A little. And I was a little afraid, which didn't help. Jake was too eager. I wasn't ready. So, yeah, it was painful, and I didn't go through that transformation you read about in the romance novels, where I start out in pain and end up in ecstasy. It hurt the entire time. But Jake enjoyed himself, and because of my little stunt earlier, he managed to last a long time." "What were your feelings emotionally? This is typically a big event in every woman's life." That question struck me in a strange way; I should have expected it, but didn't. When the answer came to me, it kind of surprised me. "I think...I think more than anything else, it brought to light exactly what my place was in the world. What I'd become. Who I was. I mean, there was a moment, when the pain had subsided to the point where it was tolerable, and I looked up and there was Jake, on top of me, his face twisted in some bizarre look of passion, and I understood that this was what it was all about. The Program. My future. That I'd sold myself out to be a wife, at his beck and call. To be the mother of his children. Legally obligated myself to do so, for security that may or may not exist." "Uncertainty in such matters is natural. Do any of us have real security?" "Actually," I said, "it's the legal obligation which hit me the hardest. You know how the contracts read. Depending on how you interpret it, I'm an indentured servant to my husband. All he has to do is report that I'm not fulfilling my obligations, and I could be violated." "That's more a problem with the wording than anything else," she said. "It was harshly worded back when the original legislation was being drawn up, but it's not really enforceable as it's written. I don't know of a single case where a husband's complain has resulted in any criminal charges against the wife. The only time the law applies at all is when a convert who hasn't reached her birth quota refuses her husband sex, in which case, all kinds of mediation is put into play. The most extreme cases, there have been some instances of artificial insemination." "Well that might be true on a practical level," I said, "but let me tell you, it gave Jake something to cling to like a dog with a bone. Once the honeymoon was over and we started trying to adjust to a life together, there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't use it as an implied threat." "Actually, we don't need to gloss over that part - the beginning of your domestic setup. It's a critical time in a convert relationship, and the time when most troubles begin to emerge." "Well, I guess we made the transition as well as could be expected," I admitted. "It was just kind of awkward at first: here I was in a new home as...as a housewife to this guy I really only barely knew. And right from the beginning, he took charge. I don't know that I had a particularly submissive personality before, back when I was...back before the conversion. But now...well, it's along the same lines of the changes I experienced in my sexual orientation. The conversion had really changed me emotionally. Deep, deep down. I was - this seems weird even to say - but perfectly contented to let Jake take charge. It was easier...less complicated that way." "Not necessarily a feminine trait," she pointed out. "Not for a modern woman, anyway." "Actually, I had that thought myself. I was like the wife in one of those old-time TV shows from the fifties. I was content - maybe 'content' isn't the word, but it's close - to take care of the house, cook - 'housewifey' chores - while Jake went out and earned a living. And then, when he got home, I'd be there for him for my other wifely tasks." "Sexual chores?" "Right. And Jake...well, Jake had gone years without being in a relationship, and he was certainly making up for lost time. Look, I'm not complaining about that. It didn't take too long before I started enjoying sex, and Jake tried, at first, at least, to satisfy me; every so often, he'd go down on me, and that was almost always good. I tried my best to keep him happy, and that mostly just involved being available to him, whatever and whenever he wanted. " "So far," she said, "you haven't told me anything that would indicate any problem at all. It sounds like you're ahead of the curve." "Maybe I was. But like all things, there were changes. Gradual changes. Like I said, Jake liked to be in control, and being submissive was an easy role for me to fall into. Things just continued going that way, and while I suppose they were always a part of our sex life, that's where they really started to show themselves. The reason I didn't let it bother me at first was because it came in the form of little sex games. Harmless. Letting him tie me up, and at first, that was a real thrill for me. I can't explain why. The helplessness. It was a turn-on. That led to spanking, which I also enjoyed, a lot. The trouble is that my enjoyment encouraged him to take things further and further, to the point where I started to not enjoy things anymore." "What sort of things did you consider going too far?" "Real pain. Which didn't happen often, but it happened. He'd switch from spanking me with his hand to a belt, and that was sometimes too much to take." "Did you let him know?" "Well, that's the thing...that submissive side of me didn't want to disappoint him. We even did the thing with a safe word, but I'd never use it, because I knew I'd be letting him down. So I just...took whatever he had to give, and it was a slippery slope, because the farther I allowed him to take things, the more he took that as a sign of my willingness." "Are we talking dangerous practices?" "No, not really," I said. "Nothing like that. I mean, there's nothing dangerous, say, about nipple clamps, but he loved to clamp my tits, and I hated it. I'm very, very sensitive there, and it was agony. He liked to - you don't mind me getting into this much detail, do you, doctor?" "No," she said. "I think it's very important that you take me into your confidence this way." I couldn't help myself by this time: it was important to me, too. "He would put clamps on my nipples, then tie them to a string and hook them to an eye hook he'd put in the ceiling, drawing me up on tiptoe." "That does sound painful," she said. "He'd keep me strung up a long time, sometimes. He got a real kick out of watching me struggle." "Did this behavior preclude normal sexual activity for the two of you?" "Not really. We still had a lot of normal sex. But more and more, things got really kinky. And then, it started moving outside out private life." "What do you mean?" "He liked...the idea that he owned me or something, and liked to make it known to our friends. He started getting more and more bossy whenever we were out with friends. Or he'd have his guy-friends over after work and as I played housemaid to them, he'd make comments, or talk about things I did in the bedroom, deliberately to embarrass me." "Sounds like a power trip." "That's what it is." "So, if you're admittedly in a submissive mindset, does that mean that you get any gratification out of such an embarrassing situation?" I had to think about this for a moment. "You mean sexual gratification?" "It could be sexual, yes. Complex emotions can be generated for converts, especially attractive converts like yourself, once they become aware of their powers to attract attention." "Was that a compliment, doctor?" "No, it was an observation. Attractiveness can be a double-edged sword in many instances, and with converts, who find themselves with these attributes very suddenly, can often have a difficult time adjusting, and can even find themselves in precarious situations. For instance, the occurrence of sexual assault in five and a half percent higher nationwide for converts as opposed to natural woman. But even in a much less drastic sense, there can be feelings of self-consciousness, or feelings that men are only interested in sex, rather than something more meaningful. It's something most women adjust to, but when that adjustment, by default in converts, must be much more drastic, there can be problems." "I've had men staring at my tits since the day I converted." "And how does it make you feel?" Again, I paused. The irony here was that while I had entered the doctor's office fully prepared to go through the typical bullshit psycho-babble, this woman was truly making me think, and I wasn't quite sure how to take this. "Sometimes, I feel offended. Lots of times, I feel flattered." "A perfectly normal reaction." "And sometimes," I continued, "it really turns me on, and I'm tempted - in my mind - to...to take things further." The doctor nodded. She was trying not to let me know when she considered something significant, but this time, she tipped her hand a bit, with just the ghost of a smile. I didn't react to it; I didn't want her to know that I noticed. "So," she said, "you're having actual sexual fantasies involving men other than your husband." "That's right," I said. "Is there something wrong with that?" "Quite the contrary," she said. "It seems to me to be not only a healthy emotional outlet, but also a rather definitive step towards a comprehensive conversion." "Well then," I said, "what if I were to tell you that I've acted on those fantasies?" This genuinely surprised her, and it showed. "You remember Mike, my newspaper editor friend?" "The one who came on to you at your wedding?" "Well, I don't know whether 'coming on to me' is the right way to put it, but yeah. That's the guy." "And you approached him?" "I don't know whether that's the right way to put it, either," I said. "Then why don't you just tell me about it?" Of course I will, I thought. "Well, it happened about three months after my conversion, after I'd sort of settled into my domestic situation, and had begun to be concerned that I hadn't gotten pregnant. You know how The Program is: all they're really concerned about is whether you're producing, and despite all of the sex I was having with Jake - and it was a lot, believe me - nothing had happened. And this created some tension between us, because, like I said, the Program can make your life miserable, and was threatening to reduce our check; things like that. And I guess I needed to just talk to someone outside my immediate circle. My girl friends were supportive, but they just said the same things over and over, and so when Mike called and asked me out to lunch, I was happy to say yes." I hesitated before I continued, then I sighed. "Okay, the story that I told all those girl friends was that I just expected to have a pleasant lunch with an old friend. The truth is a little bit more complicated. My intentions, when I went to lunch with Mike, weren't one hundred percent innocent. I mean, don't get me wrong: I wasn't planning to just throw down and fuck him, but...well, the more I thought about it, the more it appealed to have lunch with someone I knew found me attractive, and, even something as simple as choosing what to wear became a part of it. I chose this short skirt - not short-short, but short enough, you know - and a low- cut top that showed enough of my cleavage to draw his eyes. And that happened the second I walked into the restaurant, too: his eyes went straight to my tits, and stayed there until I made a joke about it: 'Hey, you know, my face is up here, Mike!' And that broke the ice, but it also sort of defined the situation: Here we were, and there's very definitely attraction between us, some sexual tension, and Mike is already taking liberties by ogling my breasts." "What were you feeling?" "I won't lie. I was tingling with excitement." "Sexual excitement?" "Yes. And to be even more honest, I knew I wanted to fuck him the second I laid eyes on him. And maybe I was giving out those signals. I don't know. I'm sure maybe I was." "And how did lunch progress?" "Well, I was so nervous I guess I sounded like so much of an air-headed bimbo that Mike had to be wondering whether the conversion affected my brain. He kept asking me about Jake and how we were getting along, and asked me if I missed working for a newspaper, stuff like that. And all the while, he'd drop these little hints like, 'Well I might have a position you'd be interested in...'" "Was he offering you a job?" "Not at first, I don't think, but the more we talked about it, the more I think he started thinking about it seriously. And then when we were finished with lunch, he suggested we walk over to his offices, which are just across the railroad tracks." "And you accepted..." "Of course I accepted. And when we were walking, I stumbled a little bit, and he caught me by the arm...then held onto it the rest of the way there. That was a new experience. I mean, Jake had already fucked me up one side and down the other, but I never felt the real power of attraction until right then. I don't think Mike was really aware of what he was doing to me, though. I don't know. Maybe he does." "So you get to the office..." "Yes, and it's just a little front reception space with a large back room that Mike uses to put the paper together. I'd been there many times before...in my earlier life. "The first thing I noticed was that he left the 'closed' sign up and locked the door behind us when we went in, and I immediately reacted to this." "How did you react?" "It was a mixture of excitement and trepidation, you know, with the threat of rape in the air, but the idea that no matter what he did, it wouldn't be a rape because I was so ready for him, you know?" "That almost sounds like a male rather than a female sensibility." "It does? I thought women had rape fantasies. Whatever the case, I was having them at that moment. You know, on the one hand, this is Mike, the guy I'd known for years. Good-hearted, friendly guy. But a womanizer. And the thought of him showing that side of himself, that animal, sexual side, and completely overpowering me... I got a definite charge out of that, I can tell you." "What happened next?" "We sat down in his office and a little small talk was exchanged, although my mind was buzzing so much I couldn't tell you a word of what was said if my life depended upon it. I was just transfixed. What was going to happen? How would I react if he propositioned me? It was almost too much to handle. "But then, he gets down to the real reason he brought me there: he wanted to do a story on me." "How did you feel about this?" "I just...sank. I couldn't hide my disappointment, and I'm sure he picked up upon it. I've got to admit," I laughed, "I wasn't giving him mixed signals at all." "And what happened next?" "Well, then he started telling me about the story he wanted to write. Mike had connections at various men's magazines - he's gotten published in a lot of them. I really used to admire him for that. Anyway, he had apparently struck a deal with one of them to present my story, and he explained that it was actually a pretty radical idea, since the government strongly disapproved of any publicity on The Program that they couldn't control. I'm sure you're aware of this, doctor?" "I know there have been a few missteps in publicizing the program," she said, evasively, and, I think, a touch nervously, which had me even more convinced that she was less into helping me than helping The Program with my therapy. The misstep she was referring to, without doubt, was the debacle of Patrick Lange, one of the first converts and the first convert that the public at large was aware of. Lange was a Lt. Colonel in the U.S. Marine Corps; the first activity within The Program was done inside the military. In retrospect, he was a poor choice as their poster boy/girl. He was far from attractive, and, as he later noted in his tell-all biography, wasn't interested in making the conversion so much as getting out of a serious legal mess...which the government assured him would go away if he complied. What was amazing, in retrospect, was how sloppy The Program controlled its public relations at the time. They were riding high on the implied patriotism of conversion, but they allowed complete access to the new "Patty" Lange, who, from the outset of her new life, was nothing less than a miserable wretch. She turned out to be even less attractive as a woman than she was as a man, largely because of the bugs which still needed to be worked out of the conversion process. Her weight ballooned, there was almost no change to her facial features, and she was cursed with enormous breasts, until The Program ordered extensive plastic surgery and breast reduction. Still, the result was not pretty. Even worse, the modification of converts' sexual orientation was still in the experimental stage, and Lange ended up with absolutely no attraction to men...which was tragic, because The Program immediately married him to some chisel-jawed Marine, chosen obviously for his photogenic looks. In his book, Lange wrote that her government- appointed husband insisted upon sex at least twice a day, "which I had to give up willingly or else face the wrath of directors from The Program, who brought up my old legal issues and threatened to reinstate them. As a result, I allowed myself to be raped hundreds of times while compelled to smile for the cameras in public." When Lange did get pregnant - which she did, numerous times - she invariably miscarried within weeks. Another bug for the conversion process, made even worse by the fact that she was now the stuff of national headlines, and had her misfortunes plastered across the news of the world. Lange eventually rebelled against The Program, wrote her book condemning the program, and then, somewhat mysteriously, committed suicide, resulting in a scramble by The Program to erase her from the public's memory by maintaining strict control of all publicity from that point on, and immediately presenting "success" stories to the public. To this day, I don't know anyone who believes she really killed herself. "Mike told me that the story he wanted to write was going to be positive, but not whitewashed...the stuff the public really wanted to know about. When I asked what that might be, he said that he wanted the real scoop on sex as a convert, which, considering the publication he was aiming for, made sense. It made me stop to think that there really wasn't much written about the sex lives of converts, and that this was almost certainly deliberate. "I asked Mike to elaborate on what was going to be involved, what he needed from me, and so on. He told me that what he really wanted was a lot of spicy details, things that would surprise the readers. He pointed out that, in spite of what The Program's propaganda might try to tell you, the perception most people have is that most converts are people who agreed to the contract to escape something, run away from debts, or worse, and that they live lives of misery and regret, men trapped in women's bodies legally obligated to be raped at the whims of their arranged husbands. "I took exception to the way he phrased it, because by and large, my life couldn't have been further from the truth. It was true that I didn't love Jake in the traditional sense, but that had a lot to do with the fact that it was Jake, and that I felt I had the capacity to love a man, and I told Mike as much. I also pointed out that I was quite happy with my new sexual orientation, that I had no regrets about the change in persona, and that, in spite of my relative indifference to my husband, I truly enjoyed the sex we had together. I even filled Mike in on some of the kinkier details of our sex life...and that was when I sort of suddenly realized what I was doing, and became enormously self-conscious. I mean, there was a moment - and it was plain as day, let me tell you - when I caught myself explaining to Mike just how much of a charge I got out of being spanked from time to time, and suddenly, there was this moment when our eyes met, and I knew - I knew without any doubt - that he was envisioning taking me over his knee, taking my panties down, and blistering my backside...and that I was envisioning the exact same thing. For a moment, the sexual tension built up so thick that I thought it was going to be like one of those movie scenes, where we just rip each other's clothes off and get busy right there on the floor. But that didn't happen." "What did happen?" "He kept on asking questions, but suddenly, it was , like, we both knew he wasn't asking questions for the story anymore, that he was asking questions just to pick my brain and to put me on the spot. He was really focused on the bondage and the spanking stuff, and I kind of instinctively knew that I'd really pushed some of his buttons. Then he said something like he didn't see Jake as the dominant-male sort of person, and wondered how I'd react if a real man took control of me. He said it jokingly, but it wasn't really a joke. It wasn't exactly a proposition, but it wasn't a joke, either. And then, again with that kinda-sorta joking tone, he said that I should come to work as his secretary and he'd show me what it was really like to have a hard taskmaster. That was the word he used: taskmaster. I think I just about melted at the idea, but I laughed because that was what he was expecting. I didn't think he was serious, but it did spin a few flashes in my head of me being his subservient secretary. Wow. Hot stuff. "What happened next?" "He surprised me again. He went into his desk drawer, pulled out the camera he used to take pictures for news stories, and suggested we take a few shots that he could send to the agent handling the story. "How did you react?" "Honestly, I was a little surprised, but not shocked, and of course, it made sense. Half-jokingly, he made a big deal about how perfect I was for his story, that he needed a convert who was a genuine piece of ass - his words - and I felt flattered and a little excited. My thoughts suddenly turned to the idea of being naked in front of Mike, and it thrilled me. I even giggled nervously and asked him if he wanted to see me naked. He said, 'I wouldn't turn down an offer like that...story or no story.' Nice thing to say. The guy definitely had a way with words, and I understood why he was such a success with women. I mean, Mike had a reputation. He'd been married twenty years, but everyone in town knew his reputation. "I think in the back of my mind, the idea of photographs - which, of course, are forever - made me just the slightest bit uneasy, but my libido was pushing me forward...and I'd already said yes. I was committed. "Now, the obvious thing to have done would have been to go into the bathroom and take off my clothes, but the idea of undressing in front of Mike was too big of a temptation. Strangely, I hadn't even thought about him taking pictures as I was undressing, although when it started happening...another huge thrill." "And a pretty bold move," she observed. "Well, I tried to play it down at first, like it was no big deal...except, of course, it was, and I immediately felt this great big lump in my stomach as I stood there and watched the look on his face. Mike isn't bashful, and he didn't do a thing to hide the fact that he was eagerly anticipating my little striptease. For me, it was suddenly a deer-in-headlights moment, and I didn't know where to begin. "Not only am I not a stripper, but I suddenly realized that it was going to be hard to gracefully come out of street clothes. Lots of buttons and zippers and necessary movements that might not exactly be sexy or flattering. But I took a deep breath and started. I got my shoes off - which was a relief; I hate heels - and then worked on the buttons of my blouse. I hadn't dressed to undress, so to speak, and I suddenly became concerned that my bra wasn't going to be sexy at all. He started snapping away, and I warned him that this wasn't going to be a photogenic bra. My breasts are big enough to demand genuine support, and so when I got my blouse off, Mike got to see me in something which represented great engineering more than sexy clothing design. But even from my point of view, I could see that my nipples were doing their best to make an early appearance, poking through the material. I wanted to rub them so much I couldn't stand it, but I knew that this would be going too far, too soon. "Once I had my skirt off, I was overcome by a feeling of submission and helplessness, standing there in my underwear in front of this man whose personality alone held me in his control. The way his eyes traveled up and down my body gave me goosebumps, and, as if it were possible, my nipples got even harder and tighter, to the point where just moving and brushing them against the inside of my bra was sending electric shocks right down between my legs. He had his camera on automatic, so I could hear the shutter clicking over and over. I wondered who was going to be seeing these photographs. Was he going to share them with the world? Or was he going to keep them for himself? "Getting out of pantyhose...well, there was no way to do that gracefully, but I did it, and then...and then, I decided to play a little bit of a head game. I held out my arms and did a sort of 'Ta da!' as if that was as far as I was going to go. Of course, I wanted him to see me naked - desperately, but I wanted even more to make sure that this was what he wanted to. He didn't disappoint me. Playfully, he started scolding me, saying it was a ripoff, and saying - I remember the words exactly - that what good was The Program if all they created were genetically-modified cock-teases." I paused for a moment and chuckled. "I remember how the word stood out to me: 'cock-tease.' I was a cock-tease. And, by extension, that sort of meant that I was teasing his cock. And what a thought that was, let me tell you. "I have to confess that at this point, I had as much poise as a dim- witted high school cheerleader, and I asked him if he wanted me to go on with all the subtlety of a charging rhino. He sat back in his chair, smiled and nodded, and the way he was sitting, he was daring me with his body language to look down at his crotch." "Did you?" she asked. "Hmm," I said, "why are you interested?" For a moment, she was taken aback, but recovered her composure and said, "I find it fascinating that you're so deeply immersed in a female mindset. Your lack of inhibition is striking for a convert, especially so relatively soon after conversion. That's why I want to know." "Okay," I said, "I did look. And, apparently, I was a cock-tease, and he had no problem letting me know it." "So what happened then?" "Then, it was - ta-da! - titty time! I made a big show of unhooking my bra, letting the straps slide down my shoulders, and then lowering the cups ever so slowly. But as I did it, the lace trim on my bra caught my nipple in such a way that I really felt it and I gasped. It was pure reflex, but I couldn't stifle it, and he knew what it was, too. That just made it all the more exciting as I dropped my bra to the floor and just stood there, looking down at my breasts, then back up at him to see his reaction. He said, 'Jesus Christ,' and I remember a swell of pride as I turned my shoulders left and right to give him all the right angles. He fired away with his camera, and even started directing me, telling me to hold this pose or that pose. He nodded approvingly, and it struck me what an alien feeling this was, being on display for an admiring man." "You never felt this way with Jake?" "With Jake," I said, "it was more like a kid winning some kind of prize. Jake always knew that without The Program, he never would have scored with someone who looked like me. With Mike, however... Mike could have any woman he wanted, and he knew it...there's something unbelievably sexy about that." "What happened next?" "He admired me for a few more moments, then he said, 'I don't think you're finished yet.' He said it almost like a command, and I realized that I wanted it to be a command, that I would do whatever this man commanded me to do. A little shyly, a little awkwardly, I took off my panties. I remember being a little self-conscious because I had shaved down there at Jake's request - I really was attentive of my husband's desires - but it had been unpleasant and itchy, and asked him whether I could allow it to grow back, so that when Mike got that most intimate look at me, there was stubble and I'm sure it could have looked better. But he seemed to like it, and, now that I was naked, got out his camera. Another new, alien experience for me, and if you ever look at those pictures, you can see how awkward I am at first. Mike was directing me to pose, and it slowly started becoming fun. Very conservative poses, mostly, but then Mike said, 'Come on, let's see if you're anatomically correct.' There was no mistaking what that meant, and I obediently spread my legs for him and his camera. Things were going way too fast, and I had no idea where this was all heading when things stopped dead in their tracks with a knock at the door. "I freaked out, scrambling around to grab my clothes. Mike peeked around the corner of his office to see who it was and told me he had to open the door. I ran naked into the closet...and that pretty much threw cold water on everything. Mike and this guy talked for almost half an hour while I silently put my clothes back on. And when it was over, Mike apologized, but I think we both knew that there was no going back to where we were. I went home frustrated, horny, and a little angry, only to find Jake, who'd had too much beer after getting home from work and was another source of frustration. "But the experience with Mike showed me that...that I wanted to try life on my own. I wanted out of my marriage, to make it by myself. I'm not trying to cheat The Program. I want to have the children I'm required to have, I want to help the cause and fulfill my deal...but on my own terms. And, I guess, that's why I'm here." "You realize how difficult it is to opt out of your contract?" she said. "I realize that it's easier with your approval. That your signature goes a long way." "My endorsement would be under the condition that your marriage is causing you emotional distress. I don't think that boredom nor simple dissatisfaction qualifies as emotional distress." "Maybe not," I said, "but maybe this could represent a new step for converts. These arranged marriage business, as far as I can tell, is based around the fact that the powers at The Program didn't think that converts would be able to find suitable mates, and that's just not true. It may have been true before, but not now. If men like Mike can find me attractive and, well, fuckable, to put it bluntly, then why shouldn't I be released from the deal?" "Because promises - legal promises - were made to Jake when the contracts were signed, and it's just not that easy." I sat u