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RIDING AFTER THE DUKE "Don't forget to lock up." "I won't." She moved the last stack of returned books onto the cart for reloading as the door behind her opened and shut. It had been a pretty good day, quiet, and the last of the patrons had gone out early so they could close on time. She worked as a librarian, and no one was ever surprised when they found that out. She had long, fine light brown hair and glasses. Clear skin and a rather diminutive build. Her voice was soft, and she didn't speak a lot. She knew how she looked. It wouldn't have bothered her except that it was... wrong. Had been wrong for as long as she could remember. She still felt jarred when she caught glimpses of herself in the mirror, wondering 'who is that person?' After she cleaned off the counter, she shut off the lights, and locked the library doors behind her. The night was cold and windy, rain beating down outside. She wished she'd thought to bring an umbrella. She ran out to her car in the parking lot, hunched over, her glasses already fogging over, and slipped inside, heaving a sigh of relief. The car took a few tries but finally started. The traffic wasn't bad though it was slow going. As she approached the video store, she debated with herself, her heart already beginning to race, but it wasn't much of a debate. She was off tomorrow, and the whole night could be spent with her Beloved Movies. In the store, she hurried back to the private collection where she knew all her favorites were. It wasn't even much of a decision in terms of what to get. She had certain favorites and tonight seemed like a cozy night, where the best comfort would be settling in with an old favorite. The clerk barely glanced at her as he rang up the rental. They all knew her here and knew which ones she'd get. Outside, she clutched the tape against her chest, shielding it from the rain and ran back to her car. Then home. Inside, she flipped on the lights and turned off the heat, kicking off her shoes as she hurried down the hall, ready to begin the movie. In her room, she changed into a fleece snuggle sack, shoved the movie into the DVD player, grabbed a beer from the kitchen while the movie turned on, then back to her room. Climb into bed, turn off the lights, open the beer, pull up the covers and now it was just her and the movie, ready to go. She felt every muscle relaxing, a smile slowly creeping across her face as the movie began. 'True Grit.' With her favorite John Wayne rendition, Rooster Cogburn. Her room was adorned with posters of John Wayne from his earliest days as the Duke to his later days as Rooster Cogburn. She loved all of them. Most people seeing her room, (and there were admittedly few) commented on them, saying 'Oh, you're a John Wayne fan?' She just smiled and nodded because it was easiest, but really it was much more than that. She didn't just like John Wayne per se; she wanted to be John Wayne. She saw her own persona reflected there, perfectly natural had nature zigged instead of zagged during her conception, and she would have come forth a squalling baby boy and from thereon out, all things would have followed in a far more traditional course. She'd never related to any of the female stereotypes. She didn't like talking about her feelings; truthfully she wasn't even entirely comfortable acknowledging she had them. She didn't like talking on the phone. Prolonged phone conversations gave her hives. She could do without shopping unless it was for movies or electronics. She didn't gossip because she found few things or people interesting enough to be worth gossiping about and what was the point? In high school, she'd hung around with two guys like herself, wiry soccer nerds who spent much of their free time in the art room when not playing soccer or Dungeons and Dragons. They were an eclectic little group but just athletic and normal enough looking to avoid ostracism. She dressed in dungarees and t-shirts daily like they did and never wore make-up but since half the girls in school dressed that way, it didn't raise any eyebrows. The bedroom was now dark except for the cozy glow from the television set. Darkness for a moment as the opening logo appeared on the screen, and then a glare of light and images as the film began. There he was, the Duke. The air in the room seemed to hum and shift. She felt something drawing her out from herself. Her body remained immobile on the bed, but her soul was being pulled forward. A small vortex of energy in the center of the television as if it were a gateway. She slid forward, closer and closer, and then... *** "So what's your idea?" he asked. His tone was deceptively even, his face immobile. He knew how to play his cards close to the vest and he usually did. The question was only a draw though, because the sheriff was the sort that could never accept common sense unless you patiently painted the picture for him so that he could see it too, and that always took extra time. That was fine by John though. He could wait. The end result would be the same, it would just take a little longer to get there. "We call Washington. See if they can authorize some federal boys to come down here and give us aid." John glanced at his watch. "How long you reckon that'll take? Considering the last big scare we had, with the bandit raids, it took about 4 months for them to get here." The sheriff was quiet for a moment, remembering that. "Well," he said after a moment. "We could always put a bounty on their head, scare up some local talent to do the job." "Let's hope they don't shoot each other," John remarked mildly, and shifted his toothpick in his mouth, still leaning easily against the counter in the sheriff's front office. He knew he didn't need to say more. The sheriff pursed his lips. It was true that the last time they'd put out a large bounty, every local yokel in five counties had gone out with a gun. Seven of them had been shot by each other before they'd finally managed to get the right fellow. And it was John's private but firm opinion that that had been more by dumb luck than anything else. Shoot enough suspicious looking folks and sooner or later you might just hit the right one. John could see the sheriff mentally flipping through the files in his head, trying to draw out every possible option. Sooner or later, he'd reach the inevitable but he obviously wasn't there yet. Not quite. The sheriff briefly wet his lips, then began again. "Pete Montano--" "--is still down on the border, patrolling with the rangers and rounding up the cattle bandits who've been crossing over." The sheriff frowned then scowled. "Too bad. He's a good man. One of the best. Charges fair rates too." This last was added with pointed emphasis. John shrugged. It was true. "I won't argue that. But he ain't here, is he? Probably won't be for another 4 months at least. And between you and I, I think we both know that I'm better than him. He gets by a hell of a lot on perseverance and dogged determination. Me, I just outsmart 'em." John grinned. The sheriff scowled. "Maybe it makes you lazy." John shrugged. "Maybe it does. But I'm here now and ready to work, ain't I? So take it or leave it." The sheriff just kept frowning. There was clearly nothing he wanted more in the world than to be able to tell John where to go. And it wasn't anyplace nice. There was also the clear knowledge in his eyes that he was between a rock and a hard place and the only way out was John. He slapped his hand on the counter finally with a frustrated sigh. "Fine, boy. What's your price?" He braced himself. "Five hundred." The sheriff exploded. "Five hundred bucks! You're crazy, boy, crazier'n a shithouse rat. You think we got that kind of money for one man?" "It ain't for one man. It's for three, which is how many you want me to catch. And I've seen bounties on a single head that were larger, and you know as well as I do that once word gets out, the feds would offer $500 for each head. The question is do you wait until there's more killings and the whole county is in an uproar, or do you act now and nip it in the bud?" The sheriff bit his lip, considering. What John said was true. It would be different if these had been range killings, out in open territory, but these were family killings, close to home, a group of bandits slaughtering whole families, women and children too. There was a brutality in that which crossed the line. The sheriff finally nodded, looking defeated. "I'll do it. But you've become a greedy man, John, and a greedy man is a prideful man and pride goeth before a fall." "I ain't greedy, Timberland, I got a woman back home these days in case you hadn't noticed. I'm payin' for two now." Sheriff Timberland grudgingly nodded assent. There was truth in that. A single man could charge less than a married man. Common law or not, a woman cost money especially if you kept her full-time. Timberland preferred a Saturday night sportin' woman, two bucks a poke, and then you were done for the week. Less headaches. "That's your undoing," he muttered, softly so as not to offend. "You think you'll be ready to ride by Monday?" John nodded. "Okay, then. You come by Monday morning, I'll give you $250. The other half when the job is done. Dead or alive, don't make no difference, but I want to see bodies in this office. Standing up or layin' flat." John scooped his hat up off the counter, tipped it briefly, and slapped it back on his head. "So you will, Timberland. So you will." Timberland nodded. The deal was done. John nodded briefly in parting, then headed back outside. As he stepped outside, he was hit with a staggering wave of heat. He stood for a moment on the sheriff's front porch, squinting in the sunlight, letting his eyes re-adjust. The street was quiet and deserted except for his horse tied up front to the hitching post, Dr. Martin walking into the apothecary a few doors down and a couple of old rummies playing checkers across the street in front of the saloon. As he stood there, one of them made what must have been an impressive move. The other one jumped up, shoving back his chair violently enough to tip it over. "Gol-dang, Martin! That's the 5th straight game you've whupped me in! I ain't playin' no more!" he yelled. With that, he whipped out his gun from the side-holster and fired at the checkerboard. Bits of wood and pieces flew about. His companion didn't move, just stared at the shattered board for a few moments, and then shook his head in resignation. "Dang it Eddie. I ain't gonna play you in your cups no more. That was my last checkerboard, you sorry son of a bitch. You owe me for those checkerboards. This one and them two last week." Eddie, a tall beanpole of a fellow, shuffled his feet around, looking sheepish. "Yeah, well... it ain't fun always losing. You don't play fair. Don't give a fella a chance." He re-holstered his gun, and sat down, picking up a jug of corn liquor from beside the seat. He took a long swig then passed it to the other man. "Have a toot. It'll make you feel better." "Aye, I reckon it will." John fired his own gun in the air in greeting. The two looked over and waved genially, watching as he made his way to his horse. The horse, Betsey, was a medium-sized chestnut-colored mare with an unusually even disposition. She rode smooth and easy. John rode home, enjoying the lazy heat of the sun and the slow languor. It was a shame he'd be leaving on Monday, but it would just make these next two days with Maggie all that much sweeter. Maggie. Just the thought of her brought a smile to his face. Not that he'd ever acknowledge that. He'd never had a good woman before. Sportin' women from time to time and some of them had been fun and good for a few laughs or a drink or two, but there'd never been a woman waiting at home for him, cooking him real food and not just the canned beans he'd eat if left to his own devices. He knew that some folks like Timberland thought Maggie was his undoing, and he would have said the same months ago if anyone had told him that he'd find a woman who made him bathe more than twice a month, and stopped him from tilting the jug quite so often. The truth was though, with her good cooking, regular meals, and not getting drunk quite as often, he felt better, physically. It was a wonder. It made his mood better, and he'd even found himself waking at sunrise a few mornings with her. He, who had once vowed that he'd shoot any man that woke him before noon. And in fact had done so on several occasions (only in the foot though; even with a hangover, being woke early wasn't a killing offense unless you were the most unreasonable hardcase, and in John's mind, there was no need to be that way.) Plus the sex was fantastic. John wasn't like the church-going men who thought it was a sin if their women moved in bed. He liked a woman with a bit of spice, and Maggie had passion that could match his own. Their homestead was about 3 miles out from town, and John passed the time in sweet reverie of Maggie's myriad charms and then the home itself was in sight. And the little woman herself on the front porch, sweeping away the dust of the day. John's heart warmed at the sight. In her long purple skirt with the apron, and white shirt, her black hair pulled back with two combs but unfettered by a bonnet, she was the picture of loveliness. She caught sight of him, raised her hand to her forehead for a moment, warding off the sun's glare as she squinted in his direction, then waved exuberantly in greeting. John waved back, and spurred his horse to a quick trot, skimming the last few hundred yards rapidly. He didn't even wait for the horse to come to a complete stop, sliding off as she slowed in the last few yards. He dropped the reins over the hitching pole, hurrying to greet Maggie who came racing down the front steps, smiling, arms outstretched. "Darling!" "Oh! You beautiful thing," he groaned, embracing her. They staggered backward, their hands busily stroking and petting each other. John felt himself filling with desire, ready to explode at any moment. He wanted to throw her on the ground and take her right there. He pressed against her furiously. She grabbed him, massaging him through his pants, knowing way too well exactly what would drive him crazy with pleasure. They made it into the house, barely. Inside, they staggered backwards, still entwined, and bumped into the large wooden kitchen table. John hoisted Maggie up on it, shoving her skirts up as he did. She rubbed his crotch with her foot, lightly. He stroked the insides of her thighs, then pressed her back flat on the table, and slid her underwear off. When it was off, he climbed on top of her, still clothed, letting the excitement build, pressing against her leg, and slipping a couple fingers inside of her, working them back and forth, and in and out. She moaned. He unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself. He wore no underwear so that wasn't a problem. His penis bobbed forward, rubbing against her bare thigh. He withdrew his fingers slightly, but made no move to get inside her, letting her come to him and set the pace. Considerate lovers get second helpings. And even thirds. She stroked him and spread her thighs farther apart, signaling her readiness. Her wetness told him that anyway. He moved forward, pushing in slowly to start, and then beginning to thrust. She moaned with pleasure. His own breath was coming rapidly, his heart racing. At any moment, now, any moment... he would explode. Closer, could he get closer? This was like being brought to the edge of a high cliff... Then he toppled over. The relief of free-falling, simply letting it all go. He collapsed on top of her. She laughed. "Feeling good?" He rolled off her over onto his back, still out of breath. "I should say so. You?" She nodded her. Her hair was damp with sweat, plastered around the side of her face, cheeks flushed. He suspected he looked very much the same. In this moment, all felt right with the world. He was exactly who he was supposed to be and where he was supposed to be. *** She woke up to the sound of a clap of thunder outside. The house was damp and cold, and she was shivering even beneath her blankets. She'd forgotten to turn on the heat before she went to bed, and the night had cooled considerably. Her mouth felt foul and grungy, tasted strange, and her head hurt. She would have chalked it up to beer, but she'd only had two before drifting off to sleep. The movie had ended at some point and the t.v. was showing static, making a hissing sound in the dark room. She didn't remember seeing the end, but she'd seen it so many times that it didn't matter too much. She tried to remember what she'd been dreaming, but couldn't; only that she'd been happy there so it must have been a good dream. She got up and went into the bathroom to pee, not turning on the light. The house felt cold and lonely, the sound of her peeing too loud. She shivered on the toilet, panties around her ankles, grandma nightgown buttoned up to her neck. None of this was... right. She hurried back to bed, flipping off the t.v., pulling the covers up around her, curling up tightly into a ball. She listened to the sound of the rain pounding down outside. It was usually a comforting sound, but tonight it didn't comfort her. It just annoyed her. Everything annoyed her, most especially herself. "Fucking wench," she muttered and punched the bed furiously, wishing her own face was beneath that fist. The image of herself in the mirror came to her, and she felt a surge of unreasonable rage that she couldn't control. She punched the bed again, pictured herself splitting into two people so she could chase herself down an alley and knock the daylights out of herself, ten ways to Sunday. "Silly old bitch," she whispered, teeth clenched. Deep down she knew just what she looked like, and she hated it. Every day since the day she'd been born, she'd hated it and that sense of wrongness only grew rather than lessening. It wasn't right; she wasn't right, and the sense of being wrong made her more angry than she could ever express. What should have been hers was not, and she couldn't explain what it was that missing. Although when the subject of castration came up, she always instinctively crossed her legs. On Sunday night, she had a date. Part of her was looking forward to it, and another part of her was dreading it. The date was with Mandy, a lady that she'd met at the library. Mandy ran a health food store downtown, and she was nice enough. Jody had never dated much, though after college she'd passively accepted a few dates with women, privately wondering if perhaps that's why she'd always felt different inside and never had any interest in men: she was gay. Of course, she'd never had much fantasies about women, or at least not the kind she could share. She'd had some fantasies in her early teens which had perplexed her, and eventually she'd just abandoned them because they made no sense. In those fantasies, she was with women... but she was a man. She had a cock, a big long thick cock (it was her fantasy and she could endow herself however she wished, so she was always generous. Even though the Duke really had only an average size cock, nothing to be ashamed of certainly, but not the behemoth she gave to herself either.) and in her mind, she fucked women until they screamed for mercy, begging for the feel of her cock inside them. She straddled her pillow and humped away furiously, smiling, wanting release, wanting to explode inside them. Once she'd even gone so far as to get a hot-dog and pretend it was her cock, thrusting it against the pillow furiously, bedsprings squeaking, wishing for a release that would never come. She squeezed breasts, and thrust furiously, but there was never any release because her cock was gone. It should be there but it was fucking gone. And she was unbelievably pissed. She quietly lay awake nights, mourning, as she realized the inevitable, and she told herself it was all a mistake, something wrong in her mind, and that she'd never been intended really to have a cock. How could she miss what she'd never had? She tried to love her body, but instead drew razors down the flesh in the dark because there was no way other that she knew to express this grief. She bound her breasts with gauze, tightly, and starved and threw up till she was as slim-hipped as any boy, but ultimately it didn't help. She could pass on the street for a male, at least a young boy, but she could never ever fuck like a man, love like a man, and she'd never have a wife or a family, not unless she pretended to be something she really wasn't. For a while, she became queer and fucked men. She was surprisingly good in bed because she knew what they liked; how could she not? Her cock might exist only in her own mind, but it was a very real thing and she knew just what was arousing and what was not. She could do all kinds of tricks, because in her mind those were things that had been done for her and had satisfied her. Her own body, the one that truly existed in the corporeal world was a mystery to her. She didn't know what to make of it and so she made nothing at all. Too busy mourning the lost cock. She resigned herself to being 'stuck' in a female body, and began passively dating women. It wasn't quite right, but it was obviously as close to right as she was going to come in this lifetime. The problem was that she had no idea what to do with the women once she had them bedded. If she'd had her big Duke cock, she could have fucked them, but without it, she just found herself playing with breasts and wondering what the hell to do now. She was aroused but had nothing to express the arousal with. She'd fuck with fingers a bit and lick nipples, and she could get them off, but there was no release for her. She had no cock, and no idea what to do with what she did have. Frustrating didn't even begin to describe her situation. *** The Duke was ready to ride. He woke up on Monday morning, knowing that today was his day to head out after the bandits, and the last day with sweet Maggie. He had morning wood, and idly stroked his hard-on, listening to Maggie in the kitchen, picturing her voluptuous body before him, over him, straddling him. Ah, it was sweet. He got out of bed, still hard, still naked and strode into the kitchen, grabbing his hat off the kitchen table and plopping it lightly on his head. He walked up, hugging Maggie from behind, pressing against her. "I'm ready to ride, woman," he growled playfully, nipping her teasingly on the neck. She giggled and turned around, swatting him lightly with a dish towel on the bum. "I'll say you are," she said, grabbing him. He laughed, tilting his head down, kissing her deeply. She kissed back, embracing him passionately. She smelled sweet, like baking bread and flesh flowers. He was kissing her even more passionately, his hands kneading her warm buttocks when the unthinkable happened. He felt an odd sense of vertigo, almost as if he were in two places at once and the sense of what felt like bugs under his skin. And then, his body was shifting, changing, and his cock was shrinking and gone, his body becoming tinier, muscles re-arranging and realigning themselves. He screamed, his voice growing distinctively more high as the scream reached it's pitch. Maggie had stepped back and was staring at him, her eyes wide and shocked. In a flash, his non-duke life suddenly began coming to him, horrible images, one after the other, pounding into his consciousness. "Nooo! Noooo!" Maggie was still staring at him, and he couldn't stand to have her see him like this, to witness him nude, his horrible breasts flopping, his body tiny and weak, his crotch with no cock. He desperately tried to cover himself with one hand, beginning to sob, and struck at her furiously with the other hand. "Don't you look at me! Don't look at me!" He turned and ran from the room, desperate only that she not see him like this, his face burning with shame. He ran into the bedroom, crawling under the covers, wanting to hide his body. He pulled the pillow over his head, still sobbing. He heard the sound of her feet coming after him, and she burst into the room. "John, what's going on?! What's going on?" He continued sobbing, and he felt her tugging at the pillow over his head, and he held it tighter, not wanting her ever to see him like this. After a moment, she gave up and he was relieved, but she was only going for another tactic. He felt a draft of air as she yanked off the sheet. His body lay nude and exposed on the bed. He screamed in horror, knocking the pillow aside as he lunged for the sheet, trying to grab it away from her. She danced back out of reach, still holding the sheet, staring at him, her face pale and shocked. "What's going on, John? What's going on? Your body, it's... you're a woman!" John hunched up, bringing his legs together to hide the crotch and breasts, sitting up on the bed, crying now with less urgency, simply a resigned hopelessness that bespoke of no comfort and no release, tears for a torment where no end was in sight. "Please," he whispered, begging. "Please, give me the sheet back. Please." He couldn't meet her eyes, too ashamed. She just kept staring, her eyes still shocked and horrified though after a moment, something like sympathy crept in. She walked closer and handed the sheet back. John took it, not meeting her gaze still, and wrapped it tightly around himself, covering up the hated body. Maggie hesitated and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What's going on, honey?" she whispered. John just shook his head, knowing he could never explain it. What's going on? She wanted to know, and he didn't have the first clue himself. It was not supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be his world, where he could be who he really was and there would be no contradictions. And now that other world had invaded. Had come crashing in, mixing and mingling where it didn't belong. Maggie reached forward and took his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Talk to me, honey. Talk to me." He stared at her miserably, aware for the first time that he was looking at her as another woman, and he couldn't take that. "I'm a woman," he said softly. "Well, no shit," she said. "But you haven't always been. I KNOW that because I know what we did last night and what I saw this morning, and you weren't no woman then." She glanced down in the direction of his legs, but the sheet hid everything. A plaintive look crossed her face. "Where'd your cock go, John?" she asked sadly. He burst into fresh sobs. "How the fuck do I know?" he sobbed. "You think I don't miss it too?" They both began sobbing, mourning the lost cock. It was Maggie who finally pulled herself back together after about 10 minutes. "Well," she said, wiping her tears. "This has been a good release, but it doesn't bring you back to normal and it doesn't find your penis. What are we going to do?" He looked up, wiping his own eyes. "I don't know. I've never known." "What do you mean?" she asked, frowning in bewilderment. He sighed. There was a lot of explaining to do here. "This isn't the only world," he began. "There's another world next to this one, and in that world, I'm a woman..." He spoke for about thirty minutes, non-stop, and Maggie's eyes grew wider and wider as he shared every detail he could remember, and the more he shared, the more he remembered. At the end, he finally paused, slumping slightly, but meeting her eyes at least. "And that's all I remember," he said. Maggie was scowling in concentration, biting her lip. "It's the queerest thing I ever heard," she said thoughtfully. "And yet there's truth to it, there must be, or you wouldn't be sitting here like this." John winced, but kept his composure this time. "What do you suppose the world is?" Maggie asked thoughtfully. "I mean is it another universe, another time, what?" John shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know. I think it might be another dimension, but it could also be another time. The Chinee believe you get reborn. Perhaps there's truth in that, and in some future time, she is me. And now I'm her." He shuddered. "I liked me now, the way I was. I don't want be a damn dame." He flushed as Maggie gave him a dirty look. "Not that there's anything wrong with it," he added quickly. "It's just... not me." "Well, obviously, it is you," she said thoughtfully. "At least some time, some where. Maybe you'd do better to sort of... you know accept it. Maybe that's part of the problem. You're so busy fighting against it, insistent that you know best, that you're missing out on what's real. And causing breaks in reality all over the place just because you are so damn stubborn. Not that I haven't always known that," she added, tweaking his nose playfully. He stared at her in disbelief. This whole thing was too surreal. He could see the life he'd lived in the other place, the details were clear but it was superimposed over the images of this one and felt less real, like something he'd seen in a dream, but not truly real. Yet here he was sitting in bed with his woman, with his dick gone and breasts, and she was laughing and joking like it was all no big deal. He didn't know whether he wanted to hit her or hug her. "You're an amazing woman," he said finally. "But look at this." He stood up, letting the sheet fall away, standing before her, nude on the bed. "Just look at this," he spat out, his voice growing tight with disgust. "I've got tits, I've got no penis. I can't love you like this. What the hell am I going to do with myself?" he added the last in a desperate sort of yell. Maggie scowled up at him, and pulled at his ankle. "You'll sit down and stop roaring,"" she snapped. "You always were a bossy thing, and I thought it was because you were a man, but I see now that it's just you. I bet you were a most unpleasant woman." He flopped back down into a sitting position and glared back at her. "Actually I was very quiet. Had to be, I couldn't kick the shit out of anyone that gave me lip." He looked away, scowling harder. "You have no idea how much I hated that." To his surprise, she giggled. "You think I don't know? For a woman, you sure don't know much about being one. I've been wanting to scream since as long as I can remember." John glanced at her in surprise. "You? Why?" She sighed in exasperation, staring at him with something like surprise as well. "For god's sake, John, did you think you were the only woman who ever got frustrated with things? Do you think I liked wearing corsets about when I was younger? Five layers of petticoats no matter how hot outside? Never allowed any say in anything, no votes, no chance ever of learning any more than what we got in eighth grade? Don't get me wrong," she added. "I don't want to be a man, but I can relate to feeling frustrated." John, who'd been staring at her with something like awe up until the last was now shaking his head furiously. "But that's what I don't understand," he said. "What I could never understand. Why would anyone want to accept being a woman? It's an awful thing. It really is." Maggie sighed, suddenly looking tired. "How would you know, John? You never tried to accept it. You've never even come close. You decided it wasn't for you, and just went on. If you're as stubborn in the other world as you are in this one, I'm sure you made yourself nice and miserable and never gave an inch. Believe it or not, being a woman isn't an awful thing. There's things that aren't right and we know that, but you're not just what society says you can be. There's more inside, more that makes you who you truly are. What makes you so very sure that you are a man?" John's eyes flicked instinctively downward. Maggie sighed. "And I'm not talking about your penis for once. Can we just forget the penis for a single moment?" John shook his head sadly. "Probably not." "Well, try. Just try. Is that really all that made you a man? What if you'd lost it in an accident? Would you be a woman then?" "No, I'd be a bloody eunuch." He shuddered at the thought. Maggie moaned and rolled her eyes. "Good god, John. Can you try to see things in a different light? Just try?" He was silent, thinking about it. "I don't know, Maggie. I don't know what made me so certain I should be a man, other than the sexual stuff. It was just a feeling... what the women of that day were supposed to be, I wasn't. I didn't understand those things, and I didn't want those things. I wanted to be who I was, and who I was, was a man. It always was." "John... who you were was who you were. Didn't you ever see yourself as more than what's between your legs?" "No." "That's sad. I think that's sad. I really do." *** She woke up scowling, the early morning light penetrating through her blinds. The dream had been a strange one, and what was stranger was how she could recall every detail so clearly. That usually didn't happen. Most times, she woke up and the dream would be fading, and she'd only recall that she'd been happy there. This one was different. She hadn't been happy. It had been a disaster, but it stayed with her. She got up and went into the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, glaring, but for once not turning away. This was what she had to work with, and might as well face it. She stared at the long hair, and after a moment, stroked the length of it. It was pretty hair actually. Even if it wasn't really her. She gazed for a few moments, then went into the kitchen, rummaged through the junk drawer till she found what she was looking for. Back to the bathroom, and facing the mirror again, she gently, almost tenderly, pulled a lock of hair away from her head, and clipped it away in a large hunk. A slow smile spread over her face as she watched herself, cutting away her hair until it was as short as it had always been in her dreams. For just a moment, she felt at home in her body. At work, they all commented on her hair, trying to be complimentary except for one guy in circulation who'd always been something of an ass. "Oh my," he said when he saw her. "What happened, honey? Get into a fight with a lawnmower and lose?" He raised one eyebrow then tittered at his own wit. The old Jody would have glared but turned away and said nothing. Now though, she was the Duke, and the Duke didn't back down. She stepped forward and looked straight up at him, chin out thrust, hands on hips. "Boy," she said softly. "I know where live. You don't watch your step around me, you're going to wake up some morning and find your dick superglued to your leg." He blinked in surprise and took a step back, instinctively lowering one hand downwards. "How butch," he murmured, turning and walking away. Jody grinned. Call it what you want. She was what she was. She tried on the new look all week. She wore men's football jerseys out in public, drank beer from the bottle, farted out loud, whistled at ladies on the street and shouted rude things from her car window and wiggled her tongue. She was a horrible disgusting pig and she liked it. Because now she knew that she could be, if she wanted to. And she didn't even have to be a male. In her apartment, she drank beer every night in front of the tube, ate pizza and threw the crusts on the floor. She slapped on brut cologne every morning and flexed her biceps in the mirror. For a while, that was enough. Oddly, one day, she found that she missed pretty things. A bauble caught her eye in a shop window, some little glass figurine of a turtle and the light reflecting through the green on it's back was beautiful. There was a tentative awareness growing within her of the fact that she could do and be whatever she wished to be and none of it had to define her, and because of this she dared go in to buy it. That night she rented The Searchers and dreamed again. *** She was n the cabin with Maggie, but she was back in her Duke body. She smiled as she felt all the familiar plumbing in place on her body. It was night and Maggie was lying beside her. Duke rolled over, and kissed her, and Maggie responded. As they made love, memories of what had transpired in the Duke world gradually crept into Maggie's awareness. She'd gone after the bandits and caught them, just as she'd planned. Killed them then and turned them in for the other half of her bounty. Now she and Maggie had months to play, and no need to worry for a while. It was sweet. For the first week. She and Maggie played house, she rode her horse, ate Maggie's cooking and romance was as traditional as is it could be until one night her body morphed back into female, this time right in the middle of intercourse. "Ah fuck," she moaned, rolling off Maggie. "Not anymore," Maggie commented, pulling the sheets over her body. "I see you're back in... that body." "What of it?" Jody muttered, scowling. Her earlier shame had vanished. Oddly, she now felt somewhat protective of her female body. It wasn't what she would have chosen, but it was what she had to work with and she was doing her best with it. "Nothing of it," Maggie said. "I was just commenting." She turned on her side, propped up one elbow, studying Jody. "It's funny, with the short hair I can see your resemblance to your male body much more." "Yeah." Maggie was quiet for a while. "Do you have a name in that other world?" she asked finally. "A female name, I mean? You can't be John over there too unless they have really weird names for women and men." "It's Jody," Jody said quietly. The admission felt odd in the little room as if she'd admitted a third person to their party. "Jody," Maggie repeated musingly. "Do you date over there?" Jody shrugged. "Not very much." "Men or women?" Jody shrugged. "Technically both, but most of the time... not really either." "Did you have a wife there? Or a husband?" she added, frowning at how odd it sounded in her mouth. Jody shook her head. "Neither." "Does anyone know about this world?" Maggie asked curiously. Jody shook her head again. "No. I don't talk to a lot of people there." "What do you do?" Maggie asked. "For fun, I mean?" Jody shrugged. "Not very much. Drink beer. Most of the time, I was just lonely." "That sounds awful. But in a weird way... I envy you. You've had the chance to be both. Male and female. You can choose which is best." Jody was quiet. She'd never seen it quite like that. Oddly, she knew what Maggie meant. She'd never suspected that she could miss being a female, but in the past couple months once the novelty of allowing herself to be a male had worn off, she'd found herself missing being female at certain times. Fingering a long velvet gypsy skirt in the head shop, and thinking how cool and funky that would be to wear. Now that she'd finally accepted she didn't have to wear these things, she found occasional things that she even sort of liked. She kept her Brut cologne, but every so often, she'd prefer to wear Estee Lauder. It wasn't even about being male or female that day, just... what she wanted. There was choice. There was choice. The words repeated themselves in her head. "I don't think you have to choose which is best," she said slowly. "I don't think... perhaps neither one is 'best.' Just... if something feels right, you should do it. And you shouldn't have to choose, because the things don't make you a male or a female. Clothes and shit. There's so many ways to be and so many options, you should see beyond it. What you said about being more than your gender... you were right about that, Maggie. More right than you ever could have known. And I never got it. I've spent a whole lifetime mourning a penis that wasn't there, and missing out on everything else. And I still sort of miss the penis, and maybe a part of me always will, but that was never... as important as I made it out to be." Maggie stared at her intently in the dark then smiled. "Really now," she purred. "Because I do love you, Jody John, whoever you are, and you know that, but how are you going to fuck me with no penis?" John/Jody grinned. "Maggie dear, you'd be amazed at the toys my world has come up with. We don't have them here, but maybe I can improvise. And if I'm good enough," she waggled her fingers, "You might not even want the toys." "Well, now." Maggie flopped back down, with a laugh. "You surprise me, John. You never fail to do that. But what about your job?" "Woman, it doesn't matter what's between my legs, I can still outshoot any bloke in this county and you know it." "Woman, eh?" Maggie laughed. "You're an ornery s.o.b., but I love you for it." Jody felt herself turning back into a man and welcomed the growing hardness between her legs. "Make way woman, because the company is now laying down track for the big train." It was an old joke between them that never failed to amuse. When the big train finally chugged into the tunnel, all whistles sounded. In the morning, John was Jody again, and it was no longer the end of the world, and he felt no shame anymore. Sometimes he was a man and sometimes he was a woman, and that was just the way it was. Throughout it all, he was fundamentally himself, and accepted that. Person first. Gradually he even learned that he could control it, and to his surprise, once he discovered that, he found that he didn't even wish to be male all the time. Sometimes yes. Sometimes, to make love with his woman or to go riding or drinking beer with the boys. But other times, he chose to be a woman, to go shopping with Maggie, swimming, to enjoy her as companion and friend, more than just lover. And with each thing he did, he realized it mattered less and less what his gender was till the day came when he caught a glimpse of himself passing by in a window, and he could no longer say for certain whether he was male or female in that moment; only that he was who he was, and he was happy.