A Mistake To Remember Chapter 3 free porn video

Chapter 3: I didn't see Leonard for several days. In the meantime, Evalyn took a vacation from work to be with me. She wouldn't tell me everything about her son, preferring that I hear his life story from him, but when she did speak of him, it was with pride. Obviously, she didn't think there was much wrong with him. Like many of the Mengstrom men, he'd left the family confines at an early age and went out to see the world. He'd been a mate on a steamship freighter in the 1890's, and was in China when the last Empress died. He'd lived in Mexico, Australia, and all over Europe. He'd been a doctor in Argentina, and a cowboy in the American West. He'd been in the Pacific in WWII, although he'd given WWI a pass, and there were few occupations he hadn't tried. He'd recently joined Mengstrom Innovations, but before that, he'd owned a restaurant in Manhattan for twenty years, a long time to stay in one place for one who aged very slowly. "He must have had a lot of girlfriends," I asked Evalyn during a walk. "That's his business," she said, as usual refusing to say anything substantial about his private life. "Ask him if you want to know more." Evalyn was more forthcoming about the Mengstroms. The family history went back over 4,000 years. Amazingly, most of the old records still existed. Anything recorded for posterity had been copied onto the finest writing materials of the age, and recopied as necessary. Priceless memoirs, histories, and letters from dozens of eras, and in as many languages, from Egyptian Hieroglyphics, Etruscan, Greek, Latin, Aramaic, Arabic, to the modern European tongues, still existed in caches buried around the world. The most prized possessions of all were the artifacts and writings from ancient Atlantis, which had been miraculously preserved through eons in underground vaults in the securest locations, and were now in the United States. Everything that could be photographed had been transferred to databases years before, scattered in a few protected locations, one of which was the estate. I was on "honored probation" until I was a real member of the family, which meant that my access was restricted, but Evalyn showed me a few of the old records: one of a family merchant in Tyre about 940 BC, who wrote in his memoirs of trysts with the priestesses of Astarte, and who traded routinely with Israel, at the time, under King Solomon. Another family member owned a villa across the Tiber from Rome in 46 BC. It neighbored the villa where Julius Caesar had installed Cleopatra and her son, Caesarian. That ancient ancestor had spoken to her personally, and recorded the finest description of her I'd ever seen. The didn't let me see the Atlantean records, but Evalyn had seen the original pictures of the ancient island, actually a group of islands, taken before the ancients destroyed and buried all traces of their civilization. She told me it had a distinctive architecture of curved surfaces amidst tropical flora. Four thousand five hundred years ago, Bermuda was Atlantis. Evalyn went into town, bought sports bras and running shorts for me, and I went running again. I put my hair up into a pony tail to keep it out of my face and started off down the trail around the estate, picking up speed as I found the rhythm in this body. I'd planned three easy laps to start, but after lap two I was holding my sides, a trifle pissed that I faced a long road ahead to re-build my endurance. I started walking again. If I couldn't finish running, then I'd at least finish the distance. When I came near the parking lot, I spotted a late model BMW with New York plates. A Mengstrom man I didn't recognize sat in the driver's seat, and a young woman in sunglasses and a casual skirt and blouse stood outside, leaning against the passenger- side door. She waved at me and started forward. Up close, she was about my size with family features. "Hi, there! You must be Charlene," she said in fluent Brooklynese. "Guilty," I said. "I'm Donna. I had to come down to meet you. My husband is staying in the car to give us some woman time. You know, I'd hug you, but you look sweaty." "Hey, it's nice to meet you, too. Let me see -- you're married to George, right?" "Got it! So you're the latest addition. I was the youngest in the family. Now you are -- or you will be soon. You walking or running? If you're walking, then I'll walk with you." "I'm walking." She went to the trunk and exchanged her heels for a pair of Adidas, then joined me on the path. "It can be tough at first," she said. "You must be freaked about gettin' married, and besides the changes, there's the restrictions, a lot of secret shit, and old biddies talk about what happened to them in the French Revolution, as if that has anything to do with the twenty- first century. So how you doin' so far?" "Okay, and everyone has been great. Do you guys still live in New York City?" "Yeah. I guess now that Leonard has left, George and I are the Big Apple branch of the family." "Donna, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Leonard?" "Shit, girl," she said, lowering the sunglasses on her nose. "You sound serious. You're not having second thoughts are you?" ~As if I had a choice.~ "I want to find out what I can about the man I'm marrying. I'm getting these conflicting vibes. I just wish someone would tell me what he's really like, you know, an independent point of view." She sighed. "He's decent and straight up. I don't think he's the happiest guy, but it isn't about you." I waited, but she just left it hanging there. "Well, geez, Donna, couldn't you be a little more specific?" "Sorry, Honey. It isn't my place. Exactly how long have you been Charlene?" "A week." "So wait a few weeks, and then talk to him." "Weeks? But why should I..." ~Weeks. Evalyn told me that was how long I'd have before the adjustments kicked in.~ I'd been trying to avoid thinking about it. I still couldn't wrap my head around it, I couldn't quite believe that it could happen to me. "Oh, for....!" "That's right. Pretty soon you're goin' to have a whole new outlook on life. You shouldn't talk to him now, because you'd be speakin' male, and male is not where you're going. You think that you're going to hug, kiss and make up thinking like a man? Screw that." Yeesh. The memory of that night was too familiar. "So, it's really inevitable. I'll feel that way soon, and it will be that way for the rest of my life." "You're a strange one," she said, considering me. "I never heard of anyone who wasn't looking forward to the changes. I mean, isn't this what you wanted?" She stepped back and waved her arms around. "Don't you want your feelings to match your body? I remember being nervous when I thought about it, but I was excited, too. I couldn't wait." "Of course, I'm looking forward -- " At her skeptical glance I added, "Well, maybe I'm just more nervous than you were." "Think about it this way. You've got the body you always wanted, but you don't know how to use it to its fullest advantage. This 'attitude adjustment' will teach you." "So, what was it like for you?" "There weren't any fireworks, and I didn't start thinking 'Oh my God, I need to get laid!' The best I can describe it was that it was the day that everything became real. It's nothing to worry about. Come, on, let's talk about all the those things the 'proper' ladies of the middle ages never told you, like how Paris stank like a freakin' sewer. We women born in the twentieth century have to stick together." Donna, it turned out, was born Frank Ginelli in 1960, and danced off- Broadway when he could get the work, which wasn't too often. He had never made much secret of his cross-dressing or his envy of the ladies, and made a pretty woman when he chose to go out. Frank had never seriously considered surgery or hormones because he'd never wanted less than the whole package. George had known him slightly and referred him to his mother for her approval. When Frank woke up as Donna, she was ecstatic. She'd already liked George, and there was never a doubt that they were sympatico. They married soon after Donna 'adjusted.' Donna still danced, but with her husband, and their son had just started college. I accepted that she was happy with her Mengstrom guy, but what about the rest of the clan, I asked her. "Charlene, it isn't just George and me, everybody in the family has a solid marriage." "Oh, come on. How can everyone get along so well, especially for centuries? It wouldn't be human." "It is what it is. We have spats sometimes, but they're always patched up. Look. The family has thousands of years of experience matching us up, and all the men are pretty settled down after a hundred years or so. They come back dominant, healthy, and young. And you know something, cousin? I like it that way, and so will you. Maybe it's in the genes we get, but we all like our guys, and when you marry a man who's lived at least seventy-five years longer than you, you listen because he knows what he's talking about." "What happens to a wife when her husband dies?" "It happens. We're not immortal, you know, and we don't usually die of old age. If a man's wife dies, he finds another wife. For a widow, it can be harder. Sometimes she marries one of the single guys; most of the time she lives alone, and I've heard that a few have committed suicide." "They killed themselves?" "So they say. I've heard that in the real old days, a man would take a widow as a second wife." She paused a moment to look at me, and said, a little annoyed, "What are you worried about, anyway? You're going to live for centuries as a beautiful woman. You have a wonderful life ahead of you. Talking about death when you should be celebrating is friggin' morbid." "You're right. I am worrying too much. I swear I'll stop one of these days." Donna snickered. "I know you will," she said. "You're marrying a man with more than a hundred years of experience pleasing women, but he's got all the strength and stamina of youth. Oh, yeah, you'll stop worrying about everything." She laughed as she watched me go crimson, and gave me a hug -- I guess she figured that I'd dried off enough. "You'll be fine. I've got to go, but give me a call if you want to talk, okay?" "I will. Thanks for coming by." Her husband got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened the door for her, like a gentleman, but before he permitted her inside, he grabbed her butt, pulled her to him and kissed her. Donna didn't seem to mind being man-handled, in fact, I thought she enjoyed it quite a bit. They waved to me, I waved back, and then they were gone, leaving me on the trail with a myriad of emotions and facts that I would have to sort out. *** Two weeks later I started my first period. It was messy, sticky and smelly. It meant that I wasn't pregnant. My body was evacuating the lining of my uterine wall, preparing for another shot at motherhood. In a couple of weeks, eggs would emerge from (my!) ovaries and float down Fallopian tubes in the hope that when they arrived at their destination, a man's happy-time spurts were flooding through my vagina. Those eggs would wait patiently for the little wrigglers to swarm, and then it would be life for the luckiest sperm, whereupon a child would rise up and rule my body for nine months. Hell, men had it easy with a couple of dangling externals. My guts were a biological factory. Evalyn smiled when I told her and gave me a box of Midol. "Just in case," she said. She welcomed me to the club by telling me about her first time, and what they did "way back when," something I didn't need to hear. During that time, a torrent of hormones coursed through me, and mood devils swung me through depression, anger, and sometimes, the weirdest contentment, as if I felt the world around me, and that all was well. At least, though, when those days were over, I knew what to expect for the next one, and the next. It was annoying, but by the end of it I thought of it as rather ordinary, much the same, no doubt, as did the majority of other women. The day after, I awoke and did the usual things. Then I took a shower - - and washed my hair while I was at. I faced the shower head and let the water strike my face. It ran over my breasts, and formed a rivulet, running down my stomach, between my legs, the inside of my thighs, and all the way to the shower floor. I stood there for minutes, letting it wash over me, something I hadn't done before. That morning, I selected a skirt that I'd hadn't worn before, matched it with a blouse, and began applying make-up. The woman in the mirror looking back was just me, Charlene. That was a new thought, and I froze with the eyeliner pencil in the air. It wasn't a revelation, more a sense that my body was the way it should be, and only remarkable when I thought about it. I used to be a man; I once had a penis; I'd made love to women. I remembered holding Modesty in my arms, how much I'd wanted her to be the one. I wanted to cry, for I felt that something had been stripped away, but the heat of that memory belonged to another person, a man -- different from me. Why wasn't I angrier? Then again, how could I be angry when I felt so normal? Evalyn knocked on my door later that morning. When I opened it, she held up her hand for silence, and gazed at me like I'd just emerged from a cocoon. "You knew all along that it would be today, didn't you?" I asked her. "Yes. Your first period triggers the final adjustment. It's a wonder to see the eyes of a woman lift for the first time. You have a lot to discover about yourself. Nature shall have its way with you. Much of what you've learned will have to relearned, and it can be confusing. So, then. What do you think of men now?" By "men," I was sure she meant her son. There was less "gay" in the memory of that first night, but even from a woman's point of view, drugging me and forcing me to go down was still way over the line. I answered her question, referring to men in general, and not her offspring. "I'm not sure. I must like men, I mean, I've been through the adjustments, but I haven't seen a man since the change. It's a gray area." "Really," she said, frowning. "Either you're being unusually cautious or..." She shook her head. "No matter. We'll soon fill in that 'gray area.' You, Victor, and I will take a flight to Miami this afternoon. From there, we'll drive to Key Largo. One of the family owns a hotel restaurant there." I liked what I was hearing. It was a change of scene. There'd be warm weather, South Florida beaches, and snorkeling in the Gulf Stream. Even if I had to be watched, it was better than staying on the estate. "We're going on vacation?" "Partly," she replied, and the corner of her lip turned up very slightly. *** ~Partly, my rounded ass!~ Evalyn, it seemed, had lost patience with me. "Charlene, table four has been waiting," my boss informed me as I hustled out of the kitchen. "I know, I know!" I balanced the plates on the tray over to table seven, remembering who had the orders: idiot redhead with the second degree sunburn wanted the flounder; loud boyfriend with the beer belly wanted the surf and turf; the butchy blonde with the snake tattoo had the lobster; and the cute guy with the muscle shirt had the sampler. This was my crash course in men. Evalyn figured the less I thought and the more I reacted, the more natural my responses would be. Waiting tables at the restaurant gave me maximum exposure to these strange creatures who wanted to penetrate me, while still keeping me out of trouble. Nature makes a guy like bodies with curves, soft, hairless features and a place to maximize his pleasure. A healthy, pretty female -- who's not too silly -- makes him want to flex his muscles, suck in his gut and spend his money. Girls like confidence, good looks and men they can depend on, and they'll let themselves be caught by the right guy. Sure, it's a mating game, but we do what nature tells us or sit at home with a box of Ho Ho's and play video games. My new body liked hard bodies and tight butts, but my mind needed a complete rewiring. I had the goods, and without a ring on my finger, I got the attention Evalyn figured would set me straight. At first, I blushed too much. I would stare at newly-interesting six-pack abs, and then lose my train of thought contemplating a set of wide shoulders. I shied like a deer when a good-looking guy scanned my assets, and I lacked the awareness, the mindset of the other waitresses. I didn't have the answers for come-ons; I must have left some guys thinking that I was a disturbed lesbian -- or had all the charm of a dead fish. But I learned. These were guys. They weren't a mystery. It was a matter of appreciating them for who they were from a woman's point of view. If I were really free, without a tracker buried under my cheek and a fianc? of questionable character waiting for me back in Georgia, what would I do? I didn't like thinking like that; what had been done to me still ate at my craw. My body may have felt comfortable to me now, but I hadn't been born to be a woman, and this trip and my education wasn't for my benefit. And yet, I had no choice. If I wanted to live, then I'd have to let go. I made the only possible decision. The hell with all my worries and fears. Since I had no choice, anyway, I let those instincts loose! My heart still pounded, and girlish, intriguing sensations sometimes twanged the down-below, throwing me into confusion, but I gained confidence in myself, and that was enough to see men from the distaff side. I found that I liked most men, was creeped out by a few, and I developed a male bull shit detector. I smiled more easily and, except for the creeps, I didn't mind them looking at me. Why should I? Guys couldn't help themselves, and roving eyes meant that I was pretty, which I found fascinating. Most of my free time was spent with Evalyn. Morning swims, walking the beach, snorkeling -- they were a break from the restaurant, but were also designed to rid me of body modesty. Ultimately, everything I did had a single overriding purpose, to bring me into line with the accepted responses of a young woman. On the last day, Evalyn drove me to a souvenir store. It might have been any souvenir store on the East Coast except for the names on the T-shirts. The background music had the Beach Boys on an endless Summer, and the shopping wasn't the reward that Evalyn had thought it would be. I was bored out of my newly female skull. When we were by ourselves, I asked her, "So, how was it in your day? How did Yolanda introduce you to men?" She put down some bric-a-brac that I doubted she was interested in, and faced me. "It wasn't necessary for me: I had a very good idea of what a woman was supposed to be and how she should feel. I'd dreamed about it for years and practiced being a woman in secret. We're doing here is unheard of. About every twenty years or so, we bring in a new member to the family. Of the seven women I've seen come along, you have had the most difficulty adjusting. Even Yolanda can't remember anyone like you. One could wonder if you'd ever seriously thought about being a woman." "I ... I don't know what to say to that. Maybe I'm at the end of the bell curve? These days with the roles of men and women mixed up -- I mean it's not like this is the nineteenth century." "My God, you're white as a ghost," she said, bringing her hand to my cheek. "My dear, I didn't mean to frighten you. After all, as you say, these are different times, and it's where you end up that's important, not where you start. In any case, tonight is our last night here. We'll be starting back in the morning. I think that you're ready to meet my son." That night, after a long shower, I lay in bed, awake. I couldn't see a way out of marrying Leonard. I tried to rationalize it. I wasn't unique. Girls used to dream of marrying well to a prince, to power, or to wealth. Women -- and men, too -- once married for compatibility or to seal an alliance. Even today parents still arranged marriages. Girls married, accepted their roles, and hoped that more would come in time. No. I was too much a part of the twenty-first century to accept that custom willingly -- but I would have to, or I'd surely be drugged again and forced to conform against my will, then live with it while remembering what had been done to me -- or die. I had to find a way to accept what must be! Women were supposed to be endlessly adaptable. Leonard and I were supposed to be compatible. It was a strain to imagine it now, but was it impossible that I might, given a few years, come to enjoy life with him? He was a handsome man, fit, and someone, I suspected, that I might rely upon. For my own sanity, I had to give him a chance. I'd put this part of it off, partly because of general principles, partly through stubbornness, but the time was right to get over this final hump. I brought my hands to my breasts and explored the feel of them. I was Charlene, a woman; these were my breasts, and would be mine for all time. My nipples, which also belonged eternally to me, stiffened nicely between my thumbs and forefingers, spreading warmth south and sending tiny lightning bolts to my pussy. I slid my right hand down the length of me, over my breast and across the smooth skin of my belly until it was in the channel between my legs. I separated me and slipped my forefinger inside. I was already wet. This was so different from what I was used to, but not bad! I found my clit, stroked it, circled the outside of it until I found the exact cadence and feel I needed. I lay my head back on the pillow, and abandoned my remaining inhibitions, gasping and moaning in my girlish voice. Leonard was my future. He would someday be where I was touching -- and yet I first though of Modesty. I was still bitter about her: she was the one I'd chosen, the one I'd have been making love to if Leonard hadn't taken me for himself. I should have been between her legs, making her moan and cry my old name in her sweet English voice, but I couldn't hold onto her; she was lost to me now. This body needed a man's hard muscles, broad shoulders, chest, pile- driving hips, and, most of all, what I used to have. I made one last attempt to be with Modesty, and then Modesty became me and the man between my legs morphed into Leonard. An extra finger gave me more penetration, and my thumb finished me off with rolling waves of pleasure and release, which I kept up until I faded into melted butter and cotton. I still needed that extra something to wrap myself around and squeeze, but it was enough, for now. ~Leonard, you had better not be a dick.~ *** The night came. My hair was like a starlet's, and I wore an iridescent blue dress that matched my eyes, with a slit up the side of my leg. I'd done my make-up to Evalyn's standards, and after days in heels, I was competent enough -- or at least I wouldn't stumble on level ground. Evalyn said, "Let your body be your guide, but not too much, if you know what I mean. We'll talk about contraceptives first thing in the morning." ~Me, fertilized?~ "There's no way ... I mean, I'm not thinking about that sort of thing yet." "I doubt that's completely true, but if it is, then you should. Leonard will be a gentleman, but you have no idea how you'll react. He won't be the same as you remember. You'll be attracted to him, and you two are compatible. The combination could overwhelm you." More words that unnerved me: I was giving it a chance to work -- because I had to, but I trembled like a cat frazzled on caffeine. Evalyn brought me into a hug. "Don't worry! You look beautiful, and you're ready to meet your intended." As she spoke, car lights swung into the estate parking lot outside. "Ah, I see my son is right on time," she said, "and that means it's your time in the limelight." She strolled away, leaving me alone. I answered the door when Leonard arrived. He eyed my goods from North to South, then a grin split his face. "You look lovely, Charlene," he said. Thank you, Leonard," I said. By the fluttering beat of my female heart, his sweet words made me flush with pleasure. It was one of those feminine responses I'd picked up in Florida. It simply is that looks are more important to a girl. Maybe it's a Pavlovian thing. A reluctant thought entered my pretty head, that maybe Leonard didn't look so bad himself. He gestured towards where he had parked, guided me out like a sheep, and I heel-toed all the way to his car while he said something about the weather. He drove us to an Italian restaurant, where he had made reservations. The maitre d' showed us to a private table. We ordered a few dishes and he procured a bottle of red wine. It wasn't long before I was full with a minor buzz. I let him do the work for a while, figuring that he'd been on thousands of dates with who-knows-how-many women. It was like he read my mind. "It's never the same, you know," he said, pouring me a second glass of wine, "and this is particularly true of you and I." "Being betrothed might conceivably make a difference." That produced a smile. "You're sizing me up, aren't you?. You're not taking our compatibility for granted." "I'd rather we discovered that on our own." "I think I'd like that, too, but do me a favor and discount the experience you think I've had. This is new to both of us. Do you know why?" "I think so. You could never get serious before. You would have to watch her grow old while you stayed young. It didn't work for the Highlander either." He nodded. "I married once, in 1935. I thought that I could get away with it for twenty or thirty years or by putting on a few pounds, using make-up, and so forth, and by then it wouldn't matter. It did. When she discovered that I wasn't aging as I should, it nearly killed her. 'Love' and 'commitment' are only words between those who can't be equals. The family was furious with me, but they let it play out, I'm sure to teach me a lesson." I could imagine it from her point of view, waking up next to a man who made her mortality a cruel cosmic joke. And I saw the hurt in his eyes. He'd made a serious mistake, and it made him a little more human. "I'm sorry for you both," I said. "It was a hard lesson." His demeanor recovered enough for a brief smile. "Actually, the Highlander analogy you used is something the family has made into a joke. We say, 'There can be only fifty.' It's the ideal number of Elowin men and women. More would be unwieldy and dangerous. Fewer than fifty, and we might not have the resources to be secure among the humans." "Is that the way you look at it: human and Elowin?" "You will, too. As the decades pass, you'll have to move and establish new identities to avoid suspicion, and the only true friends you can have will come from the family." I thought about that for a while. "Leonard, what happened to your wife?" He winced. "She remarried and died seven years ago, but she had a good life." "I'm glad that she was able to move on." He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes." ~Three to one, they drugged her to make her forget. But at least they didn't kill her.~ "Then we'll talk about something else. I'd love to talk about me, unfortunately, there isn't much to tell you, unless you want to know what it's like to waitress in the Keys." "That's right," he said, chuckling. "Mother told me about that. She calls you a product of the twenty-first century, which means that from her perspective, you might as well have been born on the moon, but she likes you very much." "Are there no secrets in this family?" I wailed. Leonard laughed. "Not many." I liked his laugh. I still had my reservations, but when he brought me back to the estate, I let him kiss me at the door. His arms were strong, and his hands were large, and he didn't take advantage of me when he pulled me to him. I decided to give him probation, and before I fell asleep, he was the last thing on my mind. I liked it that he never pressured me. Leonard was invariably a gentleman, but he had his ways: a look, a touch on my arm that lingered, his hand at my waist, of telling me that he wanted me. After a month of the slow build, he offered to bring me to his house. We both knew what that meant, and he gave me plenty of opportunity to refuse, which decided it for me. It was inevitable, I told myself, and it was time. Once inside the door I placed my hands on his shoulders and looked up at him. "Are you're sure?" he said. "I'm sure that I'm nervous, but I hope you're not going to try to talk me out of it. I've think I've waited as long as I can stand." "Well," he said, in a confident way that gave me chills, "you won't have to wait any more." He undid the buttons of my blouse efficiently, and made fast work exposing my breasts. I had a moment of shyness, which startled me when I realized its significance. I wasn't so modest around Evalyn or other women, but I had absorbed that a girl just didn't display her mammaries to any man. I opened Leonard's shirt. He gathered me in, and my breasts pressed flat against his chest. And with that came more reflections on new sensations: I rarely thought about my body anymore. Objectively, I knew that I was smaller, but the world had adjusted for me. I didn't feel any weaker, but I accepted that objects were heavier now. My breasts were smooth and hairless, and I would have had a tough time imagining them the least bit hairy, and yet I'd once had hair on my chest. I thought of myself as normal, but compared to Leonard, I was startlingly soft and hairless, my breasts were a jiggling mass, and my nipples were large and protruding -- and tickled against his chest hair. "Charlene, you feel wonderful," he said. I supposed that I did feel wonderful to him. My memories as a man, fading and becoming less relevant by the second, told me so. I had the right shape to please men, and with my body tight against his, sensed a complementary desire for men. Leonard was broad and strong, with a slight musky scent -- and there was that rising appendage in his underwear, the perfect fit for my growing emptiness. He might have had me then, but he was one of those who preferred to ride a tuned vehicle. His kiss at my neck brought fire and ice, and his hands on my breasts -- male hands desiring my female flesh -- (now, that was new) made me want more. My clothes became an annoying hindrance. I kicked off my heels and unzipped my skirt. That dropped away, and then the only garment separating us was a dampening patch of cloth, a poor barrier, which fell quickly. A shockingly short time later he dropped me in his bed. My skin was all tingles and nerves when he joined me in the sheets. His took his time, starting with my lips and breasts, then extending his dominion inexorably downwards. At some places where he paused, I panted, at others, I shrieked and made noises I didn't recognize. Everywhere was a taste of what it meant to be taken by a male. I couldn't help myself, and opened to him. I wrapped my legs around his back and, when I couldn't tolerate it any more, I pleaded for him to take me. In one smooth thrust, he split my outer barriers and, while staring down at me from above, he took possession. New impressions pushed aside the old; a man was inside me, filling my emptiness. I was no longer the instigator, but the vessel. I could no longer dictate the action; I could only take what he chose to give me, flow, and receive. When the delicious agony built to intolerable heights, he erupted, sending his seed inside me, which set me off, spreading waves that washed away cares, worries, and coherent thought. I melted until I became a satisfied lump, with Leonard still inside me, where I wanted him. ~So that's what it's like to be female!~ And then he began again. A couple of hours later, when it was over, I said, "Over one hundred years of experience. It's almost unfair." "Unfair to whom?" he said from his back, cooling down beside me. "It's powerful stuff. You were breathtaking -- literally." "You were great yourself." I felt the blood rush to my face, remembering, but it was hard to be embarrassed after sharing each other so well. "I'm not sure that I did anything. I responded to what you were doing, but you were in control the entire time." His teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Isn't that the way it should be, a man taking his pleasure, simultaneously giving the woman what she needs? I heard no complaints, no protests to stop." I laughed, still nervous at what I'd felt, and was still feeling. "I'm not used to being managed so thoroughly." "You're a woman," he explained, his assuredness again calling attention to more than a century of making love to hundreds of women -- at least. "It's nothing to worry about, and you'll have many years to get used to it." I wanted to hold him, to touch him. I felt vulnerable in a way I had never felt as a man, but at that moment, it didn't seem to be a bad trade-off. "It's ... just overwhelming at first. I suppose it's impossible for you to know what I'm talking about." "Thankfully so. I like being a man. But did you know that the Atlantean designers had originally planned to use Elowin males to make Elowin women?" I propped myself up on one elbow to get a good look at him. "Really? You mean, you could have been me?" "Female, yes, but to be accurate, I wouldn't have been you. I'd be full Elowin, the same as my ancestors thousands of years ago -- along with the bad genes. You look a lot like an original Elowin woman, but you're really just a hybrid of human and Elowin genes. It's fortunate that humans can fulfill this role. There would have been fighting among the Elowin men over who would have to transform. Few Elowin men would volunteer to become women." "That's probably true," I said, but the way he said it rubbed me the wrong way. Leonard was sleepy and easier to read than usual. On some level, he didn't respect men who wanted to become women, and, as far as he knew, that meant me -- or maybe it was even simpler than that: it was possible that he didn't respect women. My intended also let slip that, to him, being pure Elowin trumped being a half-breed. It would explain his sense of superiority, which I'd felt on occasion. It wasn't quite contempt, but it could have been its first cousin, and deep enough, perhaps, to justify giving me drugs to do his will, as long as I didn't remember it later. And yet, I had to be fair: since I'd awakened from the pod, Leonard had tried to play fair with me. If his superiority complex came through once in a while, would that disappear in time as he grew to know me -- or was it an irredeemable flaw in his character? As he lay sleeping, I considered him. I didn't love him, and knowing what I knew, I wasn't sure if I even liked him sometimes. If more ever came to bind us, then it would come. As Leonard had said, there was plenty of time. Meanwhile, all I would ask from him was that he treat me with a measure of dignity. I could tolerate that -- and he was a hell of a lover, too. *** A month later, we married at the estate, with the entire family present. On the surface, it was like any other wedding. I wore a white wedding dress that Evalyn and I chose, and Leonard wore a tuxedo. Photographers took vids, a singer sang Shania Twain, and during the reception I met the rest of the family up close, including the head of the council, a distinguished if somewhat dour man with iron-gray hair and a barely perceptible limp, Henry Mengstrom. My official full name was Charlene Singer. I was supposed to be twenty- three years old, born an Army brat in Germany and moved to the US when I was four. I had all the documents to prove who I was: a passport, a Social Security card, a drivers license, and a teaching degree, all of which, I was told, would hold up under the strongest scrutiny. I asked Evalyn how the family did it, but she didn't know, nor was she particularly interested in the matter. It was just "Something the council did." My maiden name didn't last long, of course. I became Charlene Mengstrom that afternoon, and Leonard carried me over the threshold into his house that evening. As Evalyn had told me earlier, my role, at least for some years, until the child I would bear was fairly well grown, would be as a housewife. I could adapt to that. With hundreds of years to become whomever I wanted, a few domestic chores were nothing, and Leonard pleased me very well at night. If he was more dominating than I preferred, he countered it with old world charm, a form of respect that I could accommodate. Most of all, it seemed that I was safe for the moment, and whatever my future, I could afford to be patient. Two months later I was pregnant.