Sylvia and her friends at the drive in 1963
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Sixty-three Minutes In 1963 free porn video
Sixty-three Minutes in 1963
By Heather St. Claire
I changed the course of history not too long ago...and I inadvertently
changed the course of my own life as well.
Today is December 6, 2363. I am scheduled to go in at 0900 hours today
for a trial gender reassignment from male to female. The procedure takes
one hour to rebuild my body at the chromosomal level. The term of the
trial is for one year. If I choose at the end of this year, I will be
allowed to make the change permanent. Somehow, I suspect that I will do
that.
The seeds of this change were planted two weeks ago-or, to be more
accurate, four hundred years ago, when I traveled back in time to prevent
the assassination of the thirty-fifth president of the United States,
John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
Although time travel has been possible for decades, it is not allowed
except under strict government supervision-fear of the "butterfly effect"
and all. But I am part of a small dedicated group that spent several
years covertly acquiring the apparatus that would allow for time travel.
We did it for a single purpose-to change the course of United States
history for the better.
We had argued for some time over what single change would produce the
greatest benefit. We had narrowed the choice to the two most infamous
assassinations in the history of the United States, those of Lincoln and
Kennedy. What finally carried the day for the Kennedy faction in our
group was the belief that his death started a spiral of cynicism and
mistrust in public life that had never fully healed.
I was the one chosen to make the trip. I was an ardent student of mid-
twentieth century history and popular culture; I instinctively knew that
I would feel "at home" in this era, as primitive as it was. The
technology would allow me to temporarily inhabit the body of another
individual and control their actions. It's surprisingly similar to the
premise of a television program that aired a couple of decades after
JFK's presidency called "Quantum Leap."
The plan was that I would temporarily take over the body of William
Greer, the driver of the 1961 Lincoln Continental stretch limousine that
Kennedy rode in that fateful day. We acquired a 1965 Lincoln, not a
limousine, but still similar enough and I spent weeks practicing behind
the wheel. The plan was simple enough. I would "arrive" in Greer's body
at 12:27 p.m. local time that day, three minutes before the shooting, and
depart for the present day a little over an hour later, at 1:30 p.m.
I loved it. Sixty-three minutes in 1963.
Although it was not necessary, we choose November 22, 2363, the four
hundredth anniversary of the assassination, as the date for my journey. I
was strapped into the time travel chair and waited for my companions to
activate the mechanism. There was a flash of light and a sensation of
great movement even though I knew I was actually perfectly still, and
then a feeling akin to breaking the sound barrier.
I opened my eyes, looked around, and realized I was in downtown Dallas,
approaching the end of the presidential motorcade route. It was a warm
day for so late in the year. The streets were lined with cheering crowds.
As I gained further awareness and sensation, I realized that I wasn't
behind the wheel of the Lincoln, but I was in the car; who had I landed
in? Was I "in" JFK? No, I was on the left side of the car, behind the
driver....sitting immediately behind Greer was Nellie Connally, wife of
the Governor of Texas, and in the rear left seat was the First Lady. I
looked down at my lap...and saw a pink skirt.
My God.
I was in the body of Jacqueline Kennedy!
I had to get my bearings and act quickly to save the mission. We were
about to make the hard right onto Houston Street, then negotiate the wide
turn onto Elm directly beneath the Book Depository Building.
I did what any woman facing impending danger would do. I screamed.
(Sorry, ladies...that's meant as a joke.)
"Jack!" I cried. "Get down! Now!" I tugged at his left shoulder as hard
as I could. I could tell the President had no idea why I had apparently
lost my mind. Then I remembered he was wearing a back brace that would
make it all but impossible for him to duck. I was starting to feel
frantic. I poked Nellie Connally in the shoulder and pointed toward the
Book Depository. I shouted, "Rifle!" Nellie looked panicked and
immediately grabbed Greer, who finally floored the vehicle. As we headed
toward the triple underpass, I heard rifle shots.
Although I wouldn't learn it until I returned to my own time, the
Associated Press newswire was interrupted within minutes by this item:
BULLETIN DALLAS NOV 22 (AP) THREE SHOTS RANG OUT AS PRESIDENT KENNEDY'S
MOTORCADE LEFT DOWNTOWN DALLAS TODAY. INITIAL REPORTS ARE THAT THE
PRESIDENT WAS NOT (not) HURT.
We made the seven-mile trip back to Love Field, where the Presidential
party had arrived an hour earlier, in just under nine minutes. Over the
President's protests, the decision had been made to cut the visit to
Texas short. He had wanted to proceed to the Trade Mart for his scheduled
speech, but the Secret Service and FBI said they had no idea if there was
a broader conspiracy against the President's life. With most of the
cabinet in a plane over the Pacific, it was vital to get JFK back to
Washington as quickly as possible.
As I was processing all the changes I had set in motion, I was also
becoming aware of all the new and very pleasant sensations that came with
being in a female body. I was now five feet, seven inches tall and
weighed 120 pounds-about nine inches shorter and 100 pounds lighter than
normal. Of course, I felt lighter, but there was something more to this-a
lot more. I felt a sense of grace, a lightness of being that I had never
known before.
We were met on the tarmac by Vice-President Johnson, who said he would
remain behind to monitor the progress of the investigation. Johnson was
clearly shaken by the near-tragedy on his home turf. The President-Jack-
seemed unruffled. But then, this was the same man who answered a child's
question about how he became a war hero by saying: "It was involuntary.
They sank my boat."
Both of us were quickly hustled aboard Air Force One. We were airborne
within minutes. I was ushered to the private cabin in the rear, where
Jack-strange to think of him that way, but in the body of his wife, it
was also natural-had sat down and had already lit a cigar. He looked up
at me with a deadpan expression and said, "Thanks for saving me from a
weekend at Lyndon's ranch." I only needed a moment to process this; I
remembered the trip's original itinerary called for the First Couple to
spend much of the weekend at the LBJ ranch before returning to
Washington.
At that moment, all the emotion of the moment overwhelmed me. "Oh, Jack,"
I said and burst into tears. He stood up to embrace me; then we exchanged
a long kiss. There was so much that went into that kiss, on my side, and
I'm sure on his, as well. It was like nothing I had ever experienced in
my life.
As I sat down, I found myself reaching for a cigarette from a gold box
that I knew was Jackie's. I couldn't believe I was lighting it, or that
poisons like this were still acceptable and legal at this point in
history; yet I knew that it would have been in character for the real
Jackie to light up, especially at a moment like this.
"Did you really see the rifle?" Jack asked.
"I don't know...I saw what I thought was a glint of sun on metal, and I
panicked."
"Well thank God you did. Thank God you did."
At that moment, things around me started to blur. I realized I was being
pulled back to my own time. I closed my eyes, or rather Jackie's eyes, as
things faded out. When I opened them, I was back-back in the twenty-
fourth century, back in my male body.
Talk about being exhilarated and let down all at once.
I was surrounded by my colleagues in this clandestine, dangerous act. We
had risked banishment to the lunar penal colony, but we had succeeded in
changing history.
As I learned on my return, JFK had been re-elected in 1964. Unlike LBJ,
he had developed a healthy skepticism for his own diplomatic and military
advisers, and had refused to sanction an all-out war in Vietnam; still,
the number of U.S. troops had reached nearly 100,000 by the time of the
negotiated pullout in the winter of 1965-66.
JFK had been succeeded by LBJ, who had dashed Richard Nixon's hopes for
the ultimate political comeback; but the collapse of the South Vietnamese
government in 1970 helped to seal his fate as a one-term president. He
was succeeded by California Governor Ronald Reagan in 1973.
It wasn't Camelot, but no Vietnam War and no Watergate had, as we
expected, prevented the cynicism that fueled an increasingly polarized
climate of mistrust that dominated the political scene for decades
afterward in the original, unaltered timeline.
JFK, meanwhile, was returned to the United States Senate by the voters of
Massachusetts in 1970. He spent almost two decades as America's youngest
elder statesman before succumbing to a heart attack in 1988 at age
seventy-one.
I was fascinated to learn in detail how this had all played out over the
centuries, but I remained distracted, haunted even, by my sixty-three
minutes as Jackie. To say it's consumed my thoughts over the past two
weeks would be an understatement. It is as if the experience unlocked a
door to a room that I didn't even know existed, but now that I know it's
there, I must return to it.
Two days ago, I went in for the psychological examination that's a
necessary prelude to gender reassignment. My emotional adjustment index
as a male was rated at fifty-three on a scale of 100; as a female, my
projected score is ninety-seven, more than enough to qualify me for the
trial change.
November 22, 1963. History will remember it as the day I saved JFK, but I
will always remember it as the day I found my authentic self.
Mhairi
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