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CONSCRIPT by Annie James Author's Note: Names have been omitted wherever possible in the writing of this autobiography. Where it has been absolutely essential to include a name for the sake of the story line, the name chosen, like the story itself, is fictitious. Induction This story begins like many others with a call to arms at the beginning of World War II. My experience was not however typical of all those young men who were conscripted in 1939. I was still finishing my secondary education in my small home town in Germany when I received the order to report for induction into the army. I had no great enthusiasm for the idea of going to war, but members of my generation were given no choice in the matter. Within two days of reporting I found myself marching back and forth on the parade ground with a rifle on my shoulder. Given my relatively small stature and lack of heavy muscle development, I was soon a mass of aches and pains. Others in my platoon were also suffering under the strict regimen enforced by our sergeant and we all quickly learned the motto of soldiers in every army, "Never volunteer. Your chores will be no more onerous if you wait to be ordered." We had almost completed basic training about six weeks after our induction when a special parade was called at which we expected to be assigned to our operational units. We had all learned to recognize officers' insignia, knew that we had to address them as, "Sir," and salute smartly at the proper times. The Sergeant had us line up three abreast, marched us half way across the square, then halted us, ordered a 'left face', and had us stand easy while we waited for an officer to approach. Within five minutes a Captain marched across the field toward us, carrying a clipboard in his hand. The Sergeant ordered us to attention, introduced the officer, and then had us answer to our names from the list which the Captain handed to him. After the roll call, the Captain began a pep talk about us being members of the finest army ever assembled, no doubt as a lead-in to the announcement of our assignments. We were rather surprised then to hear him say he would like us all to volunteer for the positions that were to be filled. He started by asking for volunteers for the quartermaster's corps. When no one stepped forward to show a preference for that department, he turned to the sergeant and said with a smile on his face, "Very Good, Sergeant! This is a fine platoon. No one wants a place behind the lines. Everyone will be volunteering for front-line duty." Turning back to us he began to announce our assignments. "Braun, Tank Corps -- Damon, Infantry," and so on down the line. I was mystified when my name was linked to Special Services. I had no idea what that branch of the army was about. After we had been dismissed, I hastened over to the sergeant to ask what my assignment meant. "I can't say for sure, boys," he answered to the two of us who were inquiring, "but I think it has to do with spying. Both of you speak English don't you?" The very next day we two were given train tickets and told to report to an office in Berlin at the end of a one week furlough. After that carefree week I reported as ordered to find Fred Berman, from my unit, and several others waiting in an outer office to be called in for an interview. When my turn came I marched in smartly and gave my most military salute to the officer at the desk. The officer glanced up briefly to give me an order, "Sit down, Private. I will be with you as soon as I finish reviewing your papers." I sat on the chair that was indicated, with my back erect, knees and heels together, and head up in what I understood to be proper military protocol. When he looked up again, his first words were, "Relax, Private, I won't bite you. Now, your name is Inger Schmidt, I believe." "Yes, Sir." "And you volunteered for this duty?" "I'm not quite sure about that, Sir. They just read my name off a list." "Good! You're honest. That's the first test for members of this section. Now, could you tell a lie if it was for the good of your country?" "I don't know, Sir. I've never been placed in that situation." He made no further comment about my answers as he questioned me thoroughly about my background, my family, my education, and my career plans after release from the military. Then he switched to English, apparently to test my facility and accent in that language. When the questioning finished he told me that there was one final requirement before one was admitted to this service. "May I ask a question, Sir," I interjected. "Go ahead," he responded. "Is it true, Sir, that this is a spy organization." "Well, our official title is Military Intelligence. We receive information in various ways, questioning prisoners, reading foreign newspapers, listening to foreign radio broadcasts, intercepting foreign radio messages, for instance. But yes, we do employ spies for some things." "Would I be employed as a spy?" "Possibly. That would depend on the aptitudes you show during your training. Does that prospect bother you." "No, Sir. I just wanted to know if it were true." "Are you prepared, then, to take an oath that you will not reveal any secret information that you learn, to any person except to your proper superior officer?" I stood to attention to take the required oath, somewhat surprised to be asked to place my hand on the Bible. There was no picture of the Fuhrer in the room. "By the way," he added casually as I was leaving the room. "Secret information includes what you hear on the BBC." Training For the next six months a group of about thirty, including Freddy from my former unit, trained at a castle in Bavaria. Our classes included a heavy dose of calisthenics each morning, followed by eight hours of classroom instruction. We studied codes, radio theory and operation, military strategy, bomb making from materials available to civilians, types of disguise, small arms, methods of sabotage, psychology of questioning prisoners, and various other topics related to military intelligence. Each of us had one or two classes specifically related to the kind of work we might be assigned. In my case and for Freddy, who had been designated my roommate, the special classes were designed to deepen and perfect our knowledge of English. For our daily English classes we had two instructors. One was a cheery man of about forty who worked hard to teach us English slang, along with swearing such as might be heard in an English military camp, and to develop in us a genuine English accent. The other was his wife, a tweedy Englishwoman, who concentrated on teaching us the vocabulary of the home, particularly the feminine side of it. For instance, her lectures included such things as a diagram of the parts of her dress, and we were required to memorize such words as bodice, hem, yoke and sweetheart neckline. We regarded most of what she taught as irrelevant background. At the time we thought perhaps that she was somewhat ashamed of teaching enemies of her native land and therefore chose topics which she felt were innocuous. Freddy and I were both surprised at the end of our training session to find ourselves assigned, neither to an active army unit as intelligence clerks, nor to an office for the analysis of military information. Our actual placement was to live with our English instructor and his wife in a small house not far from the castle where we had trained for the past six months. "I guess this means we are really going to be spies," Freddy confided to me as we gathered our belongings for the transfer. His conjecture was confirmed in a way when we were ordered to report back in civilian clothes at the end of another furlough. It rather surprised us as we moved into our rooms to find that most of our orders came from Mrs. Schulman rather than from her husband. He appeared to take the whole matter lightly, but she sounded deadly serious when she instructed us that we were to speak no German during our stay. Even communication between ourselves was to be in English. The neighbours had been told that we were a family of enemy aliens whom the authorities were permitting to live outside an internment camp in return for similar privileges for a certain German family in England. Being cooped up in a small house day after day did not appeal to either Freddy or me but we were given no choice. One or other of the Schulmans was always with us. The only break we got was a trip to the butcher's on alternate days with the ration coupons for our group's allotment of meat. Only one of us was permitted to go at a time, and that person had to pretend not to understand German. All of the housekeeping fell to Freddy and me also. We shared the tasks of making the beds, doing the laundry, cooking the meals, and sweeping the floors. Both of us felt it was a little below our dignity to be required to carry out the duties of a hausfrau, but as obedient servicemen we did not complain. After all everyone had to be prepared to make sacrifices for the efficient prosecution of the war. Our spare time was spent in reading and discussing English novels such as Treasure Island and Jane Eyre. There was not a lot of spare time available to us however. Mrs. Schulman decided that we had to learn to do handwork. Imagine if you will, two members of the Wehrmacht sitting each evening in a small parlour, mending or knitting, and finally even doing embroidery. It was a strange way for soldiers to spend their time. We received lessons also in the use of a sewing machine and each completed a shirt under Mrs. Schulman's direction. I finally asked Mr. Schulman how much longer we would be stationed in his house and what he thought we might be assigned to after our training. His answer was straightforward. "When I report that your English is faultless," he replied, "you will be assigned to active service. I don't know what your assignment will be, but they specifically ordered that your training include those things a woman normally takes care of. I have depended on my wife to handle that part, but I would have been forced to impose discipline if you resisted her demands. Fortunately that has not been necessary." The directness of his response left me much to think about. I discussed it with Freddy who was equally mystified. Two weeks later our teacher declared himself satisfied with our progress and we received another furlough after which we would report back to the office in Berlin. I enjoyed this renewed opportunity to wear my uniform and impress the girls in my home town. Assignment At the end of my furlough I reported as ordered to the same office as before. Freddy had arrived before me and was already waiting. We used the time to talk about how we had each enjoyed our time at home. After a considerable wait we were called together to meet the same officer who had assigned us to the training section. He immediately addressed us in English. "I have read your evaluation reports and I am pleased with them. You both appear well suited to the work we have in mind for you." Together we echoed our, "Thank you, Sir." "Each of you mentioned the possibility of spying when I talked to you before. You are going to have the opportunity to try your hand at it. First, however, some further training will be necessary. You must each learn how to disguise yourself convincingly as a female." Shocked at this sudden and unexpected announcement, Freddy and I looked at each other as we tried to evaluate what was being said to us. Resplendent in our Wehrmacht uniforms, I couldn't imagine how either of us could be made to look like a convincing female, let alone sound like one. The officer must have realized what was going on in our minds because he quickly added. "Don't look so shocked. You both know how to keep house, and how to cook and sew, don't you?" "Yes, Sir." I stopped speaking before the word "but" could slip out of my mouth. One does not question orders in the army. "I'm going to call my corporal," he added. "She will take you out to get your new kit and help you to get properly dressed." Corporal M?ller, who answered his bell, was a tall, thin, severe- looking woman, dressed in a military uniform. Except for her skirt she did not look too different from other members of the armed forces. Freddy and I stood up as she entered. "These are the two I mentioned before," he said to her in German. "See that they are properly equipped, and bring them back to my office when they are ready." "Yes, Sir," she responded. "Follow me privates." We marched out behind her and followed down a long corridor to a room labelled 'Quartermaster'. When the door had closed behind us she issued a series of orders. "Empty all your pockets and put the contents on the table. Then remove your uniforms, fold them and lay them on the chair beside you. Take off your boots and socks also." While we were carrying out these orders she left the room, but returned just as I was folding my trousers to lay them on the chair. She allowed me time to unbutton and fold my shirt before commanding. "Now each of you is to stand up straight facing me. Here is a paper and a pen for you to write down your measurements as I take them." We both felt silly standing there in bare feet and underwear and holding a clipboard as she measured each of us in turn with her tape measure. I felt even sillier to sense an erection forming when she ran the tape between my legs to measure from my waist at the back to my waist at the front. She delivered a sharp tap with her hand accompanied by an order delivered in an irritable voice to, "Hold yourself under control!" We were left standing at attention while she went off with our lists of measurements. By the time she returned we were both feeling distinctly chilly in the cool room. She handed each of us a pair of cotton briefs and a girdle, all in the standard army grey colour. "Replace your BVDs with these," was the accompanying order. To our chagrin the briefs had no fly front and the girdles were panty style that compressed our privates to the point that no bulge showed. Garters hung from the bottoms of our girdles. We felt no less silly when she returned with lisle stockings which we were instructed to pull up our legs and fasten to our garters. Our grey cotton brassieres looked empty when we strapped them around our chests, so she supplied us each with an extra pair of stockings to serve as padding. A thin grey cotton slip came next, to be followed by a shirt which for us buttoned backwards. She handed us our old neckties after the shirts were done up. This was the only part of the uniform with which either of us was familiar. The dark grey skirt was a distinct change from our uniform pants, and our tunics, besides buttoning to the left, had extra space in the front to accommodate our inflated chests. Along with our new caps they bore the insignia of the Women's Army Corps. The oxfords which went on our feet had cuban heels about an inch and a half high. After we had taken several steps to get used to the strange feeling of height, she handed each of us a leather bag whose strap was to be fastened under the epaulet of the left shoulder. Into it we put our money and some of our personal effects. Neither of us was allowed to keep the picture of a girlfriend from back home. The last item to be inserted was a replacement identity card bearing a feminized first name and showing the bearer to be a female. Our former gear was now gathered to be carried to a locker where it was to be stored as the corporal put it, "for the duration." While we moved about in collecting our masculine uniforms, the pull of garters on my thin stockings, the feel of a girdle compressing my abdomen, and the touch of the skirt's hem at my knees, combined with the higher heels to keep me constantly aware of my altered appearance. Self-conscious and embarrassed are adjectives that accurately describe how we felt as the corporal now paraded us back down the hall. We marched into the office from which a very differently dressed pair of privates had emerged three quarters of an hour earlier. The officer stood as we came to attention and saluted. He walked around the desk and spoke to each of us in turn. To me he said, "Your appearance is quite satisfactory, Fraulein Schmidt. I'm sure you will look even better after your hair grows a bit. You might consider wearing a bit of lipstick also. It is against regulations but that is one rule that is not enforced. I have every confidence that you will carry out your duties in a manner that will reflect credit on this department." Knowing that I was expected to make a reply I could only say, "Thank you, Sir. I will do my best." He looked a bit startled and then replied, "Your voice still needs some work, but we will let the doctor help you with that." I was mystified about his meaning. The corporal marched us back to the supply room where we each received a kit bag and the prescribed number of each item on the clothing list. When everything was packed we were required to sign the requisition with our newly assigned names. For the first time in my life I signed myself Ingrid Schmidt. Transformed It was now about five o'clock, closing time for the office, and the corporal directed us out to the parking lot where a military bus sat with its driver at the wheel ready to deliver personnel to various places in the city. "Just smile at the driver when he greets you. I'll tell him where we get off," whispered the corporal before we started to climb up the step. We did as directed and took seats near the back. The bus filled rapidly and we set off through the city traffic. The route was arranged so that we were the last delivered. We found ourselves at a large house in the suburbs. Once we had unloaded our gear, the corporal ordered me to the kitchen to prepare supper for the three of us, saying that 'Frederika' would be required to clean up afterwards. I removed my tunic and hat and set off for the kitchen. "Don't forget to wear an apron to protect the front of your uniform," she called after me as I descended the stairs. After our simple meal I returned to my room to finish unpacking. I had just begun when the corporal entered and clicked the lock behind her. "Now, Ingrid," she announced, "we'll take care of the problem you had when I was measuring you." "What problem is that?" I inquired innocently. Instead of answering she stepped closer and rubbed her hand down the front of my skirt. Immediately my imprisoned sex tried to react as it felt her touch right through the girdle. I said nothing as her other hand came around to my back to unbutton the waistband. My skirt fell to the floor while she stood fondling me through my slip. She slipped one hand under my skirt to undo the garters holding one stocking. Then she changed hands to free the other stocking. "Now your girdle," she murmured as her fingers found its top edge and rolled it down. One of her hands stroked my straining sex through the remaining layer of my panties but she quickly lowered them and my rod immediately stood to attention. "Sit down on the bed." She kept a loose grip on my organ while I obeyed the order. "Now lie back," I watched in silence as she withdrew her hand and quickly stripped off her clothes. I had never even seen a woman's naked breasts before. With my still clothed knees between her bare ones, she leaned forward to place her hands on the bed. "Now it's your turn. Put your hands on my breasts." Her nipples were standing straight out, as stiff as my own erection. "Caress them." My fingers stroked over her swollen flesh. "Now run one hand down my stomach and between my legs." I moved one hand downwards feeling her warm flesh as it moved. "Don't stop caressing with your other hand." My fingers continued through a mass of curly hair and into the cleft between her legs. She shuddered. "I'll take over now. Lay your hands at your sides." She shifted her weight back onto her feet. Her hands found my rigid tool and she altered her position to bring her hips closer. It took but a moment to align our bodies before she lowered herself onto me. Involuntarily my hands reached around to grasp her ass cheeks. Her breasts pressed against my padded chest as her lips found mine and her tongue pressed inside. Our passions peaked together, but we continued to hold tightly to each other as our excitement subsided. I was beginning to be uncomfortable under her weight when she abruptly rose and quickly dressed. Before leaving the room she leaned over me once again to plant a kiss on my lips. "It's a shame, m?dchen," she murmured, "that they want to turn you into a girl." At the doorway she turned again to warn, "Better straighten up now, Ingrid. You wouldn't want Frederika to find out what you've been doing." When 'Freddie' came back upstairs after finishing his kitchen duties we sat for a long time discussing our experience of the afternoon and speculating on what would come next. Later I crawled into bed, wearing an army issue cotton nightdress in the familiar grey colour. It had been a day of strange adventures. My gender had been changed by military order, and I had lost my virginity. Strangest of all was that I had been the passive one in the sexual escapade. My partner had chosen to adopt the traditional 'missionary position', but I had been the one on the bottom. WACS Next morning Freddie and I found ourselves treated almost as if in a traditional military camp. Corporal M?ller roused us before seven, put us through a physical exercise routine while dressed only in briefs and bras, ordered us to shower, and conducted an inspection after we had again donned our uniforms. Her criticisms of me included wrinkles in my skirt, a crooked stocking seam, and a tendency not to speak in a high enough pitch. After the breakfast, which we prepared for ourselves, the three of us waited on the sidewalk for the military bus to take us to our duty stations for the day. While we stood waiting I was struck by how authentic Freddie looked as junior member of the WACs. Did I myself make such a realistic woman? High heeled oxfords, stockinged ankles and calves, skirt reaching to the knees, tunic cut to accommodate breast development, and a leather purse hanging from the left shoulder were all distinctive marks of his assigned gender. Given all the supporting evidence, his scrubbed face, scraped clear of any sign of his thin beard, could easily be interpreted as female. Even the short haircut partly masked by his uniform cap did not look out of place because female recruits too, normally had their hair shorn during basic training. They were allowed though to grow it back later to a length that did not reach the collar and to wear it curled. Would we also be expected to do that? The corporal gave a downtown address different from the office we had reported to the previous afternoon. It turned out not to be a military address at all, but that of a medical clinic. We sat in the waiting room without the least idea of why we were to see a doctor. It was a further surprise that Freddie and I were called together into an examination room. The middle-aged doctor scarcely looked up from the papers he was reading as we entered. "Ah, yes, Frederika Berman, and Ingrid Schmidt, from Colonel Henkel's project." He raised his head further so that he was looking at us through his glasses rather than over them. "Do you understand, girls, what is the purpose of the shots I am to give you each morning at this time?" I found it rather disconcerting to be addressed as "girl" by someone who obviously was aware of my true sex. "No, Herr Doktor. We have not been informed." "Here is a simple explanation for you, then. This experimental drug will keep you from developing heavy beards. It will make your voices keep or even return to a higher pitch. Your hips may expand a little and it will cause a decrease in the musculature of your biceps. The effects should reverse themselves when you cease taking the drug. Do you have any questions?" "Is this intended to make it easier for us to play the role of women for our special assignment?" "That is correct. I understand you are volunteers." "Yes, Sir." This was less than true. The night before we had discussed between ourselves the possibility of asking for a different assignment, but we felt constrained by our military experience to conceal our true feelings. Any other answer would probably land us in trouble with the authorities. The doctor had us each bend forward over the edge of the desk and with skirt raised high use one hand to lift the bottom of our girdle and panties to create a space for him to insert the needle into an ass cheek. When he finished the tiny spot was covered again by thin layers of cotton and elastic. "My orders state that you are to report here each weekday at 0900 hours for your daily shot. I will see you again tomorrow morning," he indicated as we straightened our clothing. "You may leave now." Corporal M?ller now led us to a shop where she chose for each of us a tube of lipstick and a bottle of nail polish which she required us to pay for out of our own funds. We left the shop with our purchases in our purses. When 'Freddie' complained about needing a washroom she led us back into the medical building and into a room clearly marked 'Damen'. We used adjoining stalls as we experienced the inconvenience of lowering girdle and panties and sitting to relieve our full bladders. Afterwards she had us apply the lipstick before leaving. We had about six blocks to go to our next stop and we walked three abreast along the sidewalk in the pleasant spring air. Along the way I became conscious of the appraising glances which we attracted from passing male pedestrians. Carefully I avoided eye contact with any of them. Corporal M?ller left us at a Motor Pool garage in the care of a female sergeant who was not told anything about our change of gender. She informed us that for the next while we would be drivers for various military bigwigs stationed in the city. "For the rest of this week you will ride as a passenger with an experienced driver. Next week you will be assigned a car and be on your own. Keep a map with you and pay close attention to the streets. You will be in trouble if you waste the time of a General by getting lost." I was assigned to ride with a girl named Olga, who was a native of the city. She immediately dispensed with calling me Fraulein Schmidt and we went to a first name basis at once. When she asked how I had come to enlist in the army I was hard put to give an answer since the truth, that I was a draftee, would not apply for a woman soldier. "It just seemed like a good idea," I lied in a carefully pitched voice. Privately I wondered how the army knew that I could drive and so could assign me as a driver without the benefit of special training. Olga seemed to take a liking to me and was happy to have company in the front seat with her. She advised that I could look forward to much attention and requests for dates from my passengers. "Once your hair grows out again and you choose some brighter lipstick," she added as a qualification. Much of our time was spent just sitting in the parked car waiting for our passengers to appear. She made a sincere effort to teach me the main routes about the city and how to make the best time in heavy traffic. At times while waiting we would take out a rag to polish any smudges on the car's paintwork. It was while I was stretching to reach a mark on the roof that I received my first wolf whistle. I blushed beet red, while Olga told the uniformed private to "Buzz off." "You don't want to get involved with a mere private," she advised me. "Don't settle for anyone who is not a commissioned officer." We ate at a cafeteria on the strength of an authorization card which Olga carried in her purse. "Be sure to get one from the sergeant before you start on your own," she warned. "We often can't get back to the garage at meal time. Usually we're waiting right beside an expensive place while our passengers dine. Once in a while though your passenger might be alone and might invite you to dine with him. I like it when that happens." At the end of the afternoon Olga dropped me at our residence before returning her car to the garage. The corporal arrived in a car driven by her superior officer, but 'Freddie' returned on the army bus which had delivered us the previous day. He was fuming about the male sergeant who had sat next to him on the bus and had insisted on placing his hand on his companion's knee. Our order of suppertime duties was reversed from the previous day. 'Freddie' had responsibility for preparing the meal and I had to clean up afterward. It was while we waited to be called for dinner that the corporal repeated her seduction of me in almost exactly the same manner as before. If there was a difference it was that I was a more eager participant. In the midst of my cleanup duties after supper, I took a moment out to dash upstairs to get a handkerchief from my handbag. It was then that I deduced from the sounds I heard coming from Freddie's room that he too was being favoured sexually by the corporal. I felt let down to realize I did not hold an exclusive claim on her favours. For the balance of the week Freddie and I found our own way each morning to the doctor's office. On Saturday he handed us each a syringe with orders to inject the other on Sunday morning. Thus far I could feel no effects from the daily medicine. By Saturday afternoon I had learned enough from Olga to be assigned my own car the following week. Corporal M?ller departed on Saturday leaving Freddie and I to manage for ourselves during the balance of the weekend. It was a relief to be free from supervision if only for one day. On Sunday afternoon it was Freddie who insisted that we set out by streetcar to visit the Tiergarten. I was perfectly content to remain in the house, but he nagged about how foolish it would be to be stationed in Berlin and not even see the sights. We had no choice but to wear our uniforms since we possessed no other clothes. I let him have his way also when he produced a tube of bright red lipstick and a bottle of matching nail polish for us to share. Personally I preferred to be less conspicuous rather than more. So far as I was concerned the afternoon turned into a disaster. Immediately after we descended from the streetcar at the zoo, two soldiers tried to get our attention. I looked the other way and tried to ignore them, but Freddie was eager to test all the possibilities inherent in his new role. In a very short time he was tossing peanuts provided by Heinz to the monkeys, while I insisted that Heinz's buddy Gunther throw his own peanuts. The two gallants acted at once on Freddie's suggestion that 'she' was going to buy an ice cream cone, so I found myself unable to gracefully refuse the one which Gunther purchased for me, and for the balance of the afternoon I found myself part of a foursome. In late afternoon I was able to get Freddie alone with me in a ladies' toilet. "And how do you propose to get rid of these two, now?" I asked. "Why get rid of them?" he responded. "They can buy us our supper, and maybe some drinks afterwards." "What will you do when Heinz wants to get paid back?" "Just tell him I'm not that kind of girl. That's happened to me before." "And what will you do if he doesn't accept that answer?" "If necessary I'll jack him off before he has a chance to get a hand inside my shirt or between my legs. I didn't ask to be assigned to the Women's Army Corps, but I intend to take full advantage of the situation. You can go on home if you want to, but you'll certainly miss a lot of fun." In the end I ate supper at Gunther's expense and afterward accepted his beer while we sat in a cafe singing to the music of an accordion. I was conscious the whole time of the need to guard the pitch of my voice, but this was already less difficult than it had been earlier in the week. Perhaps it was mostly the beer that made me agree to dance a polka with my escort. I admit that I enjoyed the dance immensely. I was relieved when Freddie reacted with indignation to the suggestion that we should accompany the boys back to their hotel room. They must have believed me when I said we were returning to a women's barracks which was off limits to all men, because we managed to board the streetcar home without escorts. We laughed together about our day's adventure all the way back to the house. We arrived home to find ourselves no longer alone. Mr. and Mrs. Schulman were waiting for us. They greeted us warmly though we were somewhat ill at ease to be seen in our present manner of dress. They said they had been assigned here to assist us in learning the subtleties of our new roles. We did not tell them how we had spent the afternoon and evening. Refinements It did not displease us that our new supervisors did not demand a formal inspection parade in the morning after we had showered and dressed. Mrs. Schulman did offer advice whenever she felt that an expression uttered or an action by one of us was not sufficiently feminine, but it was in the evenings when she exerted the greatest influence. It was no longer possible to get away with the minimum in preparing supper. She insisted that the table be completely set and that all parts of a meal be included. Baking, both of bread, and of cakes and pies, was soon added to our list of household skills. She reintroduced us to the sewing machine with our first project being a set of pads designed to smooth our inflated bustlines. We were no longer allowed to sit around in the evening without a piece of handwork or knitting on the go. We found our work pleasant enough at the Motor Pool. Everyone accepted us for what we appeared to be and our duties were not beyond our capabilities. Except for the occasional tipsy passenger we encountered no difficulties whatsoever. It was pleasant each day to get out from under the wing of our demanding 'mother hen'. At first our daily injections seemed to have no effect on us. Within two weeks however I was able to forget completely any problem with my voice. My words just naturally came out with a feminine pitch and inflection. I noticed too that my vocabulary was beginning to reflect a feminine perspective when I found myself addressing Freddie as 'my dear'. The initial signs of swelling in my breast area escaped my notice entirely. It was Freddie who asked me to examine his chest and feel the puffiness behind enlarged nipples. When I bared myself the same effects were evident if slightly less advanced. Our doctor showed some interest when we brought this phenomenon to his attention. For the first time since our initial visit he asked us to strip in his examination room and conducted a complete physical examination. At its conclusion he told us, "There's nothing to worry about. What you are experiencing is a not unexpected phenomenon. We could not have told you for sure beforehand because this is an experimental drug and you are the first guinea pigs, but you are each beginning to grow your own breasts." "But, Herr Doktor, what will we do when the experiment is over?" I felt genuine panic rising in me. "There is nothing at all to worry about, my dear Ingrid. I can guarantee that all the effects will disappear after we cease the injections. You should be grateful because this will make your impersonation easier." I was not fully reassured by his patronizing answer. How could I return to masculine dress even for a furlough home, if I had improbable swellings altering the the line of my shirt? Freddie accepted the news with apparent equanimity. When we discussed the matter after leaving the Doctor's office, he wanted to know why the prospect of growing breasts disturbed me. "After all," he philosophized, "while we are acting as spies we can't visit our families anyway. We can't even tell them where we are." "Maybe so," I complained, "but we are not spies yet and my mother will think something is wrong if I don't ever get home on leave." During our nine months as members of the motor pool the process of feminizing we two Wehrmacht draftees continued in a psychological as well as the physical sense. Mrs. Schulman, our home base commandant, interpreted it as her duty to encourage us to express femininity, not only in the household tasks she assigned, but also in our manner of dress, and relationships with the 'opposite' sex. Because she was effectively our superior officer in a military sense, I made no attempt to resist her orders about household duties and the handwork she assigned. Freddie picked up at once on her suggestion that our eyebrows should be plucked. It was only later, as a concession to him, that I agreed to do the same. Similarly I at first ignored the silk panties, lace-trimmed satin slip, and pushup bra that mysteriously appeared in my dresser drawer. Freddie seemed to delight in showing me his shaven legs displayed through sheer silk hose. Sometimes as we sat on the bus he crossed his legs in such a manner as to reveal the lace hem of his non-regulation slip beneath his skirt. This never failed to attract appreciative glances from the soldier in the next seat. It was always Freddie who made up to lonely soldiers on leave and arranged dates for us. I resisted being drawn into his plans for a meal and an evening's entertainment at the expense of his chosen male escorts, but I did feel some responsibility to help guard him against the possible consequences of his rashness. One of his rationalizations for this behaviour pattern was that Mrs. Schulman approved, and it got us out from under her thumb for a whole evening at a time. She served also as our excuse for ending each date no later than midnight. Freddie had no compunction about thanking his escort with a kiss, but I was always upset when forced by an aggressive companion to do likewise. When I did eventually yield to Freddie's insistence that I shave my legs and wear silk stockings along with the silken underclothes, it earned me words of commendation from Mrs. Schulman. I hated to admit to myself just how much I enjoyed the touch of silk against my body and I continued to be bothered by a feeling of guilt. I had no problem with the order to have a permanent wave at a beauty salon when my hair had reached a sufficient length. It was a real relief to be freed from the continual problem of wrapping the ends in curlers at night, as Mrs. Schulman required when it first began to grow out. I accepted her suggestion also that a few visits to an electrolysis specialist would eliminate any necessity for me to shave each morning. After my permanent it was but a short step to abandoning my uniform on a Sunday in favour of a pretty pink frock and high-heeled pumps for an afternoon stroll through the park with Freddie. In my opinion at least, no young woman looked more attractive than Freddie or myself, with crinolines to spread our skirts over silk clad calves, and pushup bras emphasizing our full breasts. Most Sundays we attracted admirers from whom to select dinner escorts and companions for the evening. Such was our life while our bodies were changing from modest male proportions to quite voluptuous feminine contours. This rather idyllic period ended with an order to report to the office where we had first learned of the unusual nature of our military assignment. Final Touch The thick file which lay on the desk of the officer to whom I reported was clearly marked on the outside with my regimental number. The first name had been overwritten in black ink as Ingrid, and I was so addressed. I reflected at the time that Inger would have been addressed as Private Schmidt. In assuming the right to address me by my first name the officer showed the sense of male superiority which I had by now learned to expect. I wondered what the file could possibly contain to make it so large. I gave matter-of-fact answers to all of the questions he asked, trying hard to conceal any emotional reaction I felt to my experiences. He finally asked directly how I felt about what had happened to me. "Naturally I would feel better about having a normal military career," I answered, "but I am ready to serve my country in whatever capacity is needed." "Would you prefer to be reassigned to an infantry regiment?" My mind whirled. What answer should I give? Would a rejection of my recent experience result in a punitive posting? Might I even end up on the Russian front? "It would be a shame to waste the training I have had, Sir. I am prepared to carry on as need be." "In that case you will report to the Central Hospital on Sunday evening next for some minor surgery. It says in your file that your ears are a bit too prominent. In the meantime you may have the rest of the week as furlough?" There was no question of me going home on my short leave. Neither my mother nor my girlfriend would recognize the creature now called Ingrid Schmidt, and I would certainly be too embarrassed to explain what had happened. Instead I wrote a long letter home, indicating that I was being assigned to secret duties and would be away for an undefined period. This last letter which I wrote to my mother during the war was so completely blacked out by the censors that when I saw it again several years later I could myself make little sense of it. For three days Freddie and I enjoyed ourselves about the city. Out of uniform and dressed in our frillies we had a constant supply of willing escorts to pay our bills in return for our smiles and company. The time without masculine company we spent visiting ladies' apparel and dress shops. Quite a bit of my carefully hoarded savings was exchanged for new shoes, lacy underpinnings, and a new dress. These were the first items of feminine clothing that I selected and paid for on my own initiative. Previously I had gone along when Freddie was making purchases for himself. Now I experienced for myself that particular delight that comes from indulging one's desire for bodily adornment. Freddie was to report to the hospital on Thursday night so I had the weekend to myself for further shopping. While on my own I refused the persistent requests from lonely servicemen to brighten their leave time with my company. Sunday evening I visited Freddie before signing myself into the hospital. I found him in a private ward, clad in a pink silk nightdress with short sleeves and a lace bodice. His hair was freshly combed and his face had been made up expertly. Unfortunately the effect was spoiled by tear streaks running down from his eyes. When I asked what was the matter, he told me that the army had advised his parents that he had been killed in action and he was forbidden to contact them for the duration of this assignment. "I expect they'll do the same to you," he blubbered without making a lot of sense. I drew no conclusion from the tubes leading out from under the covers to a bag hanging at the side of his bed. I, too, was assigned to a private ward, which I thought had more to do with my ambiguous sexual equipment than any concern for my welfare on the part of the army. The nurse made no comment on that score as she administered an enema and warned me that I could neither drink or eat before my morning surgery. At eight in the morning two orderlies wheeled me off to the operating room. To my surprise and further embarrassment the nurses insisted on baring my lower body while a doctor was preparing the anesthesia. "Why do you need to bare my stomach if I'm here to have my ears pinned back?" I asked just as the doctor approached with a large needle in his hand. "Is that what they told you?" he asked just as the needle entered my arm. "I don't see anything wrong with your ears." The anesthetic had started to take effect before I could pursue that discussion. My next memory is of waking back in my room to find my arms and legs strapped down. Unable to raise my head I had no way of determining what had been done to me. When my eyes opened a nurse was quickly at my side to ask if I was in pain. I replied that I could feel a dull ache in my groin but the pain was not unendurable. To my question about why I was tied down she would answer only, "Doctor's orders." It must have been a full twenty-four hours later that I wakened in a sun-filled ward to find my restraints removed, my body covered by a silk nightdress similar to Freddie's, and a nurse busily engaged in combing my hair while a second applied cosmetics to my face. "We'll soon have you looking ready for a party," the first one said cheerily. "Why are you making up my face?" "So you will look pretty when your friends come to call. No woman wants to be seen with a pale complexion and wearing a hospital gown when her friends come to see her." "What did they do to me?" "If you don't know, you will have to wait to ask the doctor. It just says internal surgery on your chart. In the meantime be careful not to disturb the tubes you are connected to. If you need to empty your bladder just let go. That's what the tubing is for." I drowsed off but wakened again when the doctor entered the room. He seemed startled when I repeated my question for him. "Do you mean to tell me that you consented to surgery without knowing what it entailed?" he asked me in turn. When I confessed that as a member of the military, I was used to signing whatever papers were put in front of me, he added, "In that case I hope you like what we have done to you because I don't think that it will be reversible, at least not with our present state of knowledge." "And what has been done to me?" "We have remodeled your genital organs to conform to your apparent body structure. For all practical purposes you are now one hundred per cent female, except of course, you cannot conceive a child." He had said his good byes and left before the full impact of his words penetrated my thick skull. According to him I was now functionally female and would never be able to return to my former identity. It took but a short time for my carefully made up face to be streaked with tears as I had seen Freddie's face two days before. When I had recovered somewhat from my crying jag, the nurses agreed to support my request to be placed in the same ward as my friend. Before the afternoon ended we lay in adjacent beds in a semi-private room, sharing our mutual anger at what had been done to us without our consent. Freddie was bitter that he had been expressly forbidden just before my visit to warn me what to expect. He, or rather I should now say she, regretted not having had the courage to defy orders. Aside from her anger about not warning me, she actually seemed to have little regret. "If they had told me," she complained, "I would have given my consent. I like being a girl, but I don't like being lied to." In my heart I knew that I would never have consented to an irrevocable step which would forever deny me the right to take up my former identity. Our convalescent time in hospital lasted about four weeks. After the first week the tubes were removed and we learned to cope with the new forms of personal hygiene appropriate to our revised body structures. I felt a sense of deprivation that standing at a urinal was no longer an option, even though my clothing had prevented me doing so since becoming a member of the Women's Army Corps. It felt strange, but rather exotic, to feel warm water inside my body as I learned to douche my newly created vagina. Before long it was yielding me sensations akin to those I had known from a penis, and I began to wonder if I would some day want to put my new organ to the use for which it had been designed. When we were able to leave our beds we were each given a full length satin robe to wear over our silk nightdresses, along with satin slippers to match. It was as if we each had a mysterious sugar daddy to keep us supplied with the sexiest of feminine apparel, and all the cosmetics one could use. Later we learned that Mrs. Schulman had been given an allowance to use for just that purpose, so in that respect we could not have been more pampered. On the day of our discharge we were attired as would befit a pair of professional models on the runway of a French designer in Paris. Mrs. Schulman drove us back to the familiar house where we had lived for the time of our unknowing gestation. That that period had lasted exactly nine months seemed very appropriate. Outcomes I cannot claim that I did not enjoy my experiences in the period leading up to my operation, or that I did not enjoy life afterward. From a perspective of hedonistic self love it would be impossible not to be touched by the effect that my luscious body and lovely face had on all the males I encountered. Many women also reacted favourably to my manifest charms, though there were some whose reaction seemed tinged with envy. Nevertheless I seethed with anger about how I had been misled, and was in a combative mood when Freddie and I reported again to the officer in charge of our assignments. Our uniforms for this appointment, if you could call them that, were our supposed spy uniforms, modish and colourful dresses in the latest style. Freddie entered the office first and came out smiling. "We're to get an apartment downtown and a generous allowance for clothes," he whispered to me while I waited to be called in. Again a thick file with my name on it lay on the desk. Instead of taking the seat indicated I strode to the desk first, picked up the file and then sat down. "That file is private. Put it back," ordered the officer. "It has my name on it and I am going to read it," I stated unequivocally. I would never previously have dared to challenge an order in that fashion. "If you don't put it back, I will be forced to take it away from you." "Try it and I will scream that you are trying to rape me." I was fully prepared to exploit my femaleness in any battle of the sexes. To my surprise he gave up without a fight. I had fully expected him to call in reinforcements to overwhelm me without exposing himself to either shame or ridicule. "Very well, have it your own way. I don't think you will like what you find though. He was certainly right that I did not like what I learned. Freddie and I were not being trained as spies at all. That had been the intention until the spymaster in England, who had called for female helpers to be delivered to him by submarine, was himself arrested by the English. The original project had then been abandoned. Though we had never been told directly about the original project, we had been allowed to infer something of that nature in order to gain our cooperation. We of course were never told that we had then been coopted into another scheme of an entirely different type, one which also required men to serve in place of female volunteers. This really was a test of medical theory to see if a new breed of prostitutes could be developed for the army, camp followers who would not burden the army with pregnancies and become absorbed in the care of their infant children. The newer plan was outlined in a relatively brief document stapled inside the folder with my records. The ultimate aim seemed to be to utilize prisoners of war while leaving good German womanhood at home to raise children. It was thought that prisoners would be so shamed by their changed status that they would pose no threat even in active war theatres. Apparently Freddie and I had been chosen from our own forces because we were already slated for the spy operation. Thus we could be used, both to prove that the method was feasible, and to provide relief for higher ranking members of the General Staff. I was aghast at the duplicity that had been used to entangle Freddie and myself in this nefarious scheme. When I had read everything in the file I returned it to the desk and sat down to hear what the officer would have to say. "Your orders," he recited without any particular inflection in his voice, "are to move into the apartment with your friend Frederika and be available when required. In the meantime a line of credit has been arranged in your name at each major department store in the city for the clothes and sundries you will need. Your duties will begin as soon as your doctor declares you ready. Do you have any questions?" "I can't think of any at this time," I answered, deliberately omitting the Sir. "Then you may go, Ingrid," he said, with emphasis on the gender of my assigned name. I rose and left the room, making no effort to restrain a certain tendency which Freddie called the provocative wiggle of my hips. The officer did not rise from his seat, but he had certainly made clear what he thought of me in my status as an army sponsored whore. What I had learned in that short interview certainly did nothing for my self-esteem. In a few minutes of reading I had been reduced from a patriot, prepared to sacrifice everything for my country, to a plaything for senior officers, a toy to used and thrown aside. Burning with indignation, I managed to contain myself long enough to consider the possible effect on Freddie of the information I now possessed. "There's no point in spoiling her fun, immediately," I concluded. "It's better to let her have the pleasure of preparing for her new life. I can always warn her before the worst comes to the worst." I ended by following her lead in moving into our luxurious new apartment. We shopped together as we each acquired a fabulous new wardrobe and we went weekly to see the doctor about the healing of our new genital organs. It took three full months before medical approval was given for us to begin our proposed new duties. In the meantime we both had a glorious time adorning our incredibly altered bodies for the temporary, and for the moment asexual, dates which Freddie invariably arranged. Instead of ordering us to report at his office, our commanding officer now chose to visit our apartment to determine for himself our readiness for our proposed roles and to assign our duties. We received him graciously, if on my part very coolly. The first orders were very simple. A general and a colonel would call upon us Saturday night. We would attend a party, with them as escorts. Afterwards we would do whatever they required of us without any reservations. His last words as he went out the door were directed at me. "I trust, Ingrid, that you understand perfectly what is expected of you." "Of that you may be sure," I answered. I was pondering again how to tell Freddy the horrible truth, and just what action I might take to extricate myself from my predicament. Somehow I never did work myself up to telling Freddie. She was so excited about the prospect of putting her new body to the test that it seemed wrong to upset her. Instead I permitted us both to be dressed in party mode, ready and waiting for our escorts at the time specified. They both turned out to be polite and pleasant men. The Colonel, still youthful in appearance and manner was paired with Freddie, while the General, older and somewhat corpulent became my partner. Were it not for the nature of my instructions I would have tended to think of the General in fatherly terms. At the party alcohol flowed freely. I drank very sparingly, and the general too remained sober and courteous. He did not press himself upon me, so that my only difficulties were with other members of the party, who tended to be both drunk and overly familiar when we exchanged partners for a dance. My general politely excused himself from the party about midnight, pleading urgent duties, and offered me the choice of a ride home or remaining at the party. I chose the offer of a ride. In the back seat of his car he remained a perfect gentleman, even to the extent of asking, "How did you get involved in this party girl business, my child? You don't seem to me to be the type." "Truly, General, I'm not. This is the first time I have had such an assignment. I was happy as a member of the Motor Pool, but I was ordered to this duty. They thought I had a sexy body or something. I'd do anything to be reassigned to the Motor Pool." "That just might be arranged," he pondered. "Here is my card. Come and see me at my office tomorrow afternoon. Be in uniform." At the entrance to our apartment building, the general thanked me for a pleasant evening and assigned his driver to escort me up the elevator to my apartment door. Thanks to luck I had escaped from my first party with my virtue intact. I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind me. I was asleep when Freddie arrived much later. About seven in the morning I cracked open my bedroom door to glimpse the colonel's back as he let himself out of the apartment. Evidently he had spent the night with Freddie. I rose and dressed, ate breakfast alone, and spent the morning tidying the apartment. Freddie did not rise until nearly noon. When she appeared about eleven, hair still disheveled, her satin dressing gown wrapped around her, I offered her coffee and a full breakfast. along with headache pills for her hangover. As her feelings improved and her usual cheerfulness reappeared, she began to enthuse about her just completed experience. "You know, Ingrid, it really works!" she bubbled. "What works?" "My body. I was afraid it wouldn't be good, but it was. It was just as good as when I was a man. It would have been even better, if the colonel hadn't been so drunk. Now I know how Corporal M?ller felt." "Well you had better have a shower and get yourself cleaned up now. You look a fright." To her inevitable question about my general, I replied simply, "He was a gentleman. We enjoyed ourselves." That afternoon I dressed in my uniform for the first time since before my hospital visit. It fitted snugly around the hips and fortunately my tunic hid the strain that my full breasts placed on the shirt buttons. At three o'clock I was waiting in his outer office for an appointment with the general. When I was admitted to his office I saluted smartly and remained at attention until asked to sit. The general got straight to the point. "I have inquired about your background, Fraulein Schmidt, and I see that you have a good record with the Motor Pool. If it is your wish, I can have you assigned as my personal driver. You would continue to live with your friend, but would not have to act as a party girl unless that is your personal wish. At times you might have to be away from home for several days at a time in order to drive me to different locations, but as far as I am concerned your duties would be strictly military." "I'd like that very much, Sir," was my immediate response. "When would I start?" "I'll tell the Motor Pool to call you as soon as the arrangements are complete." I breathed a sigh of satisfaction as I left his office. It had not solved all my problems, but at least I would be able to complete my military service and plan for a new life after the war, whatever form that life might take. Being the general's driver was a job which I found pleasant and satisfying. The work was easy enough although the hours were sometimes long and tedious. The general was a considerate and decent man, who had evidently gone to considerable trouble to protect me from a life I feared, and I gradually came to regard him as a sort of father figure. I often sought his advice if I had difficulty with the supply sergeant or in dealing with junior officers of the Motor Pool. Freddie and I continued to live together, but our lives followed very different paths. Hers was all sensuality and sex. Mine was more sedate, and I was not ready to give myself to any man unless genuine love should intervene. That did not happen, perhaps because I had not totally accepted that I was destined to remain a woman for the balance of my life. In many respects my life was not much different from what it might have been if the army had simply assigned me as a Motor Pool driver, without the complication of a change of gender. Escape As the war situation deteriorated I was called upon to put in longer and longer hours waiting for the general at his various appointments, while Freddie seemed to attend more and wilder parties, and accepted outrageous presents from her admirers. When at last the Russians were approaching Berlin the general gave me an order to drive west and surrender myself to the advancing American or British forces. "Take your friend with you," he said kindly. "Have her put on her uniform again so that you will both be treated as prisoners of war, and be sure that you demand to see an officer at the time of your surrender. Hopefully that will protect you from troops who may be unruly in the flush of victory." "But what are you going to do, Sir," I asked. "My duty lies here, but there will be no more work for my driver, so I am ordering you to save yourself. Your chances of that are much better in the west than here." Several factors conspired to prevent me from carrying out the general's orders as he gave them. The first was that Freddie had taken on enough weight from her consumption of alcohol and party food that she could no longer fit in her uniform. I compromised by having her dress conservatively, for her that was, and suggesting that she pretend to be an officer's wife whom I was under orders to deliver to her home in the west. That at least made it easier to explain the large amount of baggage that she insisted on taking with her. The second problem proved insoluble. When we ran short of gasoline, I found that there were no civilian supplies available and every military unit we met insisted that they had nothing to spare. Not even my signed authorization from the general had any effect on the demoralized troops. Ultimately I was left with only one alternative. Much as I dreaded meeting my parents, going home offered the only hope of safety for two attractive women without shelter or male protectors. At dusk I parked the car in the woods near my home village and left Freddie to guard it while I walked to my parent's home. Fortunately, my purse still contained a front door key which I had kept all this time, though I never expected to use it again. I was spared the necessity of having the neighbours hear me explaining to my mother why she should admit a strange woman to her home. My reception was anything but friendly as I stepped into the empty living room. I had barely closed the door behind me when I was confronted by the barrel of a rifle pointing at me from the bedroom doorway. "Who are you and what are you doing in this house?" called out my father. "I'm Inger, come home from the war." "You don't look like Inger, and you don't sound like him." "Put your hands up while I have my wife search you. Ilse, come and search this person for weapons," he called out. My mother, wearing her robe over her nightgown, came timidly into the room and ran her hands over me to verify that I carried no gun or knife. She even ran her hand between my breasts and up under my skirt between my legs. She found no weapons, but ample evidence that this was not her son. "Now, evidently you know something about our son. Where did you meet him and where is he now? If you don't give straight answers I'll turn you over to the police." "May I sit down? It's a long story and I have walked over two miles to get here." It took over half an hour for my parents, sitting across the room from me in their night clothes, to absorb the fact that I really was their only son, who had been drafted into the army, and now returned to them transformed into an only daughter. Fortunately I had confided to them during my earlier leaves that I was being trained for work as a spy, and had even complained about some of the things Mrs. Schulman had taught us, at the stage when we were studying English. T