Thanks For The Memories free porn video

Thanks For The Memories by Jenny North TIME: The Near Future Tom Reynolds woke up with a smile on his face. He sat up and stretched his arms, adjusting the shoulder strap on his silky pink nightie that had fallen down. He giggled and walked over to his bedroom mirror and made a face as he looked at his reflection. Short hair, no makeup, flat chest...he looked like he always did in the morning, like a guy in a nightie. He sighed deeply. "Time to get gorgeous!" he grinned, sashaying off to the bathroom. Tom had been transgender as long as he could remember. As a child he loved to wear his mother's clothes, sneaking around and playing in them when she wasn't around. By high school he'd gotten very adept at makeup and--although they never knew it--was more adept at walking in high heels than most of his female classmates. By college, Tom had his first romantic encounter as "Tawny," with a cute guy named Rico that promised to make Tom "feel like a woman." After he moved out on his own, Tom found more opportunities to dress and as Tawny soon developed a no- holds-barred "take it or leave it" attitude towards life. He loved to dress in sexy glamorous clothing. Big hair, big tits, heavy makeup, trashy glitzy jewelry, he loved the attention. He could have made a relatively passable woman--even attractive in a way--but he always glammed it up so much that most people seeing him quickly realized he was a drag queen. But he didn't care. Life was too short to be dowdy! In his daytime life as Tom, he was a fairly ordinary guy. He had a good job and had a few different girlfriends over the years. But it all paled in comparison to his life as Tawny. After a while, his frustration mounted until he decided to take the plunge, and six months ago he came out to everyone to live as a woman full-time. His friends that knew about Tawny told him to tone it back. Quit with the glitzy dresses and heavy makeup, get smaller breast forms, wear more sensible heels. "At least TRY to blend in," they said. Tom considered that and thought it was good advice. But then he realized that wasn't what Tawny would do. He came in to work the next day all tits and makeup and pretty as you please announced that Tom was on permanent vacation from now on, and Tawny was here to stay. He knew he'd probably get fired but just wanted to see the looks on their faces. Except...he didn't get fired. After a few meetings with HR and management, Tawny was the new girl on the payroll. His co-workers gave him some ribbing about his glam appearance (and the women poked fun--sometimes literally--at his big fake tits), but on the whole it went incredibly--unbelievably--smoothly. Soon after, he came out to his friends and family and it was like a fantasy come to life. Everyone loved the new Tom! Even his curmudgeonly father gave his new daughter a kiss on the cheek as they parted. It was like he was living in a dream. Since then he'd even met his most recent girlfriend--Hayley--who he'd met a while back in one of clubs. She was kind of a bad girl with a shady past and Tom didn't care for the people she hung out with, but he didn't ask questions and she had a talented tongue. Sadly, that relationship came to an abrupt end a couple weeks ago when she caught him in bed with another woman. Hayley blew up and stormed out, screaming obscenities. Truth be told, though, Tom wasn't terribly broken up about it. The number one woman in his life had always been Tawny. Today he sat at the vanity doing his makeup bold and heavy as usual. Checking his schedule he saw that didn't have any meetings today so he decided to have some fun and go a little nuts with all his favorites. He put on his favorite wig, a shoulder-length auburn number with sexy layers. Next he grabbed a sexy leopard-print brassiere with huge oversized cups, and giggled as he stuffed in the equally big breast forms. At first he smiled as he gave his big protruding tits a little heft, then frowned wishing they were real. He resolved to look into plastic surgeons this week. From there he put on his snug-fitting corset followed by his hip and ass padding that gave him a curvaceous womanly figure. He then slipped into a snug little black dress that hugged his curves and had a provocative miniskirt that showed off a lot of leg. As he stepped into the five-inch stiletto pumps he admired his look in the mirror. "Sexy, but it needs a some flash," he decided. He dug out his jewelry, picking out a huge sparkling rhinestone necklace that drew attention to his neckline. He then put on his big glittering shoulder-duster earrings that caught the light and twinkled every time he moved his head, and then added a big matching bracelet and ring. The overall outfit looked more prostitute than professional, but by now his co-workers were used to his crazy sense of style. He'd probably get a couple of comments, but that would be it. A spritz of perfume and he paused to admire himself in the mirror. "I just love being a woman, it's my favorite thing in the world," he sighed contentedly. He grabbed his purse and wiggled his way out the door, feeling like a million bucks. Today is going to be a great day, he thought. * * * * * Strutting into his office building, Tom waved a friendly hello to the security guard. "Hi, Danny!" The guard looked at him, perplexed, and motioned for Tom to come over. "Can I see your ID, please?" Tom was mildly surprised by the request but handed over his ID. "Everything okay, Danny?" He looked down at the card. "Oh, sorry, that's got my old picture, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'll get a new one. Just need to get my hair done pretty," he smiled. "Right," Danny said, staring at Tom vacantly. He handed the ID back. "Well, you have a good day, Mister--um, Ms. Reynolds." "Always do!" Tom got on the elevator and another guy got on board as well. He gave Tom the once over. "Morning!" Tom said brightly. "Um, hey." In the reflection of the polished elevator door, Tom looked the guy over. He was young, and cute. Tom's eyes dropped down to the man's crotch, noticing the bulge in the man's snug-fitting trousers. Tom licked his lips thinking about the man's cock. God, I am such a slut, he thought to himself. He imagined kissing the man's shaft, licking it, sucking it. He wondered how big it was. "Twelve?" the guy said. "Inches?" Tom said, surprised. "What? The floor. Your floor?" Tom looked at the open elevator doors. "Oh! Oh, sorry," he apologized with simper. He stepped out of the elevator as the guy shook his head. The firm was already a buzz of activity as Tom crossed the elevator lobby. A few co-workers paused to check out his outfit and he put a little extra shimmy in his walk as he passed the reception desk. "Morning, Liz!" he chirped. The receptionist stared at him open-mouthed. "Um, can I help you?" she asked. Tom gave her a dubious grin. "It's me, Tawny?" When that didn't seem to get a response he added, "Tom?" "Tom!" she exclaimed. "Wow," she laughed, "that's a new look for you!" "You like it?" Tom replied. "I know, I may have gone a little overboard." "You think?" Liz laughed. "So, what's with the outfit?" Tom shrugged. "I don't know, I just felt like being extra pretty. You know how it is." "I really don't," Liz responded. Tom smiled. "Well, you have a good day, 'kay?" He waved and turned to head to his office. Behind him, Liz just gawked as he minced his way down the hall on his heels. A small group of people gathered by the front desk and started an animated conversation. The scene played out a couple more times as Tom made his way to his office, encountering surprised co-workers. The attention was flattering, but considering some of the outfits he'd worn before, he was surprised how much attention he was getting. As he arrived in his office, he put his purse on the desk and crossed his legs sexily as he began typing on the computer. "Holy shit, it's true," a voice came from the doorway. It was Tom's best friend, Bryan. "Hey, you," Tom said distractedly, returning his attention to the computer. Bryan closed the door behind him. "Dude! What the FUCK?" Tom slumped his shoulders. "Seriously? You too? It's the earrings, isn't it? God, I wear a tiny bit of extra bling and suddenly it's a big scandal." Bryan moved to the side of the desk to get a better view of Tom's outfit. "Jesus, you overdid it with the tits, don't you think? What, are you TRYING to get fired?" Tom stood up, straightening his skirt and facing his friend. "Settle down, will you? They're not going to fire me because I'm wearing a little extra jewelry." "They're going to FIRE you because you're DRESSED LIKE A WOMAN!" The exclamation hung in the air for a long moment while Tom processed it. "Well, duh," he countered. The rejoinder caught Bryan off guard. "So...you ARE trying to get fired?" "Oh for God's sake, nobody's getting fired," Tom said, exasperated. "I've been working here like this for six fucking months, remember? I think if anybody had any issues, I'd have heard about it by now, don't you?" "What the hell are you talking about? You've never dressed like a tranny hooker." "Oh, THAT'S nice," Tom snapped. "I'll have you know I LIKE how I look! And just because I've given some blow jobs does NOT make me a hooker." "I am not hearing this," Bryan said, holding his hands to his head. "What, you want me to suck your dick to prove it?" Tom asked. Bryan stared at his friend in shock. "Are you seriously propositioning me?" Tom considered that. "Well, I wasn't, but if you want to..." He shrugged. "Get the FUCK away from me!" Bryan exclaimed, shoving Tom back roughly. Tom stumbled back and caught himself on the edge of the desk. "A simple 'no thank you' would have been fine," he muttered. "Dude, seriously, what the hell is up with you?" Bryan asked. "You were fine on Friday." "When we were at the bar," Tom nodded. "And you didn't say anything about how I was dressed THEN." "Because you weren't--okay, you know what? Fine," Bryan responded, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Remember when I took a pic of those two girls at the bar that night?" Tom rolled his eyes. "Right, and you made me pose in the foreground like an idiot so it wouldn't look like you were sneaking their picture. What of it?" Bryan turned the phone around to show the picture. It was exactly like Tom remembered with the two girls, except in the foreground... "I look like a guy," Tom said, bewildered. "That's because you ARE a guy! Not...Lady Cocksuckia Bustymelons here!" "My name is Tawny." "YOUR NAME IS TOM!" Bryan exclaimed. "Look, here," he said, flipping through other photos. "Here's another picture of you that night. And here's one from a few weeks ago of you and Hayley at the game, remember?" "I remember the game," Tom agreed, trying to reconcile the memories. "But I wasn't..." He pushed the phone away. "You-you're trying to trick me. If this is some stupid prank, it isn't funny!" Bryan started to object, but Tom cut him off. "No! I've been like this my whole life, do you understand? Dressing in drag and hiding in secret because people couldn't handle it. Well, not anymore! I am out, I am proud, and I am NOT going back into hiding just because you can't handle it!" There was a knock at the door. "COME IN!" Tom shouted. As the door opened, an older stern-looking woman in a conservative suit entered the room. "Oh! Ms. Price," Tom said, taking a softer tone. "I'm sorry, we were just having a disagreement." The woman looked Tom over slowly from head to toe. "Trading fashion tips, no doubt," she said humorlessly. Bryan hesitantly cut in. "Ma'am, it's not how it looks. He's...confused." "Is that right," she responded. "Because to me it looks very deliberate," she said, eyeing Tom's oversized breasts. Looking Tom in the eye, she continued, "Is that the case, Mister Reynolds? Are you confused?" "No, Ma'am." Bryan cut in again. "Ms. Price, please--" "That will be all, Mister Ashton. Close the door behind you." Bryan looked helplessly at Tom, who returned the glance intently with his heavily made-up eyes wide in annoyance. Bryan snuck out of the office and closed the door. There was a crowd of interested onlookers gathered outside. Over the next few minutes raised voices--mostly Tom's--could be heard from outside followed by a period of uncomfortable silence. Eventually the door opened and Tom exited crying, his mascara running. He was clutching his purse and paused in surprise to see the crowd of stunned faces staring at him. He sniffled and hurried down the hall towards the elevators. Before anyone could say anything, Ms. Price stepped out of the office and everyone looked away and tried to look busy. Bryan, watching Tom retreat down the hall, took a step to follow him. Ms. Price crisply said, "Not if you value your job, Mister Ashton." Bryan froze, watching his best friend wiggle away on his high heels in tears. * * * * * Tom stood on the sidewalk outside the building wiping away his tears and wondering how things could have turned so wrong so quickly. Some people walking by on the sidewalk stared at him as he stood there, making him feel self-conscious. Two older women gave him dirty looks and as they walked past he could hear one tell the other, "I think that's disgusting." He was still wondering what to do next when he heard his cell phone beep. It was a text message from Bryan saying, "DOOLEYS PUB 30 MINS". Tom decided to walk to the bar to clear his head, a decision he soon lamented since he quickly learned that a glamorous drag queen walking in the daytime through the conservative district of the city gets a lot of disapproving stares and snide comments. Given how many years he'd been dressing like this he would have thought he'd have thicker skin than he did, but each of the barbs made him feel like less of a person. By the time he arrived at the pub, he figured he could use a drink. The pub was a familiar hangout--a favorite of both him and Bryan--but far enough removed from their office that they didn't get a whole lot of co-workers drop in. Given what had just happened, Tom was sure that's why Bryan chose the place. That suited him just fine though, since he wasn't in the mood for a repeat performance. Tom entered the pub and sidled up to the bar, perching on a stool and setting his purse on the bar. The bartender, Mac, started towards him and Tom gave him a friendly smile. Before Tom could say anything, Mac cut him off and said, "This ain't that kind of bar." Tom was shocked. "Oh, um, no. Mac, it's me! I come in here all the time. My name is--" "I know who ya are," the bartender said sternly. "If you dress normal you're welcome here, but I don't want you gayin' up the joint." Tom fumbled for a response when Bryan's voice came from the doorway. "It's okay, Mac, she's with me." He sat down next to Tom. "Can we get a couple of beers, please?" "Still don't make it no better, lousy fruits," Mac mumbled, but he didn't press the matter further as he left to get the beers. "Thank you," Tom smiled. "Oh, he's just an old curmudgeon," Bryan said. "No, I mean..." Tom gave a winsome smile. "Just now, you called me 'she.' Thanks." "Man, what the hell happened to you?" Bryan wondered. Mac arrived with the beers and scowled again at Tom. Bryan motioned to Tom to move to one of the tables. "I just don't understand why everybody is freaking out all of a sudden?" Tom moaned, taking a drink. "Tom, you're dressed like you should be on a float in a gay pride parade. What did you THINK was gonna happen?" "Well, I THOUGHT everyone would treat me the same way they've always been treating me since I first came out. Crazy me." "Six months ago." "Yes! Right?" Bryan nodded slowly. "And you've been dressing like...this...for six months?" "Well, no," Tom admitted. "I've been doing this my whole life, as long as I can remember." "You've done this before?" "Well, sure," Tom shrugged. "Like when I was little, I'd sneak around in my mom's clothes. Or that time my sister caught me trying on her prom dress? Boy, was she pissed! Or in college, when--" "What?" Bryan interrupted. "Oh, in college, the cheerleaders had the cutest--" "No, before that," Bryan said. "What was that about the prom dress?" "Oh, that," Tom said sheepishly. "I was in junior high school and while my family was out--or so I thought!--I came across my sister's old prom dress. You should have seen it, it was all pink and frilly. I tried it on but it turned out she was still home--" "Tom." Bryan interrupted, looking at him intently. "You don't HAVE a sister." The look on Tom's face changed from bemusement, to wonder, to confusion, to concern. He shook his head slightly. "I, I don't..." "Tom, I need you to think carefully," Bryan said. "This is important. Could it have been someone else's dress?" Tom touched his temple gently. "I'm not sure..." "A neighbor, an aunt, a cousin, a girl from school...?" "I don't think so?" Tom said uncertainly. "Isn't that odd? I remember the dress so clearly. And then I remember the--owner--catching me and being very upset. But now I can't recall who it was. That's so strange." "But you thought it was your sister," Bryan prompted. "Yeah, but that doesn't make any sense." Bryan sighed heavily. "Actually, I think it makes perfect sense. And if I'm right, you're in a shitload of trouble." * * * * * Bryan stopped the car and looked expectantly at Tom who was sitting in the passenger seat. "This is the place." Tom looked outside. They were in a particularly shady section of town outside a questionable-looking apartment building. This was the kind of place he wouldn't even want to park his car, much less walk around...especially the way he was currently dressed. "Gosh, you take me the nicest places," he deadpanned. Bryan narrowed his eyes. "You do know we're not dating, right?" "I KNOW that," Tom chided. "Yeah, well, forgive me for not assuming anything given the current situation," Bryan countered. Tom looked down at himself and adjusted his dress over his two huge breast forms to cover up the leopard print brassiere that had become visible. "That's probably smart," he conceded. "And you offered to give me a blow job." "Yes, okay! Fine. Mistakes were made." "What was up with that, anyway?" Bryan asked. "Were you serious?" "I...yes," Tom admitted. "Look, I've obviously got a lot going on right now? So maybe we shouldn't focus on every little urge I'm dealing with." "Like the urge to give guys blow jobs." Tom looked at his friend earnestly. "Okay, you know what? It would be really, really, REALLY awesome if we could please stop talking about me giving blow jobs." "Why? Is talking about it making you want to do it?" "BRYAN!" "Hey, I'm just asking," he said, holding up his hands. "It might give us a clue what's going on. I'm just trying to help, here." "Trying to help yourself to a free blow job," Tom muttered. "Yeah, don't flatter yourself," Bryan countered. "So, where are we?" Tom asked, desperate to change the subject. "I...know a guy," Bryan said, gesturing vaguely. Tom raised his eyebrows. "Look, he might--MIGHT!--know what's going on with you." Tom looked at the dilapidated building and then back at his friend. "Is it drugs?" "It's not drugs! I don't do that anymore," Bryan said defensively. "Although, yes, there might be drugs in there. Look, just understand that what he's doing isn't exactly legal, so don't do anything to freak him out." Tom sighed. "Does this paragon of virtue have a name?" "Skeeter." Tom stared at him in disbelief. "Skeeter," he repeated, enunciating every letter. "Look, just let me do the talking," Bryan said. "Although..." "What?" "No, never mind, it's stupid." "Listen." Tom said. "In these heels I am a 6 foot 3 inch drag queen with a rack that would stop traffic, and I am about to walk through what looks to be a demilitarized zone to talk to a guy named Skeeter to figure out why I can remember a sister I don't have. So why don't you let me be the judge of what's stupid, okay?" "It's just...he's got a thing for, well, girls like you." Tom let the comment hang for a moment. "I assume we're not talking about brunettes." "Yeeeah. Anyway, I was thinking a little flirting might make him more agreeable." Tom stared at Bryan, holding his gaze wordlessly. "You're right, that's a stupid idea." Bryan nodded. "Right, let's go." * * * * * Bryan knocked on the grimy door while Tom stood beside him nervously. The whole building was dirty and every noise he heard made Tom jumpy. He found himself clinging on to Bryan's arm girlishly before Bryan shrugged him off and shot him a look. "Sorry," Tom whispered. The door opened, still on the chain. A man's voice came out, "Get lost." "Skeeter, it's Bryan." "Okay, then," the voice replied. "Get lost, Bryan." Tom heard a noise down the hall and smacked Bryan's arm impatiently. "Skeeter, c'mon, man," Bryan insisted. "Dude, we just need to talk. We do this and we're square from that other time with the thing." Tom poked Bryan and silently mouthed, "Other time?" Bryan just waved a hand in annoyance. After a long pause the door slammed shut. A moment later they heard the sound of the chain being unlatched and the door opened. As the two entered the apartment, Tom's jaw dropped. While the apartment building seemed on the verge of being condemned, the apartment was in pristine condition and lavishly appointed. It wasn't Park Avenue material, but it was a shockingly nice space considering what the outside looked like. It was airy and tastefully decorated. The door closed shut behind them and Skeeter said, "Ah yes, looks can be deceiving, can't they?" Then, giving Tom the once over, he added, "But then, you'd know something about illusion as well, wouldn't you, my dear?" Tom looked at the man, who was just as unexpected as the apartment itself. He was in his mid or possibly late 20's, clean cut with black hair and stylishly dressed in understated designer clothes. And also quite handsome, Tom couldn't help but notice. "Skeeter?" Tom asked. "Yes, indeed," the young man replied. "Not what you were expecting?" "I was thinking more like that comic book guy from the cartoon," Tom admitted. Skeeter laughed. "Yeah, I get that a lot," he said, taking Tom's hand gently. "But I'm afraid I didn't get your name, my dear?" "His name is Tom," Bryan cut in. Skeeter groaned and looked Tom in the eyes, still holding his hand. "Forgive his manners, he has no idea how to treat a lady," he admonished. "And what is the mademoiselle's name?" "I go by Tawny," Tom replied with a smile. "Tawny," the young man purred. "Wonderful." He gently kissed Tom's hand and released it in a genteel gesture. Bryan just rolled his eyes, but despite himself Tom was very much enjoying the flattery and being treated like a lady. He practically had to suppress a girlish giggle. "Can I offer you a drink?" Skeeter said, leading them over to the living room set. "No thanks," Bryan said, taking a seat. "We kinda need your expertise on something." "Expertise I have in abundance," Skeeter replied. "What can I do...for you?" he asked. His eyes were fixed on Tom, who looked away shyly. "72 hours ago, 'Tawny' here didn't exist," Bryan explained. "I saw him as Tom on Friday but this morning, he--," Skeeter gave him a disapproving look, "--sorry, SHE shows up like this claiming that she's been working like this for six months and dressing up like this her whole life." "Is that how you see it, beautiful?" Skeeter asked. Tom let the comment pass but beamed inwardly at the compliment. "I know what happened, but nobody remembers it but me," he replied. "And then there's other things too, like I can remember an argument with my sister, but I never had a sister." Skeeter nodded, "The lone voice of reason, crying out in the wilderness, it must be difficult for you," he mused. "Let me guess. This sister, you say you had an argument...maybe you were using her makeup or something?" "I wore her prom dress. How did you--?" Skeeter held up a hand and gave Bryan a significant look. Turning back to Tom he said, "Anything else?" Tom shrugged. "I don't know. I've always loved the clothes, the makeup, all of it. It's even kind of a turn-on." "And then there's the compulsion to suck cock," Bryan added. Tom gave Bryan a withering glance. "Yes, there's also that," he said through a forced smile. "Well now, I'd certainly be happy to help with that, if you feel any urges," Skeeter joked. Then he added more seriously, "I think you'd better step into my office." His "office" was through a sliding door that opened into what looked like a doctor's examination room. There were three tables with large machinery at the head of each table. He motioned for Tom to lie down on one of the tables. "If you wouldn't mind, gorgeous?" "You're going to give me a CAT scan?" "Something like that. Just lie back and relax. This will just take a moment." After a minute the machine whirred to life while Tom sat there expectantly for several seconds. "And we're done," Skeeter announced. Bryan stood behind Skeeter looking at the display as Tom walked up to them. It looked like some kind of complicated schematic with a bunch of lines and colors. "How bad is it?" Bryan asked. "I've seen worse," Skeeter said after a moment. "In schizophrenics." "What the hell is going on?" Tom said nervously. Skeeter sat Tom down. "Have you ever heard of neuropsyche transposition? NPT?" Tom shook his head. "How about psychic reconditioning? Mind jobs? Skimming?" "Wait, yeah," Tom remembered. "It's some kind of new drug craze or something, isn't it? Like a hallucinogen? I remember they said it wasn't a street thing, it was targeted at more upscale...young...professionals..." His voice trailed off as he looked at Bryan. "You shit! Is that this is about? After you cleaned yourself up? You told me you were done with that junk!" Bryan raised his hands in surrender. "It's not like that!" He looked to Skeeter. Skeeter shrugged. "It's not a drug...exactly. It's a very carefully created cocktail of a retrovirus, neurotransmitters, and electromagnetic manipulation designed to reprogram your brain in very specific ways." "Reprogram," Tom said slowly. "You're talking about memories. My memories! You mean somebody--" he turned to look at the machine. "Wait, what did you just do to me?!?" "Calm down, Tawny," Skeeter said. Hearing his feminine name caught Tom off guard. It was nice to hear it. Skeeter continued, "What I did was just a scan. Totally non-invasive." "But you're saying I have been...invaded?" Skeeter punched some buttons and the display changed. "Okay, look. Here's the scan of a normal human brain. All the little blue points and nodes are kind of like pathways, ways of storing information." Tom nodded. "Now here's the scan of somebody who's had one of my procedures done where we implant some memories. Yay, you just went skiing in Aspen. See here, it's the same thing, but there are these additional red lines and nodes. These represent the new experiences being fed into the brain. See, they're designed to attach but not completely latch on so they can be removed or just fade after a few hours. It's safer that way since there's less risk of damaging the brain with conflicting memories." "Wait, are you saying I have brain damage? And that's what somebody did to me? Why? How?" "Well it's not 'damage' exactly, although this stuff CAN be very dangerous. I've seen guys get so fucked up they can't tell fantasy from reality anymore. In your case I think you may find that it's easy to get...confused. " Tom nodded, recalling his experience from this morning. "As to how it happened, it's starting to become more common as the technology gets cheaper. The really hard part is to create these 'cocktails,' but once you've got one it's not all that hard anymore to implant them. It's like a computer program. It's a bitch to write and debug, but once it's done anybody can run it if they have the right hardware. Some of the newer equipment is even portable. It probably won't be long before my setup here becomes obsolete." He paused to let all that sink in. "And as for WHY they did this, well, I hate to say it, doll face, but there's only one good reason I can think of." "To humiliate me," Tom reasoned. "Turn me into a tranny and then have a good laugh at my expense." "You know anybody who hates you that much?" Tom looked at Bryan. "Hayley." "Girlfriend," Bryan explained. "Well, ex-girlfriend. Caught Tom sleeping with another girl." "Ouch," Skeeter said. "Yeah, that could do it. She connected?" "Mostly small-time," Bryan said. "Though I heard she might have an in with the Lotus Flowers." "Man haters. Yeah that fits too," Skeeter said. "I'd heard rumors they were getting into skimming." "But...wait," Tom said, getting nervous by this line of conversation. "This is good news, right? You said this'll wear off in a few hours?" he said hopefully. Skeeter punched a few buttons. "So. Here's the scan I took of YOUR brain." Tom examined the diagram. It was mostly gibberish but he remembered what Skeeter had said earlier. "But, I don't get it? You said that the new implanted memories are all in red, but there's no red there." Skeeter and Bryan looked at each other, then back at Tom. "The new memories weren't tagged," Skeeter said. "But you can take them out, right?" "When I put them in I can take them out because I tag them. Everyone's synapses are different so there's no telling which memory is which. The part of your brain that remembers your first kiss in my brain might be me getting toilet trained. That's why it's easier to put new memories in rather than take stuff out. It's like buried treasure...they put these little nuggets in your brain but in your case they went and destroyed the treasure map. I wouldn't even know where to start digging." Tom stared at him in shock. "You mean...I'm going to be like this FOREVER?" "I'm really sorry, Tawny." Tom wanted to hate that name, but he again felt a flush of pleasure at being referred to as a woman. It was like with the clothes, he knew that he should tear them off and to back to being a man, but...he didn't want to. He loved being a woman, it was his favorite thing in the world. He burst into tears and Bryan sat down next to him and put his arm around Tom's shoulder comfortingly. Tom then threw himself into Bryan's arms, putting his arms around him and holding on for dear life as he sobbed. He knew he was acting like a scared little girl, he knew that he was embarrassing Bryan, but he didn't care. He bawled like an infant. After a while he spent himself crying and composed himself, whispering "thank you" to Bryan who accepted the gratitude stoically. Skeeter handed him a tissue. "Thanks," Tom sniffled, dabbing at his eyes and wiping his nose. "God, I must be a mess," he said. "Yeah, but a hot mess," Skeeter complimented him, eliciting a short laugh from Tom. "But if you want to fix your makeup, feel free to use the bathroom right over there." Tom sniffled again. "God help me, I really do," he admitted and headed off to the restroom. After a few minutes Tom returned, makeup repaired and smiling bravely, though he looked like he might start crying again at any moment. Skeeter approached him saying, "I really am sorry there's nothing I can do. And...not to make this any harder than it is, but you really should know. Owning this equipment?" he said, pointing to his setup, "WILDLY illegal. The government doesn't want to admit this stuff exists, so it's secret tribunal shit. If they ever find this stuff here, I'll probably never even see daylight again." "Oh, I would never tell anyone--" Tom began. Skeeter shook his head. "No, I don't mean that. What I'm saying is, getting caught with this equipment is illegal, but using it on somebody isn't, unless actually they catch you in the act. After it's done, there's just no way to prove who implanted what memories, or in your case if the memories were ever really implanted at all and you're just making up a story. I guess what I'm saying is, the people your ex hired to do this to you are VERY powerful and VERY dangerous, so don't get any funny ideas in your head about going after them. Trust me, if you cross them, you'll WISH you have the problems you have now," he cautioned. "And as far as your ex is concerned, even if you could prove she hired them, there's just no law for this particular kind of..." he trailed off. "Rape." Tom said. "Yeah," Skeeter replied. "So, that's the bad news." "There's good news?" Skeeter reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "It's not much. I did some quick research while you were getting cleaned up and found this. It's a place where you can maybe get some help." Tom sniffled. "I am NOT gonna cry again," he said, mostly to himself. He reached over to Skeeter and kissed the handsome young man on the cheek and gave him a hug. "Thank you for what you did, I don't know how to repay you." "Think nothing of it, pretty lady," Skeeter said, breaking the embrace and touching Tom's arm tenderly. "Unless of course you still feel like giving me a blow job?" "Maybe some other time," Tom replied. "Yeah, it was worth a shot." Walking back down to the car Tom walked up to the passenger door and was reaching for the handle when Bryan got there first and held the door open for him. Tom smirked at him. "Seriously?" "Hey, I just found out that my best friend is going to be a woman. I can't help that you like all this girly stuff," he smiled. Tom got in and Bryan closed the door and then got in on the driver's side. "Thanks again," Tom said. "I know this is...weird." "That's what friends are for. And besides, you were there for me when I was going through my rough patch. I owe you one. Anything you need-- anything at all, just let me know." Tom smiled and nodded, looking away nervously and then looking back. "What?" Bryan asked. "It's nothing," Tom said. "It's stupid. Forget it." "Okay, well, how's about this time you let ME be the judge of what's stupid." "It's just--" Tom hesitated. "It's just really embarrassing. Like REALLY embarrassing." Bryan was still looking at him expectantly. "Okay, it's just...all that talk about blow jobs? It's really making me crazy, and now I can't stop thinking about...um," He shrugged. "Like I said, it's stupid. Forget I said anything." Bryan stared at Tom, holding his gaze wordlessly. Tom was nervous and about to say something when he heard the sound of Bryan's fly unzipping. "Thank you," he mouthed silently before he gave a mischievous grin and leaned down over his best friend's lap. Afterwards, Bryan parked the car outside Tom's apartment complex. As they got out, Bryan walked along beside Tom up to the door. Tom turned to his friend. "Okay, now you're walking me to the front door? I hope you're not looking forward to a goodnight kiss." "Hey, least I could do. I'm worried about you. And the streets aren't safe for..." he trailed off. "For someone like me." "I didn't mean it that way." "No, it's okay," Tom sighed. "I guess I better get used to thinking like that from now on." Bryan gave him a concerned glance. "You gonna be okay?" Tom just shrugged a little, staring off into space absently. Bryan, sensing his friend's discomfort, pulled him into a warm hug. Pulling away after a few seconds, Tom gave a weak smile and said, "I seem to be thanking you a lot today." Bryan looked down at Tom's chest that had just been pressed against him. "Seriously, if it were me, I definitely would have gone smaller." "Where's the fun in that?" Tom quipped, throwing his shoulders back to make his bosom even more prominent. "You need anything else tonight?" "Jesus, you've already given me bodily fluids, I think you've gone way above and beyond the call of duty," Tom joked. "But, thanks." "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then? I'll try to get out of work early, but..." "No, no, I get it," Tom told him. "That old battle axe is gonna read you the riot act as it is. You shouldn't have stuck your neck out for me like that." "Hey, like I said, what are friends for?" Tom didn't know what else to say so he impulsively leaned over and gave Bryan a quick kiss on the cheek. He didn't have the heart to see how his friend reacted so he just turned away and hurried inside his building. As he entered his apartment, Tom immediately flashed back to that very morning when he'd gleefully dolled himself up and practically skipped out the door to work. Everything seemed so different now. So...real. He headed back to his bedroom, trying to get used to the sound of the click-click-click of his high heels on the hardwood floor. He tossed his purse on the dresser and took a long look at his reflection. From a distance, his curvy figure and the heavy makeup were beguiling, but up close like this it felt like all he could see were his rough masculine features under the mask of lipstick and paint. And yet, part of him-- maybe even a big part--didn't want this to end. At all. He sighed heavily and began getting undressed, removing the dress and the heels. By the time he got to the figure shaping--the hip pads, the corset, even his big brassiere with the heavy breast forms--he felt a tremendous sense of loss with each item, even as he felt the ecstasy of relief as he took off each constraining garment. He thought he was going to have a spontaneous orgasm when he was released from the iron grip of the corset. Taking off the jewelry, he paused to look in the mirror and was faced with the weird dichotomy of his female face over his male body. Slowly-- very reluctantly--he removed the wig and made a pained face when he saw his old male self wearing the clownish makeup. He remembered it being a lot more fun to put on. He headed to the bathroom and mercifully found some makeup remover tucked in with the rest of his makeup and cleaned himself off, then took a quick shower. As he toweled himself off he found himself looking up or away, when he suddenly realized that he was trying to avoid looking at his own body. Testing a theory, Tom padded naked into the bedroom in front of the full-length mirror. He closed his eyes, and found it incredibly difficult to open them to face his reflection. He took an unsteady breath and forced his eyes open. Intellectually, he knew that this was his body. Shaved clean perhaps and still with the painted toenails and long elegant fingernails, but his nonetheless. He should be comfortable in his own body, even proud. His emotional reaction was a different story altogether. He whimpered and almost cried at the sight of his manly features, and the sight of his penis dangling there made him queasy. He wrung his hands in a womanly way, holding them to his chest--his big, flat, horrid male chest--and tried to hold back the tears. "It's all in your head," Tom told himself. "It's not real. It's not real." He spun away from his reflection in shame, the tears coming freely. As he tried to calm himself down he remembered the pink nightie he'd been wearing that morning. Feeling a surge of happiness at the thought, he sniffled and then rushed to retrieve the garment from the dresser. He sighed in happiness as he slipped it on, running his hands over the soft fabric as it caressed his hairless body. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and felt the same surge of shame and frustration, but this time it was tempered by the sight and touch of the soft feminine garment. As he climbed into bed and turned out the lights, he felt the slippery fabric against his skin and cried himself to sleep. * * * * * The next morning, Tom awoke late. He didn't think twice about waking up in the nightie, but he felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw the clock and realized that he was late for work. Then he remembered that wouldn't be a problem. He decided to make some coffee and get the paper before taking a shower, but looked down at himself and felt...wrong. He practically flinched when he saw his male face in the mirror and quickly decided to at least put on his wig and a little lipstick, which made him feel much better. He was about to head to the kitchen when he looked down at the nightie again and broke into a playful smile. He quickly removed the nightie and retrieved his big leopard print bra and gleefully fastened it up in back. As he put the two oversized breast forms into the cups he giggled as he gave them a grope. Slipping back into the pink nightie he looked at his buxom reflection in the mirror and sighed contentedly. He put on a skimpy matching pink silk robe and resolved to get some matching high-heeled mules at the first opportunity. Marching out to get the paper as he always did, Tom enjoyed the feel of the breeze blowing against his bare legs and soft flowing garments. He closed his eyes and smiled, taking a deep breath. As he retrieved the paper, he bumped into his neighbor, walking her dog. He remembered coming out to her when he went full-time as a woman six months ago and she'd been a real sweetheart about it. "Morning, Tracie!" he chirped. "Mor--" the young woman paused to see who--or even what--she was talking to. "Morning," she said uncertainly, eyeing the man in the wig and little pink robe. Then, "TOM?" She laughed, saying, "Wow, you look...really cute today!" "Thanks," Tom simpered. "I'm sure I look a fright." "Well, you wear it well," Tracie laughed. "You've certainly got the figure for it! You're so...bosomy," she said with a giggle. That was an odd thing to say, Tom thought. They'd been bumping into each other off and on for the last six months, so why was she only now going out of her way to mention the size of his-- "Oh, SHIT," he whispered. "Everything all right?" Tracie asked, still trying to suppress a smile. "Great!" Tom exclaimed, louder than he intended. "I mean, super. Awesome." He could feel the breeze blowing against his bare legs and he looked around in a panic to see who might be looking. "Well I have to admit you have some really sexy legs. I'm kinda jealous," Tracie teased. "Hmm? Oh, right, yeah, thanks," Tom stammered. "Well, must be going, great seeing you!" "You, too," she grinned. Unfortunately Tom was in such a hurry to get back inside he forgot that she had her dog with her. As he tried to get around Tracie he got tangled up in the leash as the small dog dodged to get out from underfoot. His feet with the pretty painted toenails, he noticed. "Whoops!" Tracie said. "I think you need to step over the...here, let me reach around...if you'd just stand still..." Tom stumbled forward into the shorter woman tits first, practically shaking them in her face as he extricated himself. "Oh, hey! Wow!" Tracie laughed, holding up her hands defensively but also trying to avoid touching his huge melons that were invading her personal space. "You need to be careful, you could knock somebody over with those!" she joked. "I guess that's why they're called knockers," Tom said stupidly. He kicked himself mentally. "Haha, guess so!" Tracie agreed. Finally untangled, she moved down the steps with her dog. She gave Tom a little wave. "You, um, enjoy yourself!" she snickered. Tom mirrored the wave. As he did so he noticed his long painted fingernails. So did Tracie. "Ooh, hey, that's a pretty color," she said. "What is that?" Tom looked at his long manicured nails, the vibrant color shimmering in the sunlight. "It's, uh...pink," he said. "Okay, catch you later!" he exclaimed as he ran back inside. As he rushed back into the safety of his apartment he leaned back against the door, panting with fear. He looked down and realized he was girlishly holding his hand to his chest as his breasts heaved. He lowered his hand in annoyance. "Okay, so this is how it's going to be, huh?" he said to himself. "Game on, Brain, game on." Going through his morning routine, Tom soon realized the dangers of going into "autopilot" mode since his brain still believed that he'd been living openly as a woman the last six months. And as he discovered with Tracie--and his job--he'd have to be extra vigilant about his interactions with people he knew. Despite what his memories would have him believe, almost nobody knew about Tawny. YET, he amended sullenly. He went into the bedroom to assess the situation. "Assume nothing," he reminded himself. The bathroom wasn't too far off from his memory. The cosmetics--wherever that and the other stuff had come from--were there and there seemed to be enough to get by for a while. His mind had a strange duality about it, he noticed. On one purely intellectual level he knew that he should probably be worried about making himself up since as a man he had no experience with cosmetics. On the other hand, he also knew that he'd been dressing up as Tawny for years, so there was nothing to worry about. He tried not to think about it too much. His wardrobe was especially perplexing. His male memories expected to find a man's wardrobe and his female memories a woman's. He really didn't know what to expect. But going through his closet and drawers proved that the male memories were closer to being correct. His male wardrobe was still there and none of Tawny's pretty outfits were present. The only exception was the outfit that he wore to work yesterday. He found it vaguely disconcerting seeing that one dress hanging in the closet amongst his male clothing. Experimentally, Tom took one of his man's shirts off the hangar, half expecting it to be hot to the touch or something. But it was just a shirt. He held it to his nose and took a deep sniff, finding the lingering male scent rather arousing. "Focus!" he told himself. "Okay, so," he said out loud, "that wasn't something I'd have done as a man. Obviously. But I guess it makes sense. When a man is aroused by a woman's garment he fantasizes about the woman. I'm just...doing the opposite." He tried to banish the idea of being attracted to a man because that would lead to thinking about their cocks, which would lead to... He licked his lips in anticipation, imagining a big hard dick... "Focus! Not kidding!" he shouted. "Right, keep it intellectual. I'm just making observations." He looked at the shirt again and wondered what it would be like to wear it. The idea seemed ridiculous to him. Absurd and transgressive. "Let's just find out," he told himself. He slipped one arm into the sleeve, and then the other. It felt huge and coarse. "But I know this is my size," he reminded himself. He buttoned it up slowly, fumbling with the buttons since they were on the wrong sides from what he was used to. As he tried to button it over his chest he discovered he couldn't button it all the way since his big tits were tenting out the front of the blouse. Err, shirt. "God dammit," he cussed. How the hell can you forget you've got a couple of huge squishy mounds on your chest? Tom didn't want to take the shirt all the way off, so he settled for just pulling out the breast forms and leaving the bra on underneath. But as he pulled out the fake tits, he felt really sad. He missed them. He looked at them laying on the dresser and it felt reassuring seeing them there. Though it was funny seeing them from this angle...they seemed so much bigger than they did on his chest! He wondered if that was how other people saw his tits when he had them in his brassiere. "Oh, right, the shirt!" he reminded himself, shaking his head. He kept buttoning the buttons over his chest, feeling an emptiness as his hands explored the empty space where his breasts should be. He wondered if he should try on some trousers next, but decided first to get a read on how this was going. Looking down at himself, Tom felt...weird. Awkward. The shirt was just WRONG. But those were just feelings, he told himself. He might be able to get used to it. Sure, it might feel like he was walking around cross- dressed if he had to wear these horrid things in public, but maybe some sacrifices had to be made. For the first time he started to hope that maybe he could beat this thing. Then he looked up into the mirror. "OH, EWWW!" he cried in horror. The shirt was even more horrid than he thought! It was gross and grody and disgusting and just BLECCH! The color was totally blah and boring and had NO sense of style and he looked absolutely freakish without a chest. But then as if that weren't bad enough, above the shirt was his FACE! He looked like a disgusting blob. That pale complexion, those rough mannish features, and don't even mention that hair! He looked like a Chia Pet. He looked away from the mirror and caught his breath. He wondered for a moment if he'd be able to put on some trousers. He was slowly overcoming the revulsion at that concept when his eyes cut over at the closet and he saw the men's shoes he'd have to wear. "Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!" he cried, struggling with the buttons to pull the hated shirt off. He managed to get the top two buttons undone before he freaked out and just yanked the shirt over his head, throwing it into the corner. He sighed in relief as he saw his big brassiere still on his chest and happily stuffed the big fake tits back into the cups. "So," he said to himself, "women's clothes it is." He felt tremendous relief at the decision. Having only the one outfit he'd have to wear it again until he could procure some other pretty clothes. That didn't enthuse him but he knew that beggars couldn't be choosers. Sitting there in his bedroom, Tom noticed a picture on the wall that caught his eye. It was a picture of him at an awards ceremony a couple of years ago, dressed in a tux. He wondered if it would generate the same kind of revulsion and self-loathing his male body seemed to give him. He looked at the picture and felt mixed emotions. He didn't exactly HATE the picture, but it just felt like an embarrassment. Like this was him living in denial of his true self. Looking at the picture, he felt pity. But this poor lost soul would be fabulous eventually, he reminded himself. Then, he touched the picture, tracing the shape of the face with his long manicured nail. To Tom's horror, his next thought was, "GOD, I love the look of a guy in a tux." Abandoning his failed experiments with his male clothing, Tom realized he need to get dressed and ready, and there was only one outfit in his apartment that he was willing to wear. Climbing into the shower he stood under the water and cleared his mind, letting his experiences as Tawny take over. In the shower he soon found himself shaving his legs, then shaving his face (gross, but a necessary evil...note to self, look into laser hair removal), soon followed by his makeup (dra-ma-tic!), undergarments, wig, dress, heels, and jewelry. If he thought about it, he knew that he looked totally slutty. But he didn't care. He finally felt like everything was right with the world and damn if he didn't look hot! Strutting out to the living room, Tom breathed a sigh of relief, finally feeling like himself again. He knew without a job money was soon going to be an issue, but his first order of business was clothes. He couldn't very well keep wearing the same outfit every day! He found himself getting excited at the thought of a little shopping excursion and then reminded himself to be careful around others. He picked up his purse and got ready to face the world when a slip of paper fell out. Tom bent down to pick it up and realized that this was the number for the group that Skeeter had given him last night. He'd said it was someplace Tom could get some help, and he definitely needed it. Skeeter hadn't identified the organization, but Tom was desperate. If they had some technology to remove the memories or even just curb these new desires maybe he could find some peace. On the paper there was just the phone number, no name or address or anything. Tom fished his phone out of his purse and dialed. "Hello?" a man answered. "Oh, yes, hi!" Tom replied, a little too cheerfully. "Hi, my name is, um, Tawny, and a friend of mine gave me this number? He said I could maybe get some help." "Sorry, we're not a public organization." "Oh, uh, well, that's good, actually," Tom said. He really needed to convince this guy. "I'm all about discretion. I'm...transgender." "Well then you should check the Internet. I'm sure there are several good groups in the area. Good day." "Wait! Wait!" Tom exclaimed desperately. "I'm, um, special. I'm like this because of...memory problems." Tom held his breath. After Skeeter's warning about the illegality of the memory changing devices, he was reluctant to be more specific unless he had to. There was a long pause on the line. For a moment Tom feared the man had hung up, but eventually he said, "Do you have headaches?" "Um, no, I don't think so." "What about blackouts?" "Well, no," Tom answered. He hoped that wasn't giving the wrong answers. "I mean, I don't remember how I got this way, but ever since then I haven't had any blackouts." "How long has it been?" "I'm not sure? I think maybe three or four days, but it really, really feels a lot longer than that." There was another pause. "Do you have a pen?" "Hm? Oh, sure," Tom replied, fishing in his purse for a pen. He grabbed the paper with the phone number on it. "Go ahead?" "We can meet you tonight at 7:00 at a place downtown. Can you come?" "Yes! I mean, sure, definitely." "Let me give you the address. We'll see you soon, Tawny." Tom wrote down the information and hung up with the guy, feeling a huge sense of relief. He had no idea what this group was or what if anything they could do for him, but it felt fantastic just being able to do something about it. "But first," he said, "shop-ping!" * * * * * Hours later, Tom walked through the aisles of the women's department at one of the downtown shopping centers. He was starting to despair. He had no idea shopping for clothes could be this hard! "Good afternoon, how are you today?" the saleswoman asked. Tom turned to face her. Here goes the first hurdle, he thought. "Oh hi, I'm great, thanks." There was an awkward pause as the woman looked him over. As Tom had learned from bitter experience at the other stores today, sometimes this part didn't go so well. Some of the salespeople were willing to treat him like a woman, but others took one look at his sexy dress, garish makeup and gaudy jewelry--to say nothing of his huge rack--and evidently came to the conclusion that his definition of womanhood and theirs weren't going to mix well. As she took in Tom's appearance, it seemed like she might have reservations but the chance for a sale must have outweighed them. "Glad to hear it!" she replied cheerfully. "My name's Kim, if you need anything." "My name's Tawny," Tom replied. "And actually, yeah, I could use some help." "Is there something in particular you're looking for?" Here comes the second hurdle, he thought. "Um, everything?" Tom laughed. "I'm coming off of a...major life event...and I need an entirely new wardrobe." This was a tricky bit, Tom had learned. The saleswomen's eyes always lit up at the thought of a commission that size, but it was the next part that got a little thorny. "Wow, you mean, like a fire or something?" Kim asked. "It's a long story, but yeah, something like that." "Oh, you poor thing! Well, we'll get you fixed right up. You certainly don't want to be running around town dressed like THAT all the time, do you?" And there we go, Tom thought to himself. "Uh, actually, yes I do," he told her. "Pardon me?" "My taste in clothes tends to be rather...flamboyant?" Tom explained. "Tight dresses, short skirts, sequins and glitter, that sort of thing. I'm looking for flashy, seductive glamour." "I see," Kim said slowly and eyeing him carefully. "Perhaps something in our evening wear department then?" Tom made a face. "Yeah, I just poked through over there and everything is...nice...but it doesn't really have that zing, you know?" "Zing?" "You know, not so subtle?" Tom told her. "More explicit, more open, more..." He waved his hands in little circles. "Wanton." "Yes!" "Lewd," Kim suggested. "Vulgar." "Exactly!" Tom beamed. "Do you have anything like that?" "We do not." "Oh. Do you know who might?" "There's a store in the mall that caters to, shall we say, aggressively sexual teenage girls. Perhaps they might have some fashions to suit your taste?" "No," Tom disagreed. "They had some cute stuff, but it was all too small," he lamented. "I'm a big girl." "I see that." "Say, I did see a pair of really sexy pumps in your shoe department. You don't happen to go up to size 13, do you?" "I can't imagine." "Darn. Well no harm asking. Thanks anyway!" Tom smiled and sashayed off, ignoring the glowering Kim. After hours of fruitless searching, Tom was exhausted. He was starting to think that the only way he was going to find a wardrobe to suit him was to open a store himself. He'd narrowed it down to one of two names: "The Wanton Whore" or "TrannySkank." 'Big enough for a man, but fashioned for sex-crazed slut' would be their motto. He wasn't sure there was a big market for that, but from what he could tell so far it seemed to be an unexploited niche. He sighed and figured he'd try hitting the Internet tomorrow. He went to grab a bite to eat in the mall and nothing appealed to him, and the corset was so tight it curbed his appetite. Eventually he just ordered a salad since he felt like such a cow in his dress with his thick middle and chubby legs. But even then, he just picked at the food. Meanwhile, it seemed like every teenager in the mall stopped to gawk at him. The adults gawked too, but at least they tried to be a little bit discreet about it. The teens were like savages, though. Especially the girls. While he was window shopping a few girls had stopped him, asking, "Hey, can we get a picture with you?" Tom agreed, but the girls were terrible, asking if they could try on his wig and trying to pull up his skirt to check out his underwear. As they reviewed their pictures, they squealed with ear-splitting laughter, shrieking, "Oh my God, that is so fuh-reaky!" Afterwards as he was driving home he decided to stop off at the supermarket. He still wasn't particularly hungry, but given his dining experience he figured it might be better to try and eat in for a while. He grabbed a cart and absently walked up and down the aisles trying to pick out healthy options like fruits and vegetables. At first he tried to just ignore the looks and stares of the other customers, but as with the teenagers in the mall trying to avoid them only seemed to encourage them further. He turned into the next aisle and came face to face with a teenage girl. Her face went through the usual surprise and then amusement. Tom was all set to just look down and push past her with his cart, but this time he decided to try something different. He looked her straight in the face, made eye contact, and gave her a friendly smile. The girl, evidently not expecting this reaction, continued to look at him but seemed at a loss how to respond. Tom held his gaze and cheerfully said, "Hi!" The girl shyly looked down at the floor, mumbled a soft "hi," and hurried past. Tom stood there amazed. He literally couldn't believe that had worked, but it raised his spirits enormously. Before, he felt like a walking freak show, embarrassed by all the gawking and dirty looks, but now he realized that his embarrassment had only drawn more attention and emboldened his antagonists, giving them power over him. Tom straightened up and affected a confident smile. He returned glances when people looked at him and decided to just...be friendly. It was terrifying. More than anything he wanted to run out of the store and hide in his car, but he decided to embrace the "fake it 'til you make it" philosophy and forced himself to keep going. The difference, he discovered, was night and day. His confident attitude seemed to defuse some of the more backbiting behavior and even when someone would give him a smirk or a dirty look it just didn't seem to matter as much. And many times his friendly smile was returned by the other person. By the time he reached the checkout line he felt like he'd discovered some kind of weird super power. So instead of hiding his face and pretending to read the tabloids, he stood there happily, glancing around and smiling at the person in line in front of him, who just went back to what they were doing. He reached the head of the line and saw the young woman working the register, whose nametag identified her as Emily. She had a bohemian sense of style, her makeup bold but not overdone, and she was wearing an eclectic mix of rings and bracelets. As Tom made eye contact, he saw that she was wearing a cute little hat and oversized earrings. "Hi," she said. "Find everything okay today?" "More than I expected, actually," Tom answered. Emily took a peek at him as she started to ring him up. "I like your outfit!" she complimented him. "Thanks, it's new," Tom replied honestly. "I was actually just admiring your earrings." "Do you like them? My friend makes them." "Does she sell them?" Tom asked. "She does! She has a little booth at a consignment store downtown. The Purple Parrot." "It sounds like a gay bar," Tom laughed. Then, remembering what he was wearing, he worried he might have stuck his high-heeled foot in his mouth. "Haha, I know, right?" Emily responded cheerfully. Tom was standing there in awe. Here he was, standing in a public supermarket having an actual conversation with an actual person. For the first time since his change he felt normal. Actually, he felt better than normal. Standing there in the clothes he dearly loved to wear and still able to do everyday things was like the best of both worlds. He felt amazing. "Oh wow, blow jobs are so much fun, aren't they?" Emily asked. "Oh my GOD, yes," Tom agreed enthusiastically. Then, "Wait, what?" "My aunt used to give them out on Halloween," Emily added. Tom blinked. "She...?" He looked down at the small bag of suckers in her hand: Blow Pops. He laughed nervously as Emily smiled and continued. His pulse was racing, thankful she hadn't realized his mistake. He looked at the suckers in the grocery bag and puzzled for a moment. He only vaguely remembered putting them in the cart. At the time he thought it might be nice to have something to...suck...on... Terrified and only now realizing how desperately he wanted to perform oral sex, Tom looked at his purchases. Drinking straws. Bananas. Carrots. Popsicles. Zucchini. Cucumbers. Hot dogs. Sausages. Bratwurst. Pickles. Wow, really, cucumbers? he thought. He shook his head, feeling his face flush as he smiled nervously. Emily was just mechanically doing her job and if she'd noticed the pattern to his purchases she gave no outward sign. Tom's eyes cut over at the woman in line behind him, who was examining the items on the belt and making a slightly confused face like she was puzzling something out. As Emily finished, Tom fished his credit card out of his purse and paid for his purchases. He started to head out as quickly as possible, but Emily called. "Wait! Your receipt!" She looked at it and cheerfully added, "Thank you, Ms."--she read the name--"Reynolds." Tom smiled gamely and took the receipt, hurrying outside and tearing into the bag of Blow Pops, sucking away furiously as he loaded the groceries into the car. * * * * * Driving downtown that evening, Tom was running late for the meeting of this...he didn't even know what to call them. Group? Organization? Syndicate? He wished he knew more about what he was walking into, but he was desperate. He hoped it was