Fantasy And Reality - Barbara Revisited free porn video

Jessica and I have known each other since our first days in school, about five years old. We were sometimes friends, always acquaintances, and then somehow, shortly after she blossomed into womanhood, we became boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of us remembers exactly how it happened, but both of us agree our first kiss was when we parted directions on the way home. It's just that I remember it being winter and she claims it was summer. We were inseparable through our sixth form, separated in our first year at university, reconciled somewhat in the second, like friends, then we got married in the third. Why? We realised that we simply couldn't be apart, but living apart from your spouse felt so much closer than living apart from your partner. My mother assumed she was pregnant. She wasn't! Probably two years after university we discovered that we would have been very lucky if she had been. Jess had a scare, a lump was found near one of her ovaries, and although it was found to be completely benign, during the course of many tests it was discovered that Jess had fertility problems. Her eggs could be harvested and used for IVF, but there was a waiting list and even then the cost of some of the drugs was quite prohibitive. We couldn't afford to have a baby. I guess you could look at a lot of factors and say that it wasn't surprising that we began to drift apart. Not on a purely emotional sense, no, we were still the best of friends who could talk to each other comfortably at any time about any thing. More physical and mental in other senses. We touched each other less, sex was no longer common and spontaneous, we began to argue instead of discuss. We'd known each other all our lives, been together longer than many marriages, and got married younger than anyone else we knew. Affording IVF meant getting cash which meant working, at a time when we both had to push to get up career ladders and needed the new house, car, and everything to fill our space and lives. We worked longer and harder, and relaxed together less. Perhaps Jess never quite got over her scare and the aftermath. I know she wanted children. And it was Jess who turned around and made an effort. I came home after a half day at work to relax as it was my birthday. Without telling me she had arranged the same for herself and was standing next to the table with lunch laid out when I arrived. "Happy Birthday, Darling!" I took a moment to take it all in. "How did you get time off work?" I should mention that Jess works for a large hotel chain as an events coordinator which means she spends a lot of time working at the whim of clients, which is why she was rarely free. Perhaps I should also mention that she is very beautiful, to me anyway, even now. When I get a chance to look at her like this I can see why I've never wanted anyone else. She's quite tall, around 5'8", which means she looks down on me in heels. She is slim, athletically built, full B cup breasts above a trim tummy and slim hips. If she were an inch or two taller she could model. She keeps her long, blonde hair straight, which she considers a more professional look, and only wears light makeup, which means you are really looking at her natural prettiness. If you looked at me objectively you would probably say that I lucked out in catching her early. I eventually reached about an inch taller than her, but never tall enough to make it in my chosen sport of rugby. I was a slight winger at a time when rugby backs were becoming larger than the forwards. At university the first team scrum half was taller than me and pounds of muscle heavier so I gave it up and stayed fit with running and some light gym work, never finding another sport to love. I went a little rebellious, growing my hair long, getting an earring and a couple of tattoos on my shoulder and lower back. Like I said, a little rebellious, nothing that would show. When we split in the first year I lost a bit of weight, but girls still said I was good- looking, they just wondered why I didn't play guitar or expected me to supply them with drugs. One of the girls on my course tried to set me up with her six foot, gay personal trainer. Another wanted to take me to a Halloween Ball dressed in an identical witch's costume to hers, and pass me off as her sister! Whilst the first was awkward, especially as she didn't tell me what she was up to until after Ben had got a bit close to me, the second was embarrassing. Not because Ellie was convinced she could pull it off, but because I actually got a little turned on by the idea! I did cross-dress a bit when I was younger, and though it passed I still read a few stories that got me interested and excited. For weeks I regretted turning Ellie down, but I don't think I could have comfortably pulled it off. Passed, maybe, but felt humiliated, definitely. In summary I wasn't a man's man, which made me worry sometimes that I wasn't a woman's man, until Jess told me that she wanted me and only me, for life "I planned ahead. We need some time together. I need some time with you. You didn't have any plans, did you?" I smiled. "Of course not! I was going to sit here waiting for you and hope you would have time to join me for dinner." "Let's start with lunch then, and see where we go from there?" She sat down and invited me to start off with some salad and toast, before she produced her masterpiece of microwaved cantonese dishes fresh from the supermarket freezer aisle. "I made the cake myself." She said proudly as she got up to fetch it from the kitchen for our dessert. "It's one of my gran's recipes." "I thought she never revealed her secrets!" I called after her. "Mum found her books in the clearance." She called from the kitchen. "This one was labelled 'Best Present Ever'." She stated as she came back through the door and laid it on the table, a round sponge with a filled centre and icing over the top, a lit, golden candle in the centre. "And you baked it?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. Jess had never been fascinated by cookery, and baking definitely wasn't her thing. "Keep smiling when you eat it," she threatened. I laughed. "There were some odd ingredients. I thought I'd only find Cream of Tartar in some old chemist's shop until I looked it up. Cloves I get, star anise kinda, though I had no idea it really looked like a star! And I'm not sure sage is right but I couldn't figure out what else it might be." "Sage? Isn't that used in stuffing?" "Oh, yes, that's it! I wondered what it tasted like! This cake better not taste like chicken!" "Everything tastes like chicken." We laughed. It was nice to laugh together. Not that we hadn't sometimes recently, but this felt good. "The rest is just flour and eggs, right? No onions?" "Hey, I do know a little about cakes. And I didn't make that salt/sugar mistake either because it uses honey and molasses, so no need to take a test bite." I reached for the knife. "Can I take a slice?" "Happy birthday, darling. Blow the candle out first!" I leaned over and did, first time, waiting for the joke candle which relit, but it didn't. Then I reached for the knife again. "Oo, honey, can I do that?" "Sure." I passed the knife to her. She placed the point into the centre, closed her eyes, and cut down. Then she sized and cut two slices, passing one onto my plate. I took a bite. Yes, there was a slight savoury taste in amongst the sweetness, but it seemed to meld in a way that sweet and sour sauce does on pork, or the way that caramelised onions just work. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "This is really good cake! Your gran knew what she was doing!" Jess smiled brightly. "Thank you." "Oh, and of course the chef did too. Did you make a wish?" "Yes." She reached across to take my hand and whispered confidentially. "I wished your fantasy would come true. I hope it involves an affair with a married woman..." Two hours later I was lying in bed with my arm around my wife, her stroking my chest and stomach with her fingers and nails. Everything had gone so wonderfully well, and sexily too, in a way that we hadn't experienced for a long time. There was no embarrassment with getting undressed, no worry about familiarity and just getting on with it. We'd taken our time, loved, been passionate, and become fulfilled. I was basking in the glow of something more than just physical pleasure. Jess got up to go to the bathroom and I heard the shower go on, then in a few minutes she was out again. She started pulling on her clothes again. "Aren't you coming back to bed?" I wondered. "Have we got other plans for this evening?" "Darling," she laughed lightly, "you know I can't stay! That's the good side and the bad side of an affair," she mused as she pulled up her knickers, wiggling her hips sexily as she did so, "that you and I get sex with no strings attached, whether you want them or not." "Oh," I responded, slightly puzzled, "so we are having an affair today." "Today?" She pulled her tight pullover down over her head and pulled her long, blonde hair out. "Not just today! For as long as we can if I have my way, lover!" "Er, so you're going back to work?" She winked at me. "Yes, back to the day job." She put emphasis on the day job like it had some secret meaning. As she finished dressing and putting her earrings in she did say, "I'll call you later if I get the chance and we'll see if we can do something tonight to celebrate a little more." "That sounds good. I'll see you later." She blew me a kiss as she left the bedroom and I heard the apartment door close behind her. I was upset because I thought she'd taken the whole day off, and this left me back to my original plan of moping around the apartment with a beer or two until she came home. Six o'clock she hadn't come home. I didn't expect her that early on a normal day, but I'd exhausted new stories on my favourite sites on the net, wasn't in the mood for pictures, and didn't have any mates online for games yet. Seven o'clock I'd expected a call. Eight came and normally I would have expected her back or calling me to get some dinner ready for when she did arrive. At nine I was worried. I was showered, shaved, ready to get dressed to go out. Half an hour later the phone rang. "Jess? Where are you? What's up?" "Oh, Dean," she was barely speaking above a whisper, "we're in trouble." "Trouble? What's up? What trouble?" "It's Joe, he's found out." I waiting for more, but she seemed to expect me to know something from that. "Joe, your boss is Joe? I thought it was Stephen." "Dean! Don't be funny. Joe. My husband. Joe." "Your husband? Honey, are you still playing the affair game?" "Oh my God, Dean! What is wrong with you?!" Her voice rose. Then she took a breath and spoke quietly again. "My husband found out about us. He can't prove anything and I denied everything so he calmed down and then said he'll just make sure anyway. He's sent a couple of guys around to your place. I don't know how he found it. He's got your name and your description. I don't know what to do! You need to get out of there!" "Very funny, Jess. Now really, when are you getting home?" "Dean... Shit, I've got to go!" She hung the phone up. I wasn't happy with the way this game was going. Jess wanted to give me the fantasy of being in an affair with her as a married woman, so be it, but not this jealous husband wind-up. I had no idea what she was really doing but if she wanted to stay over with a friend, fine. The knock on the door ten minutes later was the other option, that she'd given up the ruse and was standing outside waiting for me to let her in. Well, two could play games, so I left her standing there until she got her own key out. Then she knocked again, except this time I had my headphones off and left the game idle, and it wasn't her knock. I hadn't ordered takeaway and no deliveries get past the front desk without them calling up first anyway, so again, it could only be Jess and I left her hanging. The knock came much louder the third time. It definitely wasn't Jess, but I couldn't think who it could be. I stood up and went to the light switch and was just about to switch it on when I heard a deep voice. "Just hit it, Del." I stayed my hand at the switch and listened. Our apartment block is quite a new one but the area is old and there are poorer and less amenable elements around. The door was thick hardwood, with a security lock, chain, and deadbolts top and bottom. Except that because I was expecting Jess I'd used none of them. The next sound I heard was thunderous, a huge bang which made the door shake and put a hole in it, coin sized, right next to the lock. A soldier might have hit the floor. I froze like a rabbit. Other people didn't. I heard a shout and a scream from other apartments, and the deep voice yelled. "Hit the freakin' lock, dick!!" Another shot and the door opened slightly, the security lock holding it together by one screw. Another three, more solid thuds, probably from a shoulder, and the door burst open. I was no longer by the light, I was in the bedroom, looking for the best hiding place. I didn't have to find one, though I did anyway. A combination of luck meant that whoever Del was he came no further than my front door. The screamer shouted that she was calling the police. The building fire alarm went off. And a siren sounded right outside the building. "Del, come on! He's not here." And then as they must have been leaving. "We'll get him coming back." I had no idea what the hell was going on, but all I could think of was Jess's call and her saying that a couple of guys were coming around and I had to get out. For some reason a couple of guys had, and I did. Those guys thought I wasn't in, I guess with the lights out and the door not locked inside, though they didn't have time to check. They probably would check again later. Before then though either the police or the fire services would arrive, and the police would ask me loads of questions I didn't know the answers to. Then there were two guys waiting downstairs for me to come in, and they were armed. I could bolt the doors for safety, but it wouldn't last long against those two. The police might leave someone, but he wouldn't be armed, I guessed, and I hadn't seen the two who were waiting for me. I looked out the front window down at the street. There was one shape in a car, but not two. The other would probably be guarding the rear door. At least they thought I would be coming in, but how could I get out if they were looking out for me? I thought my neighbours would be out in the hall already, but of the three other flats on the floor, one was vacant. The other two were a middle-aged woman, the screamer, and an old couple, probably including the shouter. The hall sprinklers were going so even if they'd looked out they'd decided not to get soaked or shot out of curiosity. If I wanted to get out before the police arrived to make it impossible, now was the time, but my mind was blank on how. Empty minds come up with the strangest concepts to fill them. Jess's cupboard seemed a bit bare - maybe she hadn't had time to do the washing - but anyway I grabbed some underwear, and a dress. I stuffed the bra with my socks, overstuffed to make it a bit more dramatic, and slid socks into the back of the panties too. The female shape was a start, good enough for the darkness outside, and I ran into the bathroom to grab some of her products. 'You've done this before' I kept reminding myself, though probably the dim light helped in making me cake the makeup on which changed my face completely. My old earring hole was still open, and a dangly hoop went in, and the other I simply pushed through then covered the new piercing with Vaseline. I didn't even register the pain. I brushed my hair out, long around my face, and still being slightly damp from the shower it took conditioner easily which made it fall straighter and hopefully look glossy. A dollop of thick lipstick. Heavy blue eye shadow. No time for pencil, thick mascara. Yes, I looked like me, but I looked like my sister would. I pulled a dress over my head, a loose one but plain and dark, with a heavy skirt. Damn, it was half-sleeved! I quickly tugged my beard trimmer over my arms, then my electric razor, though they still looked like they had five-o'clock shadow after thirty seconds of that. It then took all of thirty seconds to paint my finger nails, as I wasn't exactly going for accuracy, just a bright, distracting colour. Some of my cuticles ended up covered. High denier tights, and then big heels. I figured the obvious bits of femininity, the heels, bum, boobs, big earrings and lips would be enough to make anyone dismiss me before looking close enough to see the obvious resemblance. I grabbed a purse to top everything off and made sure I had my phone and some cash. The sprinklers had stopped. The other apartment doors were open, apart from the vacant one. Everyone had evacuated? That meant there would be a crowd to the rear where the fire escape came out of the stairs. If a guy had gone there he would have a lot of faces to focus on, and hopefully would be looking for someone coming in anyway. As I descended the stairs I suddenly had a strange deja vu. Well not exactly a deja vu, but more like a moment of clarity when I remembered something, except I didn't quite remember it. It was as though the situation made me remember it happening to someone else, like in a book I'd read or maybe seen on tv. A guy dresses as a girl to get past guys who are watching his apartment. Was it the adrenaline, or was I actually excited by the situation? I was dressed again, a skirt swishing against smooth tights, tiptoeing down the stairs in heels, painted nails showing as I slipped my hand down the bannister rail. It was something I missed, though I'd hate Jess to know that. At the bottom I caught up to an elderly gent about to go through the fire door. Hearing me click up he held the door open and smiled at me. I smiled back with my head down, trying to hide my face a little, and he waved me through. I couldn't leave him without a thank you, I helped him down the last few steps and into the rear car park where he thanked me. A large face just outside the open gates had watched the exchange and I caught him turn away in disinterest. I watched him carefully for a minute, and saw him stroll away to the left. Following I saw his back about ten yards away, and turned to the right, sliding in behind a parked 4x4. He paused, looked back casually, then carried on his slow stroll. I went roadside of two more parked cars generally getting further away and didn't see him turn back once. Finally I saw a cross street and judging that there was now a good forty yards between us I brazened it out and crossed over. If he did look back and see me he did nothing. A woman walking away across the street? Not his quarry. I passed around the corner and stole a look back. He was coming back but not even looking my way. I carried on clipping up the pavement in my heels until I figured I could let my breath out and hail a taxi. Apart from Jess, Marcus was my best friend. He'd known me as long as Jess, and Jess as long as me. When I visited Jess in uni I could visit him too on the same campus, and he was the only person I knew who worked longer hours than Jess. His degree in Healthcare Administration followed by an MBA got him into a large hospital but within a year he'd taken a position at a private hospital in our town, and if he wasn't there he was asleep in his apartment two minutes' walk from the gates. I sent the taxi there and sat back. Marketers call the period after an unnecessary but desired buy 'Post- Purchase Rationalisation' which basically means giving yourself excuses for the decision you've just made. There is some term for any situation where you justify your decision after the fact, especially in the face of evidence which shows it was a bad decision. Like the decision to run from your apartment when the bad guys thought you weren't there and the good guys were on their way. Why did I think the police couldn't protect me? If they were told the bad guys had guns, then they would have brought guns. I had Jess's number so they could have contacted her and found out who those bad guys were. Next would be arrests and the insurance would come round and fix my door and Jess would be safe to come home. But I had to rationalise. I could have been shot when being escorted out by the police. Bad guys had contacts in police stations. With everyone outside the building they might have come in and checked once again. The television news might have got hold of my face. Everyone would know who I was but right now no one knew who I was. I didn't know why someone was after me, but they didn't know where I was now or would be in a day's time. That was better. Okay, it wasn't good rationalisation, but it lasted me until the taxi got me to the front doors of the hospital. Then something else started chipping away at it. That strange deja vu like feeling. I'm at a hospital in a dress and make-up. I've seen all this before, and it's not good. I walked in past the night-guard without a second glance. The hospital is always open, and the guard is there just to help people find where they're going, but if you look like you know where you're going he doesn't bother you. The lights on the corridors leading to Marcus's office were dimmed, making the line of light under his door easy to see. His secretary was long gone so I let myself straight in, and smiled at the look of shock on his face. "Can I help you, M..." He did the double take. "Dean?" I took the chair in front of his desk and crossed my left leg over my right. There was a slight uncomfortable moment, but I managed to ignore it. "Yes, Marcus, it's me. I kinda need some help." I told him the recent story, and he sat in silence throughout, smiling as I reached toward the end. "I think you've already shown yourself to be pretty damn resourceful, Dean. What more could I do?" "I need a place to stay until I can find out whatever the hell is going on." Marcus suddenly sank into deep thought. After a few seconds he stood up. "Did you think this through at all, Dean?" He looked at me. "Don't you think that the first person Joe will come to question is me?" "Why?" I asked in surprise. "Mate, are you kidding me? You dumped Jess at uni, I went out with her for the second year. Joe met her in the third and swept her off her feet." "Er, what?" "Joseph Nkele posed as a Nigerian prince at uni. One day he drives up in a Ferrari and six weeks later they're married. I thought Jess had more class. I looked him up, to protect her, you understand, and figure out he's some kind of drug lord. Jess wouldn't believe it, but I know she's found out since. He found out about me pretty quickly, we have a mutual awareness, we even chatted at the wedding. You can guarantee he knows about you, and therefore he knows about us. Which means we really have to think quickly. The hospital might already be under observation." He paused. "You were definitely seen leaving your apartments, as a woman, and you may have been seen entering the clinic, also as a woman. If you continue entering and leaving the clinic as a woman it would probably raise less suspicion than a complete change of routine. We can account for you as a patient and you can stay over some nights-" "Hang on right there!" I interjected. "Who the hell is Joseph Nkele? Jess got married to me in the third year, you were my best man! Hell, you'd have been her maid of honour as well if her sister hadn't turned up!" "Dean!" pleaded Marcus, hands outstretched, palms down in a signal of calming. "What are you going on about? Seriously, mate, are you okay?" He reached for a button on his intercom and paused a second before a crackled yes came through. "Hi, Deborah. Can you come to my office, S3. Thank you." Right at that moment the phone rang. After a short pause he picked it up. "Marcus Hardy. Yes. Oh, yes, hello, Joe! Dean?" He looked at me. I tried to shrink into the seat. "No, I haven't seen him for quite a few weeks. Even missed our last night out as I recall. No. No, I don't mind at all. Certainly. Okay, Goodbye." He put the phone down. "He's on his way over right now, says he'll be a few minutes. We've got to hide you somehow." "What the hell is going on, Marcus? Some guy I've never heard of is after me for some reason I don't know, Jess is acting up, and now you're telling me some bullshit story about her marrying someone else! How the hell did you get this all set up? This is the biggest, craziest, shit-scary practical joke that's ever been pulled!" At that moment, with Marcus looking a little scared, a nurse came through the door. She stepped wide around me and handed Marcus a plastic beaker with some pills in it. He took a glass off his desk and over to a sink where he half filled it with water. "Dean, please, mate, would you take these. They're mild sedatives, because it sounds like you've been under a lot of stress. Looking at the nurse, quite pretty, and back at Marcus I nodded, took the beaker and swallowed the pills with the water. Marcus took the glass and beaker back. He turned to the nurse. "Deborah, take Dean down to Hargreaves in Burns. I'll call down with instructions." He ushered me gently out of the door. Deborah dragged me by the hand down to the ground floor, where we turned away from the reception area and into the Burns unit. "Nurse Hargreaves is our Cosmetic Artist." She explained to me on the way. "She works with our burns patients where surgery can't. She's a miracle worker!" We walked into an office that looked like a GP's surgery. A greying, middle-aged lady stood up to welcome us in. Deborah introduced Nurse Hargreaves and left. "I just got off the 'phone with Marcus. It appears we may not have very long so we'll work with what you have. Sit in front of that mirror." She pointed me to what might have been a theatre dressing table, except that it was spotless and, in addition to various cosmetics and bags, displayed certain of what looked to be surgeons implements; scalpels and the like. I sat. Within five minutes my face looked as though it had been propelled through the windscreen of a car. Within five minutes more, it still looked like it had been through the window of a car, but it wasn't my face. No, now it looked like some unfortunate young woman had been through the front of a car, and that the scars were healing. The Nurse reclothed me in a hospital gown, replacing my socks that had been stuffing the bra with two small false breasts. They didn't look real, but under the gown they performed all the necessary shaping to make me look like a woman. She showed me to a bed in a private ward, where she loosely bandaged my legs and arms. "This should cover anything else if someone should be rude enough to look. Right, under the covers, and go to sleep, you've had a very traumatic experience." Nurse Hargreaves' last words left me imagining what kind of traumatic experience I might have if I was discovered. But then, I couldn't recognise me. I guess the sedatives were pretty good too. I fell asleep. Marcus woke me coming in the next morning. "Dean, it's okay!" he said quietly. I turned to face him. "Wow!" He stuttered. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't known it was you!" "So, what's going on?" "Joe visited. I think he believed me about you not being here, but he's left a few guys outside in the street. He did happen to mention the list of people seen entering and leaving here in detail, so we're stuck with you having to leave here if you don't want to arouse suspicion and have him search the hospital." "You mean I should stay looking like this?!" "Unless you want to walk into his hands, yes." The answer was pretty straightforward. "I'll send Nurse Hargreaves back in again, and we'll see what we can do to complete the disguise." "Why complete it? As soon as I'm out of here safely I'm back to me again and then I'm finding out what is really going on. I've had enough of this." "I can see the appeal in that, Dean, but think a little. You can't go back to your apartment as yourself, you can't go to my apartment as yourself, and you can't get in and out of here as yourself. You have hardly any money and didn't pack any credit cards when you left your apartment, and anybody going to fetch them would be at risk. You're relying on my help and my charity, and I'm trying to stay alive to help you too. So you're going to perfect that disguise for as long as it's needed!" "Okay, Marcus, you're the boss here, but I'm gonna call Jess now and straighten this all out." He cocked his head slightly. "Joe's wife?" "Christ, man! My wife!" "Perhaps," Marcus said, "you should rest in here until you're ready." I reached for my phone I'd put at the side of the desk. No bars. "They don't work in here, Dean. We jam them for safety. I'll go upstairs and give Jess a call to give her your bedside number. At that moment, Nurse Hargreaves came in through the door. "I think you know what to do, Nurse?" "No problem, Mr. Hardy." "Nurse Hargreaves is completely reliable, Dean, but try not to get seen by too many other people. Stay in here for the now, huh?" I nodded as Marcus left, and the nurse handed me a couple more pills. I took them, then moments later I had a flash of inspiration. It was the deja vu feeling which had been bugging me. It was a story on one of my one-time favourite sites, Nifty, one which had appealed so much to me that I still trawled the web looking for similar stories. I forgot its name, but the storyline ended in the victim working as a maid for the gangster who was chasing him. I reached for my phone again to search the net but no signal meant no data or internet either. "Is there wifi?" I asked the nurse. "No, why? There are connections in the offices." "I need to post a question. Somebody out there knows which story you guys are trying to act out." "Story? Act out? What?" "It's a story where the guy gets turned into a woman. Whoah!" I swayed suddenly. "I feel a bit dizzy." "Lie back, it's the sedatives. You haven't eaten anything recently." I lay back at her insistence. "At least you'll be relaxed enough to let me help you out here, and yes, it is as weird as some story, but I just do my job." I couldn't really get up the will to respond to Nurse Hargreaves. The bandages came off, and a plastic sheet was laid underneath me. She coated a foul smelling cream liberally over my legs and arms, explaining that it was a depilatory and silencing any protest I could make. She even applied it to my hands and feet, and left me completely hairless. My armpits were shaved, as were my chest, stomach and back. All makeup was removed from my face, where she applied a different type of depilatory cream, one supposedly less harsh. Denuded, I must have looked a pathetic sight, though the nurse didn't complain, frequently commenting that she much preferred smooth men. The last preparation I protested most, as she dragged me into the bathroom to bleach my hair. After twenty minutes I was ginger, but a further application left me almost white, with just hints of gold. I hadn't noticed until I looked in the mirror that my eyebrows had been lightened slightly aswell. Personally, I didn't think blonde suited me. I barely noted my odd thoughts, though the treatment sorta turned me on. Yet looking at the blonde I thought I looked plain ugly. Although, as Nurse Hargreaves commented, it did make my blue eyes look brighter. We adjourned to Nurse Hargreaves' ("Call me Helen, Dean, after all, we are getting to know each other quite well!") office for me to have my makeup redone. At the end I looked much as I had before, but everything had gone a little smoother this time, and Helen had explained in detail what she was doing, presumably so that I could begin to learn to do it better myself. Finally she reattached my false breasts, only this time with a glue. She didn't bother to tone them into my skin, explaining that if anyone were to look under my robe, they would spot the fact that I wasn't female pretty quickly anyway. Back into the ward, and Helen brought in lunch. She explained that meals were usually taken in the wards, as the hospital specialised in burns patients, especially those needing reconstructive surgery, and they usually preferred privacy at all times. She also left me two more pills. She left a few magazines and books with me to pass the time, but I was soon out. That afternoon I was woken by Marcus re-entering the room with a man I hadn't seen before. I felt a twinge of fear. Marcus must've seen it. "Don't worry, Dean, this is a friend of mine, Dr. Evans, who has come to help us with your predicament. Dr. Evans is a psychotherapist specialising in trauma situations." "What can he do for me?" Marcus nudged the small, grey-haired man toward me. He cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "you, the patient, have to deal with an immensely stressful situation here." He reminded me of a caricature of Freud, but without the accent. I found it reassuring. "Not only that, but you are not dealing with the situation as yourself, but trying to appear to be someone else. "My aim, and my speciality, in fact, is to help the patient deal with stresses in their life, and come to terms with them, and with their many ways of dealing with them. Allow me to explain-" I didn't notice Marcus leave the room as the doctor talked about his experience with stress disorders. He seemed to count himself an expert on dissociative disorders, especially of identity, which he explained to me I probably knew as multiple personality disorder. He explained how many people, especially the young, learned to avoid traumatic stress by mentally dissociating themselves from the situation that caused it. He explained that, in order to avoid detection, I could probably perform the same function. I should appear natural in my disguise to avoid suspicion, thus, he would help me to feel less scared of discovery, and therefore more natural, by creating an identity to go along with my disguise. He gave me a small dose of a thick syrup which he explained was a mild hypnotic, and some few minutes later he began to help me into a trance. Some moments later he handed me another dose of syrup. "Do you need to give me more?" I asked. "No, no." He chuckled. "No, this is a stimulant, to counteract the hypnotic that I gave you. The session is over, and I think it went exceptionally well! I will come back later so that we can really get to work." He picked up his bag and left. I tried to think back to the time that I had obviously been in a trance, but could remember nothing. Figuring I had a little time to answer some of my own questions now, I went across to the nurse's office and sat at her computer. Three finger salute and up came the password box. Of course, password protected. I gave it three attempts and gave up. Okay, the phone and... I couldn't get an outside line. Ah, the instructions, call reception to request an outside line, how archaic is this system? I rang reception, and nobody answered. I couldn't help thinking to myself how crazy the situation was getting. I'm done up like the female victim of a car crash and some psychotherapist is trying to tell me that I'm imagining that my wife is my wife. Meanwhile some Nigerian Prince is trying to kill me and I can't help thinking it's all like a sex story I once enjoyed about a man getting transformed into a woman. Yes, I like those stories, but they're never going to come true! Still I only had my dress and heels by my bed and was still in women's underwear, so something was going on. And then I put the dress, tights and heels back on, with the tights feeling so much better this time. I looked like a woman, and because of the stupidly high heels I'd chosen I moved like a woman. Moving like a woman I headed out of my room and aimed for the reception once again. The corridors were a little busier, still quiet, but active. There seemed to be an unwritten rule amongst the staff passing that you didn't stare or even barely glance at a patient, or at least at anyone who wasn't staff. Burns unit, of course, I thought raising my fingers to my own cheek and its plastic scarring. The staff were respecting the patients. That meant that I got back to the reception unimpeded, and went straight up to the receptionist. "Can I used a phone?" "Miss," she responded in shock, "you shouldn't be speaking if you have tracheal damage!" Oh, God, I look like a woman and I'm speaking with a male voice. Tracheal damage indeed! I dropped to a whisper. "You're right, that hurt!" She smiled and leaned closer. "What can I do for you? A phone you said?" "Yes, please." "There's a payphone just up the corridor there, next to the water cooler." "Thanks." I whispered, and trotted over to it. As I didn't have any money I asked the operator to dial Jess's number and ask to reverse the charges. But Jess didn't answer her phone. Next plan, what I should have gone with the night before, and I didn't need the operator for this one. I dialled the emergency number and asked for the police. I didn't want to go outside until the police arrived, just in case, so I sat back down in the reception area and picked up a copy of Maxim. I figured it would be two minutes before the police arrived, but I was so wrong. It was nearly quarter of an hour later before I heard the sirens approach. Unfortunately the staff heard them too, and even though it wasn't a trauma unit, in less than thirty seconds, before the cars arrived, there were a host of doctors, nurses, paramedics and general staff in the doorway with kit for any emergency. When they saw the police cars they must have assumed a major emergency and that the ambulances would be following behind in convoy, because they didn't disperse. Three police officers tried to make their way politely yet urgently in, and I could hear them asking for Dean Mitchell. So could Marcus, who arrived right at that moment. He looked around, and finally his eyes landed on me. It must have taken a moment for him to recognise me. I smiled at him and headed towards the police. He caught me just as I arrived at the nearest to me. "Hi, officer, I'm Dean Mitchell." Marcus took the opportunity in the guy's pause of surprise. "Officer, I'm Marcus Hardy, Unit Manager, why don't we take this to my office?" Marcus didn't interrupt as I told two policemen my story. Of course they knew all about the attempted break in at my flat and the report of gunshots. Of course they knew who Joseph Nkele was. They knew the name Jessica. "So," I finished, "this is all a crazy joke gone wrong somewhere and I need to get in touch with Jess and your protection until these guys are caught. I have her number and if you call her she'll probably crumble." "Ok, dial it for me," the senior said. I dialled it on Marcus's desk phone. The officer took the handset. "Hi, can I speak to Mrs Jessica Mitchell? "Really? No one... "Nkele. As in Joe Nkele? "Do you know a Dean Mitchell? "I see... okay, thank you for your help." He put the phone down. Then he slowly looked me over. "Mr Mitchell, what exactly is going on here?" Marcus intervened. "Officer, perhaps I can help here. Dean used to go out with Jess for a few years, his one true love kinda thing." The officer nodded. "She mentioned the same. Go on." "Last night there was a violent attempt at a break in whilst Dean was home alone. He's held a thing for Jess since they split, and even claims to be having an affair with her. He's decided that the break in was her husband trying to get some kind of revenge and it's scared him, traumatically. Somehow he now imagines that he's married to Jess and the whole thing is getting mixed up in his head. He came to me, his friend, last night, dressed in some of Jess's old clothes and claiming someone was out to get him." "Marcus," I shouted in shock, "what are you saying?!" "Let me call someone in." Marcus stepped to his door and opened it. "Dr Evans, could you step in?" The little man walked confidently through the door and shook hands with the policemen. "Ah, Dean," he said, spotting me, "is all this furore your fault?" Without waiting for an answer he turned back to the police. "Gentlemen, I assume Mr Mitchell called you and you need an explanation. He is suffering a temporary dissociative disorder due to the stressful situation yesterday. Mr Hardy called me in to help as his facility is not really resourced for this form of illness. Please," he held out some cards, "take my cards and call my offices for my qualifications and identification. I must admit we expected Mr Mitchell to be a little easier, but I don't foresee this kind of episode scaling up into anything we can't handle. I would appreciate you joining us in escorting Mr Mitchell back to his ward and room." "What?" I nearly screamed. "I just need to be escorted out of here!" "Past the men with guns?" Dr Evans asked lightly. "Yes!" "Why don't we get you back to your room first," suggested the junior officer, standing up. "Perhaps you could change into some other clothes?" With that I had little choice other than to head back to the private room next to Nurse Hargreaves' office. One of the policemen escorted me in, the senior stayed just outside the door to have a word with Marcus. Dr Evans entered the room with Nurse Hargreaves. She held out more of the sticky syrup. "It will relax you, Dean." Offered the good doctor. With the policeman watching through the door I didn't feel like throwing it away. "The nurse is here to help you with your 'disguise', Dean, to keep hidden from those men after you, and to enable quick learning and good retention I will put you under once more. So, if you would be good enough to lie back and relax, take a few deep breaths, and when I say 'Sleep now, Dean-" I sort of heard Nurse Hargreaves quietly. "That's it! He's under?" "Yes, my dear, all the hard work was done a few hours ago. Dean realises that this is all to help him, so he will go along with it more easily every time. Now, Dean, I want you to go with Nurse Hargreaves to her office. When you sit in front of the mirror you will see your disguise and remember why you need it and what you are hiding from. Your fear will make you want to hide. You will let yourself be led by someone unafraid. Now go with the nurse." I think I recall walking with Helen, and sitting down in her office, but then I must have zoned out again. Dr. Evans spoke again. "Dean, are you still with us?" I was too lazy to respond. "Good." The doctor changed the style of questioning, he didn't call me Dean. "Can you hear me?" I felt myself nod but it wasn't me. "You are not afraid. Dean is afraid. When he goes, you take over. You are safe, because of who you are. No-one will ever recognise you as Dean. No-one will ever mistake you for Dean. You are Barbara, but you have always been known as 'Barbie'. You will do everything in your power to complete yourself, because as yourself, you are completely safe. You have a picture of yourself in your mind. You have a picture of 'Barbie', of you. You are a beautiful, graceful, elegant woman. You are a blonde, a blonde Barbie. Can you imagine what a blonde Barbie looks like?" I felt a picture form in my mind, slowly, languidly. i might have nodded, or someone did. "Can you imagine what a blonde Barbie should act like?" I think I heard the question. "We will help you to understand yourself and to be yourself. As your psychiatrist and as your friend I will help you to be yourself. "First, we you shall learn to use makeup. Nurse Hargreaves will demonstrate, and you will learn quickly. You enjoy wearing makeup, so you will practise until using it is completely natural to you." He spoke to someone else. I didn't hear it. I must've been under for quite some time, but it was all patchy to me. I remember seeing myself in the mirror a couple of times, whilst Helen was showing me how to apply some element of facepaint. I was only able to register how different I looked each time, before the doctor would say a few words and I would doze again. I woke in my bed, with the doctor standing over me. "Well done, Dean," he said as I roused. "Now you should go to practise the techniques you have learned. You will find that you remember them easily. We have left you some various items in your bathroom. I will see you first thing tomorrow morning. Good Day." I felt awake, late though it seemed, so I went into the bathroom to see what I'd been taught. A few items had been placed in front of the mirror, including bottles, tubes, pencils, brushes and lipsticks. A look in the mirror showed me my own features. Nothing like the now almost dreamlike images that I'd seen when under hypnosis. I began to concentrate on one of those images that I could recall, picking out objects and colours that looked as though they might help me to achieve it. I found it oddly fun to play with makeup like this. I could make my eyes seem bluer with one pencil, dark with another. Foundation powders and creams smoothed my skin. I could make my nose appear thinner, and my lips appear gorgeously thick. I'd never used makeup before, and wondered why I should be using it now. Why was I trying to look feminine like this?! I scrubbed my face with a tissue and looked at my own face. Unbidden, pictures raced into my mind of Joe's men seeing me like this. They recognised me! I panicked. The next thing I knew I was looking in the mirror again. I was fully made-up, so much so that it took me a few minutes to come out of the dream I seemed to be in and recognise myself. I didn't remember putting the makeup on. I'd even blended my false breasts into my skin so that they looked almost seamless. I reasoned that my sudden fear of discovery had forced some sort of alter-ego to take over, like the doctor had kept suggesting. I crazily wondered what it would be like to meet this alternate identity. What was he/I like. Was he an actor with a talent for disguise? Who knew? I resolved to talk to the doctor about it. Whoever he was, I felt a lot more secure with his talent for disguise. Looking like this I might try to get out for a day or two. I rolled back into bed with the makeup still on. I awoke at Helen's insistence. She excused me while I went to the toilet. Seeing my face in the bathroom mirror, I washed, but used a little cream because it seemed to do wonders for my skin. I returned to find Dr. Evans waiting. "Good morning, doctor!" "Good morning, Dean. How are we feeling today?" "Fine, doctor, but I do have a question for you. Who is my other identity? This one that obviously isn't married to Jess and knows disguise so well? And can I use him to get out yet?" Helen turned her face slightly. The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, Dean, your other identity is you, of course. That is to say, it is those parts of you that will most aid you in this short crisis, fleshed out by your own imagination." "So you're saying that I'm acting, underneath the disguise." "Hmm, well, yes, I suppose so. You are filling out the disguise, as it were." "But surely I don't have the ability to act like a woman. I'm a man, I know nothing about it. I only dressed up to get out safely." Some things even doctor's didn't need to know about. "Don't worry yourself, Dean. That is why Nurse Hargreaves is here to teach you, and I am here to help you learn. Sit yourself down on the bed, relax and don't worry. Take a few deep breaths and 'Sleep now, Dean'-" Nurse Hargreaves spoke to the doctor. "What will happen if he finds out that his alter-ego is a woman?" "Shush, Nurse," warned Doctor Evans, "be careful in front of the patient. But it is a worrisome question. He might try to throw off the conditioning. But no! That's it! If he is worried about being a woman, then once again, his fears can be turned against him. It solves the paradox!" "What are you talking about, doctor?" "You see, as we progress with Barbie, Dean must become more suspicious, especially with the physical alterations that our principal would like to introduce. Therefore, if Dean were to be worried about turning into a woman, then that very fear could induce him to retreat further into the Barbie persona, as Barbie will have no such qualms with adjusting to the changes." "Surely that would destroy Dean?" Questioned the nurse. "It would seem, but the strong persona of Barbie is built on sand. You see, when Dean's fear of Joe is removed, Barbie will be removed as a persona, leaving Dean to come to the fore, left only with any of her habits and conditioning that have become ingrained. So," continued the doctor, "let us continue conditioning." "Dean?" I could barely register stuff before, but now he was clearly talking to me. "Yes, doctor." "I have some instructions for you now." "Yes, doctor." "When you awake, you will not feel hungry, you will be suffering from a loss of appetite. Perhaps you are coming down with an illness. After all, you are in a hospital, and they are for sick people, aren't they, Dean?" "Yes, doctor." Of course they are. "The nurse will provide you with some medications, which you will take to feel better. We will start on your medications now, with a small injection. Don't worry, you will not sense a thing. You will not feel any pain. Turn over." Two syringes pressed into my buttcheeks. I think I felt them, but I didn't feel any pain. I knew I would have to take all the pills to feel better. It was like having a memory that suddenly arrived but was like it had always been there. I would always remember my pills. "Dean, you may turn back now. I want you to wake up slowly. You will not worry about any ill feelings, as you are in a hospital, where you can be well taken care of. 3-2-1-wake up now." I could feel where the injections had gone. Something to do with the sick feeling in my stomach, I guessed. Helen was taking some pills off her tray to put on my bedside tale. "Four times a day," she said to me. I nodded, and got up to walk to the toilet. I had sat down before it struck me that I didn't need to sit, even if my stomach was playing up. Still, I relieved myself from that position, seeing no need to stand once sat, but thinking it a little odd. I walked back to my bed with a bit of a wiggle - well, my backside hurt now from those injections, so I was bound to be walking a little oddly. Once in bed, I reached for Cosmo and began to read. Doctor Evans came in with Helen again early in the afternoon. This time it was Helen who spoke. "We think your stomach problems could be appendicitis, Dean, so we're going to have to take you into surgery, where another doctor will run a few tests and then will be able to operate immediately if the diagnosis is correct." Doctor Evans then chimed in. "If you wish, I could put you under for the procedure, to alleviate any worries that you might have? And do not worry, as if surgery is recommended you would be given a general anaesthetic as due course." "That's okay, Doc, I'd like to be awake for the news." "As you wish. Please, come with us." We walked round to the surgery, which was in another block. It was the longest walk I had made since the day before, when I had run away from my apartment to begin this ridiculous charade. I say ridiculous because I felt ridiculous. My false breasts were bouncing slightly, warning me of their presence on my chest. In trying to minimise the feeling I pushed my chest forwards against the restriction of the bra. It seemed to work, and I discovered that smaller steps, especially on tiptoe, helped. I discovered that I was copying Helen's walk, though I wasn't wearing a restrictive uniform skirt or heels. It worked, and I found I didn't have to think about it to keep it up. Fortunately nobody saw me performing in this way, as there seemed to be nobody else walking about the small hospital. It was that privacy about burn injuries, I suspected. In the theatre there was only one other man, a doctor, by his clothing. He was already dressed for surgery, masked and gloved, which seemed a bit odd to me. He prodded around my stomach area, eliciting various yelps of pain, then he opened my mouth and looked around my throat. "Okay," he finally said, with an odd inflection of accent, "we will begin to operate." Nurse Hargreaves stepped forward with a hypodermic. "Doesn't this require my consent first?" I asked. "Of course," Helen answered. "If appendicitis is not treated it can kill. Will you permit the Surgeon to operate, Dean?" "Put it like that, Helen, and I can't really see any option. Where are you going to stick it?" "Hold out your arm, dear, and when you feel the needle, count from ten down to one." She swabbed the area, then "Ten, nine, eight, se-ven, six, fi-" I came round again back in my room. My head was full of cobwebs and I just stared up at the ceiling for hours. Finally I needed to use the bathroom, so I tried to get up. My whole torso was bandaged up. It took a while to register, but wasn't appendicitis a fairly simple operation, requiring only one small incision? I sat on the toilet to think and pee. I did it again! Why had I sat down. Wow, my head was fuzzy. I looked in the mirror. I really was looking pale, so I refreshed my face with some foundation and blusher. Might as well practice, I thought. For what? I asked myself. My disguise, but that's what I was here for, my disguise, and a place to hide, so why was I having my appendix removed? I hadn't felt ill when I came to the hospital. I'd come to get Marcus's help. I needed his help to hide, didn't I? Yes, that's right I had to hide from Joe! And I was stuck here where he could find me any time! Shit! I realised from the way the sun was coming in through my window that I must have slept all night. I couldn't remember going to sleep or even to bed, though that was easy to blame on the after effects of the anaesthetic. Helen came in in response to a buzz on my bedside button. She was dragging an IV-drip on a wheeled stand. "Are you hungry?" She asked breezily. "Yeah, what's for breakfast?" "Unfortunately for you, this," she said with a sympathetic smile. "You can't take solids after your operation, and it's even a little too soon for liquids, so we'll put you on this for a while. Also, you can't take any of your pills, so medication can be delivered via this as well as all the nutrition you require. Handy, isn't it?" "Or army," I joked, with reference to it being stuck in my arm. I had to explain it to her before she smiled. I lay back quietly as she attached the drip to my left arm, with plenty of bandaging to hold the needle in place. While she worked, Doctor Evans entered. "Good morning, Dean. How are we this fine morning?" "Hungry, doc." He chuckled. "I suppose you will have to get used to that feeling." "Doc," I asked, "there is something else. I'm feeling like I can't fit together events since I got here. Like I can't remember being ill when I came. I thought I came to get Marcus's help. And I've been getting blackouts, though that might be due to the illness, or the anaesthetic yesterday. I remember you telling me about an alternate identity, but should it be affecting me this much? I mean, I'm hardly myself." "Yes, Dean, you seem to be expressing a problem. It may be just an effect of the illness you have had, which I believe could easily have been brought on by stress. Perhaps you need me to help you relax more, to get these stresses out of your mind. Lie comfortably, relax, and take a few deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out. And 'sleep now, Dean' "Dean?" "Yes, doctor." "Your illness must have been a result of your stress, you think. And your illness has been causing you some discomfort, which has been leading to further stress. As you yourself said, your blackouts may have been due to the illness. In fact, you are happy with that, and you believe that your explanation is correct. Your alternative identity can only help you, so you are happy with your other self. It follows that you are calm about your blackouts, and you have no desire to question them. Is this all clear?" "Yes, doctor." That's true. Why question something so obvious? "Finally, Dean, I am going to give you a word to remember. When you hear this word, you will allow your alter-ego to take control of your mind. Do not worry about this in any way, as you will understand that it is so that we can program your alter-ego to improve your disguise. Is this okay, Dean? "Yes, doctor." Sure. "Then the word is 'Barbara'. When you hear that word from now on, you will allow your alter-ego to take over your mind, in a trance state, susceptible to suggestions from others. The words 'Wake up, Barbara' will allow your alter-ego to awake whilst remaining in control of your mind. The words 'Wake up, Dean' will return control of your mind to yourself, in whatever state it was prior to the command. You are not worried about these commands or their effects. You know that programming your alter-ego will improve your disguise, and improving your disguise will make you safer. This does make you feel safer, doesn't it, Dean?" "Yes, doctor." All this is so easy, so safe, so simple. "So we'll try out these command words now, and you won't worry about a thing. First we'll let you wake up. 3-2-1 and 'Wake up, Dean.'" "I feel lots better now, thank you, doc. Even my pains seem to have gone." "That's good, Dean, but now let us talk to 'Barbara'." I passed out again, waking up in my bed later that day as Helen was changing my IV drip bag. "Good afternoon again, Dean. Enjoy your lunch." She clipped the tube into the bag and the liquid began to flow. This time it can't have been just my normal fluids, as I began to feel a little lightheaded within a few moments. "Helen! What is in this stuff?" "Nothing to worry you, dear." The last thing I heard was her mentioning that I needed my sleep.I didn't record time passing, though I knew that it had. Helen had come in and out of my room to change the drip bag. Once I had tried to say hello, but my mouth couldn't seem to move and my throat burned in response. The pain moved with the time. My throat, then my whole face, then my mouth again. I could never move my jaw, then next I would find my skin burning. I would pass out, and wake up with my lips feeling like they had been involved in a road accident. As the pains in my face began to ease, so the pains in my body began. My chest ached constantly, sometimes more, sometimes less, and with the ache came a nagging itch. Then my groin felt like somebody had kicked me hard. The skin itch moved around my body all the time, periodically returning to my face. Just when I would begin to realise how bad I felt, I would pass into oblivion again. "Dean! Dean! Ah, there you are. It's me, Marcus. I know you can hear me. The healing is almost complete now and we can shortly allow you to wake up. Let me tell you a little about what has been happening. Well, while you have been asleep we have been remoulding your body to your own recommendations. You see, your alter-ego is a woman. Not just a woman, but your idea of the perfect blonde bimbo - I think you were inspired by Jess a little - and it is your alter-ego that has been helping us to perfect you. You have a wonderful face, chemically softened - a slimmer jawline with a less pronounced chin but slightly more pronounced cheekbones, larger eyes, a smaller nose which we have turned up slightly, and we've removed some of the flesh between the nose and top lip to enlarge the lip and the cupid's bow, the lips were enlarged anyway with some inserts - you really look like you're begging to kiss something, or perhaps to suck? Your hair has grown, but we're not sure how far as your real hair is indistinguishable from the extensions, which go to half way down your back. And you're blonde now, of course, we thought peroxide blonde went well with the image your alter-ego has of herself. And that's blonde with an 'e', of course! Because you don't just look female, you are female! One of the first items that went was your cock, to make way for a juicy new vagina - which is real, by the way, lifted out of one of our ex-patients who, unfortunately for her, but fortuitously for you, didn't even make it out of the ambulance. It doesn't work properly, of course, but you won't be needing to do any of that dilation rubbish. On the other hand, perhaps you would enjoy that? And the removal of your male bits and pieces allowed your breasts to respond to hormones almost instantly. We helped your bustline of course, with some compression of the ribcage, liposculpture, and implants. We managed to reduce your natural 38" chest to a 36, and shape you a wonderful DD cup. The fat for the liposculpture was provided by your waist, which we have kept corsetted and has slimmed to 24" while your pelvic bone was reshaped - which may give you pain for some weeks yet - and fat and implants added to your hips to give you a voluptuous 38" measurement. "You are a doll, Dean, a living Barbie doll, but I still have plans for you yet. You see, your therapist, Doctor Evans, created you an alter- ego which will disappear when its purpose is served, but that alter-ego contains many feminine characteristics which I wouldn't want you to lose when she goes, so I'm going to make sure that you remember them, and that they become a part of you too. So, 'Sleep now, Dean.'" I felt someone's hands on my legs. They were small and soft, moving smoothly up and down, massaging my calves. I flinched slightly. "Oh," said a young woman's voice, "you're awake!" She moved her face up to mine until I could see her. It was a beautiful face, with deep blue eyes and golden blonde hair, which she kept held away from falling into my face, not that I would have minded. "My name is Kirsten, and I'm your physiotherapist." I tried to say hello, but my mouth must have been bandaged so I couldn't make myself understood, but wow, did my voice sound weird. All faint, and high pitched? "Pleased to meet you too, Miss Davies!" she said as she returned to my legs. 'Miss Davies?' Did I hear right? And my high pitched voice! But then I remembered what Marcus had said about what he was doing. I had to get up and get out of here! Kirsten's voice came back to me, "We have to work on this every day as your muscles can lose a lot of strength. They can deteriorate in twenty-four hours, and you've been in bed a lot longer than that. We'll have to work on your flexibility too, though I've been doing that while you've been sleeping. You were pretty stiff!" I tried to move my legs. They wouldn't go anywhere. Kirsten must've felt my attempt. "Whoah, looks like there's a lot of work to be done here! I'll have to go get the TENS and leave that on you everyday." TENS? "TENS is a machine that electrically stimulates your nerves to move your muscles. We'll have you back on your feet in no time!" So I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, and my physiotherapist thought I was a woman. I lay there with no idea of what to do. Shortly Kirsten left me alone to my thoughts, but returned within minutes with the TENS. When she showed me it looked like straps, pads and wires, which she attached to my legs, arms, and placed under the bandaging around my abdomen. When she switched it on I felt quite tingly all over. She left me again. She passed someone on the way out coming in. "Good morning, Miss Davies!" It was Marcus! I tried swearing at him but all effect was lost into the bandage around my mouth. "Oh, don't worry, we'll be removing all of that bandaging very shortly. After all, we have to let you take a look at yourself. "I did a lot of work last time I was in here. You see, Doctor Evans forced you to retreat into your alter-ego often, to avoid you discovering the changes that were progressing in you, but there's no need for that now, as there's nothing you can do. You might wonder why thi