No More Doctor Nice Guy free porn video

No more Doctor Nice Guy Not that I particularly gave a stuff; but I had a reputation for being 'difficult.' Personally I felt it was more that I don't suffer fools particularly well. And frankly there was no bigger 'ship of fools' than that damn cesspit of the hospital they called the Emergency Department. At best they were a bunch of reckless cowboy halfwits generally. But when it came to the care of psychiatrically unwell patients they were borderline negligent. They didn't have a friggin' clue really what to do with them. Which wouldn't have been a big deal if it didn't impact me personally; and make my life infinitely harder. As a senior psychiatry fellow, unfortunately for me, their incompetence did exactly that. Several years ago, under the guise of streamlining the care of the mentally unwell, we inserted our own psych nurses into most Emergency departments. Psychiatric triage they were called. But the real reason was so that our own people could see and sort the psych patients without the interference from idiotic ED Doctors. It worked a treat. Our own Psychiatric nurses sorted out the time wasting malingerers from those who were truly off their gourd. Or equally, telling the 'drunk and sad' from those that were going to walk out the door and off themselves. I used the term 'our people' loosely. They were psych nurses. So they weren't anywhere near as good as me, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose. Even then it was a bit self selective. Our weirdest psych nurses were the ones that volunteered for this posting. And that was saying something. For if you knew anything about psych nurses, being defined as a weird psych nurse was the ironic epitome of an oxymoron. For, putting it bluntly for those yet to catch my drift, there was, in my opinion, no such thing as a normal psychiatric nurse. Of course, holding this viewpoint was not well received , when I had to work with them, so I wisely kept it to myself. But this was all just a means to an end to me. Working in public hospital psychiatry was just an unnecessary evil till I finished my fellowship and could set up my shingle in my own rooms of private psych land. I wanted bored rich housewives who I could charge for psychotherapy sessions, and maybe, if the circumstances were right, occasionally shag. Of course the medical board frowned on that so you'd have to be a bit selective, but so far so good one has to say. 'Them crazy broads do like to fuck,' to use the vernacular. Currently, I was twelve months away from this dream, my autonomous freedom, which some days still seemed a long way off. I just had to bide my time. Curry favor with my bosses. Stay out of trouble, and preferably do the bare minimum till then. My current post was liaison psychiatry. This meant if a patient was admitted to the general hospital for any reason, but had psychiatric issues, they would be referred to me, to manage this part of their care. Often this could be sufficiently addressed by psychiatric triage during their emergency department stay so I would never have to go near them, but occasionally, like tonight, the psych nurse on is such a lazy fucker that the moment they get wind of a hospital admission it's a handball straight to me. And that was why I had to leave 'Wellness House', the completely dick name for our hospitals psych ward, walk across the isolated courtyard to the main building, in the cold dark of night, to make my way to the basement Emergency department. So I wasn't particularly happy, let's just say. Once in the noisy smelly ED I resented being ignored by people seemingly running hither and thither like headless chooks. I accosted a bimboesque child in scrubs as she raced by me. Her name tag said Kristi. She was a nurse. "You!" I occluded her path. "I'm the liaison psych registrar. I've come down to see some polypharmacy OD. Where are they?" "I'm sorry," she responds with tone. "We don't address patients by their medical condition, or their location, here in this ED. We use their name." "What? Are you fucking serious? I don't know their name. Some bloke in his 30s I think; took a whole shitload of pills and needs a medical admission. I'm here to determine his suicide risk." "Well I would have thought. If that's what he did. It was high." I'm Stunned. This little bitch is giving me lip. "I don't think you are at all qualified to make that assessment. Now who's in charge here? I want to talk to someone who knows what they're doing." "You want someone in charge do you? Well that's me. I'm the nurse in charge this shift!" "You gotta be kidding me! How old are you?" She probably was mid to late twenties now that I actually fully appraised her. Pretty fit. I'd do her. Except her personality seemed to be an excellent prophylactic. She was a reflection of the endemic problem of the emergency department if she was their most senior nurse. She didn't answer so I continued. "And besides you're doing a shit job if you don't even know who I'm here to see." "Oh I know who you're here to see. It's you who doesn't seem to." She's terse. Right you little cunt. I've had just about enough of you. "Well if you aren't going to tell me then I'm just going to leave." "It's Mr Moore in Resus 3. I suggest you come a little more prepared next time." "Resus 3? Is he medically cleared?" You wanna dance with the devil? Let's make this difficult shall we!? "What?" "I'm not seeing a patient unless he's medically cleared." "Well of course he's not medically cleared. That's why he was going to be admitted. He's still got a whole selection of drugs in his system. But he might be able to be cleared later, and not need a stay in the main hospital. So he could go straight to your ward." "Well then I'm not seeing him. For two reasons. Firstly he needs to be awake and lucid. And secondly, if he's a potential discharge, he's no longer for liaison psych and can be re-referred to psych triage." "Psych triage are backed up. And he has been referred to you. So doesn't that mean you're obligated?" She has me on a technicality really. "And he is awake and lucid. He was drowsy before but he's awake now. He's only still in Resus because of access block. We can't decant him to anywhere. A situation I'm currently in the middle of trying to rectify." She states it like I'm delaying her. "Why was he drowsy? What did he take?" Part of my mission now was to further impede her. "Lots of antidepressants." She sighs impatiently. "SSRIs mostly, but also a fair bit of Quetiapine and a couple of trays of the oral contraceptive pill." "What?" I'm aghast. "Yes. So he'll need the standard 6 hours of cardiac monitoring for the Seroquel. But that's already nearly up." "No I meant the last one. Did you say oral contraceptive pill?" "Yes." "What the fuck? Is he some sort of tranny?" "Are you really a psychiatry registrar?" She puts on an incredulous tone. "Look at my name badge 'babe'. If you can read. What does it say?" You dumb slag. "It's just that I'm surprised someone in your field is so liberal with derogatory terms like that." How dare you; you little slut! "I don't see any patients in earshot. Do you?" I dismiss her misplaced advocacy. "Perhaps you should read your own name badge. I think you'll find it has a list of the hospital core values on the back. And a statement how we don't discriminate on the basis of sexuality or gender identity." She preaches. "You are wasting my time," I spit with barely contained hostility. Although the bonus was I was doing the same with hers. "Are you going to show me where this patient is? Or at least point me in the direction of the Doctor looking after him." "That will be Meg. She's over there," Kristi replies icily, and indicates with her hand to whom she's referring. I walk off on nurse 'Kristi' without further word. But I'll remember her. I'll get her back some how or other. "Are you Meg?" I say to the older bespectacled woman pointed out to me. She's probably about my age, but she's not that hot. I wouldn't be interested but I'll play nice for now. "Yes." "Hi. I'm Alex. The Psych liaison Reg. You got someone for me?" Professional courtesy at least. She is a Doctor after all. If you can call ED knobs that. "Oh yes. Thanks for coming. It's Mr Moore." "Yep. I know that. Did he seriously take an overdose of oestrogen? Is he transitioning or something?" Transgender people are an absolute psychological minefield. They're always depressed and suicidal and some of them are just plain mad. I'd thought about including them in my practice scope when I'm a private specialist, but they seem like too much hard work. "Not exactly. I think he's psychotic. But I'm no expert." "No. you're not," I drip sarcastically. "Well go talk to him for yourself. I can tell you from examining him he's a normal male. But I'll let you discover what he has to say about that." She doesn't take the bait. "Fine." I just need to get on with it. I find him after direction, tucked around a corner, in the Resuscitation area, unaccompanied, as all the staff seem to be fussing over some sick or dying patient across the hall; and I pull up a chair. He is awake and seems relatively calm. I introduce myself by title but not by name. He's the sort of guy I really don't want learning my name frankly. Most public hospital psychiatric patients would fit into that subset though. I had purposefully blanked out my surname on my badge to avoid potential stalkers. I can't be bothered with the full mental state exam, and I don't need to for my purpose. I just need to know whether I need to make this guy an involuntary patient or not. Like I said; If I send him home once he's cleared from the overdose and he kills himself; it reflects badly on me. "So why'd you take the tablets Mr Moore?" "I can't live like this any more." "Why. What's wrong with your life?" "It's not my life." Oh here we go. Well I suppose I can make it fun. "Whose life is it then?" "Well it is my life. But it's not supposed to be. I'm supposed to be a woman." "And how long have you felt that way?" Proper transgender people usually know from quite young; at least that's my understanding. "What? No. You don' understand. I am a woman. I was a woman. But some evil supernatural being turned me into this." He indicates himself with exasperation. Oh for fuck sake! Okay, I'm outta here. Fine. You can go on an 'Assessment Order' and we'll pump you full of antipsychotics for 24 hours and then we'll see what you have to say. Alright then, at least it's decided. I'll do a basic screen just so I can fill in the reasons for restraint and recommendation. Where to start? I run through all the negative features of depression and we tick them all really. Not eating, not sleeping, weight loss, rumination, thoughts of worthlessness, blah, blah, blah. Boring. Let's try something a bit more fun. How about insight? "Mr Moore. Do you ever think that what you have just told me, about supernatural beings and gender swaps, might seem strange to other people. And they might not believe you?" "Well of course they don't believe me. No-one does. Because no one believes such things are possible. I didn't until he showed up and did this to me. And the person I was has been erased from reality so there's no chance I can ever prove it." "In knowing that, then why tell us? You know we won't believe you and we'll lock you up." "I know that. But I don't care any more. Of course I'd kept it secret. But it's horrible. I can't live as a man. Not like this. Not any more. I just want to die." "I don't think taking a whole stack of 'the pill' is going to kill you Mr Moore. It'll just make you vomit a lot." "I know that too. I just wanted...... Wanted to feel like a woman again." Oh boy. Psychotic and transgendered. I've hit the jackpot. Meg Whatsherface was right. He does just look like a normal guy in his early thirties. If he's transitioning there is no evidence of it. Not yet. He's got stubble and he's a little overweight. And not wanting to be too harsh about it, but I suspect he'll make one ugly woman. Stay a bloke is my advice sweetheart. At least you're ordinary looking. "Do you hear voices?" "No. Of course not. I said I'm not crazy. This really happened. Several months ago I was out at a bar, having a drink and he was one of a procession of guys trying to hit on me. I was quite attractive by the way, when I was me. That probably sounds conceited, but I was. So I told him to fuck off like I always do. He started going on about how my opinion and attitudes towards men left a lot to be desired, and that as punishment he was going to turn me into exactly the sort of man I thought all men to be. And that's what happened. I'm now perceived as some sort of lecherous misogynistic prick and no matter what I try I can't stop ogling and hitting on women. And they all reject me harshly. Just like I used to reject men." You are one fucked up puppy, Mr. Moore. It's very tempting to say that out loud. "So do you feel you are being controlled? Or voices are telling you to be rude or violent to these women?" "I'm not violent to women!" he shouts at me. "Okay," I reel back. I should just get you restrained, you dick. One more outburst like that and you are going down and out. Where is Security by the way? I bet that bitch Kristi has called them off. She'd probably love to see me hit. "I don't hear voices and I'm not being controlled." He retracts from his outburst and appears in control again. Nonetheless; it's time for some home truths. "Mr Moore. I think you must appreciate you are not well at the moment. And for your safety I'm placing you on an involuntary treatment order." "You mean...... I'm being committed." "We don't use that term any more." "Please no! Just let me go." "And what will you do if I do?" "Nothing." "I don't believe you Mr Moore. You have severe thought disorder, and it's very likely you'll try and take your own life again." And I cannot be bothered with the paperwork that will entail. He doesn't respond but pathetically buries his head in his hands and starts sobbing. What a loser. So he's shit at picking up women. I feel like I could give him tips. Of course having a medical degree helps; it certainly gave me quite the leg up, to get my leg over if you know what I mean. But really, I could even coach a guy like this to get some hook ups. If I cared. But just because you can't get laid there's no reason to deny your manhood over it. Frankly I've never understood trannys. I know we are taught all about them, and how to handle them like the precious little special snowflakes that they are. But it still just seems weird. Why on earth would any bloke ever want to be a chick? Being a guy is awesome. Even if I wasn't rich, smart and handsome, even if I was someone like this sap, it'd still be infinitely better than being a woman. I mean I love that there are women. I love fucking them. I'm not that keen on all their neurotic baggage but as long as I keep playing pass the parcel and don't get caught it's super fun. This guy's a major fuck up. If I get the paperwork done I can be out of here. See. I don't understand why it takes psych triage 3 hours to see someone. I'll be all done in a halfa. ** A mere ten minutes later the recommendation paperwork is complete. I wander back towards his bedside to place it there. Less chance of it being lost. As I approach I can see through a gap in the curtains he has a visitor. I'm surprised he has any friends quite frankly. It's a tall thin angular man dressed in black. They seem to be involved in an animated discussion. I pause from entering and watch them. I'm still out of hearing range. I wonder if this guy is going to set Mr Moore off. Will I need security after all? Maybe I should intervene. I move two steps forward to do so but before I can reach the cubicle the man in black simply....how do I put this...... vanishes into thin air. "What the fuck?" I say audibly, loudly and Mr Moore hears me. He looks at me with steely eyes and says coolly. "Now do you believe me? ** Oh fucking great. Now I'm hallucinating. Wouldn't that be perverse? To go from Doctor to patient. But schizophrenia and all the related conditions don't manifest with visual hallucinations. They are principally auditory. Visual hallucinations usually suggest something organic. Some other pathology. Honestly I don't know which would be worse. Even more disturbing is that I am perhaps buying into this guy's delusions. I saw the same man in black he saw. It reminded me of a trick I played back in University. I had read an article on mass hysteria and decided to try it for myself. All it took is telling the girl next to me in a lecture that I could smell some sort of fumes and I felt dizzy, nauseated and had a headache. It wasn't long before half the lecture theatre had similar symptoms and the whole place was evacuated. I of course did not join the 'affected' when the ambulances rolled up to treat everyone, but merely walked away laughing. It was the sentinel moment that made me choose psychiatry as a career. People could be so easily manipulated, and controlled. But is that what's really happening. Some sort of hallucination by suggestion? Maybe I'm just over tired. I mean I don't know why I would be, but who knows. I'll just pretend it never happened. "So you saw him?" Mr Moore asks eagerly. "Saw who?" Yep. It never happened. "I know you did. Don't lie. That's him. The man in black. He's the one that did this to me." "Did what to you Mr Moore?" "My name's Kevin. Well; now. I prefer that to Mr Moore. But he's the one that turned me into a man in the first place." "I'm just here to drop off your recommendation paper work." Just stick to task Alex, I remind myself. Keep up the denial. "I'm placing you on a 24 hour assessment order. You cannot leave. Within that time you will be assessed by a Registered psychiatrist." "Aren't you a psychiatrist? Doctor..? "You can call me Alex. But no, I'm a psychiatry registrar. I'm not a specialist yet. It's my boss who gets to decide if and when you can be released." "But you saw him. I know you don't believe it but you did. He did the same thing after he cursed me. He just vanished." The more adamant he is the more my resolve fades. Perhaps I am buying into his delusions. What is this? It must be some sort of transference. But I did see ... something. Maybe I need to play along to find out exactly what I think I did or didn't see. "How often does he visit you? This vanishing man." "That's the first time I've seen him in 6 months. Since he transformed me." "And why did he visit you now?" "Because of what I did. What I tried. He wasn't very happy I tried to escape the curse." "Escape the curse? You mean by killing yourself?" "Yes. Apparently it deprives him of power, and pleasure too I think. I guess he feeds off my suffering." "Well that doesn't sound healthy. So, he wants to stop you killing yourself. How does he propose to do that?" "He offered me a compromise. To make this life more tolerable." "And what was that?" "I'd rather not say." "Fine. Be like that. Anyway, we'll have a bed for you in the lock up section of Wellness House just as soon as your period of cardiac monitoring is over." "What?" "Some of the drugs you took can affect your heart in large doses. But don't worry, you're pretty much in the clear by now." "No! I meant how can you lock me up when you know what I'm saying is true! When you saw it with your own eyes." "Look..... Kevin. Even if I believed some mysterious vanishing man cursed you and you weren't therefore barking mad, you still tried to kill yourself." "But I won't again. Not now. He's promised to make my life a little better. So I want to at least try that. If I can find a way to live like this I guess I've got to at least see if I can." "You expect me to take your word for that." "Yes. It's hope. And that seems better than dying. And it's the first time I've had that for a while. Besides, if you admit me I'll just tell everyone that you saw him too and you'll be forced to spend all your time denying that." That was pretty smart actually. No-one would believe him, but if he kept harping on about it till he was drooling from the meds I'd give him it would still keep that vision forefront in my mind. And I just wanted to forget it and move on. There was an easy thing to do. It would make my life far less complicated. I grabbed the pile of paperwork I'd just set down by his bed. And ripped it to bits. "You're free to go," I announce. "Really?" "Yes really." "Oh thank God!" "This is not a concession though. That I believe you or anything. Or an admission of what I saw. I just know that your problems are beyond my capability to fix in the lock up ward!" "Thank you Alex. Thank you so much. I owe you." He seems as grateful as he effuses. And to be honest I'm not totally immune to appreciation, even it is from the likes of him. "Don't mention it," I say non-committally. Which I suppose is a double entendre really. "I'll tell the Emergency staff you can go." He seems the happiest he's been since he arrived. "Oh. One more thing." I have a thought. "Just wait." After sitting at the computer and a brief period of death by a thousand clicks the printer whirs to life and spits out two sheets of paper which I quickly sign. "Here. This is a script for Lexapro. Escitalopram is its generic name. I imagine you have no antidepressants left after you gobbled them all up." I offer a sardonic smile. "This one is better than the SSRI you were on, and will probably negate the need for Seroquel too. And it has one useful side effect for you I reckon. It will lower your libido. If part of your curse is to compulsively chase and proposition women, then this may well help." "Thank you. Although I'm hoping with the compromise I've been offered I won't need my libido decreased." I don't even want to know what he means by that. "Okay then," is all I respond, and my cue to walk off. I'm ever so glad that this encounter is over. Certainly not one for the memoirs. With time I'm sure it will make more sense but the best thing really is if I never think about it again. I find the respective Doctor and nurse in charge together at the staff base. How convenient. "Mr Moore," I address them both. "He's free to go." "What!" they exclaim in unison. "Once you are happy with him medically of course." "With all due respect." It's Meg that begins, and her tone suggests that it is not, in fact, with all due respect. "He tried to kill himself and he has psychotic delusions. Either one of those should get him admitted. But when you have both...." "Not that I have to explain myself to you," I retort. "But I have assessed his risk to himself and to others and I have no concerns." "Then you're an idiot." Dr Meg has turned hostile. I suspected she had that potential when I first assessed her. "Look love," I patronise. "If I admitted every nut job who took an impulsive OD your dreaded bed block would be all the worse wouldn't it? So I'm doing you a favour. And the buck stops with me anyway. It's my call. If anything goes wrong. If he does top himself, well it'll be me that's wearing it." "Do you think that's what we care about? Covering our arses? Unlike you, it seems, we just have our patients' best interests at heart. You are so totally in the wrong field. You have no care or compassion." Meg is incensed. That's it. For a start it's not true. I showed compassion by letting him go didn't I? But I'm not justifying myself to these morons. "My decision is final. I'm not getting into a slanging match right now. For a start you would lose, but I won't debase myself by arguing with the likes of you." "I'm going to call hospital exec," Kristi chimes in. "We'll see what they think of your bad attitude." "Oh please. They'll just be unimpressed you wasted their time." I was a little nervous. What if she did? I needed this job. I needed to finish my training. They could make a case I was negligent in my duty. I just had to hope my bluff was convincing. Kristi reflects. She glances at Meg and I see concession. I have won. "If that will be all, ladies, as scintillating as this has been I have somewhere to be. Which frankly is anywhere but here." "You have got to be the worst psychiatry registrar I have ever seen." Kristi takes one final dig. "Then you should get out more honey. Wellness house is full of overseas trained Doctors who could only get psychiatry posts. Well, either that or ED. But that was beneath even them." And that is my home run as I part, leaving both slatternly molls looking at me with their mouths agape. ** I return to my office in 'Wellness House' to write up my case report. Or, more correctly I suppose, fictionalise it. As I do so I am still stewing over my interactions with the Emergency Department women. Perhaps it's a reflection of my current temperament that my anger overshadows my processing of the whole concept of the mysterious vanishing man and the claims about him made by Kevin Moore. Although my initial impulse to never think about it again still held sway as my most logical course of action. Unfortunately for me, crafting a distorted medical report required much more wit and cunning than simply stating fact. And in spite of what I had said earlier I wanted to direct it in such a way that if the worst did eventuate then any fallout would unmistakably implicate Dr Meg and her insidious sidekick. So this self assigned task, routine documentation with a side of vendetta, required my full concentration. Which probably further enhanced my startled response when a male voice right beside me announced: "Well that was most unfortunate." I leapt from my chair in true flight or fight mode as adrenaline surged through me in response to the most unexpected surprise. I turned towards the origin of the voice and there he stood. The tall thin man dressed in black. "You!" I stammered. "How did you get in here?" I wasn't sure if I was more confused than frightened. Perhaps an equal measure of both. I needed to compose myself. "I won't consider that a serious question Dr Turner, but merely a reflex response to my unannounced arrival," he stated dryly. The fact that he knew my name was unsettling. "What are you?" I found myself saying. "Well that's a variation on the 'who are you?' But I really don't think you want me to answer that either." "This is crazy. I am going mad!" "Now Dr Turner you don't really believe that. Do you?" "I don't know what to believe. But people don't just disappear, and appear." "Yet you've seen me do both." "How? Is this some sort of cheap magic trick?" I had no reason to think it was. I just wanted it to be. "Well now you are just being insulting." "I just can't comprehend this." "Well that much is clear. It's probably best I just explain it as simply as I can. I suppose I'm what you'd call a supernatural being with powers beyond your ability to fathom." Okay. Well as much as I'd like to think this is a hallucination I can't deny that he is here. He has corporeal form. He has dimension, apparent mass and even shadow; manifest by the bright fluorescent lights. So I have to suspend my disbelief and be analytical. I'm a man of science after all. Firstly I need to establish the facts. I need to understand whether my perceptions match the actuality. I require him to confirm what my patient said he is capable of. "Powers like being able to do what Kevin Moore said? Turn him from a woman into a man." "A mere trifle amongst the myriad of things within my abilities. Yet it always seems to be what humans fixate on. Their autonomy. Their sense of self. Their insatiable desire to mate. Change who they are; change how the world perceives them- and they virtually disintegrate." "It saves you having to kill them I guess. If you make them want to kill them-self." I have calmed from my initial shock, the benefit of my training being able to control my emotions. For the most part. Just as I had moved on from my Emergency department run-ins I was able to keep my composure in the presence of this apparently other-worldly creature. "That was never my intent." He on the other hand appears to have no emotion at all. "Well that was the result. And all because he... she rejected your advances." "I assure you things are more complex than that. Do you think I did this out of spite? I am above such things. Simply a lesson needed to be taught." "Well I suppose that's the best kind of lesson to teach. A fatal one. An unsurvivable one," I express my cynicism. "The unpredictable nature of humanity. It was not something anticipated. But as you know it wasn't fatal. Like I stated when I first arrived. It was all a bit unfortunate this sequence of events," he replies. "Well not fatal this time," I countered. "But maybe next. You're right about one thing. You don't know humanity. But I do. And I may not know exactly why. But what you did to him. He seemed to think he was unable to live with it." "There won't be a next time. That's why I'm here. I acknowledged his desperation and heeded it. Mr Moore and I have come to an arrangement to make his punishment more tolerable." "But you're not turning him back?" I ask as a genuine inquiry. "No. Actions have consequences. He needs to learn that." "Well you may be some powerful being. But you seem petty, vindictive and cruel. When you could be doing so much more." "Are you familiar with the human saying about the 'pot and the kettle', Dr Turner?" "Is that the name of a pub?" I know what he is implying. He's having a dig at me. But I'll deflect it with humour. "Oh never mind." Clearly it is lost on him. "But whatever do you mean Dr Turner?" He keeps using my name excessively, when I don't know his, or even if he has one. It's creepy. "There are thousands. Probably hundreds of thousands of people who could benefit from your ability. Who'd love to be the other gender. Yet you inflict it upon someone who doesn't want it. What a waste." "Dr Turner you seem to be under the mistaken belief that I am a benevolent being. I'm not here to solve the world's ills and offer solace to the transgendered. I'm here to mete out my form of justice. To those deserving of it." "Spoken like all dictatorial megalomaniacs. Who think they are above the law. And whose punishments far outweigh the crime." Since when did I become such a patient advocate? I hope my interaction with those ED women has not rubbed off on me. "So what have you done now to Kevin Moore? To make his life supposedly more bearable. To stop him from trying to kill himself again?" "I'm not willing to divulge that right at the moment." His reluctance strikes me as similar to what Kevin Moore said when I asked him the same question. It makes me wonder if it's something illicit, or morally questionable. He ignores my worried frown and continues. "That aside, my most pressing concern is the other unfortunateness of this whole thing. You seeing me. I'm normally so much better than that. I need to keep a low profile for obvious reasons. The only mortals that see me, that are aware of me, are those that have felt my wrath. But Mr Moore's suicide attempt was not something I foresaw. And I was distracted. So now I need to ensure that you tell no one about me." "Well that's guaranteed," I reply bluntly. "In my line of work if I start talking about supernatural beings that can swap peoples genders I'd be locked up in my own ward pretty darn quick." "Well thank you for that assurance Dr Turner. But you'll forgive me if I take your word with a bit of cynicism given it is from a man who is currently writing a report that would indict two work colleagues if something goes wrong." It's still disturbing, even with his proclamations and presentation of his gifts, that he knows this. I impulsively find myself defensive. "Firstly. Those two sluts are no work colleagues of mine. And you've just told me that Kevin Moore is not going to try and kill himself again. So there'll be no harm done if you are correct. And you seem pretty confident. So really it's just me venting my spleen to make myself feel better." "Your statement is quite erroneous Dr Turner. Those women are work colleagues of yours. I think I need to emphasize that point. And I said I have taken steps to prevent Kevin Moore from wanting to kill himself again. Although I can't completely guarantee it. So it will in fact be your job to ensure that remains the case." "My job? I have no plans to have any contact with him ever again. And hopefully you too for that matter." "I must say Dr Turner, may I call you Alex?" He does not wait for my affirmation. "I must say Alex; this whole day's events have been quite unpleasant. And I'll very happily comply with your request to never see me again. Providing you keep my secret. But I must also note Alex I have found you quite arrogant and rude. For someone who's supposed to be in a caring profession you seem anything but. I'm not sure if you were always like this. I hope not. But I'll guess we'll find out won't we?" "What are you talking about?" Alarm bells are starting to ring in the back of my mind. "Oh I'm just saying goodbye Dr Turner. In more ways than one." I detect an ominously sinister undertone from him. And once again he just vanished before my eyes. But then so did I. In so much that after a brief flash of light I was no longer in my office. I appeared to be in the living room of a house. As I quickly tried to orient myself to my new surroundings another male voice startled me, similarly to before. "Wow! Hello. So I guess you have been sent to me by Mr Black." I recognize the voice as I turn towards it. It was none other than Kevin Moore. "You!" I begin to say. But my voice squeaks out of me and I reflexly grab my throat. "Wait! You know me?" Kevin replies as he seems to understand my intonation. He peers at my middle. I assume he's looking at my ID badge, which is clipped to my trousers. "Alex," he begins. As if reading. My assumption is correct. "As in Dr Alex the psychiatrist?" Well of course moron. I think. That's what my badge says and how can you not recognise me? We were conversing less than an hour ago. I look down towards my badge to ensure it's not obscured and I notice everything all at once. I'm not wearing my long sleeve shirt and tie anymore but a blue surgical scrub top. And I can't see my ID badge as I look down because my view is obscured by what is unmistakable even under my clothes. A pair of breasts. I look back up at Kevin in panicked horror and feel my soft ponytail crash into my back between my shoulder blades. Kevin looks up from my ID badge and sees my bewildered frightened face, which prompts him to grin. "I guess you're not Dr Alex anymore though. Your ID badge says you're Alex Moore. Emergency Department nurse. And I think you'll find you're also my wife." ** I reel backwards. It seems the most logical direction to go. I'm not sure why. It's as if I think increasing the distance from Kevin Moore will make this less likely to be true. But my movement just gives me the proprioceptive awareness to identify my changed body. My smaller stature. That creature. Mr Black apparently. Has done to me exactly what he did to Kevin Moore. But in reverse. He's turned me into a woman. In response to Kevin's statement I look at my left hand. On my 4th finger there is indeed an engagement ring and a wedding band. I notice my hands are smaller and my skin is drier. No doubt from the frequent hand washing and alcohol rubs that my job as an Emergency nurse now entails. It seems the final piece of hard evidence to affirm that reality has altered. I know that Dr Alex Turner no longer exists and as far as the world is concerned never did. I also know from my interactions with Kevin Moore, my now husband, and Mr Black, that escape from my predicament seems unlikely. So with this in mind, there is no possible way I can live like this. Kevin Moore's original solution seems not only logical, but almost somewhat mandatory. But I won't fuck it up like he did. I was after all a Doctor. I know what to do and how to do it. And as I am now a nurse I'll still have access to an array of Imprest drugs that will do the trick. I won't give Mr Black the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Assuming he's even watching. But I can't do anything about it now. At this moment my most pressing issue is Kevin Moore. And specifically the way he's looking at me right now. I imagine how a lascivious husband may well regard his brand new wife. Like he's been starved for days and I am cake! You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself Alex, I self scold. And think fast. Because I suspect Kevin Moore feels pretty entitled. And highly motivated. So standing here like a deer in headlights is not the best strategy if you want to avoid being pinned on your back and be forced to quickly endure your own version of primae noctis. I need to put my second startled adrenaline surge to good use. I need to run. Which is exactly what I do. I negotiate my way to the front door rapidly. I feel it is where logic dictates it will be rather than this being some sort of induced memory of my marital home. Kevin clearly hasn't expected this reaction so doesn't follow me for a time, but when he realizes I'm unlatching the door he begins pursuit. "Alex! Wait!" His impending approach frightens me all the more. I'm smaller than weaker than him now. I know it. I feel it. Fortunately, before he can reach me the door gives and I flee out into the brisk, still night, into some random suburban street, in just my work scrubs. I'm wearing runners (sneakers), which is a plus. This seemed to be the standard footwear of Emergency nurses nowadays. But a few strides tell me I'm not wearing a sports bra, which feels like it would have been an essential, for a more effective escape. God, how big are these things? I wonder anxiously. I can hear Kevin behind me. "Alex! Please! Come back!" In a virtual stage whisper. I assume he's conscious of the neighbours overhearing and assuming a domestic dispute. Which is a valid concern I guess. I don't particularly want the police to roll up either. But where do I go? What do I do? I'm completely overwhelmed and at a complete loss to come up with an effective plan of action. I just need to get away from Kevin. The sound of traffic seems louder to my right, suggesting a major road. This governs my direction of flight. Once there, whether Kevin continues to pursue me or not, I could run into the traffic. If I do it properly, like in front of a bus, that will be a surefire way to escape this wretched fate. It's not like I want to die. But what choice do I have? Mr Black has taken everything away from me. All that I am. All that I was. I see the lights of the road up ahead, but I also hear the sound of Kevin's encroaching footsteps getting closer. He's faster than me. Even redoubling my efforts does not seem to prevent the gap between us from rapidly closing. But if I can just hold him off a little longer I can fly straight out onto the road and then.... Well then it will be over. As I run I have what I imagine will by my final thought. What seems like only moments ago, and probably actually was, I had everything I could possibly want. My life was perfect. Now it was ruined. How fickle, fleeting and fragile life is. I'm almost at the roadside now, mere metres, and I can see the fast approaching headlights of what appears to be an oncoming truck. A few more steps and I will be right in front of it...... And that will be the end of me. TBC