Bullets And Butterflies: A Cult Story (Part 1 Of 3) free porn video

Part 1: Bullets The car increased its speed, it was now well over eighty miles an hour on a road made for half that velocity. Each tight turn flung the vehicle into an almost uncontrollable spin but with a physics defying correction the driver managed to stay on the road. Above helicopters of both the police and news flew above attempting to keep car in view. Hindered by the concerns of pedestrians and public safety, the trailing police cars were not able to keep pace. Officer Richardson shouted at his partner over the sound of their racing engine and sirens of the train of police vehicles trailing behind them, "They're headed right for the outdoor mall. Five minutes max. No choice here. Shoot the tires if we get in range." "It'll flip the car," he said even as he rolled down the window to prepare the shot, "at this speed might kill them both." "My sympathy for people about to tear through an open-air pedestrian center is pretty damn low right now." Richardson's partner James Maddox leaned out of the window both hands on his service pistol. This kind of thing looks so easy in the movies with their magic Hollywood bullets and aim. But careening about at this speed not only was it a difficult shot to aim, but if he were to miss, a stray bullet could go anywhere. "Try to drive in the middle of the road as much as possible to steady this baby out, and I'll give it a go, but we probably have one chance." Richardson pulled the car in the middle of the road driving at straight as possible. His partner steadied his hand and squeezed the trigger. The report of the weapon caught Richardson off guard causing him to swerve onto the sidewalk narrowly missing a hydrant before correcting quickly back onto the street. Perfect shot. The silver Audi ahead spun like a carousel hooked up to a jet engine and for a moment it looked certain to flip. Richardson slammed on the breaks. The squeal of tires filled the air as the pursuing police behind him followed suit. Still spinning, the criminal's A4 hopped the curb slamming violently into the white brick wall of the local YMCA building; the side of the car crumbled like foil from a discarded deli sandwich. Above the police helicopter centered its flood light on the ruined vehicle. Through the loudspeaker, they began the protocol for post vehicle chase extraction, "Get out of the car slowly with your hands empty and raised ..." +++++ Placing his lunch beside him on the blue metallic bench, he took off his sunglasses and raised his face toward the afternoon sun. Although warm autumns were not uncommon in Southern California, today was an unseasonably balmy November afternoon. It looked like in a week's time it was going to be another Thanksgiving in shorts. A break from the grind of classroom and office hours sounded very good right about now. Sweeping his longish brown locks from his face he chided himself, "twenty-seven is a little early to be burning out. You just got started." As he pulled an apple from the paper lunch bag, Professor Thomas Elliot's phone vibrated. He grumbled in anticipation, "This better not be Mary trying to switch weekends again. It's my damn turn ..." Pulling out his phone it wasn't his ex-wife Mary Kane but the Los Angeles Police Department. "Hello? This is Thom Elliot." "Professor. We've got one. Alive." ++++ Los Angeles traffic was unkind on the best of days. It took Thomas Elliot well over an hour to arrive at station headquarters. The station chief greeted him with a candy bar from the vending machine. "Eat it. It always makes me feel better after a shit drive." Taking the bar from the fit, but rapidly graying Captain, Thomas took a couple of bites and dove into the matter at hand. "How did you get one alive? I thought they shot themselves rather than be apprehended?" Captain Walters smiled, making the creases around his eyes more visible, "Nothing more than dumb luck or maybe hubris on their part really. They were on the run, but I think this pair thought they could get away. An officer shot one of their tires and the car spun out. Killed one on impact but knocked this one out cold before suiciding to avoid capture." The professor finished his candy bar, wiping his hands then the corners of his mouth carefully with a handkerchief. "Fingerprints, DNA, anything to shed light on identity here?" The Captain shrugged, "No fingerprints. And I mean that literally. Something weird was done to the fingertips. Smooth as glass, our people are trying to figure that one out." "And what have your people got out of interrogation thus far?" "Well you're here right? So obviously we got nada. Nothing but mumbo jumbo. Cult stuff for sure. Waived the lawyer though, so go in and do what you do." Thomas entered the interrogation room and was a little taken aback. Aside from a bandage not quite covering a large nasty bruise on the neck, the suspect was an unexpectedly attractive strawberry blonde in a simple pink skirt, sheer pink hose, pink pumps and low-cut pink open blouse. All pink, just like the others, Thomas noted. Due to the self-inflicted head shot wounds that these perpetrators preferred over capture, it was difficult to tell what they really looked like in the photos he had seen. He had no idea they were with this convincing. Whatever this is, it was not the usual haphazard drag used by men wishing to disguise identity during robberies. Something more complex was going on. Whatever it was, he was going to treat them like the gender they looked like. "Hi. What should I call you?" They had not cuffed her despite the violent nature of the crime. Thomas assumed, despite being technically male, she was relatively petite and could be easily physically detained. She sat back, legs crossed at the knee and relaxed. She wiggled her foot absent mindedly allowing her pump to slide on and off her heel. As she spoke, she checked her manicured French tipped nails. This was more someone bored with a blind date than someone being apprehended for armed robbery with an assault weapon. "As far as my name, I do not have one ... one you're allowed to use any way. I left my male name behind and have not earned a permanent female name yet. I am still far too male and unworthy for that." Professor Elliot leaned back in his chair, glancing at the two-way mirror for just a moment. There was a lot to unpack here. "Well, you don't look very male from where I sit. What were you called before? And who is it that you must earn your lasting female name from?" The professor leaned forward making eye contact, unfolding his arms and relaxing his body in a disarming manner to try to elicit a response. She too leaned forward so their faces were less than a foot apart. Thom noted that her bra too was pink, pushing up what was slight, but unmistakable cleavage. Not directly answering the question, she said in very serious tones, "I was nothing but foul clay before, to be formed. My old male name was a symptom of the disease. A disease I was in the process of moving away from; I was transcending to a better form. And now that I am here, arrested, I will be stuck as a half formed nothing. When the fire comes down, I will perish with the rest of Man Born with Penis." "'Man born with penis?'" "Yes. Men. Like you. Those who must carry the original sin of the penis between their legs." "I see," said Thomas, "and one more time. Who hands out the female names? Where is the place this ... transcendence ... all goes down?" The suspect leaned back in her chair again crossing her arms beneath her bosom, "Nice try. I've probably said enough already." "Hmm. Look, It's a bit warm in here. Let me get you a water. I will be right back." Thomas walked around to the other side of the police two-way mirror where he could neither be heard nor seen. Addressing the Captain primarily, but the handful of officers in the small viewing room as well, he said, "You were right to call me. You heard ... her .... it is a full-blown cult thing. Although in all my time liaising with the police force on cults, I've not seen something like this. This is way out there. Male genitalia as the mark of the original sin? Female gender as a reward? It's tied to enlightenment maybe even religious enlightenment, sounds like, but at this point who fucking knows?" "I thought cult as well going all the way back to the first couple of robberies," the Captain said, "Brass was sure the matching tattoos on the dead guys' arms meant gang. But a pink and blue butterfly ...? Not two guns crossed? Or a flaming skull? And killing yourself rather than get caught? Didn't smell like a gang thing. And that whole carefully cross- dressed aspect ..." "The butterfly thing is a bit on the nose to tell you the truth; likely transformation and all that." Thomas hesitated ... should he ... ? he plowed on, "There's a pretty sophisticated shapewear thing going on in there. Note, there's actual cleavage, and a pretty dramatic waist taper. And the makeup is far more detailed than a weekend t-girl would be able to pull off. So, wherever these ladies are holed up, it's may very well be a full-time lifestyle - or close to it - thing, not throwing on drag to go shoot up places for cash." The Captain cocked his head at an angle, "You know the weirdest shit professor." "I do. That is for certain. But that's why you pay me right?" Thom smiled, "But the rest of what he ... she ... is telling us, it's a lot to work through. I'm going to sit back down with her and try to get to the bottom of this. But one question first. They have been killing themselves rather than talk, so why is Miss Almost Earned Girlhood talking and why now?" The Captain smiled, "Best guess? Concussion from the crash." +++++++ Dan Carver sat on the grass by the lake's edge. He pulled an unwrapped turkey sandwich from his pocket and slowly ate it with both hands. His stomach had shrunk significantly in the last few weeks, so this would hold him over for some time. Reaching around in his jacket pocket he found crumbs that now littered his pocket lining and threw them out to the ducks. They snatched up the little he put out and braved out of the water toward him to see if the feeding session would continue. Wiping his mouth on cloth napkins from the house he had stolen food the day before, he checked himself in his hand mirror. He may be homeless, but he was clean. His small frame, androgynous blonde good looks, combined decent grooming all read "harmless". It meant he was able to travel into neighborhoods unmolested by authorities and case out his next home to break into. Only his ill-fitting clothes signaled that he may not actually belong. Dan didn't consider himself a thief, just a man shoved into hard times by an unfair world that callously cast aside those who couldn't stay on the treadmill. He never stole valuables despite the need for money, just food and a change of clothes. Yes, he was brazen enough to shower and shave in these empty abodes - clean water and rudimentary hygiene was the least owed to him by this world - but always cleaned up after himself meticulously. Not out politeness, mind, but out of self-preservation. Knowing there was someone helping themselves in broken into houses would make his ability to do so in the future more difficult. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The injustice of his situation made his heart race with fury. And where fury led, depression followed. He could not afford to lose an entire day to his inner dark demons. His blackness under control he opened his eyes to find two women sitting closely on either side of him. Even on this soft grass, how they managed to approach him without being heard baffled him. "We have been watching you for some time," the redhaired, quite lovely girl seated to his left said. His skin grew goosebumps. It had been so very long since someone nice had spoken to him in such soothing tones, "Out in the world struggling alone. Forgotten by those who wronged you. Justly stealing from those who cast you aside." His body tensed at the mention of his thievery. But detecting no judgment in her words or tone, he forced himself to relax. The girl with the light brown hair on the opposite side spoke, "Do you feel as though you do not fit in this world? Their world?" She emphasized the word 'their'. "Do you feel as though you are on the outside of something you can't quite understand? For reasons you can't quite understand? Does the darkness of their world bleed into you and try to consume you with despair?" The redhead: "It's not you who is broken no matter how much they want you to believe it. It has never been you. It's the world that is broken. Man born with penis has broken it, destroyed it. Man born with penis has been destroying it since he first learned to kill with a rock. Man born with penis is trying to hasten the end with global warming and the coming wars." The brunette: "And man born with penis shall suffer a horrible, unforgiving wrath. He thinks the Earth is his. It is not. It is God's. And there will be no escape for the kind that carelessly destroys God's favorite creation." The rhythmic cadence of the women was hypnotic, enticing, inviting. Dan Carver sat transfixed. The redhead leaned in whispering into his ear, "You can escape the fate of man born with penis when divine punishment is handed out. You can stand with the creators of life, givers of nature ... the owners of the womb. You can stand with Woman." The brunette leaned into the other ear, "We have a place for you where you welcome and wanted and understood. We have a place where you can transcend the shackles placed upon you, man born with penis, and become so much more." "So much more," the redhead had taken his hand as both women stood up with him. "Come with us and be in a community of inclusion and love." +++++++++ Thomas Elliot's interview with the arrested cult member was cut short. Perhaps seeing a chance for a high-profile feather to place in their caps, an expensively suited lawyer with a tan far too deep for November swooped in convincing the arrested gunman to accept counsel. Frustrated, Thomas sat down with the police Captain after spending a little less than an hour with the prisoner. "I'm writing a detailed report for the Commissioner, he'll clearly want to know how ... what were the press calling these robbery gangs ...?" "You don't want to know. You really don't." Thomas agreed, "I probably really don't, but I'm going to have to start a Google deep dive to get a handle on every whisper out there; run down obscure leads, rumors, lies, half-truths and the like, so I kind of have to." "You were warned. Don't say that you weren't warned: 'Bonnet on Clyde Gang'. Because, you know ... Bonnie and Clyde ... only Clyde .... in a girl's bonnet ... crossdressing ... robbers ..." bonnet ... The professor groaned loudly, "Enough already! I got it. You didn't have to keep explaining ..." "Oh, but I did. It's far more awful when you get it and I still keep explaining. Do you know how many times I've had to hear that nickname from straight faced reporters asking me questions? I'm just happy to share the pain." The Captain smiled mischievously. "Back on track." Thomas said, "The belief system, what little I could gather, is as typically batshit as any cult. Way more so to be honest. The details aren't as important as understanding that achieving ultimate womanhood is the chief goal. A vagina gifted to you from god. But the wackiness aside, make no mistake, it is well and truly a criminal enterprise parading as a cult. Access to assault rifles alone tells you that." Professor Elliot continued, "I know eyes glaze over when I 'go all professor', but you need to understand this. The level of brainwashing to get a man to buy into a gender identity conversion tied into a brand-new religious belief system that puts the religion above the person's self- preservation instinct, is damn near unprecedented. That's a fuck ton to take on board someone's psyche. As such, these people are zealous. Charlie Manson family zealous. Waco Texas Branch Davidians zealous. Blow things up with strapped on bombs zealous." "Shit. That sounds messy. We're going to have to get the Feds in on this." "I would suggest that, but you know law enforcement better than I. But to avoid bloodshed all over the news, what we're going to have to do is get a person on the inside. Someone who knows brainwashing techniques and can resist them." "Sounds like you want to don a skirt professor." Thomas simply smiled, "That's assuming we can even find where they are. They've stayed off your radar thus far, despite a host of gun point robberies. Talk to the Feds and the district attorney. Maybe we cut a deal where we trade infiltration information for a lighter sentence. We'll have to break through the brainwashing first though." ++++++ Thomas arrived home close to ten o'clock. Being in classrooms, student meetings and the occasional police station, he tended to keep his ringer off. Checking his phone, he had six messages: four students, a professor buddy saying they were going out for drinks, and his miserable ex-wife. Her boyfriend Tony only had the cabin for this weekend, so they were taking Thom's three-year-old son with them. She at least had the decency to say "sorry" even if she didn't mean it. He poured himself a glass of Pinot. He was getting that loss of control feeling; she always seems to bring that out in him with her manipulative machinations. But looking at the clock above the sink, it was starting to get late. Surely too late to start now as process took a good hour just to do it half assed. Even so he found himself in hallway between the laundry room and his home office staring at the locked attic. Whether it was the frustration borne from his wife playing games with him again or sitting feet from a man attractively wearing full women's regalia in public, he felt the urge inside him swell. Maybe he would just look, he told himself, maybe that might help tamp it down. Unlocking the attic, he pulled down the sliding latter, and flipped on the light switch. Lining the southside of the spacious attic was an entire wall of shoes of every women's style; pumps, sandals, wedges, flip flips, gladiator flats, stripper, business and all manner of exotic footwear that defied description. Countless skirts and blouses hung neatly dry cleaned organized by type and color next to full length dresses. A six-drawer dresser contained form changing shapewear, panties, bras and hosiery. On top sat several jewelry boxes. Opposite of his shoe wall were several full-length mirrors, a seated fully supplied makeup stand, and table with wigs of all lengths and colors situated on Styrofoam wig heads. It was less an attic turned closet than a complete temple to transformation. Thomas reflected on the conversation he had with the cult member early. What was it that separated what that person did from the urges that had consumed Thomas from the time he was old enough to slip into his sister's nude colored Candies wedges? Was it just mere degree? Thomas never wanted to give up his life and be a woman full time. He liked being Thomas Elliot. And he never felt that women were a higher or lesser form of gender, just equal. No, they were nothing alike. The very premise was wrong. The cult member today was moving away from a male form to female, but achieving female- hood was just a carrot, the end goal could have been anything the cult had set. It was gender constraint that frustrated Thomas. He found it deeply unfair that all the pretty things, the hair, the clothes, the makeup were restricted to just women. He felt it was unjust that if he wanted to go out and be pretty, imitate the body of a woman, speak like a woman, that it had to define him in some way other than broad enjoyment of the full spectrum; that some name needed to be applied to him, that there was some group he had to belong to. Thomas prided himself on his disciplined mind and understanding of self. If he were, by chance, able to infiltrate a cult that emphasized the power of femininity, he had to be clear of mind of what his belief system was; understand perfectly what motivations drove him. He felt he was. If he were not, the bottom of the rabbit hole could be a long way down. +++++++ Dan Carver was awakened at the crack of dawn this morning as he did in the weeks since he had arrived. His bed, more cot than bed really, was shoved against the wall of this tiny spartan room. There was no furniture aside from the cot, and only a brown throw rug gave color to the room. His bathroom was cramped, but functional and the single nod to vanity was a full-length mirror. He was never referred to by name. Male names were a curse upon the tongue. He stood in front of the mirror applying hair removing products to his entire body before rinsing it off in the shower along with the little excess hair that had grown. He was blessed that his body hair had become softer, thinner and came back far more slowly than before. As he had come to learn, body hair was the curse that God marked man with once the first man struck another down in anger. These were all part the Hidden Scriptures, the ones that the mainstream churches banished, rewrote and bastardized to keep men in power over the ages. The Hidden Scriptures were a vast and far reaching truth, only seen by those in the highest reaches of the Church of Achelois, named after the Greek goddess who washed away pain. But the central idea was distilled for ease of understanding for even the newest members like Dan: would a god who birthed the universe from her womb trust it to a blood thirsty gender who could not birth at all? It was new, and overwhelming, particularly the sheer scope of the cover up for all these centuries. But the more he learned the more it made a certain undeniable sense. He was met outside of the showers by Hayley. He was dressed in his drab brown burlap like formless one-piece dress and clunky brown leather sandals. The good-looking woman carefully tied a brown rough leather cloth scarf around his neck. It was in stark contrast to Hayley's tight dark blue skirt and matching blouse. Her sheer blue stockings and five-inch high navy pumps complimented her shapely legs well. A jet-black asymmetrical bob with bangs framed her pretty face and flawless make up. The jewelry and tastefully tied neck scarf like everything else in her wardrobe were blue as well; blue being the color indicating her far more advanced level of enlightenment. Standing beside her lithe form made Dan feel ugly, clumsy and self- conscious. Hayley sensing this sought to comfort him. "Nameless one, we all started as you did. Even now you may think me closer to perfection. But I am many levels and a long way away. As small as it may be, I still bear the heavy shame of a penis hanging between my legs. I still do much prayer and repenting. If I am blessed and true, I will be given the gift." She motioned to him, "Drop your robe." He did was he was told without self-consciousness or hesitation. She looked him over in a clinical fashion. "Look do not despair," she touched his chest gently, it was sensitive, "even at this early stage prayer has begun to bud in your chest as a blossoming tiny bosom. And your skin is less coarse and rough. It is a long journey, but you are on track." She escorted Dan into a cold damp stone prayer room. With its single spot to kneel and lack of any real art, religious or otherwise, Dan felt it was more of a shrine than a temple used by the others in the movement. This struck Dan as odd as he had no idea of the size of the building he was in - he had only been allowed thus far to move from his room to prayers - but he still had a vague notion that it was enormous. Kneeling in front of the Statue of Achelois, he began his six-hour prayer session, only to be broken up with periodic breaks to drink from the Elixir of Truth, a metallically pungent and thick liquid, but necessary to the process of rebirth. "Born with sin of penis, I am truly unworthy, I strive to better myself ..." +++++++ Time was a blur. Dan no longer remembered how long he had been here. There were no calendars or clocks, even making marks on the wall to track passing time was forbidden. He put his feet on the floor and walked to the mirror to see what hair needed to be removed. None, it would seem. He touched his sensitive chest, what was once completely male, while not quite breasts were recognizably trending toward female. His muscle mass had lessened somewhat, and his skin was inarguably softer to the touch. But the great joy was the shame between his legs had noticeably shrunken, particularly his testes. Thinking very hard he could not remember the last time male sin pushed his penis upward with an erection. Prayer and the Elixir of Truth was truly flowering within him. He opened his closet door to find it empty. It never contained much, a simple burlap dress, leather sandals and three pair of large coverage panties that he hand-washed and dried himself nightly. He could have panicked, believing that something was wrong, but it couldn't be. He was devout and pure of purpose. He showered and walked out of his room with a towel wrapped around him. He wasn't sure what was going on but perhaps it was a test to see if a tiny hurdle of lack of clothes would deter him from prayer. When he stepped out of his room, Hayley, in her immaculate blue outfit stood before him with a crowd of others. "I meant to be here sooner. Please go into your room and wait." She was smiling broadly. A few moments later his tiny room was filled with several women all wearing different color and different styled outfits, some simple, some far more elaborate. Hayley's face beamed with pride as she put an ornate chest onto Dan's bed and opened it. "You have not earned a permanent name. That will take a long journey. But you have earned a secret name amongst the believers: 'Danica'. Its similarity to your name of old will remind you of where you once were and how far you need to go. More importantly you have earned a title: Near Sister, and with it we will call you 'her' and 'she'." Danica peered into the trunk and saw a gray cotton shirt sleeve blouse, long loose-fitting gray skirt and low-heeled gray sandals. "Congratulations. Put them on please. But first, put on these Near Sister." Hayley handed Danica a size appropriate training bra and gray matching panties which, unlike her first pair, did not cover the entirety of her behind. The room exploded in applause. Danica wept lightly as she dressed, she was very emotional these days, but had been warned that was part of transcending. Wiping away sin and moving into the light was a very emotional process. "Today," said a woman in an intricately designed deep royal purple outfit, "you will get a haircut befitting your newly enlightened status as a Near Sister. You no longer must pray alone but will join in the day long services with others of your Near Sister status. You will eat with others and join in harmony with others and be supported on your journey by others. You will never again walk alone" Tabita put in the final words, "We all love you so much. You are one small, but important, step closer to perfect. Welcome to the community Near Sister Danica." Danica looked at herself in the mirror. The bra gave her tiny breasts shape. Her feet, softer and leaner from her weight loss and transcendence, looked feminine in these low-heeled sandals. Admiring her longer hair and silkier skin, she could see that she truly was moving away from man with penis into something truly new and better. ++++++ The morning light had just begun to shine through the kitchen window as the doorbell rang. "Who would be here at this early hour?" Thomas grumbled as he fed his three-year old son Christian applesauce, "hold on sport." The routine for the divorced couple up until now had been arranged to minimize contact and avoid the explosiveness that marked the end of their relationship: Thomas dropped Chris off at daycare and his ex-wife Mary would pick him up after work. He hadn't laid eyes on her in months. Yet there she was standing before him unannounced on his cedar wood porch, with her lunkhead of a boyfriend Tony in tow. And here was Thomas ... looking like this .... Ugh. The lack of fingerprints on the assault rifle bearing thieves may have slowed the identification process a great deal, but it did not stop it. Police have a host of tools at their disposal, so it was always a matter of 'when' and not 'if'. With several of the cult members identified post- mortem, exhaustive interviews of neighbors, coworkers and relatives began. While there was no direct connection between the members who had killed themselves in failed the robbery attempts, Professor Elliot had been able to build a rough, largely guesswork, profile of what made these men appealing for recruitment. Much of it was not different than what made any disenfranchised young man ripe pickings for fringe groups; be it hate groups that promise a chance to punish the "others" who did this to them or cults which promise clarity, family and love. But being lost unto itself is not enough, there also must be something in the core to work with; a Rwandan aid worker does not suddenly join neo-Nazis no matter how alienated. There was a commonality between the cult members, Thomas surmised. On top of the helplessness that comes with any disaffected outsider of any stripe, was their androgyny. In the wrong environment androgyny can be a tough cross to bear in ostensibly "straight" males, so alienation and "otherness" was likely part of the profile. Most, he guessed, also had bouts with minor depression. As such, Thomas had been growing into the role. He took a sabbatical from his college explaining the reasons honestly to the University staff and fellow professors. He then leaned hard into the feminine characteristics he always kept at bay. He let his hair grow even more and he shaped it into a vaguely female style and pulled it back into a banged ponytail. Thom waxed his eyebrows to thin them into a more womanlike curve, without being overt. The nails on his hands and feet were slightly long and well- manicured and pedicured. And while he wore no polish, they were buffed to a high shine. Today he wore a light blue t-shirt that showed a hint of midriff and dark blue outdoor pajama like pants popular with suburban women in this area. His flip flops had a flat three quarters of an inch soul, not blatantly platform high or heeled, but stylistically higher than most men would choose. He hoped the overall effect wasn't too obvious. The cult would, he surmised, want people who were still strongly connected to their male selves despite the androgyny. Destroying that part of them, then building them back up in their doctrine, was key to the brainwashing. Seeing Thomas dressed as he was, Tony's eyes widened in his large square face and he laughed dismissively as he approached the door. "You don't look half this cute in your pictures sugar lips." Mary whipped around, "Shut up Tony! Get Christian and take him to the car. Now. I need to speak to Thomas alone." The towering man entered the house without Thom's permission, patted him on the bottom with a hairy paw and sarcastic wink, letting loose with a seductive "Rawr." "You goddamn ape -" Thom started before Mary snapped at him, "Thom! Tony! Cut it out! Not in front of Chris," and once Tony had Christian secured in the child seat and was out of earshot she spat, "What is this? Are you dressing again? You promised me you wouldn't do that in front of our child." Thom feeling humiliated by Tony said bitterly, "This isn't 'dressed', you've seen me dressed. I look a hell of lot better than whatever it is you're doing with yourself these days." "If your best insult is that you're prettier than your ex-wife while wearing women's clothes, you're more screwed up than I thought. That's certainly not the way to get see your son more," She motioned behind her to the car, "You know Tony may not be near as bright as you, Mr. Professor. But he has a very good job and when we sleep together, he makes my toes curl and I scream to the heavens. He's not coming into our bed wearing pantyhose and asking do all those strange things you wanted to at the end. He just fucks like man. He doesn't ask me to be the man." Thom was red with anger and mortification. She was twisting the knife in hard. He had let her into his world of desires and all he got out of it was a costly divorce and burning resentment toward him. But he needed to shake that off right now. "Look. The reason I'm so androgynous looking right now is not because I'm dressing up in front of our son. My LAPD liaison work is going to insert me into the ... Bonnet on Clyde ... gang. It's not a gang. It's a cult. Hence why me. I'm going to need you to keep Christian for a while. I have no idea how long it will take me to infiltrate - if I can at all - no less how long I will be undercover. You can't tell your gorilla Tony. I'm only telling you the truth because I owe it to you." "Those guys shoot up places with automatic weapons. I mean, you dress the part," she couldn't resist the jab, but her tone softened, "but I never took you for dive into danger type. It has to be you huh?" "Probably no one in the country knows more about this stuff than I do. It has to be me." She mused for a moment, then grinned, "'Bonnet on Clyde' gang, such a god- awful name." They laughed together. It had been forever since they did that. "Be safe. A boy needs his father." +++++++++++ Even for a police station that moved as many cases through as this one, there was a palpable buzz and energy in the air. In the few years working with the LAPD Thom had learned that as the daylight hours shortened, crime increased; more darkness, more people drinking early, more general depressive behavior. He could tell, however, today something was different. The Captain smiled at Thomas, candy bar at the ready, "Well aren't you the pretty one?" "Don't give me any shit Captain. My ex-wife and her boyfriend surprised me at the door this morning in these half female clothes. Not near in the mood." "See. There's the difference. My ex's new husband comes nowhere near my place. He knows I'll shoot him then arrest him for stealing my bullets I put in him." Thomas waived it away but chuckled, "You called me Captain. Clearly something is happening. What have we got?" "A break." The Captain walked Thomas over to a large map on the wall. A tall, attention-grabbing female officer with glowing mocha skin popped up immediately and spoke. From the disguised pride in her voice, it was clear this was her handiwork, "The blue pins are the homes of the culprits we identified in the morgue. The green ones are the three homeless gunmen, so that is more a range than a precise point. And here, the red pins are the robberies. What do you see?" Thomas examined the map carefully. "I see what could be a pretty huge cross section in the middle. That's probably where the cult house is. Maybe the area they recruit." "See? We'll make a real cop out of you yet. But if I were to stick a single yellow pin right here," the Captain inserted the pin, "then the area narrows dramatically." "It certainly does. The yellow pin being?" The female officer spoke, "The yellow pin being where a twenty-one year old male fitting your profile parameters of being ... I know this probably is not the word you used Professor, but ... 'girly'?" "Androgynous." "Yes. Of course. Androgynous. The man reported to the police that two women hassled him and accused him of stealing from stores, homes and such. I think he did probably steal, but it still spooked him enough to come to us. The key part is they were talking about an apocalypse wiping penises from the earth. Which if you ask me, doesn't sound half bad ..." The officer winked a large almond colored eye at her Captain. The Captain Walters put hand on Thomas's back, "Ready professor, that's where we're sending you." ++++++ Thomas Elliot was not your average homeless man. He was kept well fed, although it was important that he be seen losing weight. He went beyond the homeless person's typical petty crimes of shoplifting and broke into homes boldly washing himself and stealing clothes, more often than not, from the woman's side of the closet, although never anything that screamed "cross dress." He also watched television, read and played piano to keep his mind sharp in his isolation. However random his break ins looked, they were far from it. LAPD informed the homeowners in advanced that they were part of a sting and their homes would be used in such fashion. And even the professors' "sleeping rough" was managed. While most who spent the night on park benches did so with discomfort and potential risk, the professor slept under a high tech (but ragged looking) thermal blanket watched over by undercover police. This morning, three difficult weeks in, he awoke to find two well dressed, very striking women sitting on the bench with where he had been sleeping. "We have been watching you for some time. Out in the world struggling. Shunned by those who wronged you. Justly stealing from those who would mock you." It was a redheaded woman that spoke to Thom. He examined her but kept quiet. It was very difficult for him to discern if she was biologically born a woman, but he assumed not. She was good though; she affected a tone of soothing to cut through whatever mental noise someone who was actually in Thom's position would have. Her partner, a brunette seated to Thomas's opposite side then spoke, "Do you feel as though you do not fit in this world? Their world? Do you feel as though you are shamed for your secret desires? Abandoned and your family torn from you for wanting to just be yourself? Mocked by those who wish to take your place?" Thomas remember the LAPD transcript of the young man approached some weeks ago, it followed this pattern, but this was different this seemed ...oddly ... tailored toward him specifically. Secret desires? Family torn? Mocked by usurpers? They couldn't know about any of that surely. He dismissed it as being part of their vague patter but made a mental note to see if they researched their potential members before recruitment. Still, he was glad his LAPD work is largely secret. The redhead who originally spoke continued, "It's not you who is broken no matter how much they want you to believe it. It has never been you. It's the world that is broken. Man born with penis has broken it, destroyed it. Man born with penis has been destroying it since he first learned to kill with a rock. Man born with penis is trying to hasten the end with global warming and the coming wars." The brunette: "And man born with penis shall suffer a horrible, unforgiving wrath. He thinks the Earth is his. It is not. It is God's. And there will be no escape for the kind that carelessly destroys God's favorite creation." "Come with us," The redhead took his hand, "And be welcomed for what's already inside you dying to come out. Join us and be loved and accepted and become what you can ultimately be." Hand in hand, the three of them stood. ++++++++ This was a morning that differed greatly from her routine of prayer, reflection and rejection of her male self. It was a truly blessed day. She was being prepared for the Ceremony of Acceptance, the last step in becoming a true Near Sister and joining the ranks in full. It was a day of pampering, love and joy. She did not shower as she usually did but was meticulously sponge bathed by the hands of her Near Sisters who cooed compliments about her changing body and sang lovely songs from the Hidden Scriptures. It was with great pride she noted the shame between her legs did not rise at the touch of all these lovely hands exploring her body. After a special meal of French toast and eggs she was taken to the salon in a section of the grounds she had not known heretofore existed. There with much fanfare and Near Sisters swanning around her gleefully, she had her hair cut and styled into the layered shoulder length style worn by all the women bearing the gray robes. The nails of her hands and feet had a gray shiny polished applied accenting her wardrobe perfectly. To mark the occasion as the singular event it was, make-up was applied to her face, truly bringing out the woman inside. She was ... she was beautiful ... truly transforming ... she knew she was ready. Danica was not given her usual garb of a cotton gray shirt and long skirt, but a gray silk blouse and tiny skirt made of the same color and material. She was not offered panties nor bra but was given a pair of extremely high gray platform sandals, far too high for nearly anyone, no less her, to walk in. She began to worry, on this day of days, she could not afford to stumble about and break an ankle. "Do not worry Near Sister," one of the girls assured her, "We will be on either side of you, arms around your shoulders, helping you so you move with steadiness and confidence. The shoes are symbolic, 'no matter how difficult the task or long the path, we will be here to guide you, arm in arm'." Danica slipped into the impossibly high heels, and with the help of the Near sisters taking her weight, made way easily toward the center temple. It was an enormous circular room with high ceilings and several entrances. With its statues and stained-glass windows, this room rivaled anything a suburban church would offer. It would take quite a number of people to fill a room of this size. Danica wondered, not for the first time today, how large the complex she on lived was. Stepping into the room fully, she started, but hopefully her shudder was not visible to those around her. At the fore of the room stood a woman in beautiful flowing purple robes and a quite intricate golden headdress before what looked like a gray sheeted bed. To either side of her stood five large men in the burlap sack shapeless dresses and leather sandals Danica wore not long ago. She looked at her Near Sisters, their beatific smiles had not waivered. The woman spoke, "I know you are surprised to see man with penis in such a holy place. But these men were like you, strong of belief and ready to transcend. But unlike you either due to durable unwashable sins of their soul, or simply not being chosen by the higher power, their transformation never began. Their flesh may be unyielding, but their spirit remains true, so they still have purpose. "Prepare the Near Sister." The Priestess of Achelois said. The women removed Danica's blouse exposing her ever growing, but still small pert breasts, but left her skirt on. The priestess moved from behind her pulpit and stood before Danica. "Near Sister," she stated in the voice of someone reading a sermon, "Man with penis's only purpose is to seed the world to create. He must fulfill that task until the day God removes him by fire and we no longer need him to procreate. But until that sacred day comes, you must know the feeling of being truly entered like a woman for one day you, through divine intervention, may be bestowed the miracle of a vagina. Upon the mention of the Great Miracle, The Near Sisters and the Priestess chanted in unison the Garden of Eden verse well known to Danica, "So the Lord God caused the two men to fall into a deep sleep. While the men were sleeping, the Lord God touched the man most reflected in the Lord God's image. The Lord God changed this man to Woman bestowing upon her the gift to create life. And the Lord God brought her to the man and said 'This is Woman. Woman is the cradle of life. Serve her as you would serve me'." The Priestess open her eyes and spoke to Danica, "You must know a man inside you. You must learn to accept it. Then enjoy it. Only then can you control and master it, and in turn control and master man with a penis as God intended. Have him serve you as the blessed vessel of Woman you will become." The muscular men easily lifted Danica and carried her to the bed carefully laying her on her back. The women again chanted in unison: "Man with penis was made stronger of muscle than Woman, for it is his job to serve Woman." The men gently held Danica's arms and legs apart and the Near Sisters knelt around her rubbing her body with oil. At her head, the priestess stood in silent prayer. One of the Near Sisters reached under her skirt and slid Danica's softened penis into a locking restraint. She whispered into her ear, "Until the miracle, the bliss of womanhood is tied to your old body of man. This is natural. You may now enjoy the feeling of woman without worrying about your rising shame between your legs." One of the Near Sisters oiling her body slipped a finger into her anus, working it back and forth, shallow at first but more deeply readying her. The nipples on her tiny breasts stiffened with pleasure. She slid a second finger in, pushing and twisting. Danica's anus opened with a spasm of joy; her caged shame pushed against the restraint painfully, yet pleasingly. The Near Sisters blindfolded the men, including the one standing between her legs. The Near Sister who had been vigorous jamming her fingers deep into Danica's anus pick up speed inserting a third. Satisfied the walls were stretched, she nodded. The Near Sisters guided the man onto, and into, Danica. Danica looked up at her pedicured feet with the light gray nail polished in those extremely high arched sandals; her shapely soft legs spread apart for this man pumping inside her. Her nascent budding breasts with their achingly stiff nipples, bounced with every thrust from the blindfolded man. She threw her head back moaning with delight taking in the decorative paintings on the temple ceiling above. The priestess chanted, "Man with penis shall service Woman until his time shall end," The Near Sisters ran their hands over her increasingly female form, gently kissing her body, whispering of Near Sister love. Her miniscule trapped member yearned to grow but was held back from its shame. The male pumped harder with more enthusiasm until he exploded shooting all his jism deep inside her canal. Her head was light with delirium, the room almost spun. Danica, not being able to help herself, arched upward and her small confined penis too shot a tiny bit of sperm. Danica felt the humiliation of her sin. At this sacred moment she did the most male of acts. The priestess ran her hand through Danica's layered hair, stroking her. Calmingly she spoke, "Shh. Shh. Six months ago, that would not have been a mere dribble. It would have been many ounces. Near Sister Danica it is not a moment of embarrassment, but a moment to reflect how far you've come. See how you are different from this man who left his sin inside you? He will now remove it and hope higher powers smile upon him." They took the blindfold off the men, unlocking Dan's restraint, the priestess commanded, "Clean your sin from this Near Sister." The man dropped to his knees, taking Danica's petite limp shaft in hand, licked what little jism had come out, taking her member into his mouth until it shone clean from wetness of his saliva. They rolled Danica onto her back and a tongue plunged deep between her cheeks as the man searchingly removed the sticky white sin that had been left inside. "Now you are clean of man's sin. This was an enormous moment. Get the Near Sister dressed, we shall drink wine and dance!" ++++++ Captain Alex Walters was pissed. And when he was pissed, everyone knew it. "Three people, in broad daylight, with eyes on them don't just disappear." He shouted into the phone. "I take full responsibility," the voice on the other end of the line stated, "They're more sophisticated than I anticipated. I should have had more men, maybe a helicopter. They did a multiple car switch with decoys and played us like Three Card Monte." "Okay Terrance. Fuck. Just write the report. Maybe we can both see something that will give us a clue." And to himself he said, "Good luck Professor Thomas Elliot. For now you're truly on your own." +++++++