BE FOREWARNED. The following story contains sexually explicit material not suited for those who have not yet achieved the age of maturity. If you should fall into this category, do not read further. Consult the laws of your community to clarify if you are eligible to read adult sexual material. The theme is transsexual. If this type of reading matter offends you, read no further. Go do something else. Standard disclaimer applies. Any association with real people, places, events, or entities is purely coincidental.

 

The Secret Service           by: Virginia Kane            © 2001. All rights reserved.

Part Four

 

Chapter Twelve.

The pilot made a 60-degree course correction and the tiny dot lined up with the front of the plane. Jean sat in silence, unfamiliar with the sensation of having the floor dropping out from under her and the horizon tilting at the same time. Engine roar diminished to a gentler level as the throttles were eased way back to enable the big plane to descend toward the island.

An intercom speaker crackled loudly. "Drop your cocks and grab your socks, gentlemen. We don’t want to look sloppy to the ground crew. Police up your areas and stow the reading material. Sgt. Aleski, come up to the bombardier’s cabin and escort our sweet young guest back to her seat before we land."

 

The plane circled the island’s airfield for its final approach. From her window seat vantage, Jean assessed the island’s huge mass of aircrafts like the one she was on, dotting circular parking areas, connected to the airport’s six long and wide runways by a myriad of taxiways like the tendrils of a spider’s web. "There must be a hundred of these immense bombers down there," she mused silently.

The surface of the ocean grew closer and closer, making her dizzy. She shut her eyes tightly and felt her heart climbing into her throat, as the engines came to life. They must be too low! She was sure they would crash and she’d soon be dead. A bump and screech of tires touching down on the concrete and the rumble of rubber rolling on the hard runway surface was a welcome sound. They made it.

She opened her eyes to see the landscape rushing past her window. Her heart in throat slowly took its proper position in her chest as the big plane slowed down to a crawl and bounced gingerly across endless seams in the concrete.

Evidence of recent runway pothole repairs and crews pouring more concrete into fresh ones made her wonder if the island was subject to frequent enemy attacks. Finally, the plane circled within one of the parking areas and came to a soft stop. After a minute of idling, the four engines ceased to vibrate, one at a time and the propellers silently slowed down and stopped spinning completely.

"Whew! What a ride that was."

Ellie turned in her seat. "Which one?"

Jean looked Ellie square in the eye. "Can you remember any one in particular?"

"Never mind that. You’d better repair your lipstick before we get off this thing."

 

A quick glance in her compact’s mirror showed the damage from her foray in the front of the plane. She wasted no time, using her handkerchief and saliva to wipe off the telltale crimson from her chin and under her nose. In the nick of time, she was nearly presentable, once again.

A bustle of activity behind them interrupted her hurried pruning. The big plane’s cargo door was opened from the outside and a lift truck with a platform filled with men in olive drab coveralls made way for them to alight the aircraft. The men all bowed to them. "Welcome to Tinian, ladies. Sure is nice to see you."

The wide smile on Sgt. Aleski’s face answered the single question on all of their minds. Many eager hands assisted them onto the platform and held them tightly but politely for their short trip to the ground. A waiting jeep was being loaded with their scant luggage. It whisked the two away toward earthberm-covered buildings in the distance on what they assumed was the field’s perimeter. They didn’t have an opportunity to thank the crew of ten men that brought them to this tiny speck on the ocean, but waved back to all the men standing near the gleaming plane.

 

The activity in the central command post stunned the two. The number of collars with silver bars hustling along the corridors told them they were at an installation of major importance, regardless of how small and remote the island was. They were introduced to a heavyset older man they were told was in charge of base security and were led by him to another building not far away. They got a long lecture about not discussing sensitive issues and the need to be on alert.

"We have a lot of civilians working on the island. None of them were here when we first took it away from the Japs last summer. Most of them are construction workers. We can’t get enough trained Seabees. Others are involved in important projects related to the war effort. To insure your safety, steer clear of civilians. Can’t afford to trust anyone. It’s Hard to keep track of them, harder than the men in the military who have posts and traceable schedules to keep. Civilians roam the island at will when they’re not working and some have an affinity for trouble.

I’m told it took less than 4000 marines to secure Tinian for us last year. They had to kill over 8000 sons of Nippon, and cost us over three hundred lives and close to sixteen hundred battle wounded. The enemy was deeply entrenched, but a heavy naval bombardment preceding the assault on White beach where they weren’t expecting us to land, softened them up good, beforehand.

The entire island is still patrolled regularly, for any remaining enemy snipers, but if you stay in the areas assigned to you, you’ll be safe enough. Every now and then, we hear small weapons fire, so I assume remnants of the enemy are out there keeping the vow they swore to fight to the last man, the stubborn yellow bastards. Oh, excuse me for my lapse of propriety. No offense, ladies."

"None taken, sir. Now, why have we been brought here?" Ellie was blunt. Jean would have remained silent, but was just as curious as Ellie.

"Your liaison from Pearl will brief you when he arrives. I’m not involved with your mission. It has something to do with new scientific civilians due to arrive, soon. We’re posting you at a clinic that will be set up for their convenience. Richards has the directives, and will brief me along with the two of you. In the meantime, get yourselves situated and try to not get too bored or into any trouble. There are very few other women on Tinian, so you can expect men here to make pests of themselves at every turn. Keep your guard up."

"We’ll do our best to put them into their place, sir." Ellie smiled at Jean when she said that. Jean smiled back and thought Ellie would need a long rest before she could handle any men. The ten men aboard the plane had to have given Ellie a real workout. Jean winced from the sore pucker and groin five men gave her.

 

Chapter Thirteen.

 

Ron Richards arrived by transport plane the following week. Ellie recovered by then and asked Jean to get lost so she and Ron could get reacquainted, alone.

Jean was swarmed by hordes of men at the PX, the laundry, restaurant, the busy mess halls and everywhere else she went. The island was a beehive of activity. Civilian men lacked proper respect for the shiny silver bars up on her collar.

They amused each other with gestures of what they’d do if the got her in bed and gaped at her with lust written all over their faces. Being thought as the only prey in sight wasn’t comforting. If she wandered into a secluded corner, she was sure she’d be raped, so she hurried back to the apartment assigned to Ellie and her making plenty of noise unlocking the door to avoid embarrassing the two lovers.

"Back so soon? Don’t tell me you couldn’t find a man to keep you company?"

"No way. They hover like vultures. I’d be fucked to death within an hour if they ever got serious and decided to gang up on me, Ellie. These guys look way too hungry for satisfaction to be gentle with a girl. It’s scary out there."

Ron came out of the bathroom wearing a silk pair of pajamas. "Hi, Jean. As long as you are here, Lieutenant Frestin let’s sit a spell and have a talk."

"Did you say Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, I wrangled a promotion for you. Seeing as how you’ll work in a clinic set up primarily for civilians, you warrant the grade. Navy corpsmen will eventually be assigned to you, but you two will be the only ladies working there."

"Hey, wait a minute! We’re only PN’s, not RN’s. We can’t run a medical clinic all by ourselves. We aren’t qualified." Jean wasn’t about to assume responsibilities she couldn’t handle, especially with civilian patients. "The navy can’t be so hard up that they’d risk us taking charge of a clinic. What aren’t you telling us, Ron?"

"You won’t be in charge. You’ll assist civilian doctors who will be treating civilian casualties, not GI’s, Jean. Your 201 file indicates you had a similar experience while you were at Los Alamos. Civilians treated at the clinic will be men who work on the same project your father once did. You will treat military personnel under the guidance of civilian doctors. The doctors will treat the civilians."

"Dad mentioned a device. He told me he and his friends were way behind the scientists in Europe, racing to catch up. They must have done it. Did they?"

"Yes, an atomic bomb. I don’t know how atomic bombs differ or what a thing like that even looks like, but I was informed it contains highly radioactive molecules called ‘isotopes’ to create massive energy from a small amount of an element called uranium 238. I never heard of uranium, so don’t ask me where they get it. They must make it a stable or and concentrate it. It’s dangerous stuff.

I was impressed by how many security people are based here in connection with this thing. We’re small potatoes. All they told me so far was what I had to know to get you two ready for treating unusual maladies this stuff causes. Tell us, Jean. You’ve seen the casualties before. How dangerous is it?"

"I saw men at Los Alamos with burns that wouldn’t heal. What caused them and how to treat the men is something I never learned. They were all spirited away, once they were unable to continue working. As long as they could function, they continued what they were doing. Most of it was slide rule stuff. They’d sit in bed and work at the table over it, doing paperwork, writing nothing but gobbly-gook equations. They were all on a one-way trip to hell, including my dad."

"Yes, I heard. Your dad had a lot to do with this thing’s rapid development, Jean. No one knows exactly what the result of handling too much of the material will do to people here. Symptoms vary. You attended men with unusual burns and high fever at Los Alamos. Some had dysentery. Others hemorrhage internally, and others develop severe tumors in their bodies that consume their organs which then cease to function. You were there at the very beginning. It got worse later.

They were all exposed to rays this stuff gives off. Sounds like science fiction to me, like the Flash Gordon serials, but it is very real. I guess our scientists caught up with the European researchers and surpassed them. Far as I know, we’re the only country with the ability to produce a bomb that will wipe out an entire city."

Ellie piped in. "Why? It’s insane. We’d never use a diabolical weapon like that. We have moral convictions. We’re not monsters. It’s unthinkable. If we use it, we’ll kill thousands of innocent civilians. A whole city! It’s too frightening!"

"Ellie, Japan is situated a little over twelve-hundred miles west of here. The Army Air Corps has over a hundred new B-29 bombers making conventional bombing raids. The Japanese people are extremely loyal people. They’ll fight to the death killing many of our troops in the process to appease their emperor. Intelligence projects a traditional landing assault on Japan will inflict over a million American casualties and at least another million Japanese. Every Japanese citizen will be a soldier at arms in an assault of the kind required to bring the crazed emperor to his knees. A single atomic bomb could convince the key fanatics that we mean business, so they will get smart and throw in the towel, saving countless lives."

 

"Why don’t we tell them we have the damn thing and threaten them with it? Why must we kill with devastating consequences we don’t understand? If the wounds you described are any indication of the kind of illnesses this ‘thing’ can cause, the world will think we’re worse than the devils that started the war. What good is winning a war, if we come out of it being despised by the rest of the world?"

"Try explaining the price of not using the bomb to a million mothers whose sons will have to die, if we don’t, Ellie. We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. The same world that begged us to come to join in the conflict will soon be at our throats for killing a million civilians anyway. Using this ‘atomic’ bomb could save two million lives, or more."

"Falderal! You’ve been brainwashed by your superiors, Ron."

Jean interrupted. "Ellie. My dad and his colleagues opposed developing a bomb in the beginning. Said the same things you just did. It must have been worth the gamble, or they would have stopped. Maybe they learned how to control it, so it won’t be so bad. What business have we to pass judgment on this beforehand? We have jobs to do, whether we like the decisions others make or not."

"Well said, Jean. I’m sure your father wasn’t a monster. Our scientists must know how to limit the danger of this weapon, or they wouldn’t have brought it here."

"It’s here?" Two jaws dropped in unison.

 

"You sat right next to one on your way here from Pearl. Those flyboy taxi drivers who brought you here only had the room to spare to take you two on board. They took over the flight when it refueled at Pearl to relieve the crew that flew the first leg of the trip from the continent, so it could arrive here as fast as possible."

"Those lousy liars! They told me they couldn’t leave their precious plane for one minute, saying they flew to Pearl from here, picked up their load and had to fly back here immediately, without spending the night out on the town."

So? They didn’t lie to you. They arrived by small transport plane the day before, and slept the entire evening until the B-29 arrived. They flew the course between Pearl and Tinian many times previously. Those guys flew the last leg because the Air Corps wasn’t taking unnecessary risks using a crew that couldn’t fly the run with their eyes closed, like those guys could.

"The captain specifically said they were disappointed they couldn’t leave the B-29 for a single minute and were all set to go out partying. Instead they had to stay in the plane and wait until we boarded it."

"Sounds like the gospel truth to me, Jean. You assumed they flew the B-29 from Tinian to Pearl, round trip. B-29’s are expensive bombers. The Air Corps doesn’t use them for shuttling ordinary cargo. If they use a B-29 to haul cargo at all, the priority is to get the plane where it’s headed and it has the space available inside, they use it. Can you imagine how much fuel that baby must burn with a full load versus a transport? He didn’t say they flew into Pearl on that plane? Did he?"

"I can’t be sure, but that’s what he meant."

"Do you recall my telling you not to believe what men on the plane might say to you and you would be told your destination when the time was right for you to know it? Well, this is a classic case of misunderstanding piecemeal information. You put two and two together, and fell for the guy’s sob story because he wanted you to feel sorry for them and be nice to his crew. I’ll bet he got lucky, too.

If you had stopped for a minute to think, you would have figured out that his crew couldn’t fly for more than twelve hours without relief. We use cargo ships to haul freight. Freight can be shipped ahead of time, unless it is scarce. Then, we use cruisers or destroyers, ships that can carry a lot of load fast at a reasonable cost. The only cargo carried in a B-29 is men and urgent medical supplies. B-29’s with space available carry extra crews, not common freight, unless speed of delivery is a critical issue, like that bomb you flew in with is."

"Then why were we flown here along with the bomb?"

"Because sitting next to it wasn’t a threat to you two. The civilian scientists here are concerned short-term exposure to the radiation that the cargo emitted might impair the reproductive capability to those inside. Those ten flyers aren’t trained for combat, except for the gunners. The other men are shuttle jockeys. They’re expendable. If combat flyers were used instead and the thing went off en route, well, we’d lose a combat crew. I doubt if we’d be having this conversation."

"That’s a pleasant thought. You flew here in a nice safe transport, didn’t you?"

"True, because. I’m virile. If I make it through this war, I’d like to be able to have a family, someday. That’s why the navy doesn’t want any women capable of giving birth to kids working in the clinic here, exposed to any radiation. Besides, the mission is top secret. Some of those navy nurses jabber like magpies. You two are healers as well soldiers, and Jean shows no ill effects from treating radiation exposure patients while at Los Alamos. The civilian scientists feel second-hand exposure won’t pose much threat to either of you, but even they aren’t sure.

I suppose we’re fighting a different kind of war than we ever anticipated, girls." Ron kissed both of them on their foreheads. "Let’s get some sleep."

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

The clinic was small, but had more diagnostic equipment and microscopes than any clinic the nurses had seen before. The four doctors were too preoccupied for cordial conversation with the two and kept their heads buried in textbooks when they weren’t attending to the civilian patients. The patients. Only two civilians occupied the sole ward of the clinic and they were kept well apart soon after they arrived. The civilians didn’t complain about that like GI’s would. The doctors used meters unfamiliar to Ellie and Jean to measure the radiation level in the two daily and kept copious notes relative to any changes in their condition. The nurses had nothing to do until military personnel were brought in for observation. The crew of the plane that brought them didn’t show up, which made the two relax about the potential danger of their journey.

If duty on Pearl was dull, this was tediously boring and they were getting antsy at the lack of activity. Ellie got the doctors to explain why there were so few men in need of medical attention. Men who didn’t suffer from exposure to radiation were treated elsewhere on the island, at a field unit dispensary or at the base hospital.

The civilian doctors donned lead-lined aprons to visit the two patients. Both had been exposed to the mysterious radiation before they arrived on Tinian. The two men were in good spirits and the two nurses wondered why the doctors acted so cautiously in approaching them and why the men were sent here for treatment instead of to the mainland. The two men showed no visible symptoms.

Jean remembered Los Alamos, and the continued deterioration of patients who showed little outward signs of severe illness at the onset, but were reduced to gasping, agonized vegetables before they were taken away; never to be seen again. She told Ellie about it, repeating herself many times; cautioning Ellie to alert the doctors at the least indication of a fever, dysentery or skin sores.

The two religiously wore protective gloves and special uniforms that were placed into special gurneys with red "danger" markings at the end of each shift. They knew one thing for sure. The effects of exposure to radiation didn’t have a known cure. Anyone that absorbed too much of it would die, sooner or later, and the end was slow and painful in coming.

 

Ron stopped by the apartment regularly to see Ellie and cuddle with her until the sun reminded him he had to get up and go to his office. Once, he brought them pillowcases with a thin yellow disk sewn into the lining and asked them to let him know if the disks showed any signs of changing color. The small disks were sensitive to radiation and would turn red if they had been dangerously exposed.

Jean thought it wasn’t nice of the navy to keep the presence of the danger from the nurses and had a hissy fit over the sneaky way they weren’t being kept well informed of risks they were taking. She later talked to a civilian doctor who acted like it was nothing to be alarmed about. His lab coat bore a similar disk, as did all the other doctors’ coats. Why didn’t the nurses need to wear the disks, too?

"Jeanie, you needn’t worry yourself. The disks change color from infinitesimally low levels of radiation to indicate a potential danger before it can be of harm. The sun’s rays give sufficient levels to affect them. A human body can tolerate some radiation from daily exposure to the sun, unless a person’s skin is so sensitive, it burns easily from moderate amounts of exposure. The degree of radiation that we monitor in the patients here is from prior exposure that was a thousand times more intense. You are overreacting to something quite harmless."

"The sun doesn’t suddenly kill people, doctor. Radiation sickness can. I saw it happen in the dispensary at Los Alamos. It slowly killed my father, too."

"Yes, yes, I know that, child and I regret his passing on. I also know you were exposed to higher levels of radiation before and you remain as healthy as any person I know. You probably don’t remember me, do you? How could you?"

"No, doctor, I don’t."

"Yes, I recall preceding your father to Los Alamos. You were still a teenager back then. When I worked in a lab at the University of Chicago it was alongside of your dear father, Jeanie. His fervor was truly an inspiration to me. Your dad had such grandiose hopes for radiation therapy. He searched feverously for an antidote to radiation poisoning based on experiments with simple microscopic organisms that adapted and mutated under constant bombardment from nuclear isotopes.

Unfortunately, the repeated, prolonged exposure to high levels of radiation wore his resistance down and he too became ill. You have no idea how valuable his contribution toward treating radiation illnesses today is. Why, I can tell you ---"

"Yes doctor?"

"No, I cannot. Ah, I’m a foolish old man. I dream of curing all the world’s ails and can’t even find a way to stop the insidious growth of abnormal tissue cells in the two men lying here at my disposal. I must find a way to stop this curse. Countless innocent men and women will suffer incredibly if I don’t. I have so little time left."

"And, I have so little to do here, doctor Ferguson. Can I help you in any way?"

"No, child. It is a terribly complex problem. You see, the entire bodies of those two men were exposed. If I eliminate one problem, another problem rapidly takes its place due to the depletion of natural defenses a person can create to ward off the intrusion of the radioactivity. If I remove the abnormal tissue in one location, the problem will merely start anew someplace else. I’m exasperated.

The hardest problem to solve is not in my area, but is Doctor Myer’s dilemma. He must find a way to protect the ---, no child, it is no concern of yours. You are so young and pretty, you should not dwell on terrible things. Think of a handsome young man you will make happy someday, not the woes of frustrated old men."

"I wish I could help. My father would have been so happy and proud if I tried."

"Yes, but how can you help? I have three doctorates; in organic chemistry, and biological genetics and in nuclear physics, and still I’m baffled. I ask you. What fundamental body of knowledge do you possess to contribute to my work?"

"I’ve learned how to be persistent. I had to be, or so doctors that helped me to recover from a very serious injury told me. If I wasn’t very persistent, I wouldn’t be able to learn how to walk again. It took me over two years, but I did it. I didn’t have much choice. I had to learn how, or be wheelchair bound for life."

"Your dad was so proud of you, Jeanie. He talked of your plight with me often."

"Did he really? He never spoke at home about those with whom he worked. Idle chatter about his work or colleagues wasn’t permitted in our house."

"Oh, and what are we doing? Go, here, take this textbook with you and read it from cover to cover until it makes some sense to you. If you learn a little about the secrets of tissue generation, you may ask me questions about what you have learned. It may be of use here. I will be glad to correct unfounded misconceptions you may have more readily if you understand about light’s close relationship to matter. Learn about heat and light and matter. Go. Leave me to finish examining my cell specimens. Come back with your ‘persistence’ after you have some idea of what is involved. Then, we’ll talk about it some more. We’ll see, eh?"

 

Chapter Fifteen.

 

Four men conferred. Drs. Ferguson, Myers, Cameron, and Spiel. The head of the group: Dr. Cameron asked each man for their comments, in turn.

"Dr. Ferguson. I understand you have made some progress. Please go first to tell us what you’ve accomplished."

"Thank you, Dr. Cameron. The younger nurse: Lt. Frestin took the bait I offered to her after she showed an interest to assist me in my research. Neither is aware of their unique capacity for resistance to significant radiation exposure. As per your orders, Dr. Cameron, they have not been advised of the negligible hazards so they would not express fear toward eventually succumbing to the ravages of radiation associated with higher levels of exposure. We do not intend to expose them to any additional risk. We only want to identify a cause for their resistance.

The younger nurse’s rapid biological adaptation to womanhood after years of monthly injections of slightly radioactive male hormones can provide us with a key to the human process for dealing with immunization to radiation poisoning.

Early detection and replication of her higher tolerance to radiation can be of immense value toward inuring our assault troops from harm, if we can isolate the factor and pre-treat our soldiers in advance of invading blast sites. It is imperative we discover the source of their seemingly inherent ability to ward off the common radiation side effects.

As you all know, the other navy nurse is also sterile, but from an incident when she was an adult. She also had once been a male, like Jean Frestin. Our aim is to determine if the changes in hormonal balance as a teen versus as an adult has anything to do with Jean’s high radiation tolerance.

Control participants are essential to a true double blind study, so the two men who had dissimilar prior exposure will serve that purpose. I wish we had many more participants available to make comparative corroboration.

The value of two isolated cases is scant evidence to provide a basis for making broad assumptions; still the lasses may provide a clue to protecting humans from radiation poisoning. My earlier work in Chicago and Los Alamos with the younger girl’s father may give me a clue to her tolerance. I have all his past notes.

 

"Dr. Myers?"

"Yes, an inoculation, perhaps? That would be an ideal solution. The heavy doses of radiation immediately following detonation are the most lethal. Tests show that a significant amount of radiation will be released into the atmosphere and no amount of protective shielding can ward off the deadly effect of ingestion caused by breathing in particles irradiated air or contact with irradiated material from the site. Nothing will save those present at the detonation site, as the intense heat of the blast and a shock wave following it will destroy anything within the bomb’s immediate vicinity. The peripheral victims may ingest deadly radiation long after the initial impact. Those people are the ones we hope to save from an agonizing, tortuous death."

"Dr. Spiel?’

"Hmm. Minimal critical mass. We must limit the extent of devastation. We haven’t the ability to produce a ‘clean’ bomb. What we have done is create an example of meddling with Mother Nature. One small slip, and we could easily turn Earth into another Sun, destroying all of mankind along with the planet instead of saving it from slower destruction, by using one conventional bombing raid at a time.

Reducing many square miles to a wasteland of rubble with the intent of flexing our mighty muscles before our international neighbors is a bomb’s primary goal. In conjunction with that power display, we must limit exposure to the aftereffects or the countless ghosts we needlessly create in the maelstrom that will follow a bomb’s detonation will haunt us forever. We must postpone using the bomb until we can effectively control the human exposure element. There is no other way. Propose postponement of its use indefinitely until we can successfully eliminate radioactive emissions, Dr. Cameron."

"Your opposition to the bomb’s immediate use is duly noted, Dr. Spiel. That safer alternative decision you suggest, unfortunately, is not ours to make. The military leaders have conceded to previous demands of the scientific community and the diplomats have attempted to alert the enemy to the potential danger of a nuclear holocaust, as per our demands. The enemy has continually ignored the several urgent requests made to evacuate proposed target sites, claiming our entreaties were made only to disrupt the flow of munitions and goods to their men at arms.

Besides, the post-detonation ‘fallout’ increases the magnitude of the threat posed by the bomb to any future foe. The bomb’s devastating effect will be multiplied by post-detonation ‘fall-out’. We will not need to drop subsequent bombs on other cities to encourage the enemy to concede. A single bomb alone should be ample proof of immensity of the arsenal at our disposal.

We scientists have done our best to limit the casualties, God help us. The enemy refuses to make any effort to evacuate civilians. We must now concentrate on the goal assigned to us: protecting our invading forces after the bomb has wreaked its toll. If our troops know they will contract horrific maladies from exposure to the lingering radiation, they will resist making an all-out assault on Japan and render the bomb’s use a worthless folly. We must restrict the damage to our troops, not to the enemy. Their cost must be an example to the entire world not to attempt to ever wage a world war again in the future"

"I do not agree with your assumptions, Dr. Cameron. Post-detonation radiation levels will rapidly decline at the blast site. We will use Geiger counters to indicate when Roentgen levels are within human tolerance. Time, gentlemen! Time will be our best ally after the bomb is dropped. We need only monitor the site and wait patiently while Japan faces massive numbers of severely burned victims before launching an invasion force on their mainland. If all goes well, an invasion may not be necessary. A wise emperor would sue for peace to enlist our aid in the crisis, not oppose us for another minute."

"Oh, is that so Dr. Ferguson?" Spiel continued to argue against using the bomb. "How much time is necessary for radiation in the atmosphere to decline? If the wind carries irradiated particles across the globe, we will inflict casualties all over the world. We are playing with fire. We may well be poisoning the atmosphere of the entire globe. We haven’t sufficient evidence to the contrary."

"Balderdash! The sun’s daily radiation far exceeds the bomb’s capabilities after dispersion. Without the Sun, life on Earth would cease to exist, as we know it. Radiation itself is a natural occurrence, a positive influence to life. Dealing with massive overdoses is our concern. Consider the issue like having too much liquor or candy at one sitting, or in your case: potatoes and gravy, Spiel."

"Very funny, Ferguson. I notice you haven’t missed ----"

Gentlemen, gentlemen! Let’s not digress. What do you propose now, Ferguson?’

"The work I had begun with my past colleague, the late Dr. Frestin continues to show promise. Some microbes tolerate higher radiation levels; however, others do not. I gave Jean a textbook on microbiology to read, hoping that she will be receptive if she has been given a finite challenge to pursue. She is bored with the lack of work available for her here. That should encourage her to devote her time to learning rudimentary fundamentals of microscopic specimen examination. I’ll encourage her to recognize minute changes in all my specimens and speed up the time-consuming process while I continue to surreptitiously monitor her."

"The doses of radiation received on their flight here from Pearl haven’t had any effect on Jean, but Ellie’s face and body has a deeper tan on her right side. The woman attributes the uneven tan to careless sun bathing. The man who was with them in the cargo hold, a Sgt. Aleski was not so lucky. The right side of his face has blistered and the epidermis has peeled away. His heavy flak suit protected his body from severe burns, but radiation did penetrate it to a lesser degree.

We know protective wear can offer a person limited protection." Dr. Cameron had engineered a radioactive device on board the B-29 that brought the girls to Tinian that triggered a three second emission of radioactivity when the plane climbed to a height of five thousand feet above sea level. The exposure was equivalent to being five miles away from the epicenter of a bomb like the one that was aboard the plane carrying them to Tinian.

"We can’t line the aircraft used to drop the bomb with lead. It would be too heavy.

If the exposure to the crew that drops the bomb is held to a minimum, and they don’t dally after dropping the bomb, they shouldn’t receive lethal radiation doses. Optimum protection for the crew will require treating their heavy flak suits with the components in our lab smocks, metallic fibers. Glass face shields made with high levels of lead will protect their eyes and exposed skin. They will have to exit the ‘hot’ plane as soon as it is practical after returning to Tinian. The plane itself will have to be guarded so nosey people from the media do not gain access and be exposed until we know it is safe to approach.

The reflective exterior of the aircraft will help shield the crew from the heat, but the shock wave from the blast may destroy the aircraft mid-air, so we can’t know if survival of the delivery crew is predictable. Potential crews trained for this have been thoroughly briefed on evasive tactics, after releasing the bomb. Their return to Tinian to reveal photographic evidence of the extent of the destructive force is a necessary propaganda tool. We do not want to have to repeat the deed if one bomb is sufficient.

We can’t reliably predict what a second bomb dropped within proximity of the first will cause. If another bomb is used, it will have to be dropped far from the first. "

"Another bomb!" the men all cried foul. They had not been advised the military planned to provide a second demonstration to convey America’s attempt to draw Japan to its knees and end the war I the Pacific. "Why?" Cried Dr. Ferguson. "In the past week, Germany has conceded defeat. Japan knows it cannot possibly achieve a victory in this war unless our forces are divided and facing two fronts. Further bloodshed will achieve nothing but disgrace to underline the utter folly of their leadership. They are already beaten. Why must we drop two bombs?"

"Oriental dignity demands accepting death over surrender. They do not ascribe to our Western traditions. May God forgive us, two bombs may not convince them to choose dishonor over total annihilation. There’s no telling the two such bombs will successfully trigger ending this war, or ten, or twenty." Dr, Cameron’s bleak suggestion was grave news to them. They were soon to reap the whirlwind.

 

Chapter Sixteen.

 

.

"You should read this book Dr. Ferguson gave me, Ellie. It says here that some men with cancer of the throat in tests conducted recently, went into remission for a time after radiation treatments. They doctors believe, but can’t prove the men contracted cancer from years of cigarette smoking. I don’t get it. How do doctors know smoking can cause throat cancer? Boy, I’m glad I don’t smoke!"

"They have to blame something, Jean. Next thing you know, they’ll say cancer is hereditary. Can you imagine? Ugh, breast cancer, what a bummer."

 

"I read that in here, too. Seems everything causes it, even some foods we eat."

"Nonsense. Don’t believe everything you read. Where’d you get that book?"

"From Dr. Ferguson, at the clinic. He’s nice. I don’t think he’d suggest a book, if it weren’t a reliable source of information, Ellie. He’s smart as a whip. Holds three doctorates. He’s a genius."

"Yeah, yeah. They’re all geniuses. Men. The genius Ron fixed you up with hails from Columbia and is a rock-hard genius. Let me know if he’s a genius in bed."

"Why do you have to spoil everything, Ellie? He may be a gentleman. Try not to be so pessimistic, tonight. Neither of us has to work tomorrow, so we can stay up late and have some fun for a change. With so many men around, Ron won’t let us go out with civilians for fear of what might happen. Instead, he brings us guys he knows, to take us out. The last one was a louse. He was cagey."

 

"What’s the matter, Jean? Aren’t you getting enough cock, lately? Since you let your hair down, you behave like a mink in heat."

"I don’t think we’ll ever get home. Any day, a bomb can come crashing though the roof and blow us to smithereens."

"Concentrate on blowing your date, tonight. That’ll take your mind off the war."

"Sex, sex, sex. An island full of beautiful men and I get stuck with one that can’t sit still for a minute. I mean the last guy was really a fidgety creep. He looked into corners, all night long, expecting boogiemen. He was no fun at all. Come and be nice to me, in case I land another loser tonight, Ellie. Diddle me a little and I’ll do you after you give me a good orgasm."

"Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?"

 

"Yeah, but I need a bath first. Why does this apartment have running water, but no flush toilet? That chemical thing stinks up the whole bathroom. Showers are fine, but a woman needs to soak off the dust and grime, once in awhile."

"What am I? Do I look like a plumber to you? Ask Ron, if you have to."

"He doesn’t know. I asked. He said the building is old, and the original builders didn’t put toilets in houses. They use outside privies and bury the evidence. He said the self-closing portable cans were added in a hurry after our troops took the island over. Who cleans up the mess after us around here? We don’t have to."

"Civvies, I believe. The navy doesn’t have time to add an entire sewer system to the island, Jean. Let it go, will ya’. Think of going out tonight, not about your shit."

Jean took her shower and kicked the portable metal toilet on her way out of the bathroom. She hated the sight of it, a very unladylike instrument. A bidet would be nice, to flush out her crotch instead of using the douche she used. She had an itch lately she couldn’t scratch and hoped her date would stoop to the task. Men, they want a girl to wand swallow, but never offer to pearl dive to repay in kind. Maybe this one was different and would give her a good tongue-lashing.

 

Later, much later, after the dinner and dancing, the man sat on the swing with her in the small courtyard, to beat the incessant heat inside the apartment. A canopy over the swing offered some degree of privacy, and murmurs from the hammock Ellie and Ron used indicated they were still in the conversation phase. Soon, Ron would take Ellie upstairs and screw her brains out. Jean didn’t want to go inside, so Jean put her hand over her date’s bulge and let out a sigh.

"Want to swing on something else for a while, Jean? "

"No, it’s too hot out for that."

"Something I said?" His hand found her right breast and massaged it.

"Well, in this heat, I’d rather play a melody on your skin flute, but not unless you are willing to be nice to me and play a tune on my harmonica, first. You guys always want girls to give, but seldom want to reciprocate. Are you willing?"

 

"That was blunt. If I satisfy you, will I ever see you again?"

"We’ll see how good you are at being fair, first. Men don’t understand women. We need sex as much as you, but we like to take our time to enjoy it, not race to see how fast we can reach an orgasm in a burst of passion."

"You talk plainly, Jean. You’re the first woman I met that doesn’t fake virginity like it’s a magnanimous sacrifice given only after receiving assurances your precious reputation will be preserved with humble honor for life. I like you, but don’t like being made a fool of, so I don’t do it, because I don’t know if some other guy left behind a trail for me to follow. Men don’t care much about things like that."

"That’s plain enough for me to understand. Big, strong man dislikes the taste of another man’s butter, huh? Well, I can’t guarantee it’s calorie free, but I keep it squeaky clean. I douched before you arrived. I’m not a careless girl, and I’d like to see you again, if you can assure me you can give as well as you expect to get from me. I don’t have pretentious notions that we’ll survive the war. I’m out to enjoy life as much as I can, within reason, before some sniper’s bullet nails me."

"Same here." He got up off the swing, went to his knees and cautiously spread Jean’s knees apart gently. Her scent indicated she had prepared to receive his attentions and she wasn’t wearing panties under her full skirt. His head nestled between her thighs and his lips kissed her protruding nubbin.

"Oh, nice man. Make kissie on my tunnel. That’s it, sailor. Make waves for me." He continued to pleasure her mound, giving tender laps around the edges and used his tongue to titillate her ersatz clit. She moaned in delight from his skilled maneuvers as a finger entered her soft flesh. He didn’t notice the firm flesh of her hidden cock against his digit. "Do that some more, Jim. Oh, it feels fabulous."

She was in sex heaven and rewarded his mouth with a clear fluid she was still able to produce. She was a fun-kissed lime, all juice, no seeds, a little on the tart side, but delicious to a man that liked women who oozed natural lubrication. He remained her obedient lap dog until she was thoroughly drained.

He didn’t force himself on her once she was sated, but his rampant manhood was obviously in need of attention, so she had him stand before her, holding on to the swing’s framework as she took his flesh into her lips, licking his lollipop with a gentle, slow embrace of her fingers as she swung to and fro on the swing.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh. Don’t stop, oh, Jean, please don’t stop." His cock fed her a healthy load of male seed, but she continued to excite his organ with her lips and tongue, until his cock went limp and fell from between her lips of its own accord.

He collapsed on the swing beside her, burying his head in her bosom. "That was, -- that was the best cum I had in a long, long time." His hirsute chest heaved as he clung to her, weak from the strain of his climax. They remained entwined in an embrace long after Ellie and Ron silently strolled by on their way upstairs to fuck each other’s brains out in the cold shower inside the sweltering apartment.

Jim sank to his knees and provided Jean with another tongue bath. He was more assertive and soon had her panting with glee. His hand grasped at her cunt with a lot of pressure, as his thumb plunged into her. She swung her knees around his wide back. A passerby would see a very strange sight: a girl with two pair of feet, one normal pair on her legs suspended in the air, and another male pair wearing upside-down shoes, under a half-hidden medicine ball in front of the swing.

He took his sweet time, covering every millimeter of her groin with kisses, wide thumb thrust deep inside her pussy, with fingers spread apart to accommodate his lips and pointy tongue massaging her clit. Her gasps were loud enough to draw attention if anyone cared to peek. No one did. The dwindling heat of the evening kept crowds on beaches, away from stifling buildings, except to sleep.

Jim came up for air and shimmied forward on his knees. He grabbed her by the hips and sank his erect cock deep into her distended gash. She was ready for his penetration, lubed by her own juices and his well-applied saliva. She cooed as he sank his ramrod as far as it would go, paused and tried again. He discovered she wasn’t as deep as she should be. His length sank far deeper into pussies in the past, though his was a long cock, by any standard. He looked at her briefly for a sign of recognition, but a bland smile was all she gave him.

He resumed screwing her until he let his second sperm deposit escape his loins. She tugged back at him, making sure he’d given her all that he had to offer her, and gave his lips a wet kiss, using her tongue to share his earlier nectar’s flavor.

 

He got up and sat beside her, took her hands into his and whispered in her ear. "Want to tell me about it? Did someone intentionally do that to you when you were young, so you can’t have kids? Your womb has been sewn closed, hasn’t it? Don’t be afraid to tell me, Jean. I’ve heard of far worse things being done to young girls to keep them from getting pregnant, so they could continually service countless paying customers without taking time off to swell up with a fetus inside and deprive her pimp from his steady money flow. What happened?"

"Nothing like that, Jim. I was injured by a bad, bad fall. Some things had to be rearranged. My injured pelvis involved more than just a broken bones, though."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you once earned your keep by being a sex slave or prostitute. Sewing up a girl to deprive sperm’s access to her uterus is a nasty way to prevent unwanted pregnancies for an insensitive butcher that owns a public harem. I doubted that you were a victim to some sick pervert in that way in your youth, but it was the only explanation that came to my mind."

"I went through a horribly painful procedure, but there was little choice, I can’t imagine anyone could be so cruel as to do such a thing to a girl intentionally, just so she can’t become pregnant. There has to be easier ways to achieve that."

"Yes, but when an altered girl gets older and is less appealing as a whore, her master can arrange to have a surgeon reverse the procedure, so she can have illegitimate offspring for him to sell on the black market. Some heartless men will buy the carriage along with the slave baby for breastfeeding and the unfortunate infant’s upbringing as well as for the new owner’s personal sexual pleasures. In some countries in this world, slavery is common and nothing is held sacred."

"A girl like that hasn’t much to live for, does she, Jim? She doesn’t have a life of her own at all. She can have children, though, which I can’t do. My childhood injuries left me unable to bear a man’s child. That’s no concern of yours. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t bother you with my problems."

"I brought it up, Jean. Don’t be sorry. You’re not alone. Many men get injured in ways that prevent them from being able to have children of their own. That’s what legitimate adoption agencies are for. You could adopt children if you want."

"Why did you say men, and not people Jim? What did you mean by that."

 

"Sorry. Did I say that? Must have been a slip of the tongue. Although, men with gender problems can pose as girls, if they look so much like girls they’d face a plague of derision after losing their reproductive organs. They are supposedly undistinguishable from real girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were once a boy."

"I was. Satisfied? Is that what you wanted: to hear me say it? You knew all along, didn’t you? You and Ron having fun; taking ‘fake’ girls out, and fucking us silly? Kind of makes you two a couple of queers, doesn’t it? Did you enjoy stuffing my short toolbox with your hammer, handsome, now that you know it’s man-made?"

"Now, hold on a minute. My job is to hand out section eights when gay men get caught with their hands in someone else’s britches, so I’m familiar with unusual sexual identities, Jean. I swear to you: Ron had nothing to do with my guessing you were once a man. I swear it. I didn’t mean to pry, but was nonplussed by your shallow vagina and preferred getting clarification directly from you."

"Well, Ron knew about it and now, so do you. I hope you enjoyed having a man’s lips surround your cock. It’s the last time you’ll have the pleasure from me.

Another thing, I was never a man. My accident happened when I was only fifteen, a young kid, not a man. When I lost my testicles, I didn’t know what being a man was like. If you’re an example, I’m glad. For me, this is right. I’m a girl, inside and out and I like it, even if I’m abnormal. If you don’t like it, it’s too damn bad. "

 

"I like it. I never said I didn’t like you, only how I discovered what you are hiding, and being surprised by it. You’re more girl than most. You talk dirty like a marine, but I bet you can’t help being a girl inside. You pout like one, fuck like one and give head better than any queer who sucked my cock to get a transfer instead of a dishonorable discharge. Sure, I’ve let men suck me off. Why not? Men who suck cocks are queers according to regulations, not the suckees. Lips are lips.

A man’s worth on a beachhead is measured by how well he can react to stress in battle and if he can hit a target he’s aiming at, and cover your flank, not what he does to amuse himself, off-duty. Hell, scores of mud marines wouldn’t mind a lip lock on their love muscles, after being in a jungle for weeks without a babe in site to whet their libidos. Who cares? --- As long as they don’t get caught doing it.

Sure, I used men for pleasure. So did you. I don’t see anything wrong seeking a mutually willing partner for sex. There aren’t many opportunities on this forsaken hellhole, and I was horny. My date with you cost me a promise to do what I can to get Ron his private detective’s license after the war. I’ll sponsor him. He’s one hell of a snoop. To tell you the truth, it was a good deal. You’re worth more than it’ll cost me. I assume I was merely another convenient outlet for venting your pent up passions. Wasn’t I? Don’t try to hand me any bull, because I’m a shrink, sweetheart, and I’ll know if you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes."

"I guess you were, at that. Well, is my head screwed on straight, doctor?"

"Our date wasn’t in the line of duty. I can’t book you in as a patient and date you again, so if I’m asked to analyze you, I’ll have to decline the assignment and put you down as a personal friend. I think you’re nice, and I’d like to see you again. If my frank remarks offend you, I apologize and promise to keep my observations to myself in the future. Say you’ll go out with me again, Jean. I had a wonderful time and I’ll promise you the moon, if you honor me with another date."

"It doesn’t bother you to know that I wasn’t born a girl?"

"Should it? You had no control over what happened. I already mentioned I can swing both ways, as long as I’m the one assuming the dominant role. I won’t suck any man’s cock, no matter how good the person looks."

"But, you sucked mine, not half an hour ago."

"That. That’s no cock. It’s a clit, Jean. When’s the last time you had a hard on?"

 

"Not in years. I can hardly remember what it was like. I don’t miss them, much."

"There’s a fine line separating genders, Jean. ---You’re shivering. Let’s go inside. Dew is forming on the swing. You’ll catch a chill if we stay out here much longer."

"Are you sure you want to?

"There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do at the moment. I have the entire day off tomorrow. It’s Sunday. I can stay for as long as you’d like me to, and do whatever you want, if that’s what you want to know. "

"Well, Ron and Ellie will be in her room, if I know her. I would like to ask you for your professional advise about a few things, if you don’t mind. I can put on a pot of coffee and we can sit and talk in our kitchenette or in the living room. They’re both small, but they won’t hear us talking in either one. They’ll be busy."

 

Jean put on a pot of coffee. She wanted Jim to see her managing her way about a kitchen. She wanted to ease into discussing her future without making him feel tense or reluctant to be candid with her. He recognized her motives and tried to put her at ease. His experience as a counselor enabled him to measure every move she made, as body language was far more reliable than spoken words to a trained psychologist.

"We’re out of cream. Want the powdered variety, or do you prefer to drink your coffee black? I can’t stand that powdered milk, personally. It tastes like paste."

"I’ll take the paste, uh, powder. A kitchen suits you, Jean. You appear to be at home in one. Is that what you’re driving at? Want to be a housewife someday?"

"That’s the issue, but I’m wondering if I should try to go back and be a husband. My mom will never forgive me if I came back and showed my face like this to her family and friends. I’d be a disgrace to her and to the memory of my dad. He was quite a man. He administered monthly testosterone shots to keep me looking like a boy. When he died, I started to slowly change. I wasn’t too shocked by what happened at the time, because the navy doctor aboard ship counseled me.

My breasts started to grow, so that I was hard to pass as a man. He wanted me to volunteer for a mission, posing as a nurse, so I agreed and he surgically hid my remaining telltale evidence. He didn’t give me an adequate opening for sex, though. That came later at Pearl. I had a civilian OBGYN do it, so I could perform like a real girl in bed and pass as a woman under close scrutiny. It isn’t as deep as a real vagina, but it’s functional and felt marvelous with you inside me.

The rest of me is natural, although some of my fat was redistributed to help."

Jim pulled her to him. "You look fine to me. Your face is clear, your breasts full, and any man would love to have you ride his swagger stick. As for your mother, women are more aware of their bodies than men. When they enter a room, their breasts precede them. Their bared legs are always on display. I’m sure that she noticed your hips sway when you were younger and the way you hold your wrists so naturally limp. If she didn’t, she was trying to ignore the obvious.

Without sufficient testosterone, your mind perceives men as sex objects, not as fellows, but as members of the opposite sex, regardless of physical plumbing. The body is a factory. It produces several hormones, besides testosterone and the two main feminine ones: estrogen and progesterone that regulate women’s monthly cycles. They’re names aren’t important, but knowing how they affect your mind is. How do you feel about yourself? Do you detest being feminine?"

"No, not at all. When my changes came about, I sort of felt a sense of relief, as I wasn’t much of a man to start. I was male, but I had a deep sense of dread, as if I’d be labeled a pansy because of my limp. My butt sways like a girl’s, too."

"It’s very becoming on you. Watching you walk is exciting. I’ll bet guys all stare as you go by. They don’t mean to be obvious, but you can’t blame them. It’s very sexy. Men love to see a swaying fanny on a pretty girl, and yours is a real treat."

So you think I should remain this way?"

"I didn’t say that. What I think or others think is immaterial. What you think is the only thing that matters. Think of your unusual condition as a distinct advantage. How many people get to decide which gender is better for them? A mere fraction of the world’s population has anything to say in the matter. You do. I didn’t get to choose what I’d be when I grew up.

Chromosomes dictate the gender each of us will be at birth. Yours are vague. You can pick one or the other. Even the biggest brutes have an x chromosome. That means they have a feminine and not be upset because can have a good cry every once in a while. Not often, because of the predominance of testosterone in them that makes them giants in our eyes. They still can produce minute amounts of estrogen, if they need it to show loving compassion.

When your source of testosterone ceased to be available, your body probably started to produce more estrogen to offset the deficiency of influencing hormones and you became more feminine in your appearance. Consider yourself lucky. You were deprived of the testosterone when you were young enough to allow the feminine hormones to grow breasts.

Look at Jean. She’s plain by comparison. A trained eye can see the remnants of her beard’s effect on the pores of her chin, and the telltale lump at her throat from her goiter. You are a gorgeous woman. If you prefer being feminine, stay just as you are. Why would you ever want to go back to being a man?"

"To have children. My sperm was taken before my testes were removed and is preserved in a vault in Omaha. With it, I can bring a child of my own into the world. I can’t depend on my brother Joe to give my mom the joy of a playing with grandchild on her knee. It would be nice to have her and dad’s genes continue"

"Is that all? What’s your rush? Soon, doctors will be able to artificially inseminate an ovum with your sperm, and you don’t even have to be present. Why pose as a man? You can have the baby’s mother carry the fetus fertilized by your sperm to full term. Prepare a contract to release your child to you, after the baby is born, and you can claim it is yours, legally, because you can prove that it is. That is more than most men can do. During the pregnancy, you can stuff your dresses with pillows to portray a maternal image, and stop when the baby is born.

I’ll look into it. A lot of work in the field of genetics is going on because of women taking men’s jobs during this crisis. Some of them won’t want to go back to being trapped in a house full of kids all day. When the combatants return home, they’ll be faced with a different kind of war. Women will fight to remain in the workplace in the jobs they want, not one their husbands’ choosing.

For four years I was deferred to counsel women filling dominant roles, managing factories and the offices of shorthanded defense plants. That’s a corker. These ‘defense’ plants are where the offensive weapons are made to win the war. I was shipped out here at the urgent request of the military to debrief the bomber crews after they dropped their loads on the enemy. Men have a hard time justifying the deaths of civilians in any land. The world below looks just like America from thirty thousand feet. Killing people you can’t even see is a terrifying experience.

Talking to you about returning to manhood is easy. Try talking sense to a bomber pilot that wants to return to his childhood, so he doesn’t have to kill women and children with incendiary bombs from within a safe haven, far beyond harm. If the enemy’s planes were barking at their heels, they might be to busy to consider what the bombs do after they fall from under the wings of their airships.

 

The enemy hasn’t the technology to defend again the B-29’s altitude capabilities.

They’re sitting ducks, pummeled to death day after day, by the constant aerial bombardment launched from here, Guam, Saipan and other islands. Still they refuse to submit to an obviously superior force. My training helps me to be blind to this kind of slaughter, but no san man can plead ignorance to participating in wholesale massacre. There must be a way to convince them it is over, that they have fought bravely, but they are already beaten beyond death, beaten into total submission, and they cannot resist further."

"Would it be better, overall, if we could somehow show them such a terrible force, that their will to adhere to ancient customs would crumble along with their worn out, ineffective military hierarchy, so the rest of Japan could save face?"

"Certainly. Then, maybe they could surrender with honor and dignity."

"I think our scientists are working on something like that. We’ll soon see."

"The magic bomb big enough to wipe out a whole city? I heard the rumors going around about a bomb like that. I doubt if there is such a thing. There isn’t a plane built big enough to carry a weapon of that size. It’s smoke and mirrors."

"That’s what the emperor thinks, too. You’re a psychologist. How would you go about trying to convince a despot that he’s beaten and his country failed to dominate the world as he planned it would, Jim?"

"The entire nation would have to be shown indisputable proof. Still, he won’t give in as long as his people still believe the lies they’ve been told about their ability to successfully overcome temporary hardships and triumph victoriously. The people in Japan have to seriously question his acclaimed invincibility. That trick will take some doing. To the people of Japan, their emperor is like a god. You’d sooner convince all of Christendom and Judaism that God Almighty isn’t all-powerful."

"That could take forever, Jim. Will we be at war for the duration?"

"This emperor thinks it’s time to think of sex and forget about Japan for a while."

Jim took Jean in his arms and kissed her. "Are you going to send me home or invite me to spend the night with you?"

"I was getting to that. Want the couch or would you prefer to share my bed with me. It’s not big, but the manufacturer’s warranty claims the frame will withstand the weight of two, or refund the purchase price."

"Let’s test it."

She led him to her small bedroom. "Let me undress you, first. I often saw it done in shadowy ‘adults only’ films and wondered what the big deal was. I’m sure my body holds no mystery, but with the lights off we can make believe we’re Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, deeply in love before a theatre full of people."

They didn’t waste any time. Soon, both were exhausted from spent passion and the heat of the still night. "Joshua’s horn wasn’t needed this time, as it was in the movie: ‘It Happened One Night’. --- But, they did share one pair of pajamas.

 

 

 

Chapter Seventeen.

 

 

Jean woke first. She quietly slipped from her bed, went into the bathroom, took a hot shower and returned to her room, brushing her hair. The red disk in the lining of her pillowcase startled her. "Jim! Jim, wake up! Something terrible happened. There’s been a radiation leak!" Her shouts roused Ron and Ellie, as well as Jim.

The three surrounded Jean with quizzical looks on their sleepy faces. At 9:00 in the morning, they were grumpy, intent on sleeping later for a change. Ellie spoke first. "What’s wrong, Jean? Oh, hi, Jim. Didn’t know you were still here. Do we need to evacuate the place?"

Jean pointed to her pillow’s red disk. "It changed color, Ellie. What do we do?"

Ron took the pillowcase off the pillow. "I have to report in. Something’s up."

Jim spoke up. "Oh, that. Damn, I forgot. Happened before. It’s this crucifix next to my dog tags. Glows in the dark and sets those buggers off. Sorry. Got it from one of my past patients to protect me. I didn’t have the heart to refuse the old girl and wear it all the time. Got another one of those gizmos handy? I’ll show you."

Ellie went into her room and returned carrying her pillow. Jim swiped its disk with the pale crucifix and the color slowly changed from yellow to red. "See?"

The three gave Jim a dirty look and their cheeks cocked in unison as if they were about to pounce on him. He didn’t know he scared the living daylights out of all three of them. "Hey. I didn’t know you’d hide those dumb things in your pillows. How was I supposed to know? Keep those things out of reach, or where a guy can see them. They’ll change back in a few minutes. No harm’s been done."

Ellie threw the pillow at him and stormed out of Jean’s bedroom. No one said a word to him until he joined the three in the kitchenette, after washing his face.

"You gave us a scare, Jim. The girls have them to alert them of exposure to any nuclear radiation. They work in a clinic where men who were previously exposed are treated. They’re meant to warn the girls that they left the lab with something that is ‘hot’. You may not have meant to give us heart attacks, but you nearly did. I know you have the necessary clearance, so I might as well tell you something that will knock your socks off. But what I tell you goes no further. Understand?"

"Cut the crap, Ron. I wouldn’t be here if I was a security risk. You’ve known me for years. That’s why you recommended me. What’s up, pal?"

"We have a bomb. This thing can level a city. It can end the war if it works right. The mechanism is complex, so the eggheads are working out necessary details. When they do, the whole world will know about it. Until then, we can’t risk anyone jeopardizing the delivery’s implementation."

 

"Where are they going to find a plane big enough to carry this thing, and how do the girls fit into the picture? Surely they’re not going to deliver the bomb."

"Sit down, all three of you. The rest may come as a surprise to you all. No, Jim, the women are here because they’re already sterile from unrelated incidents in their pasts. Their clinic is set up to treat people with radiation poisoning. Virile men or women shouldn’t come in contact with radiation victims until we know more about how dangerous second-hand exposure is. The civilian doctors are working on it.

Jean’s body is resistant to ill effects of radiation to a higher-than-normal degree. She was exposed to it at Los Alamos when little was known about the danger. She wasn’t harmed but others who administered to patients along with Jean came down with radiation sickness from second-hand exposure.

The eggheads believe her testosterone shots, given to her by her father, over a long period of time, in minute quantities, were irradiated. He took testosterone from his body fluids that the scientist believe contained accumulated low doses of the radiation from a myriad of tests he conducted on microbes. Those shots may be responsible for her bolstered immunity. According to the scientists, we all have immunity to some degree, but Jean’s is markedly higher, so second-hand exposure doesn’t harm her. She is unwittingly a valuable asset to the research for ways to combat the effects of radiation. The disks here are to alert us of any spurious radiation the girls may be exposed to, like from that crucifix you wear.

Four great minds are testing every possible link to her immunity for a way to give it to others. They hope to replicate the factor soon, and speed up the means of transmission of that factor to servicemen that might be exposed while delivering the bomb. Sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, girls, but the doctors are afraid you’ll change habits or do something to alter the structure of Jean’s immunity.

You two girls hit it off after your last mission. Ellie’s been a stalwart pal to Jean. She’s been kept under wraps at Pearl with Jean until the chemists arrived here to test their theories about Jean’s unique ability. The navy brass figured out a way to have Jean excused from duty as a corpsman in a combat unit to reduce the chances of her being a casualty. They simply changed all her records to match the changes that were taking place in her body aboard ship, when she stopped taking testosterone shots. Her isolation aboard ship covered the identity change.

Now, I’m going to have to explain what happened here last night to the scientists. There’s no need to keep you in the dark any longer, girls, as you will all soon be interrogated because of the disks’ color change. Jim, I can’t believe I missed your wearing a crucifix. I’ve been so careful about who came in contact with the girls lately. Why did you have to have that thing on your dog tag chain? A few weeks from now, it wouldn’t have mattered. The doctors are sure they’re that close to revealing what makes Jean immune."

"You’re a skunk, Ron Richards. Can’t we be trusted?" Why weren’t we informed of the real reason for our being here? Why the cloak and dagger? I’ve known something was fishy, way back on Pearl. You rat!" Ellie was rightfully offended.

"Knowing wouldn’t have helped, and could have interfered. I have a job to do."

"So, you only sleep with me so I don’t spread rumors to men I date. Is that it?"

"Ellie, believe me. At first, long ago, it was only a part of my job. It that isn’t true anymore. You have to believe me, honey. I’ve grown to love you more and more with every passing day. I want you all to myself. I really couldn’t tell you more until a few days ago, and was planning to do it today, until Jim screw things up."

"Say, can Jean and I get lost? We’ll go to her room and get dressed, then take a walk, unless you’re still concerned we’ll cause another security problem."

"No, go ahead. I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to explain the real reasons for our being here to the surface. I knew I had to, sooner or later. I have more to say to Ellie in private. I’d appreciate if you take your time. About an hour should do it."

"Sure thing."

Jean and Jim went back to the courtyard and sat on the swing. "I think Ron loves Ellie a lot, Jim. What do you think? Is he sincere, or is he feeding her a line?"

"I don’t have to think. He confided it to me before he introduced me to the two of you. He was worried I’d make a play for Ellie instead of you. He’s got it pretty bad for her, but he’s afraid to make a commitment, with the war on and all."

"I’ve got it bad, too, Jeanie. You’re perfect. I’m nuts about you. I thought I’d never see the day a woman would sweep me off my feet. You did. I don’t want to talk about anything else. I have to know how you feel about me. Things you said last night made me wish you’d never want to go back to being a man again.

I never got married, because I have a deep secret. I can tell you, because I know that you’ll understand. You’d know more about how I feel than anyone, because you and I share a common passion. Want to hear more?"

"I want to hear all there is to know about you Jim. I wouldn’t have talked so freely about my future last night if I didn’t care for you a great deal. Maybe it isn’t love at first sight. Maybe it’s only friendship with someone I feel I can trust, but you sure thrilled me like no other man last night. You’re the first man I spent an entire night with, because the others were only a way for me to express my willingness to be a woman, mere proof it was the right thing to do. It’s funny, but with you, because you know I was once a boy and didn’t spook, I want to know all about you. Tell me everything."

"I dress up like a woman on occasion. I’m obsessed with wearing silky things. If I could dress like you do, all the time, I think I’d be the luckiest man on earth."

Jean smiled. "It could be a convenient if we wore the same sizes. Think of the huge wardrobe we could share if we live together. Ellie is much bigger. We can’t share a thing. You look more like a size fourteen. I wear a size twelve in most of my clothes. With the right exercises, we could share everything. What fun we could have together!"

"We could have fun together, no matter what we wear. Remember what I said last night about having kids someday?"

"You mean my claiming a baby was mine, because it really was?"

"Say that you’ll live with me, and I’ll publicly take the credit for being the child’s father. No girl should have to face ridicule for giving birth without a husband. I’d like to be your husband, even if we can’t get married. I can take good care of you. When this thing’s over, I’ll return to my practice and specialize in men that feel they must adopt womanhood."

"You’d do that for me?"

"Absolutely, unless you’d rather someone else did."

"I’d feel like a fraud, if I did that, because I think I love you, Jim."

"How would you feel about reverting to acting like a man again?"

"The same. I think I’d be a fraud."

"Me too. I think you’ll make a lovely wife. And someday, who knows? You’d make a wonderful mother."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen.

 

An hour later, Ron and Ellie interrupted the couple’s conversation and cuddling session on the swing. "We’re heading over to my office. Get your purse, Jean. You two are coming along with us."

"Hey! I’m a civilian. Are you asking me or telling me, Mr. Boss man?"

"I’ll have you arrested and brought to me in irons if I have to, Jim. Humor me, will you? I have to report the reason for the disks’ change in color and need to know if it’s a real problem. I’ll find out if one of the scientists can meet us at the clinic to make sure everything is kosher. And, take off of that trinket, or you’ll set off every alarm in my office with it. Leave it out in my jeep. We’ll take your car."

 

"It was an unavoidable slip-up, Dr. Cameron. I didn’t notice he wore it under his shirt, or I’d have had him take it off. It didn’t register on the Geiger counter in my office, when I invited Jim over to discuss his going out on a date with Jean. I had it on my desk when he was there. So help me, it didn’t register."

"Your Geiger counter was set to read higher levels, Ron. No matter. Everything is under control. Now that Jean is aware of our objective, we can use her saliva and samples of her blood with her cooperation in addition to her body eliminations. In a few days, we’ll know more. No need to start today. Tell the women I’ll arrange to have a regular toilet reinstalled at their apartment. That ridiculous one we had installed was of little value. It was hard to isolate samples. Anything else?"

"No doctor. I’m sorry I had to ask you to drop by on your day off."

"My day off? What day off, Richards? The ladies take days off to keep them from getting under foot. We’ve been working ‘round the clock. We haven’t any time to lose. Even if we can’t isolate the unknown factors, we’ll gather the information we gain to develop improved treatment techniques with what we have.

Thank you for advising me of the incident. We did consider the effects of radium treated phosphors. We’ll add a few tests with blood samples we’ll take from your psychologist friend, as well, after we find out how long he’s been wearing the phosphorescent icon. If you don’t need me any further, I’ll return to my lab."

 

They returned to the apartment, picked up swimwear, and spent the rest of the day off on the beach after the men stopped to get their swimsuits and blankets. Walking along the roaring surf in the moonlight, arm and arm, was a wonderful way to blank out the memory of the morning’s escapade.

 

 

August 7, 1945.

 

 

 

The enormity of the horror of the mass devastation caused at Hiroshima on the preceding day shocked everyone present in the room as Dr. Cameron advised them of the detonation of the world’s first atomic bomb used in conflict. 137.5 pounds of uranium 235 split into two sections after being dropped from a B-29 flying at 31,600 feet. Nuclear fission began after it fell to an altitude of 800 feet.

The ensuing blast was that of an estimated equivalence of thirteen thousand ton of T.N.T. and reached temperatures hotter than the sun at the epicenter of the huge fireball that sent a mushroom-shaped cloud that rose miles ominously into the clear sky over Hiroshima. At the instant of detonation, the nuclear material reached several million degrees, centigrade. At the hypocenter, iron and granite melted. Within one mile, anything made of wood: buildings trees, fences or rail ties, all spontaneously ignited and vanished almost instantly.

Still, no word of surrender was heard from the emperor of Japan.

On August 9, a second bomb made of plutonium was dropped over the city of Nagasaki with similar results.

Somber faces dealt with the news of urgent plans to dispatch medical teams to treat the countless casualties at the sites of the massive conflagrations caused by the immense heat of the nuclear explosions. There was little hope for making any small contribution to the unfortunate victims’ fate.

Awaiting the return of the second crew of airmen, the four scientists devised a battery of diagnostic tests to assure they were not subject to radiation poisoning. Measures to defend them from exposure developed in the lab and elsewhere to minimize the men’s risk were deemed effective. The airmen all returned safely and were released after thorough examination. The mission of this small sector of the Secret Service was finished.

 

Chapter Nineteen --- Our heroine?

 

Jean was eventually mustered out and returned to San Diego with Jim in tow. Ron and Ellie were with them, too. Ron decided to continue serving in the military and was stationed in San Diego, living with Ellie, soon after their return stateside.

Ron never asked Jim to vouch for his integrity for a detective’s license. He and Ellie lived an otherwise simple life together. He was fiercely protective of Ellie, and two preferred living an obscure lifestyle without further public scrutiny.

Jim returned to his practice, with his lovely ‘wife’ as his receptionist and therapist. However, Jim soon became prominent by treating gender related disorders and eventually founded a small network of psychologists serving patients with similar issues. A few patients speculated about the degree of truth in the rumors of Jim’s ‘wife’s’ real identity, so she retired from being an ogled ‘gender bender’ and being the object of lifted eyebrows. They wanted to live peacefully with their neighbors

Jean preferred living like the other women in her neighborhood; concentrating on gathering new recipes they swapped regularly to tantalize their husbands’ palate.

She had a hard time keeping Jim from putting on excess weight, but managed to keep him slim enough to wear her clothes, enlisting the aid of proper foundations. She loved teasing him about his protruding tummy and helped to keep it hidden away in a delightful array of corsetry hand sewn by a discreet couturier to mold his body contours so that he could wear her things over scrumptious curves.

His reward for abandoning his early insistence on always being the dominant of the two was constant sexual arousal as he diligently labored at orally worshiping her manmade tunnel of love. Dressed in his finest satin lingerie, night after night, they played at their secret games whenever they were alone together.

 

As they had mutually arranged before leaving San Diego, the two couples often took turns visiting each other to preserve the unique camaraderie that brought them together on Tinian. They met regularly for five years, seemingly happy with life, and the girls were perpetual pen pals. One trip, it was Jim’s turn to be host.

That’s when Ron accidentally discovered Jim’s passion for feminine finery. He detected a hint of lace under his friend’s trousers while out on the golf course. Jim bent over to retrieve his ball from the cup on the fifteenth green and his taut pants covering his twin globes showed the outline of lacey edges. "Is it catchy?"

At first Jim denied it, but Ron recognized guilt in Jim’s voice and pushed the man for an honest answer. He tried to claim it was one of Jean’s frivolous pranks, but again he got caught in a lie. Ron didn’t let up. He wanted to hear Jim say wearing Jean’s undies was his fetish, not something imposed on him. Under pressure of an apt interrogator, Jim crumbled and admitted the lacey panties were his own, relieved to hear Ron say it was nice of Jim empathize with his mate’s harrowing experience of becoming so feminine that she had to pose as a woman for life.

"Wait a minute. It isn’t harrowing for Jean, Ron. It comes natural to her. You’d be surprised how nice lacey things feel, once you’ve tried it and start to experiment."

"That’s what I thought. You like doing it. Don’t you? I tried it, with Ellie’s urging. Sorry, I’d feel like an idiot wearing panties. Maybe you have a feminine streak, Jim. I don’t. I let Ellie wear all the frills. Turns both of us on when she does, too."

The two men decided to finish their round of golf and not discuss Jim’s attraction to lacey underwear until later. When they finished, they passed on showering at the crowded clubhouse and drove to Jim’s house to find a note left by Jean that she and Ellie went out shopping and expected to return sometime after six.

They showered. Ron used the bathroom by the guest room. They met at Jim’s bar for a quick drink before the girls arrive in time to go out to dinner. Jim caught Ron checking the back of his slacks for further signs of panties like the ones he wore earlier. That led them to the conversation left hanging at the golf course.

"Maybe wearing panties when Ellie asks isn’t enough, Ron. You ought to try on an entire outfit, or even get a complete changeover."

"Come again?"

"A changeover. Talk it over with Ellie. She’ll know what I mean. She had to start from scratch when she suddenly had to learn how to appear and behave totally feminine in every way, after twenty-five years of living as a man, a tough marine, for over two years, at that. It had to be a tough task for her. You know, if Ellie could do it, so could you. You showing some interest might bring the two of you closer together. I noticed she isn’t as happy as she’s been in the past. Care to discuss the status your current love life, or I am I getting to personal?"

"It’s that obvious, eh? She has had the blues for over six months. Claims that I don’t pay as much attention to her as I used to. I think she’s worried that I might have lost interest, but it isn’t true, Jim. Damn! She still gets my motor running, but I’m afraid she’s tiring of me. I expected the urgency to slow gradually, but our sex isn’t anything like it used to be. Does putting Jean’s stuff on help you to keep the emotional level high? I’d give it a try if I thought it would do us any good."

"Ron, to be honest, I seldom wear any of Jean’s things. Oh, I can get into them, but some styles look better on some people than on others. I have two separate closets. One is full of feminine clothes. I own everything you can imagine, that sexy women normally wear, except those new slacks that became popular since women started working in factories during the war. No, slacks are not high on my priority list, I’m afraid. If I dress up at all, it’s too look sexy, not manly.

Care to take a peek?"

"Me? Look into your closets? Not me! What I saw hiding under your pants was enough for me to know I can believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Jim. I wasn’t trying to pry, just curious about your reasoning, nothing more."

"Thou protest too loudly, my friend. Are you worried that you’ll find my choice of attire intriguing? Too bad! You’ll need to lose that gut of yours before you could fit into any of my clothes. Wait! There are a few things that are stretchy and might fit you. Let’s have a look, shall we?"

"Forget it No thanks, just the same, Jim. I’ll take your word for it. You’re not getting me to put on anything feminine, so you can make fun out of me. Ellie and Jean are proof enough a man can look sexy, if he tries hard enough. I don’t see why you want to do it, though. A guy is supposed to look at woman’s fashions as a spectator sport, not a player. Ellie wants her man to look the part of a man."

"You’re a chicken, Ron. You’re scared shitless that wearing panties will turn you on more than seeing Ellie in them. Jean will scream when she finds out. She had you pegged, dead to rights: a wimp with bravado, when you two first met. I think you ought to show more nerve. Pock -- pock. Pock, pock, pock, pock."

"That’s all I need. Go ahead, Jim. Have a good laugh. Let Jean be the boss and keep you in skirts. It doesn’t bother me a bit. Your heavy beard line will make you stand out in a crowd like a real ‘bow-wow’. Go put something sexy on. I haven’t had a good laugh in weeks. See what another man thinks of you in a dress. Hey, if you get dressed up, I’ll take the three of you ladies out for steaks and pick up the tab. Is it a deal? I dare you. Shit, I have a new 35mm camera. A picture is worth a thousand words, so they say. I’d like a few shots of you to show to my friends in San Diego what the babes in Denver wear these days. Ha, ha, ha, ha."

"No problem, Ron. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I get to pick the restaurant and I’ll buy if you don’t think I pass muster. It will me take an hour or so, so see if you can pick up something on the television set I bought for Jean while your waiting. Don’t bang on the thing. It doesn’t help and cost me fifty bucks the time I tried that. Help yourself to the bar, when you finish that drink. You’ll need a stiff one when you see me next, besides the one in your pants, so have one at the ready.

Oh, I failed to mention. I had a great teacher help me to learn a few neat tricks to look fairly presentable. Oh, and another thing. When the girls arrive, tell them I had to see a patient. And, when I come out, you have to introduce me to Ellie as a girl from the golf course: Jasmine, who fell in love with you and simply can’t live without you. With any luck, she’ll faint before she breaks a vase over your head."

 

"Sure, sure. This I have to see. Maybe it’ll cheer Ellie up. She’s been wallowing in self-pity too long. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though. She may put a cease in your skull for making light of what she went through. If you think she’s going to like seeing you in a dress, think again. Like I said before. This I gotta see!"

And see he did. Jasmine was sizzling sexy heat. Ellie expected to see a female rendition of Jim, because Jean told her he was dabbing into femininity with some degree of success when they talked long-distance. Ron Richards got the shock of his life. The girl was pretty as a picture when she came out of the bedroom.

Ron instinctively stood up when she strolled in. His eyes homed in on the breasts peeking out of a tight bodice. "Hi." Then it sunk in. "Jasmine? Whoa! I don’t. You can’t be. How is it possible?" He was speechless and shook his head a few times to see if he was imagining what he saw in a midnight blue dress that was painted on the body that should have been a parody on his old pal Jim. "I, uh, Ellie, Jean, uh, this is Jasmine. I brought her home from the golf course. She, uh, thinks that she’s in love, and can’t live without me. I think that’s what he, uh, she said to tell you. Right? Is it?" Ron looked at Jim to bail him out.

Jasmine didn’t say a word, and Ellie nearly went into a fiery rage, but Jean held her back. Then, Ellie recognized why. "Omigod! Jim? Is that you, honey? Wow! Jean told me she taught you how to play dress up, but you look fantastic! Get me a camera! I want to capture the silly look on Ron’s face, before he passes out. How many drinks have you had, Ron? Are you going to make it through dinner?"

"He’s buying. I set him up for a fall, Ellie. He didn’t know I could pass. Honestly, Ellie. Didn’t you know it was me, at first?"

"Not until Jean pulled me back before I clobbered stupid. I doubt she would have bothered stopping me if she thought Ron really brought a gorgeous doll like you to threaten me with replacement. God Jim! You look fantastic. Who makes your undergarments? I simply have to get one for myself."

For the next hour, after being fed three cocktails to loosen her up, Ellie hung on Jasmine like they were long lost friends. Jean joined the conversation about how Jim started to emulate her to rid her of a minor complex about how masculine she looked wearing foundations under her dresses. Supposedly, Jim proved her waist would look thin as any girl’s by showing his finite curves in one to prove his point. She liked how he looked in the corset and encouraged him to share the nuisance women must tolerate to look sexier. They went out as girls together on occasion and had great times partying, once Jim learned to apply makeup over a beard cover to hide his chin’s heavy beard shadow.

 

Ron was left out of the conversation entirely and was about to refresh his drink when Jean said it was time to leave for the restaurant. She handed him her keys.

"You drive, Ron. We’ll use my car. It’s at the end of the drive. Jasmine still has a bit of trouble driving in heels." When they got out to the car, Ron had to open the door for each of them. Jean took the front seat to direct Ron on the way. Jasmine sat in the back with Ellie, where Ron could see her face in the rear view mirror.

As they drove off, the conversation resumed, and Ron was left out, once again. The three women behaved as if he wasn’t even in the car with them. When he got to the first corner, he had to get Jean’s attention. "Which way?" His right hand brushed her leg as he said it. She held it there, and pointed with her left hand.

"Left ten blocks, then a right until we get to the downtown area. I’ll cue you."

 

Her hand toyed with his, as he drove one handed to a business district. The two in the back were jabbering like sisters. Ron was beginning to get annoyed.

 

"Marion Hills Restaurant is about a mile up on the left, Ron. You can’t miss it. They have a huge neon sign on the lawn out front, and a white balcony over the wide entranceway. Take the second drive; the one marked ‘entrance’. If you get lost, give a holler. Watch the odometer and don’t go to far." Her hand dropped onto his thigh, and he was getting clear signals that Jean was his date for the rest of the evening. With Ellie ignoring him, it wasn’t hard to accept the invitation.

 

The conversation lulled, and he could swear the two in the back seat were doing something he couldn’t see. Jasmine’s eyes met his and she smiled. Guilt was on her face. He could tell, despite the lack of light, that they were up to no good. The passing streetlamps gave off enough for him to see a pulsing flash of her painted face. Ellie was silent. Ron’s temper was strained to the limit.

"There it is. Pull in, Ron." cried Jean. Her hand moved to his crotch when Jean leaned across him to point out the marquis in front of the restaurant. "They have a band playing tonight. Good we can dance after having dinner." Jean was telling Ron, not the two in the back seat. They were paying no attention to Jean, and Ron could not see Jasmine’s face in the rear view mirror. He wanted to turn around briefly, but had to watch where he was driving. As he pulled up into the entranceway, he could hear the two rearrange themselves in the back seat.

He thought he must have been imagining things when he got out of the car. The doorman opened the other three car doors and the women walked ahead while Ron brought up the rear, like a caboose, after collecting the parking chip. They all ignored him again as they walked three abreast to the foyer podium and gave his name to the maitre d’. "Jasmine Randolph, party of four." His felt it was a party of three carrying excess baggage along to pay the food bill.

They waited for a waiter to fetch them to a darkened booth in the corner of the dining room. Heads turned towards the stunning women as they passed other patrons seated at tables in the crowded room. The waiter bowed. "Good evening mademoiselle Jasmine. So nice to see you again." He assisted Ron in seating the ladies. Ron wanted to sit next to Ellie, but she sat at one edge of the booth next to Jasmine, forcing Ron to take a seat opposite Ellie and next to Jean.

Jean’s hand went back to his thigh. She was teasing him, knowing he was trying to remain unnerved, so Ellie wouldn’t make a scene. Her hand slipped between his legs, unseen, and Jean smiled at him, posing innocence. Her other arm was propped beneath her chin with her elbow on the table, nonchalantly gazing into his face, and feigned listening to Ellie and Jasmine chatter away. She was toying with him, knowing he had to resist. Her hand slowly fell between his legs and ran up and down his fly. He looked down, and then slowly up at her face. Her smile grew wider, as she said: "Is something wrong Ron? You look pale."

"I’d like a word will Jasmine, Ellie. Would you mind sitting on this side with Jean and let me sit next to Jasmine?"

"Ronald, be a dear. We’re talking. You’ll have plenty of time to talk with her after we dine. You’re not being polite to Jean. She’s been trying to get your attention in the worst way, and you keep ignoring her. You felt differently about her at Pearl. You begged me to look after her. Can’t you please look after Jean for just a little while, dear? Don’t you like her anymore? I simply have to talk to Jasmine, now."

 

"You know damn well what I’m talking about." Ron was irritated.

"Oh, alright." Ellie traded places with Ron. After he sat down, Jasmine slid closer and put her hand on his thigh as Jean had done. Jean kissed Ellie on the cheek, so Jasmine followed suit and kissed Ron’s cheek, which brought on a round of laughter from all but Ron. Then, Ellie kissed Jean and looked to Ron. "Well?"

Ron pecked Jasmine’s cheek. "That’s better" as the waiter brought them menus and a cocktail waitress came asking for drink orders.

"Scotch. A Rob Roy, straight up." The others declined, asking for iced tea.

"Will you be able to handle a car after a few more of those, honey? You’d better give Jean the keys. We’ll decide who is driving after dinner." Ellie picked up the menu before her could comment. Rather than incite her fury, he took the parking chip from his pocket and handed it to Jean. The anger welling up in his eyes was so obvious; the waiter came to the table and asked if everything was satisfactory.

"It’s your car, Jean. You drive back, please. I’m not in a mood to argue with Ellie over my drinking habits tonight." Jasmine’s hand touched Ron’s thigh and he jumped. "Cut it out, Jim. This has gone far enough." When his drink arrived, he tasted it. It had been watered down. He set it down on the table and chuckled.

"Am I being an ass in public tonight? They watered down my drink."

Jasmine put her hand on his, and tasted his drink with the other. She also could tell the drink was diluted. One look told her Ron was about to explode.

"I’m sorry for making the bet, Ron. If I had known how hard you’d take losing a bet, I wouldn’t have made it. You were dishing out remarks to me fairly heavy at the house. You didn’t know I had practice and you thought I’d be a mockery in a dress, so you made fun of my wearing panties. It isn’t so funny now, is it?"

"It’s no reason for the waiter to water down my drink. Take your hands off me!"

"I will if you stop acting like a child, Ron. Keep your voice down, and smile as the waiter comes over. If you make a scene, he’ll throw you out on your ass faster than you can say ‘suck me off.’ See the cocktail waitress?"

"Yeah? What about her?"

"I saw a drunk try to get fresh with her. Harry picked him up with one hand by the back of his neck and carried him that way to the nearest exit. The guy never had to the nerve to show his face again. I don’t know if police were summoned to take him away, or if the girl pressed charges, or if he could snake away under his own power. We never saw him again, the jerk.

The way you’re behaving over losing a silly bet is a darn good way to get Harry’s attention. I recommend you try to get on his good side, instead. Don’t make any fuss over the drink. Please? Let it go. We have plenty of scotch and vermouth at the house. Let’s eat dinner and we can dance afterwards. I’ll even let you lead. How’s that? Want to dance with me, big boy?"

"No!" The waiter heard Ron’s terse remark and was approaching the table.

"Get up, Ron and ask me to dance, NOW!"

Ron stood, asked Jasmine to dance and got her quick acceptance, just as Harry arrived to find out why Ron raised his voice.

"Everything ok, Miss Jasmine? Miss Jean?"

"Oh, yes Harry. We were just going to have a spin around the dance floor in the lounge." Jasmine took Ron’s hand and led him away. Jean and Ellie followed them to watch the fireworks go off. Instead they saw Ron take Jasmine into his arms to dance with her. The two women shrugged and joined them, dancing to the lounge quartet’s rendition of the tune: ‘I’LL GET BY’.

"I can’t believe it, Jim. You’re as graceful a dancer as I’ve ever had the pleasure to hold in my arms. How did you learn to follow a man’s lead so well?"

"It’s Jasmine! Same way everyone else does. Someone teaches you."

"But, I’m leading without a problem, and you’re not resisting me."

"So? Ellie is leading, and Jean is following. It’s easy, Ron. When I’m wearing pants, I lead, when I’m in a dress, I follow. All women who dance learn to do both. Only men are too stubborn to learn. Some men refuse to climb out of their protective shells to see the world from a slightly different perspective. You’d be surprised what you learn about male superiority when wearing a dress."

"Here we go again. Jim –

"Jasmine."

"Okay, -- Jasmine. I don’t care what you say or do. You won’t see me putting on any women’s clothes, so save your breath. What you do is your business, but it sure doesn’t turn me on. If you enjoy it, it’s fine with me, and I think you do it well. I don’t, so I would rather you didn’t pursue this tack any further. If Ellie starts to bug me about it, we won’t be visiting with you two as often, if at all."

 

"Is that the trouble, Ron? Ellie doesn’t turn you on when she dresses sexily?"

"I didn’t say it that, you did. I love her, regardless of what she wears. I’ll do just about anything she’d ask, but not dress up like a woman. Our two girls lost their masculinity. Okay. I can live with Ellie’s origins, but she’s a woman now. I love her for what she is, not what she was. I think she loves me for being a man with enough sense to know she’s a woman. I don’t have to prove by example that a man can look like a woman to tell her I love the person that’s inside, not what’s on the surface. I’m not concerned that she imitates being female. She’s gone far beyond that, as far as I’m concerned. She’s a damn good woman, too."

"You’ll do anything that doesn’t violate the code, you mean. Didn’t you notice how excited Ellie is tonight? If you bend one inch, I’ll bet her moody days will soon be gone. She’s been through a nightmare. Think about it. How would you feel if you woke up and your sex organs were gone? Gone, forever.

When she met you, you gave her a good reason to pull her life together and stop chasing rainbows, sleeping with men to get someone’s confirmation that she was worth being alive. She had a good reason to stay alive, even if it was skimpy. She volunteered for dangerous combat thinking she’d get killed in action. You gave her a better reason to keep on living. What happened between you two?"

"I don’t know. I think other women in our neighborhood are always bragging to her about their families and it’s getting to her. Having kids is normal. I think she wishes we could have a family of our own, so we could be normal, too. We aren’t normal. I can accept that Jasmine, but she can’t. She’s busy planning something, but knows I’m against inheriting other people’s moral dilemmas. She wants to adopt. The agencies won’t let anyone that isn’t squeaky clean adopt kids.

I don’t want to have her get put through a wringer to get declined because of her past manhood. Those adoption agencies dig into your heritage and match kids to potential adoptive parents based on ethnic similarities. I checked it out, just to be sure. I told her what to expect, but she still wants to apply. She’ll find out what prejudice is all about, and not get what she wants, a child to raise.

You’re a shrink. What do you suggest?"

"You live in San Diego, Ron. Girls sneak across the border to get pregnant, or some of them are already pregnant when they arrive. Once their child is born, they can stay in the states, because immigration won’t expel the mother of an American citizen, if the child’s welfare is questionable. Think about it."

"I don’t get it. What’s that got to do with our adopting a baby?"

"These girls have no place to go, except to a ‘patron’ that will take advantage of a girl to make money off of her plight. If her family is poor, there are a few things a girl can do to sustain herself in a foreign land, where the natives aren’t cordial to her nationality. Think of the navy base. What do the gobs seek on liberty?"

"No way! I’m not getting a ‘hooker’ pregnant to take the baby from her for Ellie. It’s far too criminal. It’s a felony to traffic in illegal aliens, pal, especially the kind willing to sell their bodies for a living. Are you crazy?"

"Let’s drop it. You’re shouting again. We’ll have this conversation when you’re sober, Ron. You’re not thinking very clearly tonight."

"No. You have a plan. Let’s hear it, even if it is crazy!"

"Only if you’ll lower your voice. You want people to think we’re having a lover’s spat? Ellie and Jean are coming over. I promise to tell you what seems to be the perfect solution. This really isn’t the best place to explain it. I thought of it when I remembered why Harry threw out the bum that harassed the waitress I pointed out. I recall that she was recently pregnant at the time. Harry must have known."

Jean came over with Ellie in tow to tell Jasmine and Ron something. "Hi! It’s time we got back to the dining room. Harry is waiting to take our orders."

The four marched in line back to the dining room with Ron wondering why the big waiter beat up a paying customer over an incident with a cocktail waitress far too young to be the waiter’s girlfriend, wife or even a daughter. Cocktail waitresses soon learn how to handle unruly drunks with ease, not with muscle, unless --- the drunk in question was a threat to the girl somehow.

He then thought Jim must think just like a woman when he wore a dress. He, as a she, rambled on in vague circles about some potential deportee. That story of a girl in San Diego didn’t make any sense to him at all. What did Jasmine/Jim have in mind? What did he miss? Were the few strong drinks he had so potent, they impaired his normally keen power of perception? He was curious; too curious to wait ‘till he was sober.

Ron scurried to reach Ellie in time to arrange the seating to fit his purposes. He wanted to be seated next to Jasmine at dinner so he could ask her what she was about to say to him on the dance floor. If his friend forgot what he was going to tell Ron, Ron would be in turmoil until Jasmine/Jim remembered, which might not happen at all.

"Ellie. Would you mind very much if I sat next to Jasmine?"

"Suit yourself. Have you forgotten that the line about her being madly in love with you was a mere gag? IF you plan on getting lucky tonight, you’d better sit next to Jean, because you aren’t getting any from me, darling! Your girlfriend Jasmine has a better chance of spending the night in my bed. Jean’s your only hope. She had her hands all over your bulging crotch in the car, but you kept putting her off. What’s up with you tonight? Are you turning gay over your pretty golf partner?"

 

To be continued.

 

 

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© 2001 by Virginia Kane. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.