Trick or Treat 2 - Descent

by Enigma

Part 01

 

Sunday, November 1

My back was starting to hurt, and I had to pee. I was crouched on our kitchen floor, still clutching Sandy to me, mashing her against my ample breasts, rocking her, trying to will comfort into her chilled body. Behind me, Amy had her arms around both of us. Our tears had finally dried up, but I could tell that Sandy was still desolate, and I doubted Amy was doing much better. I knew I wasn't. And I wondered, not for the first time, and probably not for the last, how I had become the middle girl in this girl sandwich.

You see, two months ago, I was your average guy. Not a hunk, but not a wimp either. Good job, reasonably handsome, and happily married to the gorgeous girl hugging me from behind, Amy, the girl of my dreams. And we were happy, very happy together and very much in love. I truly felt Amy was the other half of my soul, and she felt the same about me. There was one main flaw in the picture. Sandy, Amy's long-standing best friend, hated me. Oh, not me specifically, men in general. She thought we were all heartless bastards, good for nothing but hard labor and fucking (literally and/or figuratively). She had been hostile to me ever since Amy and I started dating, well before we married. As much as Amy tried to convince her that many men, including me, aren't like she thought, Sandy was too bitter to believe.

Out of Sandy's prejudice and Amy's intense desire to achieve peaceful coexistence and hopefully friendship between her hubby and her best friend grew a complicated scheme that Sandy insisted was the only way I could overcome her enmity.

Basically, I had to become a woman. Well, not quite completely. I got to keep my male organs, but other than that, I was to become so nearly a woman that I could fool an entire gathering of people at the annual Halloween party. And if I could do that without masculine histrionics, she vowed to give friendship and trust a chance. To Sandy, I was figuratively giving up my manhood, temporarily, to prove my worthiness.

Halloween was yesterday, and I should be starting the return to manhood by now, but, as we should have guessed, there are complications. So now, as far as anyone could tell, I am Amy's double and live-in friend, or visiting twin, or whatever they assume. And it was looking like that could be permanent.

Complications? Nothing serious. Not! Just that I may have been given so much estrogen and anti-androgens that my male reproductive organs have shut down and may be damaged beyond repair. Just that I have been raped not once, but twice since becoming a woman. And just that I may be falling in love with another man. A kind, understanding man that first became my friend, then became something more.

And soon I must decide if I stay Jamie, or try to return to James. If the latter is even possible.

Geez, if I keep this up, I'm gonna dissolve into tears again. Damn female hormones! I've cried more in the last two months than in the first 28 years of my life.

I gave Sandy one last squeeze, kissed Amy soundly, and struggled out of our tangle so I could hurry off to the bathroom. I did my thing, and as I washed up, noticed my red puffy eyes and streaked makeup in the mirror over the sink. Liberal use of makeup remover, and a good scrubbing with cold water, and the mirror image was somewhat improved.

I noticed the scale as I was finishing up. Absent-mindedly I stepped on. A week ago, I had been 123 pounds, well down from the 145 I had been when this all started back in August. This time I was down another 4 pounds, to 119. I had never been a heavyweight, but now I was what, 6 pounds or so less than the last weight I knew for Amy.

As I exited the bathroom, I saw my reflection in the full length mirror. What I saw was a beautiful woman, even without makeup and with tousled hair, dressed in a sheer robe that really didn't hide much. Even between my legs I looked female, thanks to the gaff/fake vagina that I wore.

This was the image of my wife. But this wasn't my wife, it was me. I was the one that succumbed twice to men in situations that could have ruined my wife's career. I was the one who, willing or not, had cheated on our marriage. I was the one who had professed to my avowed lifemate that I was in love with another person. I was disgusted by what I saw in the mirror. I needed to hide.

I stripped off the robe and found the solvent that let me remove the gaff. Looking in the mirror again, I was relieved that I now showed at least some difference from Amy.

I searched my drawers and finally found some old sweats. They were bulky enough to obscure my curves. They hung loosely from my slimmed waist, but my broader hips and fanny kept them from falling off.

The image in the mirror now looked like Amy wearing sweats. But at least it hid some of these female curves.

I made my way to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and slumped into one of the chairs. Moments later, I heard the front door close, and then Amy stood in the kitchen doorway. I looked up at her, so beautiful, so loving, so much what I wanted in life. And I hung my head in shame, no longer able to look at her.

Amy sobbed, "Oh, God, you must hate me!" and I heard her bare feet running to the bedroom, and the bedroom door slamming. Her anguish wrenched at my core, and in spite of my personal shame, I hurried after her, finding her sobbing on our bed. I crawled in beside her, pulling her to me, murmuring assurances to her, willing my love into her. I fought back my own tears that were threatening to spill, knowing that this woman in my arms was the most important thing in the world, and whatever I felt, I must preserve and protect her.

When she finally calmed, I whispered "Don't you dare blame yourself for what has happened! I went into this with my eyes open. I made all the choices. And I am the one that made a hash of it all!" A sob erupted from my throat. "I love you. I need you. I need you to be strong, not burdened with guilt! I cannot survive this without you!"

Amy drew back and looked at me. "You love me?" I nodded. "Even after all that has happened to you, all that I have done to you?" There she was again, blaming herself, but I was fighting so hard to hold back my tears that all I could do was nod.

She sighed, and pulled me close again, burrowing her head against my neck. She started stroking my back soothingly. Then little kisses on my neck. We stayed that way for a while, then her hands became a little bolder, roaming over the curves hidden under the baggy sweats, and eventually slipping under the top to stroke my skin directly. For a while, this was comforting, and I just floated in a numb haze, but as Amy got bolder, trying to arouse me, it didn't feel right. We had always had a wonderful relationship and a great sex life together. We often used sex to sooth each other, to draw the other from depression or sorrow as well as to share our joy. Now, for the first time, it revolted me.

"No!" I pulled away, and rolled so my back was toward her. "I'm sorry, I can't." Amy was silent for a while. Our connection was so close that I knew I had hurt her with my rejection, but I couldn't help it. After a time, I felt a gentle, tentative touch on my back, and involuntarily flinched.

"James, what is it?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Amy, I just can't do that stuff right now."

"Oh…" there was a pause. "Can I just hold you?" The pain in her voice tore at me, and I weakly nodded, then felt her slide against my back and wrap her arms around me. We stayed that way for a long time, each wrapped in our own pain, unable to break through to the other. That scared me almost as much as my rejection of her touch, but I didn't know what to do about it. Could it be that this was driving a wedge between us? I hoped not, losing Amy would be the end of my world.

I finally dozed off. I roused slightly when I felt Amy slide out of bed, but was soon asleep again. When I woke, the light through the window was dimming, and Amy was shaking my shoulder.

"Here, love, I brought you some soup. You really need to eat something." She leaned down to kiss my cheek, then helped me shift around so I could sip the contents of the mug, and nibble on the cheese and crackers she set next to me.

I managed to say thanks before she left the room. As soon as I finished, I rolled over and fell into a troubled sleep.

Monday, November 2

Of course, Amy had to work the next day. When I awoke, the bed was empty, and the house quiet. Glancing at the time, I saw she would have left a while ago. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I didn't feel like eating, but decided a walk would help clear the cobwebs.

The weather was cooling off, finally, so I squirmed into one of Amy's long sleeved leotards, and pulled on a pair of her sweat pants. Looking in the mirror, I saw an attractive woman again. Not what I wanted right now, but there wasn't much I could do. I rebelled against the thought of the reattaching the gaffe to complete the look, so the sweats would just have to mask that problem.

As I approached the bench where I often met Paul, I was torn about whether I wanted to see him today or not. I was really mixed up in my head right now. I was really glad I was seeing Dr. Simmons tomorrow. Hopefully he would forego some of his psychobabble and give me some hard advice for a change. I really needed it.

"Hi!" I was so deep in thought I hadn't seen Paul waiting for me, so I started at his greeting. I cringed inside. How was I supposed to handle this right now?

"Hi."

"You OK?" I looked up to see him peering intently at me.

"Yeah. Just a lot on my mind today. Sorry. Probably won't be very good company."

He fell in step with me and smiled a wry grin, "Oh, from my position, the company is fine." I just blushed and continued walking.

"So, how did the party go?" Damn, right to the sore spot!

"Um, Paul, please, I don’t want to talk about that right now. Like I said, I've got a lot of things to work out in my mind."

I could tell he was a little hurt, but all he said was "OK."

We walked the entire two circuits in silence, but before I could split off to head for home, he grabbed my arm to hold me steady, and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Jamie, I know you've got troubles. I just want you to know, if you need someone to talk to, or to help in any way, call me." I couldn't answer, I just pulled my arm away and ran for home.

When I got inside and locked up, I slumped back against the door, and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. I buried my face in my hands and sat there for I don't know how long.

I finally pulled myself together, at least a little, got up and went to the kitchen to fix coffee. Holding a cup between my hands to ward off a chill that didn't come from the temperature outside, I wandered into my office to check email. I found one from last week from my contract client. Darn, I shouldn't let this stuff slide!

Opening the email, I found that they had approved the last phase of the project I was working for them, and had forwarded the scheduled payment to my bank. That cheered me up a bit. Of course, it had only passed the preliminary testing so far, there might be more work on that later before the final payment came. They also had included the specs for the next phase.

I tried to settle down and study the spec, to see what they expected of me in this next phase. I had worked through this with them before, and the schedule was based in part on my input, so I didn't expect any problems. But they had ironed out a lot of the detail, and I had to understand the goals before I could produce work of the quality I expected, never mind their expectations.

It was no use, though. Every few minutes I would find myself distracted by one thing or another. Finally, I decided I wouldn't make progress with my contract task until I had a little peace in my own mind.

The biggest problem was coming to grips with what I considered to be my rape. I'm not sure that legally it was, but I wasn't interested in legal technicalities at the moment. I also did not have the first clue how to deal with it. Hopefully Dr. Simmons could begin helping me tomorrow. I knew I felt violated. I felt dirty. I felt ashamed. I also wondered to what extent I had invited it. Was it my fault? Oh, I knew Dr. Albert was a scumbag, but maybe it was me. I was getting too depressed thinking about that one, so I decided to leave it for the expert tomorrow.

So, what's next? Ah yes, the minor issue of gender, and whether I would ever be any kind of a man again. Right at the moment, my prospects looked kind of bleak. I got the feeling that Sandy figured the damage was too severe to recover, but that she hadn't given up all hope yet. So what do I do about it?

I turned back to my computer and started searching for transgender information on the web, figuring that if I couldn't go back then I fit somewhere in this category. Let me tell you, there is a lot on the net. I was amazed. I read a lot, some believable, some not. But choosing what I accepted with some care, I started to develop a better picture of what was happening to me. Eventually, I followed some links that led me to resources local to my area, including support groups, TG-friendly stores, bars, counselors (Rick Simmons was on the list), and medical services. I saved this link so I could come back later, and began reading the information available about each. I wondered how best to learn more about the local TG scene. I wasn't ready to stand up in front of a support group and confess "My name is Jamie, and I am a transsexual," or some such nonsense. I already had a psychologist to work with, and I'd had more than enough help from a doctor, thank-you very much. I wasn't interested in buying clothes. I had too many already, and hadn't needed to shop in special stores up to now. Then I got to the bars. I'm not a big one for the bar scene, but maybe I could find someplace to make some casual acquaintances that are TS, maybe find someone to talk to, some first-hand experience. Some help knowing what to expect.

Scanning the list of social clubs, I read the brief description of each, which normally included the kind of clientele they attract. Some were mostly gay and/or lesbian, some mainly attracted transvestites. Not many seemed oriented to the transgendered. As I scanned the list, one caught my eye. Mikaela's, a tg-friendly watering hole. Tv, tg, gay, lesbian, she-males welcome. I shuddered at the visceral reaction I had to that term. She-male. But technically that's what I am now. I looked at the address and realized it was not far from the Westgate Mall that I had frequented so much these last two months.

Glancing at my watch I realized it was past noon, and I suddenly remembered I had an appointment with Sandy at 1. Here I was still in my walking clothes. Oh, well, guess that means no lunch. I wasn't feeling much like eating anyway.

In the bathroom, I stripped, and gave myself a spit bath. No time for a real shower. I found panties and a bra, plainest I came across, added a baggy t-shirt, some jeans (nothing baggy about them, but they were looser than last time I wore them), slipped into my cross-trainers without socks, and headed out the door.

I made it on time to Sandy's office, but she was running late, so I had to sit a while. My mind wandered, back to the episode with Jerry, about how I lost control and gave him a blow job. At the time, he thought I was Amy, and I sure had looked the part. I cringed at what that might have done to Amy's career. But Amy handled it. Then the Halloween party, and how Dr. Albert blackmailed me into oral, then anal, sex, believing that I was Amy. Twice now, I could have destroyed Amy's career, and twice she had recovered the situation. I felt like a slut, and it disgusted me. I had to do something to make sure that I didn't put Amy in that position any more. I had to stop looking like her. I had to make sure no one mistook me for her again, since I apparently couldn't keep myself out of compromising situations. I was too weak to believe a vow to myself to never let it happen again, so I vowed that if it did (more likely, when it did), there would be no confusing me with Amy.

Besides, if I was going to be stuck like this, it wouldn't do to be my wife's double. I had to decide what my style was, and it couldn't be a copy of Amy's. After all, a big part of my decision about completing a transition or going back to James would hinge on how comfortable I could be in a female persona. And it had to be me, not Amy.

The nurse called my name, and led me back to Sandy's office. A few minutes later, Sandy strode in with a very professional air, which made me feel better. A quick greeting and it was down to brass tacks.

"Well, these tests don't show any significant change, though I didn't really expect anything startling so soon. Testosterone levels are up slightly, but not so much that it might not be normal fluctuation. These levels are still much lower than the average woman your age. Estrogen levels, on the other hand have come down, but are still above the normal range, even for a teenage girl at the peak of puberty. So, these results are about what I expected, but we need to keep better track now. In fact, I would like you to start seeing an endocrinologist, and start treating this the way we should have from the beginning. Dr. Myers is a member of our group, and is one of the top people in the field locally." She paused, and looked closely at my face for the first time, to gauge my reaction. "I've checked, and if you are free, Sol, um, Dr. Myers can see you next Wednesday, at 2. Also, he would like you to stop in to leave a blood sample this Friday." She looked nervously away, waiting for a response.

"Sure, Sandy, I can do that if this is what you think is best."

She took a deep breath, and switched subjects. "Look, James, I feel terribly guilty about what I have done to you. I know now how poorly I treated you, and I want so much to make up for it."

When she paused to take a breath I asserted quietly "It's Jamie for now."

That caused her to flinch a little, but she continued "Sol is the best thing I can think to recommend right now. If anyone has a chance to salvage my mistake, he is the one."

"OK, Sandy. I trust you." She flinched again. "Before, you mentioned the possibility of testosterone therapy, could that help now?"

She paused to consider. "I think we had best leave that up to Sol. There is a risk associated with a testosterone supplement. The body seems to decrease production of the hormone when a supplement is administered. Right now, I would think we want to encourage your body to produce as much as it is willing to on its own. Later, if that proves inadequate…", she looked down with a guilty expression, "then it may be our best recourse. Again, those are decisions Sol can help you with better than I."

"OK, Sandy. Thanks for being honest." I looked at her, but she couldn't meet my eyes. "Now, I have a favor to ask of you."

She looked up in surprise. "Um, sure, Jam…, uh, Jamie. Anything."

It was my turn to look away. I wasn't sure how she would take this. "I want you to help me look different. I need to stop looking like Amy. I want you to change my face."

She sat back and steepled her fingers, considering before she spoke. "I thought Rick advised you not to make changes before we determined if you could, um, you know…"

"He did, and generally I agree. I am not asking you to make my face the way it was, just tweak it enough that people won't mistake me for Amy."

"Why?"

"First, if I am stuck this way, I don't want to do it as Amy's clone. I need a look of my own, and getting comfortable with that look will have a big bearing on any decision I make." Then I blushed and looked down before mumbling "And twice now, I've done things, reprehensible things, while people thought I was Amy. I can't take that chance again."

Sandy didn't answer quickly, finally saying "OK, at least we can discuss it. I am not sure I agree with your reasoning, but I can understand your concern, and I owe you, big time." She paused again. "I'll send the nurse back in with the digital camera to take snaps of your face, and run them through my computer to see what I can do with the least trauma. Come back tomorrow at 6 pm and we'll talk about what I can do."

The nurse turned my face this way and that to get all the angles Sandy would need for analysis, then showed me out. It was after 2, and I couldn't face going back to reading the spec at home. So I pulled out my cell phone and called Life Style, the salon that had done my hair several times, to see if my stylist, Ellie, could fit me in this afternoon. She was due to be off work at 5, but was willing to see me then, if that would work. So I agreed, and headed off to the mall.

I still didn't feel like eating, but my tummy was complaining, so I stopped in the food court and bought a salad. I didn't eat much, but at least it filled the hole a little and stopped the growling.

I still had a couple hours to fill, so I wandered the mall, window shopping, trying to decide what kind of clothes would make me comfortable. I sure as hell didn't want to attract the kind of attention I had gotten from Jerry or Dr. Albert, but I also wasn't going to dress like an old maid. I wanted a casual look for everyday, since my work didn't require business attire most of the time, and thought that would be kind of the beginning point. Once I found the style for everyday, I figured I could move from there into the business attire, dressy stuff for going out, and whatever else I needed.

I considered, and discarded a lot of outfits as I wandered. Nothing seemed to say "Me". But then, I wasn't sure what "me" was these days. I was headed back toward Life Style when I saw an outfit that caught my eye. I stepped into the store to look closer. The pants were silk, in a hunter green, flowing loosely over the legs. It had a pale green sleeveless silk top with a crew neck, embroidered ivy leaves in hunter green cascading around the neck and tapering down the center. The last piece was a lightweight long sleeved sweater, green to match the pants. I still had a few minutes before 5, so I grabbed one in my size and headed to the changing rooms.

It fit well, and as I looked in the mirror, I liked what I saw. Not flashy, not slutty, but attractive. I couldn't remember Amy ever wearing something quite like this, so that was a plus as well. I quickly changed back to my T and jeans, paid for the outfit, and scurried off to the salon.

I called and left a message for Amy that I would be a little late tonight, so maybe she could pick up Chinese takeout or something for dinner?

I was shown back to Ellie's station after just a few minutes. It had only been a couple days since I was here, but with all that had happened, it seemed longer.

"So, what do you have in mind today? Oh, and by the way, how did the party go Saturday?"

I tried to suppress the flinch, don't know if Ellie saw it or not. "The hair looked just great with the costume, Ellie. Thanks so much for doing it up for me. Um, today, I want to go for something different. A different look, different color I think. A style that will let me keep some of the length, but will be easy to care for. Any ideas?"

"Hmmm. Well, how drastic a change in color? Maybe back to your original? Or maybe a medium brown?"

"No, I don't think so. My color is too close to what it is now, and a medium brown would be too close to Amy's natural color. What would you think of me as a redhead? Or maybe with black hair?"

Ellie considered. "I don't think your skin tone would look natural with red. It might be OK with black." She thumbed through a style book, and came up with a picture of a model with sleek straight hair, longer in back, and tapering forward to just skim the shoulders. "How about this? This is similar to a pageboy. I think you have enough length to do it. And it leaves you lots of options. It would work easily into a pony tail, or could be put up for a dressy occasion."

I tried to imagine what it would look like on me. "OK, let's do it." For the next while I was washed, dried, dyed, snipped, and combed. When she finished, I thought it looked a little like Cher, before she grew her hair really long. I liked it.

As I drove home, I wondered what Amy would think. It made me feel good. Not about myself, I still had issues about what I had done. But I felt good that I was protecting the woman I loved. But this was only the first step.

I was greeted by the smell of Chinese as I walked in the front door. I took my package to the bedroom, then made my way to the kitchen. Amy was setting things out for dinner. When she saw me, she said "Oh, wow!"

I turned my head from side to side. "You like?"

"Um, yeah? Why, though?"

"I decided part of any decision about the future would involve knowing if I could find a style that I could live with as a woman. And I felt, to be fair to you, that it had to be something different. It was fun, at least part of the time, looking like your twin, but it wasn't me. I have to find out if I can even be me as a woman."

We served the various dishes onto our plates and moved to the table before Amy spoke again. "Uh, so, does this mean you learned something from Sandy today?"

"No, not really. The tests were inconclusive. Improved, but not enough to be encouraging. She has me set up with Sol Myers next Wednesday. She wants an expert to handle this."

"Well, that's probably best." She took a couple bites. "So, what else are you planning to change? I mean, you know, besides your hair?"

"I bought a new outfit today, while I was waiting for my appointment. I'll show you after dinner."

The rest of dinner passed pretty much in silence. I didn't feel good about keeping my discussion with Sandy from her, but I didn't feel good about myself, or the things I had done that reflected poorly on Amy either. I only ate a little. It tasted good, I just wasn't up to eating.

After we put the leftovers away and cleaned up, Amy followed me into the bedroom, and I pulled off my outer clothes to model the new outfit for her. She was impressed, thought they looked good on me, with my new hair color.

As I took the new clothes off and hung them up, she came up behind me and slipped her arms around me. "Hey, I haven’t had a kiss yet today. You mad at me?" I noticed she was very careful to keep her hands to "safe" areas after last night. I was glad, but yet sad that there was this rift between us. I turned in her arms, and kissed her gently. She tried to put a little more passion into the kiss, but I pulled back and whispered, "No, please." She looked a little hurt. I leaned forward and gave her another very gentle kiss. "Can we just take it slow for a while?"

Amy sighed, "OK."

I was exhausted, emotionally more than physically I think, so I just got ready for bed. Amy went off to the living room to read or something. I was asleep before she got into bed.

Tuesday, November 3

I woke before Amy for a change. I kissed her gently on the cheek, and she sighed, but did not wake. I used the bathroom, then went to fix breakfast. The coffee and toast were just ready when Amy came out. She gave me a desperate bear hug, and a quick but forceful kiss before breaking away to eat.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I just need some time to get through this."

"I know love. What hurts worst is that I don't know how to help you. I'm just glad you're seeing Rick today. I really, really hope he can help."

"Me too!"

I cleaned up while Amy finished getting ready, then gave her a light kiss that left us both unsatisfied.

I got into an exercise outfit similar to yesterdays, and headed out for a walk. I decided I needed to apologize to Paul for yesterday, but tell him until I got my head screwed on right that maybe I shouldn't see him. I was half disappointed and half relieved when he did not meet me today. I tried to push my pace a little, but was feeling pretty weak. I was winded by the time I got home. Then I realized I had hardly eaten since the party Saturday. Any thought of food just made me slightly ill.

I showered and slipped into shorts and a t-shirt. I was determined to make some progress on that spec today. I buried myself in work, surfacing after noon to eat an apple, then diving in again till three, when I had to get ready for my appointment with Dr. Simmons. I kept it casual again today. I was not particularly interested in looking like a pretty girl, but since I was modeled on Amy, there wasn't much way to avoid it.

Before I left, I called Amy and left a message I would be too late for dinner, due to some things I had to take care of, so she should eat without me.

I was ushered into Rick's office just a few minutes late, and settled into the overstuffed chair. Rick started things off.

"So, what do we need to discuss today?"

"Um. Uh. Weren't we supposed to talk about how to either become James or Jamie? Uh, depending on medical issues?"

"That's what we said last week. Is that what we should talk about though?"

"Have you been talking to Amy?" I was a little upset to think Amy had been discussing my problems with someone.

"Yes, she did call to say she was very concerned about you. She said there was a problem at the party Saturday, but didn't go into details."

I was feeling like a caged rat about then, but Rick's chair was between me and freedom. "Um, I'd rather not go into that right now." I couldn't figure out why I was avoiding the thing I most needed Rick's help with, till I realized it was embarrassing to admit the things I had done.

"Then that is exactly what we should work through today." Maybe they teach these guys something in school after all. "Take your time. Just let it out and we'll see how best to deal with it. Hiding it away is rarely the right way."

So, in fits and starts I managed to sketch a less than coherent tale of my shame. How I was summoned as Amy to an unused room where Dr. Albert was waiting. How he attempted to blackmail Amy. How I gave him what he wanted, submitting to first oral, then anal sex. How Amy interrupted, and my subsequently passing out, finally coming to after Dr. Albert left, and being helped home by Amy and Sandy. Because it was such a difficult tale to tell, my throat seemed to close up periodically, shutting off the sporadic flow of words for a time, so it took quite a while to relate the story. Rick was mostly silent, but would ask occasional questions when I seemed to stall, or when what I said didn't make any sense. Fortunately there was a box of tissues and a wastebasket handy, because I must have used most of a box.

When my words finally dried up, and Rick had given me a reasonable silence in case I could think of anything to add, he spoke.

"Let me guess. You feel dirty. You feel like a tramp. You think this was all your fault. You feel you are now unworthy of Amy, or indeed, anyone decent. How am I doing?"

Each of his points struck me like a blow. Not because he was being cruel, but because he was baring my soul. Bringing my shameful secrets to light. I couldn't speak, only look at him through red puffy eyes.

So he continued, "Also, you know logically, with your mind, that none of that is true. But you believe every one of those in your heart, no matter what your mind says. No matter what I say. No matter what Amy says."

I could only sob and nod.

Rick leaned forward and clasped both my hands with his. "This is the great crime that is rape. It is not so much the violation of the body, but the rending of the spirit that makes rape such an ugly sin. It too often makes the victim feel they are to blame, when in fact that is almost always untrue. This is the struggle that takes place in almost every rape recovery. The victim has to be convinced, they must accept, not with the mind, but with the heart that they are not at fault."

My mind believed, had always believed, but my heart knew this not to be true. It knew there was some character flaw in me that led me to what I had done. And I knew I would do it again, and again, until I destroyed Amy, or at least her love for me. I knew the only way to save what was most precious to me was to get away. But I was too weak. I could not face life without Amy.

Rick spent way more than our hour trying to draw me into seeing it wasn't me at fault. He kept asking me questions that my mind could answer the way he wanted, but my heart knew that lies fell from my lips. Eventually he had to call an end to the appointment, but confirmed that I should be back here Friday. So I was finally able to escape.

Well, it was almost time to be at Sandy's office, so I drove there, and sat numbly in the car till time to see her.

Her office was quiet when I entered. It was easy to tell that this was after hours, but her nurse was still there, and led me back to her office. Sandy was already there, studying something on her computer screen. She looked up as I came in, and gave a weak little smile. "You OK?"

"No. I just got away from Dr. Simmons, and I feel like shit, pardon the language."

"Oh, I see. Well, um, shall we get to the reason you're here?" She stood and moved around to the chair next to me, pulling her monitor and mouse around so we could both see the screen. It showed two pictures side by side. My old face and Amy's face. I stared at them, trying to discern what made them different.

"People recognize faces based on a multitude of features, which are catalogued and sorted by the brain to identify an individual. Some features make a face more masculine, or more feminine. Now, in your case, we modified certain elements of your original face…" She highlighted several points on my face using the mouse, "to make it resemble Amy's."

"OK, you explained that before."

"Yes, OK. So now, you want to look different than Amy, but until the final medical disposition, not the more major transition back to looking like your old self. Just minimal changes to produce a face others will not identify as Amy."

"That's right."

"OK, I have worked with many women to 'correct' supposed flaws in their faces, so I have done something like this often. Because we want to minimize the trauma, we are looking for minimally invasive procedures to affect the change. Basically, what we have to work with are implants, and injectables such as collagen. We can remove implants we inserted before, or insert new ones. Both are more traumatic than we are looking for right now. Another option is to shift the implants we used earlier. For small relocations, this is relatively low impact. Finally, change the contours with collagen. I know this is pretty boring, but are you still with me?"

I nodded.

"OK. To get specific, what I would recommend is this." She replaced my original face with a new one. This one was of a pretty girl, but she didn't look like Amy. "To get this result…" Was she really trying to tell me she could rearrange my face to look like this? "We can shift this implant forward a bit to reshape the cheekbone, shift those in your chin like this, shift these just a little." All the time she was highlighting points on Amy's picture. "The collagen we injected to give you Amy's lips will not be absorbed completely for several more months, so we can't easily reduce your lips, but by careful injections we can reshape them here and here, making them only slightly fuller, but making the shape noticeably different."

"Wow, just those subtle changes can do this?" Sandy nodded. "What's the impact? Bruising? Pain? Scarring? Time to heal?"

"There will be quite a bit of bruising, but much less than last time. It should fade quickly, enough that you could hide it with makeup in 3 or 4 days. Some pain, but just consistent with the bruising, nothing that should require any pain meds. In less than a week, with only a little makeup, it should be hard for anyone to tell it was done."

"I'm sold. When can we do it?"

"I had kind of planned on right now, if you are agreeable. I asked my nurse to stay late to assist."

Two hours later, it was done, and my face felt like it had been worked over by a prize fighter. Sore here, puffy there. Sandy kept me there a while longer to make sure I was OK, then closed up shop and we went our separate ways.

Amy heard me come in, and hurried to meet me. She stopped dead when she saw the bandages on my face, and the bruises that were just starting to appear. "What happened? Are you OK?" She rushed to me, almost pushed me into a chair, and started examining the damage to my face.

I grabbed her questing hands. "I'm fine, Amy. I just came from Sandy's office." It took me an hour to explain what and why, and as I had expected, she was upset. I just held her while she gave me a piece of her mind. She finally subsided, having of course realized there was nothing to be done about it now. I was feeling the aftermath of the procedures, and was exhausted, so Amy helped me to bed and I soon fell into a troubled sleep.

Wednesday, November 4

It took me a while to wake enough to remember why I was so sore the next morning. Amy was already in the shower when I staggered into the bathroom to examine the damage. The bruises had bloomed beautifully overnight. I was going to be quite colorful for a few days. Oh well, nothing for it. I did my thing and vacated before Amy climbed out of the shower. I still could not face her in a situation that had often led to arousal in the past.

We ate breakfast with little conversation, then she kissed me carefully before heading off for the day. Since I was in no mood to be seen like this, I had the perfect excuse to concentrate on my contract work. I'm not sure how I was able to maintain concentration today when I had failed so miserably yesterday, but I was glad for it. Not only was I able to make inroads in the task at hand, but I was not continually dwelling on my problems.

The rest of the week passed much the same. I made good headway. I drafted a response email with a list of problems foreseen and requests for clarifications on the spec, and was able to sketch out the structure of the work to be done. I let myself be absorbed by the work, and was grateful for it. I worked late every night, and had only limited interaction with Amy.

The problem was my sleep time. As well as I avoided worrying about my problems during working hours, they seemed to take over my mind during sleep. I had weird, half-remembered dreams. I relived both rape sequences in my mind over and over again. Most disturbing, the scenes evolved, until I was not only enjoying the sex, I was initiating it. Though only shadow memories in the morning, this seemed to reinforce my contempt for myself, my conviction that I was poison to Amy.

By Friday, my thoughts were so negative I could not bear to face Rick, so I just remained buried in work. I did take a break to run down to Dr. Myers office to get blood drawn though.

By Saturday night, I had a good high level plan for what I would do for this phase of the contract, but was stalled waiting for a response to the issues I had sent. All I could do was wait. But I needed the break by now. I had been pretty worn out when this work marathon started, and I was much more so now. That night I crawled into bed and whispered to a drowsing Amy that I had reached a breaking point.

Sunday, November 8

I awoke to wonderful smells of coffee and bacon. I found Amy doing the domestic thing in the kitchen. I stood and watched her for a while before she knew I was there. God, I loved this woman. How was I going to live without her?

In spite of the negative direction of my thoughts, breakfast tasted wonderful. I was only able to eat a small part of it though, because having eaten so lightly recently, I had room for very little.

Conversation started very easily, with both of us dropping naturally into the comfortable patterns we had enjoyed for years. But that dried up when the conversation shifted. Amy asked how my appointment with Dr. Simmons went, and was quite upset when I told her I missed it Friday. After I had withstood all the chastising I could handle, I escaped to the bedroom, then out for a walk, leaving her brooding at the kitchen table.

It felt good to walk again. I missed it the past few mornings, but my face was such a collage of colors I couldn't make myself go out where I might be seen. Today, the bruises were faded to the point that the walk was more important than my appearance. The swelling was going down too, and when I got back from the walk I removed the small bandages, revealing my whole face for the first time since Sandy's office.

After showering, I was curious to see the new me. The bruises were a definite distraction, so I wrapped myself in a robe and set about making up my face to hide most of the remaining bruising. This was the first time since the party that I used any makeup, so I was feeling a bit rusty. I took it slow, and tried to make sure I did it right. I was so focused on each bit of makeup that I ignored the overall effect until I finished. I sat back and was stunned by my reflection.

This was no longer Amy's face. While Amy is a beautiful woman, this face was model material. Maybe it was the sunken cheeks from my light diet recently, or maybe it was Sandy's artistry. Or both. I decided I had to show Amy. But I had to dress to complete the effect. I knew just what to wear. I put on red lacey bra and panties. Then decided to go all out, and put the garter belt on too. I pulled stockings up my legs, then went to the closet and slipped into my form-fitting red dress. Silver hoop earrings, and a silver chain with a locket that nestled in my considerable cleavage. Black 4 inch heels completed the outfit. I brushed my hair for a long time, till it shown, and lay sleekly in the style Ellie had given me.

I looked in the full length mirror and wondered who this stranger was. It was almost too much for me. The other time around, after the first change, it was strange, but my reflection showed the face of the woman I loved. That made it easier somehow. Now I had no point of reference.

I walked out of our room and found Amy reading in the family room. She looked up at the sound of my heels on the floor and did a classic double take. It took a minute before she spoke, "Is that you, Jamie?"

"I'm not sure," was the best I could respond. "I don't know who I am right now. This is much more of a shock than I expected."

Amy rose slowly and moved up to me, examining this new creature carefully. "You're gorgeous!" she breathed. "This is amazing!"

"I know. I don't want to be gorgeous. Gorgeous gets me in trouble."

Amy proposed Sunday dinner out, since I was all dressed for it. I was reluctant, but she insisted it would help me rebuild my confidence to be seen like this. So while she quickly showered and dressed, I made myself a good strong gin and tonic. Just a little bottled courage, if you know what I mean.

Amy emerged wearing the black twin to my dress, which looked great with her golden blond hair. I could tell that she had worn the corset to get the best fit from the dress, and thought a bit smugly that I hadn't needed one.

We went to a quiet, stylish restaurant, down by the river. Amy was right, every male we saw, man or boy, eyed us up and down. I thought I got a bit more of the attention, but then my dress was brighter, so it stood out more.

She was also right about it rebuilding my confidence, but not in quite the way she planned. Much as I tried to suppress it, as I felt each pair of male eyes mentally undressing me, I fleetingly wondered how it would feel to be undressed by him. To be held in his arms. To make love to him. This was just the type of feelings I had been trying to avoid this past week. I didn't want to feel this way. I was afraid of what it would do to Amy, to us. But somewhere deep down in my core, it reinforced my new perception of myself as a sex object. I knew, based on the things I had done that that was all I was good for. I wasn't good for Amy. I could only cause her more pain.

My emotions were on a roller coaster the whole time we were there. Euphoric with the sexual feelings the lustful looks aroused, followed by despair over my future, and the future of my marriage. I was a nervous wreck by the time we left. Amy mistook my distress for disdain for all the attention I received, when in fact it was just the opposite. I reveled in the attention.

Amy wanted to stroll along the river. Even in November, at least this time of afternoon, the temperature in this southwestern city was comfortable as we were dressed. Again, we were the focus of much male attention, and my internal conflict intensified. Something had to give sooner or later, and finally it did. I continued to revel in my sexual role, and my concerns started to fade. Again Amy misinterpreted when I seemed to calm down, thinking I was just beginning to accept the admiration.

At any rate, I was grateful when Amy consented to return to the car and go home. I was ready for this experience to be over, and not a little concerned at what might come of it.

Back home, we removed our fancy dresses and lingerie, cleaned off our makeup, and donned comfortable lounging pajamas. Amy curled up in an easy chair by my desk while I used the computer to do more research on transgender resources. I stayed at it well into the night, long after Amy gave up and went to bed. This time I read more about the Benjamin Standards of Care, RLE (or RLT), and sex reassignment surgery. What I read was eye-opening, and did nothing to tip the scales toward becoming fully female. But I knew that was not the only consideration, and the decision would rest on other criteria as well. I shuddered at the description and pictures of the surgery.

Finally exhausted, I crawled into bed beside Amy as she slept.

Monday, November 9

Monday I walked again, and based on how I felt yesterday toward the end of our outing, I put more effort into looking good. Paul was waiting for me at his usual bench. His eyes passed over me, and kept watching the path behind me as I approached.

"Hi, Paul."

"Jamie?! Is that you? My God, what happened to you?" His shocked remark stung, and my lower lip trembled. I couldn't answer, I just took off down the walking path. Paul caught up quickly, "Jamie, I'm sorry. Wait, please. You just surprised me is all."

I was still silent.

"Jamie, please! You look really good, it's just that you caught me off guard. I didn't recognize you until I heard your voice. Come on, please, Jamie, talk to me!"

I slowed down and took a deep breath before looking up into his face. His forlorn expression was so cute I might have giggled if I wasn't still hurting. I wasn't ready to forgive and forget just yet, but he was making progress.

"Nice to see you too, Paul."

"Look, I said I was sorry. What do you want from me? Do you want me down on my knees? Do you want to kick me while I'm down? Bring it on, sister."

That was it, a giggle did escape. I tried to recover my stern hurting look, but it was too late. Paul had a guardedly optimistic look. "Can we talk about this?"

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know. Like maybe why I didn't recognize you when you walked right up to me?"

So we walked, and I talked, and with the questions Paul tossed in, we made the two circuits before I was finished explaining the whys and the wherefores. After the initial rocky start, the conversation settled down into the comfortable patterns we followed before the party, and it felt really good.

We went our separate ways. After cleaning up, I checked email and found a response to my questions on the spec. They had worked out part of the issues, but the rest would have to wait a day or two. I spent the rest of the morning working the supplied information into my work plan, but finished that about 1.

After a salad for lunch I decided it was a good time to visit Mikaela's, since work was stalled. I put on my new pants outfit, applied my makeup carefully. This may be a TS/TV bar I was going to, but I still wanted to look like a real woman. Even in that environment I was scared of being 'read'.

I sat outside Mikaela's for a long time in my car, trying to work up my nerve. It seemed like a nice place. Had I not known its special clientele, it looked the kind of place James might have taken Amy. I screwed up my courage, got out of the car, and tried to make an unobtrusive entrance. I climbed onto a bar stool and order a glass of white wine. I sipped the wine for a while, casually looking over the place and the people. Nothing particularly odd stood out. I didn't see any clownish drag queens, or butch-looking lesbians. It was all so ordinary.

When the bar tender came to ask about a refill, I queried, "This may be bad form, but I'm new here, so I'll just ask. Feel free to tell me if I've botched it. Can you tell me if there are any pre-op transsexuals here that might be willing to talk to me?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On why you want to talk to them."

"Um, I need to learn."

"For what?" came his almost hostile answer.

"For me." I said in a tiny voice.

He looked at me skeptically. "Really? You…"

I nodded and blushed.

He broke out in a grin. "You had me fooled. And after all I've seen around this joint, that's pretty hard to do." He glanced around the bar, then piped up, "Erin!" and waved someone over. A very attractive young woman approached from one of the tables with a broad smile on her face.

"What can I do for you, Sam?" while at the same time looking me over.

"Not for me, for this young lady here. She's looking for some advice."

She climbed on the stool next to me, and studied me with a look of concentration. Finally she smiled, and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Erin."

I shook with her, "Jamie."

"Well, how can I help you?"

I blushed again. "If it's not too personal, are you really pre-op?" She nodded. "Um, would you mind talking with me about it?"

"OK, but lets move someplace a little more private." She pointed toward a secluded booth near the back.

I took my wine to the booth while Erin stopped by the table she'd come from and said something to the people there. Then she joined me.

"OK, what do you want to know?"

"So much, I don’t know where to start. But first, I guess, how did you know?"

She grinned even wider. "I didn't for sure until just now, but I had a hunch. The place, the questions, the nerves, and women's intuition."

"Oh."

"But you are really very good. Most people would never guess. Even me, if we hadn't been here."

"Thanks." I tried to figure out where to start. "I never would have guessed you either. But then, I don't have any experience at this kind of thing at all. Um. How long have you been dressing?"

"Full time, something over two years now. Before that, whenever I could, since I was a kid. You?"

I seemed to be blushing about everything in here. "Only two months."

"No! That's amazing. No, that's impossible!"

"Unfortunately not. I am the walking proof that it is possible, with the right incentives. Um. Can we get back to you please?"

"OK, but I expect the full story one of these days."

"Maybe, when you have a lot of time on your hands, but it will just bore you."

"I don't think there's a chance of that! Anyhow, ask away."

"You're pre-op?" She nodded. "Do you plan the surgery soon?"

She looked down. "I'm saving up for it. It won't be very soon."

"Oh, are you anxious?"

She brightened "Yes, very!"

"Aren't you frightened? I read about the surgery last night, and came away absolutely terrified of the thought."

"Yes, I'm a little scared, but the surgery doesn't frighten me as much as staying the way I am. This is something I need. Something I don't feel I can live without. For me, it's not an option." She looked at me closely. "If it scares you that much, maybe it's not right for you."

I considered, "Well, if the alternative is to stay like this, I think I would want the surgery. I really don't like the term she-male applied to me."

She came back "Well, then, don't think of yourself that way. And don't let others refer to you that way. I don't. For me, this is just a temporary stop on the way to being whole."

"Oh."

"Look, Jamie. We all come from different places. And for all of us, different things are important. Some want the full package. For some, being a really good transvestite is right. Maybe that's your way."

We talked for another hour. Erin was a great girl. And there was no way I could ever think of her as anything BUT a girl. Finally I ran out of questions, and thanked her for being so helpful. I had a lot to digest.

She suggested that I come back on a Friday or Saturday night, when there were more of the regulars, and live music for dancing.

My mind was racing over what I had heard as I drove home. When I pulled into the driveway, I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten there. I changed into some grungy clothes, and checked email. Still nothing about the contract. So I pitched in and got some housework done. Just before I expected Amy home, I had everything ready and holding for dinner, so I decided to check email once more.

Damn, can things get any worse? I know, I shouldn't tempt fate with thoughts like that. But the email I found said the issues I had raised with the spec had pointed to flaws in the architecture of the entire project, including the part I had already completed and submitted to test. They were insisting on a face-to-face meeting in their office, and it was scheduled for early Wednesday. They were within their rights under the contract. It's just that it happens so seldom that there was no way to predict it. Now, just how in the world was I going to pull this off? They had never met Jamie, they had only dealt with James.

If I didn't show for the meeting, they would probably claim breach of contract, and I might be facing legal action, as well as loss of the work and damage to future opportunities. Oh, I might have pled illness to get the meeting postponed, but there was no chance I could delay long enough to appear as James.

I could show up as James' new 'partner' Jamie, effectively lying to them, but they probably would insist that James get his ass in there. They undoubtedly would not deal with some woman they had never met. Besides, I might be open to legal action if I lied.

Or, I could bite the bullet, and face them as the remade James, now called Jamie. If that backfired, it could ruin my career, especially if I was ever able to become James again. But there didn't seem to be a better option.

Knowing that this could be trouble, I figured I'd better talk my options over with my lawyer, Ken Gorman. He wrote up and approved all my contracts, and he was pretty sharp. So I put in a call to Ken's direct line, figuring he was still at work even at this hour. Fortunately I was right. I told him I was calling on behalf of James Hastings (well, I was! And it was easier than explaining.), that there was a potential problem with the terms of the contract he had drafted, and it was something of an emergency. Was there any way James could see him tomorrow? Fortunately, he had some time set aside late morning for working on preparations for another case. He could see James then. That made me feel a little better. But it also meant I would have to "come out" to Ken.

Amy arrived home while I was on the phone, and pecked me on the cheek, overhearing part of the conversation in the process. By the time I finished, she had a concerned expression, and wanted to know what was going on. I told her I would explain over dinner.

I finished fixing dinner while Amy changed into something comfortable. Her 'something comfortable' could have really revved my motor before the hormones did their thing. They even might have after, had it not been for the new image I carried deep inside. The dirty little tramp that circumstances had shown me to be. I couldn't defile this wonderful woman with an intimate touch.

Needless to say, I was pretty down by the time we sat across from each other to eat. I had trouble meeting her eye, and even more getting the words out to explain my current predicament. The conversation was rather somber, and petered out before we finished eating. Or should I say, before Amy finished eating. All I could do was move my food around my plate, choking down only a couple bites.

Amy offered to clean up after dinner. I really hadn't left much of a mess, so I snatched the opportunity to flee to my office. Several hours and many tg-related websites later, a visibly sad Amy poked her head in the door to say she was off to bed. When she was gone, I almost cried for not being able to comfort her, to tell her how much I loved her. It was very late when I crawled into bed, and Amy was already asleep.

Tuesday, November 10

I slept through Amy rising and preparing for work. She roused me with a gentle shake, and a kiss on the cheek when she was leaving. I had stayed up too late, and only wanted to sleep, but I needed to walk. I made it to the bathroom and did my business. Stepping on the scale, I saw I was down to 116. I really should start eating better, but food just held no appeal for me recently.

I pulled on panties and a sports bra, some powder blue tights, red short shorts, and a powder blue sweat shirt. Then I added some multi-color striped leggings. It was finally getting chilly out there, at least in the mornings. Socks and walking shoes, and I was out the door. Then I realized I hadn't eaten anything. Oh well, I didn't feel like eating anyway.

Paul was there, his face showing some anxiety. He tried to get me to talk to him, but I was pretty down, and couldn't muster more than a word or two in answer. Most of the way we walked in silence, but when I was about to split off toward home, he stopped me, turned me toward him, and looked searchingly into my eyes.

"What is it, Jamie? You seem so down. You look so different. Where is the beautiful girl I was falling in love with?"

I jerked away and snarled "That was Amy you were falling in love with. This is me! Maybe you ought to go after her if you don't like what you see!" And whirled away and ran home barely able to see through the mist of tears in my eyes.

Oh God, I was losing Paul too. But that was good wasn't it? I was poison. I was a tramp. I did terrible things, had sex with men. It was better that Paul stay away. It was better that I stay away from Amy. They were both such good people. They deserved so much better than me. Then it occurred to me. Since I can’t be with either of them, maybe they should be with each other. Paul already loved Amy, since I was an imitation of her when we met. Yes. I loved them both. What better way for the two people I loved to get over me then by helping each other. Loving each other. Making love to each other. Having kids together. Growing old together. All the things I thought I would have with Amy. Each new thought wrenched my gut, but I knew I had to help them, no matter how much it hurt inside. If I couldn't be with them I would rather they were together than alone, or with someone I didn't know or love.

I stood under the hot pounding shower for a long time, trying to burn the hurt out of me. And gradually a touch of hope began to grow. Just a bit of light in the darkness. I could see some happiness coming out of this mess, happiness for them, so in spite of my anguish, maybe I could be happy that they were happy. Finally I was able to gather my wits enough to get out of the shower. I was revived enough that I could face preparing for the meeting with Ken. I had to look good for this. I had to convince Ken that this was right for me. I had to lay the groundwork for getting on with my life.

I selected a business suit that I thought looked especially nice on Amy, a light gray that I thought went will with my raven hair. I chose the lingerie to be sexy, black, trying to bolster my feminine self-image that has been in tatters. Nude pantyhose and medium black heels. I spent a lot of time on the makeup. I wanted it just right. Gold jewelry to add a little contrast to the grays and blacks. I decided to redo my nail polish, choosing a deep red, not too bright, but adding some color. I looked at the final result, and nodded in approval of the total effect. I strode determinedly to the car and set off for Ken's office.

"Hello, I have a 10:30 appoint with Mr. Gorman," I told the pretty receptionist.

She lifted her phone and dialed an extension. "Mr. Gorman, your 10:30 is here… OK." Turning to me she said "He's ready for you, third door on the left."

I walked down the hall, fighting the urge to turn and run. I tapped at his closed door, then opened it and walked in. Ken looked at me, and a surprised look came over his face. "Oh, excuse me. I was expecting someone else. Can I help you?"

"Ken, it's me, James."

Ken looked confused. "Pardon?"

"It's me, James Hastings." That didn't seem to help his confusion.

"I don't know what is going on here, but I don't appreciate this charade one bit. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave now."

"Ken, please. It really is me, and I need your help. Just give me a chance to explain, OK?"

This was not going as well as I'd like. It took me more than half the time he could give me to convince him, and give a sanitized explanation of what had happened.

Finally we got around to why I was there. He still looked uncomfortable.

"I've got a problem." He snorted. "More than just this." I said, gesturing at my body. "There has been a hitch in my current contract project, and they are demanding a face to face meeting tomorrow. They know nothing of this. They were never supposed to know about this. I should have been James again by the next expected meeting, 8 or 10 weeks from now." I took a deep breath. "I have to show up for this meeting or risk defaulting on the contract. So I need to know what they can do if they take this badly. Am I protected?"

Now that he had something to divert his attention from my body, his discomfort morphed to a look of concentration as he skimmed the copy of my contract he had waiting. Finally he said "I think the way we have this contract written, and considering the current anti-discrimination laws, there isn't much they can do about it, at least legally. They can claim you weren't able to meet the specifications, but unless you are behind the stated schedule…" I shook my head, "that would be difficult to prove."

He leaned back, thinking. "Or they could invoke the escape clause. The one that lets them out of the contract for whatever reason they might have, in return for paying you a percentage of the remaining value."

I had forgotten that. That obviously wouldn't be good for me or my reputation, but it was better than some scenarios I could imagine.

"Except for forgetting the escape clause, that's pretty much what I thought. I just wanted to be sure."

Ken paused a moment. "You go by Jamie now, when you're like this?"

"Yes."

"Well, judging from your looks, this is a pretty serious thing for you. And whether you reverse the changes or not, you will continue to look like this for some time. I think you should file for a name change, to give yourself some legal standing looking as you do now."

That sent a chill down my spine. It sounded so final. But given my earlier thoughts about Amy and Paul, maybe it would be better anyway. "Is it hard to change back?"

"No, same basic procedure. It just might be harder to convince the judge that the change is necessary. Each change must be approved by a judge, with a valid reason supplied."

I had trouble getting the words out. "OK, can you handle that for me?"

He nodded and pulled a form up on his computer. "Current name, James Alexander Hastings, new name, Jamie… what do you want to use for a middle name?"

"I guess Alexander doesn't work, does it?" I joked. I ran over a bunch of possibilities in my head. I even said a few out loud, to see how they felt on my tongue. None of them seemed right, so finally in desperation I settled for shortening my current name. "Let's use Alexa."

"New name, Jamie Alexa Hastings. You are keeping Hastings, right?" I nodded vigorously. "Reason for change?" I looked blank. "Diagnosed gender dysphoria?"

"OK." It wasn't quite the truth, but not far off. Ken hit the print key, and soon handed me the form in duplicate for my signature.

"We should have this done sometime next week. I'll let you know. And you call me tomorrow if anything urgent comes out of that meeting." He glanced at his watch, and it was clear he was ready to end this session.

At least he was being professional about this, and doing his job. I just wish he had been a little more accepting. I sure hoped this wouldn't cause problems if or when I needed legal help again.

I went home and spent the rest of the day going over that project, what was already complete, and what I had started for the next phase. I wanted to be sure there was nothing they could work into an excuse to fire me. I was still at it when Amy came home. She made a quick dinner, then insisted that I come eat. I ate as much as I could before my anxiety got the best of me. I felt hardly able to function. Amy led me off to bed, gently removing my makeup, undressing me, slipping a nightie over my head, then guiding me to bed. She moved beside me and just held me, lending her strength silently. Trying to call me back from the abyss that seemed determined to swallow me. I reveled in the love I felt so undeserving of. I wanted to drown in it, but I knew it was impossible.

Wednesday, November 11

I woke early from a restless night. My nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Amy knew how I was feeling, and she quietly smoothed my path getting ready.

I showered, shaving my legs and underarms. I wanted nothing to distract from the professional woman image I needed to project. When I got back to the room, Amy had laid out clothes for me. They looked just right, businesslike but feminine, attractive without being overtly sexy. She helped me select my jewelry, and made a few suggestions as I carefully applied makeup. She brushed my hair for me, long gentle strokes that soothed me, over and over until my hair was glossy, smooth, falling naturally into the shape Ellie had designed. She handed me a cup of coffee, and a piece of toast, knowing I couldn't stomach more than that, but she wouldn't let me leave till the toast was gone.

I was pretty much in a daze as I drove to their office. I was running scenarios through my mind, trying to anticipate everything. Before I knew it, I was in the parking lot, then had to force myself to get out of the car and head for the door. I clipped on the contractors badge they had issued me when I started months ago, glad now that there was no picture on it. I walked past the receptionist and headed off to the conference room. The door was open, and I could see a couple people inside. These were the people I knew from prior meetings, the only ones I was expecting here today, so I entered, closing the door behind me. They looked up at the noise, and I checked them out. As I expected, there was the project manager, and the lead engineer.

"Excuse me, can I help you? We have this room scheduled for a meeting now."

Summoning what little nerve I had left, I responded "I know, and there is something we have to discuss before we get started. Sit down please."

The project manager was going to try to assume control and dispatch this crazy female that had invaded his territory. I couldn't let him.

"Please, sit down, and give me a few minutes to explain."

He didn't look happy, but he sat.

I leaned over the table, facing them, resting my hands on the table top. "This is a little hard to explain, but I am James Hastings, or as I am called now, Jamie Hastings. There have been a few complications during the past several months, and as a result, I find myself in the condition you see. I want to assure you this has had, and will have no negative impact on my work on this project."

The manager's face had been growing redder seemingly with each word I uttered. He finally blew. "What the hell is going on? Who the hell are you, and where the hell is James?"

His outburst just about blew me out of the room, and I did my best to keep my cool. "As I just explained, I am James, and as for what is going on, it is far to complicated to explain in the time we have. So, if we could just get on with this meeting, maybe we can work out the problems and get this project back in gear."

"Now just a minute, darling. Do you really expect me to believe you are James Hastings? You must take me for some kind of fool!"

"I assure you, I am not trying to fool you. I am only here to do the job we agreed on in my contract. Please, can we proceed?"

The engineer, who had sat by with a bewildered look on his face, pulled some papers in front of him and opened his mouth to speak. He never got the chance.

"If you are James, then what are you, some kind of a fuckin sissy pervert? You make me sick."

"No, sir. To get us back on track so we can finish this meeting, I am a transgendered female, currently in transition. This is a medically diagnosed and treated condition. Please, let's do the job we need to do."

My calm rejoinder just seemed to stir the flames of his anger. He exploded again, "I want you out of here. I'm not working with some sicko freak that thinks he can be a woman. Get out of my sight, and I don’t ever want to see your fuckin face again!"

The engineer was looking decidedly nervous, and tried to calm him. "Um, sir, you can’t do that. He, um, er, she has a contract. If you fire him, er, her, we are in breach of contract, and liable for the penalties that were written into it."

"I don't give a god damn about the fuckin contract, or the fuckin penalties. I want this crazy bastard out of my sight, or I'm gonna make him regret the day he was born." I was getting really nervous, as he was advancing on me with clenched fists during this outburst.

The engineer quickly got between us, and said over his shoulder to me, "Maybe you should leave for the moment, and we can work this out another time." He turned back to his boss as I cautiously backed toward the door. "Um, sir, maybe we should use the buyout clause and cancel the contract legally."

"I'll be damned if this pervert gets one more dime out of this company. And I will personally make sure he never gets another contract from us, or from any company we work with!"

As I edged through the door and shut it, I heard the engineer begin, "Please, sir, calm down, she's gone now…"

I tried to gather a bit of dignity after that debacle as I made my way out of the building and breathed deeply the fresh air. It seemed so sparkling clean after the filth I had just encountered, in spite of the brown pall that tinged it. After I got into my car, all I could do was sit there shaking, resting my head against the steering wheel. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out, in, out. I had gained a whole lot of admiration for Erin, and all the other transsexuals who were living and thriving in the world. I never knew how tough it could be.

I needed a drink. I cruised down the street looking for an open bar. That disastrous meeting hadn't taken long, and it was too early for bars to be open. So I stopped at a convenience store and got a big cup of coffee. Not that the caffeine would calm my nerves!

What now? Since I can't find a drink, what's next on my need list. A job! I was well and truly out of work now, losing out on the 6 or 8 months of work that should have been mine.

Wait a minute. Maybe I wasn't out of work. Or wouldn't be shortly. A month ago, Paul's company had tried to recruit me for a contract. The work was a good fit for me, as they had explained it. And they had been desperate. If they hadn't found someone, they were to contact James, my 'partner' sometime this month. I was just keyed up enough to go for it, so I headed off downtown to where I had visited Paul at his office.

I was really nervous as I rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where I had met with Paul, his boss, Mr. Johnson, and a team lead from the IT department named Steve. I wasn't up to facing Paul right now, so I asked directions from a secretary and went straight to Mr. Johnson's office. Knocking at the door, I stuck my head in and said "Mr. Johnson, do you have a minute?" Fortunately, there was no one in there with him.

"Can I help you?"

"It's me, Jamie. I've made a couple changes since I saw you last."

He rose from behind his desk and came to me. "Oh, I didn't recognize you at first. It's good to see you, Jamie. Have you reconsidered our offer?" Last time I was here, I had told him I had too much work to take his job. That had all changed this morning. He led me to a comfortable chair to one side of his office. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please. And yes, I'm here to talk about your offer."

He set my cup down. "Great! That's great. Let me call Steve in here and we can talk through some of the details."

His hand was lifting his phone as I said, "Wait. Please wait. I have something I need to tell you first. Just give me a couple minutes, OK?"

He set the phone down and came to sit in the other easy chair. "OK, shoot."

The thought crossed my mind that I hoped that wasn't what he would do when I told him. Shoot that is.

"Mr. Johnson. I have to clear up some issues before we can go anywhere with this. I have to get some truths out in the open, for my own peace of mind if nothing else. First, I need to tell you that I just lost my last contract. At this point, I don't know if they will use the escape clause and pay the specified balance, or if they will try to break the contract in court."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good. Can you tell me why?"

"That's the second thing I need to talk to you about." I took several sips of my coffee to calm my nerves. "I'm a transsexual. Are you familiar with that term?"

"Only vaguely. Isn't that like those guys on Jerry Springer that dress up like floozies and traipse around the stage? My god, that's not what you are, is it?"

"Wait. Slow down. No, I am not like those guys on Springer. A transsexual is a person with a medically diagnosed condition called gender dysphoria. Simply put, it is when the mind and the body are of different genders. In my case, my body was born male, and I have taken steps to correct that birth defect." I hated to lie, but the truth was too complicated and unbelievable.

"You're a guy. Are you sure?" I could see I wasn't getting through.

"No. I'm a girl. Unfortunately, I'm a girl that was born in a male body."

"Wow, I'd never have guessed." He thought a minute. "Does Paul know? I didn’t think he was gay, but I know he's stuck on you. Talks about you all the time! Are you gay? Oh, I'm sorry, that's none of my business!"

I sighed. "No, Mr. Johnson, Paul isn't gay, and neither am I. Paul thinks he loves the girl in me, and the girl in me loves Paul. And anyway, I wouldn't be gay, I'd be a lesbian."

"Oh, well, um… Does any of this interfere with you doing the job?"

Whew. I don't think I ever got it through to him, but it looks like maybe it won't affect the contract. "No sir, it won't interfere."

"Good. Let me call Steve in here."

Steve arrived a few minutes later. We talked over the technical aspects of the work needing to be done for the next hour. I pulled out my standard contract agreement which they would pass on to their lawyers. We closed the meeting with an agreement that they would pursue their end of getting the contract issued. Unfortunately, it was going to take a while to get things sorted out. I left Ken's phone number so they could work out the legal details. If it came together, I could probably start in about a month.

I walked out with Mr. Johnson, and he guided me to Paul's office before I realized where we were going. He piped up "Hi, Paul. Look who I brought to see you!" then turned and walked away.

I stood uncertainly by his cubicle for a few moments while he stared with a bemused look on his face. Eventually he offered "Hi."

"Hi, Paul." Another awkward silence. "Can you walk me to the elevator?"

"OK." He got up and we moved down the row of cubicles to the foyer. I stopped in the corner of the hall where there was a little privacy.

"Are you mad at me?"

He smiled sadly. "No, I'm not mad. Just really confused."

"Why should you be any different?"

He chuckled, "No reason."

I looked up at him. "Paul, I need a favor."

"Anything, Jamie. What can I do?"

"It's a really big favor, but I'm not ready to ask yet. But I need you to promise. Promise that when I ask, you'll do this for me."

"Jamie, you're scaring me. What is it? What's going on?"

"Please Paul, I need you to promise!" I had trouble talking past the lump in my throat, and tears were welling in my eyes, but I fought them back.

"OK, Jamie. For you. I promise that if it is within my power, I will do it."

I stretched up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and all but ran for the elevator. I just about hyperventilated on the ride down, hanging on to the grab bar to steady my lightheadedness. As I passed a restaurant on the way to the car, I realized it was lunch time. I decided I was too keyed up to eat.

My first appointment with the endocrinologist was in just under an hour, so it wasn't worth driving home. I still needed that drink, and the bars were open by now. I don't frequent bars often, never having felt to urge to drink much, so I didn't have any favorites. As I headed toward Dr. Myers office, I found one that looked pretty nice. It was pretty crowded, but I found a stool at the bar just as someone vacated. The place had a lingerie show, probably trying to attract the professional lunch crowd. It seemed to be doing the job, as every table was full.

The bartender delivered my bloody mary, and I swiveled around to see what the fuss was all about. I saw right off that they had some reasonably attractive ladies taking turns on a little stage, strutting out in some sexy filmy things that managed to stay on the right side of legal. They would walk across the stage, take a turn, and return, only to be replaced by the next one.

The man next to me at the bar leaned over and said "You interested? Want to give that a whirl?" and pointed at the stage.

I blushed, "No, thanks, not my thing."

He studied my face, then looked me up and down. "You're really very pretty, you know."

I blushed even redder and mumbled, "Thanks."

"My name's Tim Wheeler." He handed me a business card. "I run this show, but mostly I do more serious stuff. This is just a chance for some of the girls that don't have the body or the talent to do the real modeling. You really have the face and body that could do well in this business." He reached out and grabbed my chin to turn my head from side to side, looking at it from various angles. His hand dropped away. "Yes, quite well. If you're ever interested in giving it a shot, call me." He got up and headed backstage before I had a chance to figure out how to put him off.

I finished the drink, even eating the celery stalk. I figured it was better than no lunch. I wormed my way through the crowd and back out into the bright autumn sunshine. It only took me a few minutes to get to the doctor's office, so I was pretty early for my appointment. I sat in the waiting room and read the months old magazines until I heard my name, and followed the nurse to a tasteful office. Sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the desk, I waited several minutes before a short, round, balding man bustled in.

"Let's see, Ms. Hastings, right? Any relationship to Amy Hastings? Good doctor, that!"

"Yes." I didn't know how much he knew, but didn't feel like elaborating.

He settled into his chair behind the desk as he scanned my chart. "Hormone problems. Possible genital function impairment due to high levels. Hmmm. Male taking estrogens and androgen inhibitors. Right." He set the folder down and looked up at me. "Ok, so what is it you think I can do for you?"

"Um, I'm not sure doctor. I was referred here to see if there is a viable way to restore my male organs." Boy, it was hard talking about this stuff! "Um, another thing I would like to explore, as a contingency, is resuming female hormones, in order to finish what the earlier treatments started."

That set him off and running a mile a minute. "Not decided yet, hmm? Any leanings? If you go the male route, we have quite a few tests to run, and probably a long complicated recovery process, if it is even possible. Which is what the tests will tell us. Go female, things get much easier. Just get a baseline hormone reading, which is here in the results from last Friday, and start you on the appropriate dosage. Much easier."

"So what does the blood test say? Any sign that I might be able to recover?"

"It says you're an oversexed teenage girl. Minimal testosterone, plenty of estrogen." He flipped back in the chart. "Hmm. Slightly higher than last time on the male, down more on the female. Maybe progress, maybe fluctuation. Have to wait and see, if that's the way you want to go."

I sagged back in the chair and sighed. "I just want it to be over. What's the plan if I go the other way, female?"

"Estrogen and spironolactone now, orchidectomy as soon as possible. Then there's no turning back. You make the decision, we'll start making progress."

"Any recommendations for the male path. Anything that can help the recovery?"

"Not much. We could try testosterone, but we shouldn't resort to that till later. If we have to do that, there's a good chance you'd have to keep receiving hormone treatments for the rest of your life."

"Oh. Seems kinda bleak right now. Look, I need to think about this. I can’t make that decision right now. I need to keep my options open for now."

"Right. Make an appointment for two weeks on your way out, and get in here 4 or 5 working days ahead to leave another sample." With that, he was out the door, on to his next patient.

When I got home, I went through my office and boxed up everything related to my now defunct contract. I archived all the project files on my computer to a DVD. Then I collapsed on the couch.

Late in the afternoon, the phone roused me from a fitful nap. It was Ken, and he told me the lawyers had contacted him, and my contract had officially been bought out via the escape clause. Well, it wasn't as much as I'd have earned doing the work, but it got me off the project 6 months or more early. I shuddered to think what this would do to my reputation, and therefore my earning potential. It's funny how life can smack you down just when things seem to be going great. If only I could rewind 3 months, knowing what I do now!

I still wasn't in the mood to eat, so it was tough to think about Amy's dinner. I ended up putting a salad together with some sautéed chicken strips to add to it when Amy got here.

The conversation over dinner wasn't very upbeat, as I brought Amy up to date on my cancelled contract, and on what I found out at the doctor. I did cheer her up a bit with the news about Paul's company.

I cleaned up from dinner, then hit the internet again. I was at the stage that I was just devouring any information on transgender issues. I read more about the SOC, about psychiatric criteria, about the real life test. I got stuck on the surgery stuff, what doctors were good, what different procedures there were. Most of it I had seen before, but there was a doctor in a neighboring state that had a procedure that was useful for RLT. It was a reversible procedure that shifted stuff around in the groin and fastened things in place to give the general appearance of a vulva. No long term information was available, and there was believed to be a limit on how long it could be maintained and still recover male function, but it was a pretty interesting idea.

Amy came in, ready for bed, and looked over my shoulder for a while. What I was looking at upset her, I could tell, but she didn't say anything. After a while, she dragged me off to bed, then cuddled quietly till she drifted off to sleep. I could remember no time in our marriage when we had talked less than we had the last couple of weeks. My mind kept churning, and it was quite a while before I slept. My mind just kept looking for a way out. How could I stop the torment I was causing Amy? I didn't like any of the answers I came up with.

Thursday, November 12

The next couple days I kind of fell into a rut. A little breakfast with Amy, a walk, both days without seeing Paul, housework, computer fiddling, internet research, and all the time my mind kept on working. I knew my self esteem was plunging. I just couldn't think how to stop it. I kept coming back to the things I had done. And every time around the track, my scorn for my behavior grew. In my mind I evolved from a victim with a guilty conscience to a tease that incited, to a tramp who loved the sex and degradation, to a whore. I was drinking more than I ever had, and pushing Amy further and further away. Except for the walks, I didn't get out of the house at all.

Saturday, November 14

When Amy woke me, my head was throbbing, and I barely made it to the toilet before I lost what little there was in my stomach. I didn't think I drank that much last night, but then again I didn't remember much. Amy helped me into the shower, then came in with me and gently washed me, and shampooed my hair. It felt so good to be pampered, but it hurt too, because I knew I didn't deserve it. I had to stop being so selfish, to stop taking from Amy, to free her so she could have all she deserved. As long as I kept clinging to her, I was keeping her from happiness.

Amy treated me almost as a little child, leading me from the shower, drying me off, dusting my body with powder. She had noticed how emaciated my body was, and pushed me onto the scale.

"113! My God, Jamie, are you trying to kill yourself or ruin your health? What is that, over thirty pounds you've lost? We have to get you to a doctor!"

"I'm seeing three doctors, what more do you want!"

"I want you alive, and healthy, and with me forever!" She broke down in tears. "Oh, James, I feel like I've lost you." She grabbed my arms and punctuated each word with a shake of my whole body, "Can't. You. Understand? I. Love. You!" She fell against me bawling her eyes out. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to take her pain away, but I knew I was causing it, and as long as I was there I would keep causing it. I felt like total scum by now. I managed to get her to the bed, but could hardly even touch her let alone try to reassure her. I finally collapsed on the floor beside her bed and sobbed out my grief.

Amy was very quiet after that. Sometime during the day, I heard her on the phone, crying as she poured her heart out to someone. At one point I heard her say "I don’t think he loves me anymore." God, could she be any more wrong? But she would be better in the long run if she believed that.

I wandered through the rest of the weekend in a haze of despair. I'm not sure where the time went, but eventually Monday morning rolled around. That was relief and pain. Relief because Amy was gone, to work. Pain because Amy was gone.

Tuesday, November 17

I got a wakeup call from the walking nightmare I had been living these past several days. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad, maybe neither. I got a call just after lunch from Ken, my lawyer. The name change had come through. I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. I was now legally Jamie Alexa. I cleaned myself up and put on some reasonable clothes for the first time in days, and headed down to his office to pick up the papers. As I drove, I thought maybe I should just give in to the bad girl inside me. Maybe I should give up trying to be James.

Armed with the paperwork, I drove to the DMV and stood in line to get a new license. The clerk glanced at the paperwork briefly, and didn't pay any attention to the old license I surrendered. A quick picture, and another wait. Eventually they called me up to the counter and I picked up the new license. Geez, did I really look that bad? Name? Yup, Jamie Alexa Hastings. I checked the weight too, 115. And the hair color, Black. Then I stopped dead, gender, Female. My head started to spin, and I barely made it to one of the uncomfortable waiting benches before I collapsed. I wondered if I should try to correct the mistake, but a glance at the line convinced me I didn't want the hassle right now.

Next stop was the bank for a new ATM card, to change the name and picture. They studied the name change paperwork really carefully. I understood their concern because I surely did not resemble James Alexander in the slightest. On a sudden impulse I opened another account. Thanks to the payoff on my old contract, plus the recent payment for the completed work, there was over a hundred grand in savings. I started to put $25K into the new account, then stopped and thought about some of the expenses I might have it I had surgery. I ended up putting 50 thousand in it. I had convinced myself I had to get away from Amy for her sake, so I wanted to be prepared. But I couldn't leave Amy broke, either.

I walked out of the bank with two new bank cards with my new name on them, and a safe separate account just in case.

I may have been killing off the part of my life that I loved, but right now I felt more alive than I had in a week or more.

 

End of Part 01

  

  

  

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