Miss Calliope Tamworth smiled up the dashing gentleman that handed her out of his steam launch. Mister Robert Pendleton is the name he’d given her, and though they’d hardly had a proper introduction, they were otherwise observing the forms as best they may. He offered her his arm, and thus entwined, they’d moved off the quay and onto Chandler Lane, toward her cottage.
As they walked up the lane, Caliope thought back to their meeting, earlier that night, at a salon on the new carriages fitted with electro-dynamic engines that were now appearing on the streets. There was some concern over the newfangled devices, and the local garden society had held a gathering where interested people could learn of the changes being wrought by such exuberant adoption of new machines.
Mister Pendleton had been at the meeting to. Like many people there, including Cali, he seemed at least as interested in the social aspects of the meeting as the he was in the putative topic, and they had both chatted with several new people, though had particularly enjoyed each other’s company. At the close of the meeting, he’d offered to escort her home in his launch, which was hardly worth the effort it took for the short distance of walking they saved. He did seem taken with the boat, though, and she appreciated his enthusiasm as he showed off his toy.
Sooner than she expected, she found herself at the walkway to her cottage. They paused there to chat a bit more, while she debated inviting him in. Not feeling ready to do more than chat socially with him, she felt it best to end the evening here, for now, and bid her escort good night. Walking up the lane and into her cottage, she thought it might well be worth pursuing that acquaintance in future visits here. But that would be another day, and as the circle with the pie wedge options appeared in the air in front of her, she chose “Exit.”
David Rourke let a melancholy sigh escape as the window on the virtual world disappeared, exposing his computer’s desktop, and it’s links and reminders of the world he had to live in most of the time. He wondered what Mister Pendleton would think of Miss Tamworth, if he could see David behind the screen.
His job was represented by the spreadsheet with his department’s budget for next quarter. His task was to make sure all the numbers came in below their expected grant income, though he had little enough power to alter things if they didn’t, beyond alerting the people with the actual authority. It wasn’t exactly a dream job. Not much in the way of excitement, responsibility or respect. Perhaps it was time to find a new job. Again.
Or move.
Or do something else to change his life is some drastic way so that he could, perhaps, forget that he hadn’t changed it in the way he knew he most needed to. His gaze shifted to icons that had been on his desktop much longer than the spread sheet. Links to sites where he could research transsexuality, or to chat-rooms where he might talk to others that seemed to understand. Maybe even review the list of therapists in the area that were known to deal with the issue, so he might take his first steps at fixing the problem he’d lived with his whole life.
Or not, he thought, as another yawn came upon him. It was time to finish up the spread sheet for work, and get to bed. He now realized that the problem wouldn’t go away if he simply wished hard enough, but that first step in the real world looked like a cliff. If he thought he might have any chance of looking like a normal woman, it might have been easier. Or so he told himself, while wondering if that was just another excuse. And yet, with his build, and his face, the best he felt he could hope for was to resemble a fairly hideous man in a dress.
David woke with a bit of a start. Normally, he wasn’t a morning person, but a sense of oddness caused him to try to be more alert than usual. He was reclined in a char. Had he fallen asleep at his desk last night? No, he remembered shutting down his computer and going to bed. After that, things were garbled. He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling and upper walls of a room that didn’t seem familiar to him. It was as he sat up to take in more of the room that he got a bigger shock–his body was different!
Or, perhaps it would be better to say that her body was different, since it soon became clear that this body didn’t belong to a male. Tipping her head down, David felt hair shift on her shoulders and brush along the sides of her face. Most prominent, from this vantage, were her breasts, sticking out from her chest in a way they’d never done, before. The rest of the body he could see, beyond those, didn’t alter the picture. Wide hips, long legs, slender arms and delicate fingers. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she said to the empty room. The higher register her voice came out in only added confirmation of her observations.
David was, at this point, fairly convinced he was dreaming. He seemed way more lucid and alert than during a dream, but how else could he explain this. No matter how many times he went to bed hoping to wake up as a woman, it wasn’t the sort of thing that actually happened. Taking in her clothing, David thought “Okay, a fashion plate, I’m not.” She was wearing a camisole, with spaghetti straps, that seemed to have a tighter band of fabric built in to help hold her breasts, and a pair of soft sweatpants. Running her hand along her thigh, she felt the softness of the material, and let her hand drift higher and to her groin, pausing only long enough to confirm that this body was, in fact not male. Her hand flinched away as her mind sought to understand how this came to be.
Before she could really process what was happening, the door opened following a short double-tap knock. A short man with close-cropped brown hair stuck his head in the door, looking at her, “Come on Cali, it’s time to get you down to makeup and wardrobe.”
David turned his head to see if anyone else was in the room that he might have missed, before turning back to the newcomer with a puzzled expression, “Er, what’s going on? How did this happen?”
The man in the door rolled his eyes while giving an exasperated sigh, “Have you been drinking again? I thought we’d agreed there’d be no more of that.” He took big sniffs of the air and looked around, looking for signs of alcohol, but not finding any. “Don’t let the director catch you at it. You’re a pretty girl, Cali, but you’re hardly the only actress who knows HMS Pinafore, and if you crawl back in a bottle, I wouldn’t count on him not finding another Josephine. Makeup is waiting, so come on!”
Shaking his head (her head?) David tried to sort out what was happening. She’d used the name Cali online, but was a bit troubled by the coincidence. Still, it seemed best to go along with the guy in the door, at least until she could figure out how this happened. As she pushed her way out of the chair, her body seemed to move differently than she was used to, and she felt like an ungainly colt for a bit. The feeling quickly left her, though, and by the time she reached the door, she was already feeling in control of this very different body.
She followed the man, who her mind insisted was named Philip, though she couldn’t recall ever meeting him before, down the hallway to a door marked makeup, where he turned to usher her in. Cali entered the room, noting an elderly woman standing by a counter with a wide range of cosmetics. The man who’d led her here spoke to the other woman, “She’s all yours Janet, drop her in wardrobe when you’re done.” He mimed tipping a bottle back, by way of warning.
Cali was getting frustrated with his fixation on drinking that she didn’t feel the effects of, but thought it best to not disabuse him of his notion, yet, since it easily explained her confusion, and would hopefully give her time to suss out what happened.
Janet patted the back of a chair, her smile not completely masking some trepidation, and Cali settled into it. As she did, she noticed the mirror facing her, and got her first look at her current face. How can that be me? It was a pleasant face, oval shaped, with a hint of dimples, even before she smiled. Large blue eye and dirty blond hair filled in the details, and she turned a bit while Janet was still fiddling with stuff on the counter to see a cute upturn on the end of her nose. A wide mouth showed off unnaturally white teeth. Pretty, even without makeup.
Janet turned back, gathering Cali’s hair up in a net – she’d late find it covered with a wig for the stage – and said, “I hope you don’t have to review your lines, since it’s not easy to do makeup on someone that’s trying to read.”
Lines? Oh, right, the guy had mentioned something about HMS Pinafore. Thinking about it, Cali realized she seemed to know the whole thing cold. Even staging and marks for a production filled her head. She couldn’t recall that she’d ever read the play, and she certainly didn’t think she, as David, had ever acted in it, yet part of it all seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t understand. Philip had mentioned Josephine, and so Cali continued to verify that all the lines, songs, and cues seemed to be in her head. Okay, whatever this was, this wasn’t a nightmare, since now would be the time to panic over not knowing her role if it were. With a smile, she’s said “I’m sure I’ll manage,” as Janet set to work on her face.
Cali dipped her head in a nod to the audience as she dropped a graceful curtsy. The corset she was laced into, beneath the Victorian seeming gown helped ensure her posture was good, though really, she’d confidently handled her role well. Hanging on the arm of the actor playing Ralph Rackstraw, they both gestured to the orchestra pit to direct some of the applause that way. It was hard to believe the play was over so soon. Once she’d hit the stage at her first cue, all worry had vanished, and she’d thrown herself into the role, playing to the audience, and with her fellow performers.
It was fun and exilerating, and now that the rush was over, perhaps she could puzzle out how a guy like David ended up in Calliope’s body. Walking offstage, still glowing from the performance, she wasn’t any closer to answering that question, though perhaps now she’d have time. She was puzzling how she might find street clothes when Philip approached her, “Cali, it’s time for your treatment.”
She blinked. Of course, she couldn’t neglect that. She’d get her answers later. “Lead on,” she said to Philip, and followed him out…
David woke as one often does from the midst of a dream, with a sense of disorientation. He blinked his eyes, resolving an acoustic tile ceiling, with soft lights placed so as not to shine directly in his eyes, and realized he was in what felt like a dentist’s chair.
“Welcome back, David. Relax, you’re safe here, and we mean you no harm.” Words, spoken in a pleasant sounding woman’s voice came from beyond the foot of the chair as he was raised to a sitting position.
As the chair reached its upright position, Dan assessed the woman who belonged to the voice. Pretty, with her blonde hair neatly styled in a layered cut, and wearing a smart navy blue skirt suit with a cream silk blouse. Nothing about her seemed cheap or sloppy. He could now also see more of the room they were in, and it added to the sense of opulence.
Looking down, he first noticed that he was back in his old, male, body. It had seemed a prison to him for most of his life, trapping him in the wrong sex. After whatever he’d just experienced, it seemed a hundred times more so. The body was at once intimately familiar and so very wrong. He still wasn’t sure how he’d recently been a woman, or even if it was real, for how could it be. Yet real or not, the experience had increased his dysphoria with his body to new heights.
Blinking back the urge to cry, he set his mouth in a grimace and looked up at the women who’d spoken to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to be Calliope all the time,” she asked.
“What?! How? That was real? What did you do?” the questions tumbled from David in his turmoil.
“Good. No denials,” she said with a smile. “You may well be ready to hear my offer.”
“What offer?”
“Simply put, we can give you a woman’s body.”
“But that can’t really be done. It’s just the stuff of dreams.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you ever had a dream as vivid and real as the experience we just gave you? That wasn’t a dream, but the actual body you were in.”
David barely nodded, unable to argue with how real it had felt, “Go on…”
“I represent an organization known as the Dollhouse. We provide people that can be tailored to provide very specialized services through implanted personae and skills. Normally, we build a complete personality customized to the task, though as you experienced, we can limit it to particular knowledge, such as how to sing and act in a musical you’ve never even read.”
After giving him a moment to digest that, she continued, “While we actually are very good at building the personae we need, the bodies we install them in must be flesh and blood made the old fashioned way. So, we record what makes you, well, you, and save that for when it needs to be restored. In the meantime, you’re body is a tabula rasa into which we can pour a person tailored to our needs.”
“Lest you imagine some vast conspiracy of body snatchers, all of our actives are volunteers. Most need a break from their lives. After five years, they get restored to their body, and get a new start.” She paused, giving him a meaningful glance before continuing, “And for some, a new start in a different body might be more enticing.”
“Wouldn’t that leave that person without a body, though,” David asked.
“You aren’t the only one who wants a change of body. As long as we balance those that wish to switch sexes, it all works out.”
“So, what happens to my personality during those five years? I twiddle my thumbs,” David asked.
“You won’t notice the time. You cease to exist for all intents during that time. It’s like sleeping, without dreams.”
“So, I go to sleep, and five years later I wake up in the body I was just in?”
“Well, not that exact body – her five years will be over well before yours, and she likes her body just fine. But if you’re switching, we’ll try to pair you with one that’s close to your preferences and about your age, from those that would like to cross the other way.”
“And legally? I imagine I can’t exactly pick up my old legal identity with a twist,” asked David.
“Well, no. But we’re not without contacts among influential people. You’d have a new identity to go with the new, to you, body, and a clean history, with qualifications that match what you can do.”
David wondered if this was too good to be true, “And what is this going to cost me?”
The woman glanced at him reprovingly, “I thought I said that – five years use of your body.”
“And if I say no?”
“You wake up tomorrow in your own bed, and never hear from us again.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll mention this?”
“Who’d believe you?”
David frowned, “Good point.”
“Do you need some time to think about it?”
David’s first instinct was to shout “No,” but he held back, looking for a downside. His denial had still recently been arguing that he could continue living as a man if he had to, but this experience had killed that notion. His own body was now foreign to him, and the sooner he could make it right, the better.
“When do we start,” he asked.
The woman smiled, and gestured to the door, “We have details to arrange, but there’s no time like the present.”
Disclaimers: First, this is fanfic based on the concept, if not any of the characters and details of the Joss Whedon show Dollhouse. The TS aspect is something that seemed worth exploring against the backdrop of the show, though is not represented by the released episodes.
Secondly, if the research linking transsexuality with physical brain development is accurate (and I think there’s some evidence there), this wouldn’t work. Moving a T2F personality into the body of a T2M woman (and vice versa) would solve the problem for neither of them, as they’d both be TS the other way, in the end.
Thirdly, constructive criticism is welcome, but this is my first story, so please be gentle.
There’s less than a week, now, until school starts at my new high school. I do hope I don’t have to write up a “What I did on my summer vacation” essay. That would be totally embarrassing, and not a good intro to a new school.
It’s not like the summer was uneventful – far from it. But I’d rather all the details weren’t known, and don’t want to have to discuss my reactions, at least any more than I have to with the shrinks I’m having to see. I suppose I should write it down, for my eyes only, as it might be useful to look back in a few years. I guess it starts with the accident I had at the beginning of summer.
I’d give you the details of the accident, but I honestly don’t remember them. They say the brain is good at forgetting bad things, and it must have really hurt. Heck, things still hurt two months later, though nothing like they did when the pain meds first wore off at the hospital. Near as they can tell, it involved a train, a railroad bridge and a chain link fence. The trains don’t go by there that often, and lots of kids use that bridge as a short-cut. I just had the luck, which most people see as bad luck, to be there are the wrong time.
Waking up in the hospital was odd. It was painful, and I was in and out of conciousness for a while, while my parents tried to comfort me and tell me that things would get better, though they didn’t seem too sure, sometimes. Seems the accident had torn away my male bits, and it was all they could do to keep me from bleeding to death as they worked to fix things. My male bits couldn’t be saved, and the doctors were recommending that they fix me up as a girl. Well, they mostly had, since they’d had to do a lot of surgery there to keep me alive, and went for the closest to “normal” they could do with what they had.
What was really odd about this, was that it so closely matched a fantasy I’d been having for years. Sometimes there was an accident. Other times it was a mysterious illness. They details of the accidents and the illnesses often changed slightly, but the end result was that the only way to save my life would be to cut away my guy bits and make me a girl. I could wail away at the injustice of it all, but in the end, I was always a girl, and it wasn’t my fault! It was a bit of a shock to actually wake up in the middle of one of those fantasies. I did the pinch to check for dreaming bit, but I was on so much pain drug at the time that I it was a few days before I was sure it was real.
In my dreams, though, I never had to deal with the shrinks. They’ve been the biggest pain! Well, okay, the physical pain was probably bigger, but that was getting better all the time. I always assumed I could wail and gnash my teeth about how I didn’t want to be a girl and how cruel life was for having forced me into this. That way, I wouldn’t have to admit that I had always wanted to be, and it would all be nicely out of my hands. In the real situation, though, I almost protested too much. One of the shrinks started talking about giving me male hormones and having me stay a guy to the rest of the world, even if I didn’t have the bits. I think I almost gave myself away, then. I made a show of facing reality, and made noises about wanting to live as normally as possible, and recognizing that that now meant as a girl. They seemed to buy it, and we’re back on track to my living as a girl. They’ve even started me on girl hormones. I think it would go smoother if I didn’t have to sit down with them so often though.
Physically, I’m feeling better. I got to leave the hospital after a few weeks, and things have been healing since. I still don’t have a great amount of energy, and things still hurt a bit, but nothing like it did at first. It was messy to pee when they first took out the tubes, but that seems better, now too. I have to sit, of course, and wipe up after, so I suppose it’s still messier than it used to be, but probably no worse than for most girls.
Mom and Dad seem to be coping. They give me odd looks, now and then, and I get some amount of sympathy, combined with forced cheerfulness, and a considering look. I wonder if they suspect how little I mind this, sometimes. They made arrangements for me to go to a different high school than I’d planned. It’s still close by, but there won’t be many of the kids I know from junior high there. I hadn’t really started puberty before the accident, so I don’t look that out of place dressed as a girl. And speaking of that, I have to go with mom now to shop for school uniforms. I’ll have to remember to roll my eyes at the skirts. It’s expected, you see.
Cindy Bellows tucked her crampons under the holding straps on the outside of her pack, making sure the points were facing backwards. That way, if she fell back, and landed on the pack, they might help slow her fall. At least they wouldn't tear her pack or damage anything inside. She didn't expect to need them tonight, but it was better to have them along, in case. She considered slinging her ice axe in it's carry straps, too, but decided it might be safer to have it in hand, in case she missed a spot of ice.
Looking up to the near full waning moon, Cindy figured she should have enough light to see, even under the trees, since their leaves were now all gone. Pulling her pack on her back, she adjusted the straps so it carried well. Leaning the ice axe against the bumper of her Honda Civic hatchback, she debated calling friends to let them know where she was, so they could send out searchers if something happened to her, keeping her from being back when expected. With a sigh, she realized that any of her friends who knew the area well enough to be useful for this would argue that she was taking stupid risks. It would be a hard argument to win, since she knew they'd be in the right.
Closing the back hatch, and locking her car, she turned for the head of the Waupak Trail that would take her to the top of Pack Monadnock mountain. Did she really want to do this? The last few weeks at work had been hellishly stressful. She felt she needed a good adrenaline challenge. A night hike up a small nearby mountain seemed like a fine idea when she was sitting in her office cubicle. The ice and snow seemed a bit early, in October, but not unheard of. Now, the crisp air filling her lungs, and the clear night that promised an excellent view from the top seemed to urge her on. Yeah, there was some snow on the ground, but not that much, or that deep. The biggest danger from the snow was that it might hide ice patches underneath, but she thought she could spot most of them, even with just the moonlight.
She did a last check of her headlamp, and saw that it was shining brightly. After turning it back off, she unzipped her parka enough to slide it into an inside pocket where it would stay warmer, helping the batteries stay useful. She was hoping to do the whole hike by moonlight, but it didn't hurt to have a backup plan. Crossing the low stone wall that marked the edge of the parking lot, she set out on the trail, under the trees. She was relieved to confirm that it was fairly easy to spot the trail, even in the comparative darkness, and her heart lifted as she started her ascent, being wary for ice.
Just over an hour later, she came out of the trees into the clearing at summit. The ice hadn't slowed her too much, and it wasn't that big a mountain, after all. Climbing the old fire tower on the summit, she was able to look off in all directions. Keene was easily visible to the west. To the east, the lights of Manchester and Nashua almost blended together where they met, though it was easy enough to identify particular areas. Southeast, off on the horizon, Boston's tall buildings were clearly visible.
Cindy leaned against the railing in the tower, washing a granola bar down with some water from her pack. Looking off at the lights, and breathing the night air, she realized it had worked, and she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. "Now I just need to survive the descent," she muttered. It wasn't that she was particularly worried, though she knew that's when most hiking accidents happened. Slipping her pack back on, she went down the stairs of the fire tower, and headed back to the trail.
Some time later, as she was nearing the parking lot, the sounds of something moving carelessly through the woods came closer. She scanned the area, looking for what or who it might be. She wasn't overly worried, since there weren't any predators in the area that would bother humans--except maybe other humans. Even so, she thought this was a pretty safe area. Still, she clung to her ice axe a bit more tightly, as the noise grew louder.
Suddenly, a nearby howl turned her blood to ice, and a shadow seemed to leap at here. Momentarily frozen, she had the impression of yellow eyes and large teeth coming at her from the shadow. The shock of that was enough to let her shake off the paralysis, and she was able to take a swing with the ice axe. Not knowing how many shots she'd get, she swung into it as if she were at bat at a softball game. A shock ran up her arms as the pick of the axe connected, but it was overwhelmed as the shadow hit her, knocking her backward. The wind was knocked out of her as she hit a tree, but she barely noticed as her head smacked against the trunk of the tree, causing her world to go dark.
# # #
Recurring, though fleeting images of teeth, claws, blood and fur haunted her. She felt restless and trapped, with a sense that this was a nightmare she wanted out of, if only she knew how. Periods of darkness provided some relief, only to plunger her back into the nightmares all too quickly. Finally, the darkness gave way to light, and pain.
Cindy closed the eyes she'd barely registered opening as the light entering them was like driving a spike into her pounding headache. She felt bruised, tired and dirty, and seemed to be supine in a bed. Slowly squinting her eyes open a bit, she tried to see her surroundings. She didn't yet care to turn her head, but the medical equipment in racks by her bedside argued strongly that she was in a hospital. If any of the machines noted a change in her consciousness, it escaped her, but the door opening into her rooms implied either someone had noticed, or coincidental timing.
A middle aged woman in cheerful print scrubs that screamed nurse walked in quietly, checking on the patient in the bed. By this point, Cindy's eyes had adjusted more to the light, and were further open, which the nurse noticed, and she brightened as she approached the bed.
"Back with us, finally?" The nurse asked, and then turned to scan the machines.
"Wha..." Cindy started to croak out, but realized her throat was very dry. The nurse took a cup of water from a nearby table, and held the straw to Cindy's lips.
"Just a few small sips, to start," she warned.
Cindy drew on the straw, grateful for the relief to her dry mouth and throat, before pausing to try again. "What happened?"
The nurse looked at her in concern, "It's not uncommon to not remember traumatic events." She smiled reassuringly, "What's the last thing you remember?"
Cindy frowned as she tried to recall recent events, "Hiking...night...great view..." It seemed the last thing she remembered was the view from the summit of the mountain, "Did I have an accident on descent?"
The nurse frowned in concern, seeming to debate how much to reveal.
"Please, don't keep me in the dark," urged Cindy.
"Well..." the nurse temporized, before revealing "You seem to have been attacked by some animal near the parking lot."
Cindy frowned at that news, no clear impression coming to her, "What sort of animal? There are no predators in this area that would bother a human, even on a winter night."
The nurse raised one arm in a shrug, "I can't say, though maybe Fish and Game or the police will have more information. I expect they'll want to ask you questions when you're a bit better."
"Speaking of better, what's wrong with me? I know I hurt, sort of all over," asked Cindy.
"You have a head concussion, and while there was some torn skin on the back or your head, that's minor was stitched up. You have deep lacerations to your abdomen, which are our biggest worry, since the risk of infection is as bad from the inside as the out, there. They did some surgery on you to patch things up, there." As an afterthought, she gestured to her bandaged forearm, and added, "You have a bite mark on your arm, but that seems fairly clean, discounting any disease whatever attacked you might have had. Since we can't find it, and the unusualness of predators in the area, a course of anti-rabies treatments is needed, and that might seem worse than bite, itself."
"It's best you rest up and try to heal, as much as you can, in the meantime," the nurse added, dimming the light on the way out of the room.
Cindy was going to ask for more info, but had mostly reached the limit of her current endurance, and was soon back to sleep.
# # #
Cindy sat curled on a futon couch by the woodstove, reading a romance novel, when her doorbell rang. Slipping a ribbon into the book to mark her place, she rose to answer the door. As she moved toward the door, she noted how good she felt, and marvelled that the doctors had advised her to take a couple weeks more to recover, based on the original severity of her injuries. In fact, she felt better than she could recall feeling in a long while, though didn't mind a spot of enforced leisure.
Opening the door, she saw a blond woman, about her age, dressed like many of the suburban women of the valley, in clothes that were more timeless than trendy. The woman smiled in a friendly fashion as the door opened, though Cindy couldn't quite suppress the sense that there was something feral about it, as well.
"Yes?," Cindy asked.
"Cindy Bellows?"
Cindy nodded, and the woman continued, "Hi, I'm Jane Fredricks, and I have some information you need to know about your recent attack while hiking." Here, she paused, and as Cindy seemed hesitant, asked, "Might I come in?"
Cindy considered for a moment, but the woman didn't seem threatening, and it wasn't as if anyone else had been able to offer much in the way of explanation about her attack. She stood aside from the door, and gestured for the other woman to enter.
As they moved back into the living room, Cindy, while curious, fell back on habits of hospitality, and offered the woman something to drink, but the offer was declined.
"So, what sort of information do you have? The authorities have been able to tell me almost nothing, it seems."
"That's not really surprising. They try to fit circumstances to things they understand, and when faced with things outside their understanding, they either fit them to the wrong thing, or just give up. What I'm going to tell you falls well outside their understanding, and likely yours, too, so bear with me, even if it seems a bit unlikely."
"How unlikely are we talking," Cindy asked, "I'll warn you that while I like a good story as much as the next girl, I'm tend to favour rational explanations for things that many would credit with a bit of mysticism."
Jane nodded, "That's understandable, but sometimes you have to adjust your view of what's possible. I was going to try to build up to this, but if you're not believing me, you won't be paying attention to some of the things I have to tell you, so we'll get the proof aspect out of the first. The truth is, you were attacked by a rogue werewolf. As you're probably about to tell me that there are no such creatures as werewolves, I'm about to prove otherwise. Don't be alarmed by the big wolf you're about to see. I assure you I'm quite in control of her and she means you no harm. We'll talk more when I'm back to human."
Jane stood, and started sliding her skirt down her legs, giving an apologetic shrug to Cindy, "No sense ruining my clothes."
"Wait! Stop! You can't be serious. And put your clothes back on," Cindy urged. She had a hard time believing that this strange woman was stripping in her living room, and was thinking where she'd left her phone and how quickly the police might get here to take this crazy person away.
Cindy recalled that her phone was still in her purse, by the front door, and ran to grab it. She fumbled briefly with the zipper of the small compartment that held her phone, and grabbed it, turning. She flipped the phone open and was about to explain to the crazy woman that she had a last chance to leave when she realized the woman was no longer there. Standing in her place was a large wolf, or at least it had the shape of a wolf, even if it was coloured more like a golden retriever. The wolf settled onto its back haunches before stretching its front paws out, and set its head on the paws, looking up at Cindy and thumping the floor with its wagging tail.
"No frakking way!" Cindy muttered to herself, as she moved sideways, with her back to the wall, until reaching a chair she could fall into.
# # #
Cindy paced nervously around her house, her mind churning on the information Jane had given her. While there was a great deal she needed to know, it was expected that it would probably make sense to her after she first changed, at the next full moon.
"Amputees have even regrown limbs," Jane had casually stated, while explaining the phenomenal healing as one of positive benefits of being a werewolf. It was clear as she mentioned it that it was an being offered as an extreme example, of no particular relevance to Cindy, for Cindy clearly had all her limbs.
Yet that one statement had overwhelmed all of the other information Jane had tried to impart after she changed from the wolf, back into her human form. Cindy had tried to steer the conversation back to that point, for clarification, asking about plastic surgery, and whether that was undone. Jane couldn't really say, though, since she didn't know of any werewolves that had had nose jobs. She'd looked at Cindy curiously as she mentioned that, but Cindy had shrugged it off while trying to fight the rising panic.
"No, this is my original nose," she'd weakly offered, not yet ready to share her real worry with Jane. From that point in the conversation, she'd been so distracted, that she was sure Jane must have suspected something was up, but neither again raised the subject, and Jane had left, leaving her number and suggesting a safe place to meet for the next full moon, just after Halloween.
Cindy wondered if the Google might offer any reassurance, and hopefully sat at her computer. What keywords might give the best results? Cindy clicked in the search box of her browser, and entered "werewolf regeneration transsexual" and started combing through the results. Sadly, most of the entries seemed to be either fiction, or coincidental hits that didn't really address her point, and she was too keyed up to sit patiently at the computer and dig through them all. She tried a few other combinations, but all seemed equally useless, at least in her present mental state.
It had been four years since her surgery, and over a year of hormone treatments before that. It was something that she mostly thought she'd put behind her, other than the daily hormone pills she still took. Life was so much better now that she'd fixed that developmental defect. The thought that years of hormones and surgery could be wiped out by some paranormal event at the next full moon had Cindy on the verge of panic.
"I can't go back to that," she said, while feeling bile rise in her throat. She ran for her bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to throw up. After flushing the nasty smelling contents away, she sat curled in a tight ball on the floor, trying to blank her mind and break the rising terror. How would she make it to the next full moon? And how would she cope if the worst happened, and she found herself male, again? She'd been able to fix it, before, but wasn't facing the chance that her body would reset to male every full moon!
Cindy finally got to her feet, though seemed to be a bit shaky. She ambled into the kitchen and went fishing in the liquor cabinet for something to help her sleep. Being honest with herself, she realized that might take rather more than she normally drank, so she took down a large glass. Hopefully, the morning would present a less bleak picture.
I tugged nervously at my skirt as I made my way down the hall to father’s study, trying to ensure that everything was properly in place. He’d been hiding in there for days now, but had finally summoned me in to to meet with him. I tried to reassure myself that this was progress. Ever since I started living as Melanie, he’d been avoiding me. The few times I’d seen him in recent days had always prompted a scowl from him, and a retreat to his office. Mother says he should come around in time, but I’m starting to wonder.
It had been getting harder to keep the façade of Michael going. I’d worked out my gender conflicts with my therapist, and had been getting frustrated with lack of resolution. I knew that Michael was my past, and Melanie was my future, and being stuck in limbo was becoming more than I could bear. The main obstacle to me starting to live as Melanie had been Father. He really wasn’t ready to let go of Michael, or the notion that he had a son instead of a daughter. Finally, my therapist and mother were convinced I couldn’t go on as I’d been, and we resolved that I could become Melanie for good during the school break. Mother thought father might come around once he saw how much happier I seemed, but that wasn’t going to happen if he kept leaving any room I was in.
So it was with a flicker of hope that I knocked on the door. “Father, you wanted to see me?”
“Come in,” he called.
My flicker of hope was extinguished by his expression as he watched me come through the door. He seemed to be looking at something distasteful, and I quietly sighed as I realized this wasn’t likely to be a happy meeting of reconciliation. I moved to stand before the desk he was seated at, and waited for him to continue.
“Michael…or, Melanie, as I’m told you should be called now…” he paused, and his face grew stormier for a bit until he seemed to rally, and press on, “As you know, I’m not best pleased with these changes you insist on.”
He vaguely waved his hand up and down, gesturing at me, as if it might be unclear what changes he was referring to.
“I know it’s been hard on you, but I couldn’t go on as I’d been, and I hope you can come to term–” I started to say before he cut me off with a flat wave of his hand.
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard that from your mother and the quack you’ve been seeing. Stuff and nonsense, I think, but I’m prepared to give you a chance, and even, perhaps, help you clarify your thinking on this.”
Oh, this did not sound good.
“As the school break is coming to a close, we’ve got to get your schooling sorted. I’m told a new school would help give you a new start, but I hardly think anything local would work for that, as we’ve lived here all your life. With that in mind, I’ve made arrangements to send you off to a boarding school.”
No, not good at all. He probably has some military academy in mind to whip me in shape. I’ll be dead in minutes if I can’t put a stop to that.
He continued, “And while I still don’t see how you can be a girl, the letters from that quack are sufficient for a girl’s school to take you as such.”
Wait, what?
“Did you say a girl’s school, father?” I had to ask to make sure I understood.
“Well, you’ve been insisting you’re a girl, so what’s the problem with a girl’s school? Unless this was all a lark, and Michael would like to return to his old school?”
“No, a girl’s school would be great, father!” And with that, my hope was rekindled, maybe father did get it.
“If at any point you don’t feel you fit in there, be assured, I’ll happily rescue my son from the unsuitable environment with those girls, and bring you home where we can say no more of this episode of yours.”
I didn’t need an imaginary Admiral Ackbar standing on my shoulder yelling “It’s a trap!” to figure out there was a catch, but it seemed father was setting me a challenge, and when I met it, he’d be more willing to deal with me as his daughter. Besides, I wasn’t ready to deal with boys yet, anyway, so an all girls school seemed like it could work.
“I’m sure I’ll manage just fine, father. Thank you for trying to be understanding.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see. You should start packing. You leave for St. Trinian’s day after tomorrow.”