Becoming Ch. 01

I kept fiddling with the documents. I don't even know why. I mean, I wasn't nervous. Why would I be?

Somebody yelled, "Westing!" I jumped. Guess I was nervous after all.

Dr. Hammond beamed at me as I sat down. I tried to smile at him. Personal charm, that was the thing; a smile, graceful posture. I tried to look delicate.

I must have failed miserably, because the first thing out of his mouth was, "Son—"

"Oh," I must have said. I know for a fact I looked despondent. I might as well wear my heart on my sleeve.

He looked at me, at my resume, back at me. I wanted to bury myself. "I mean, ms. Westing."

It wasn't fair. I was trying so hard! I waxed my face and padded my bra. I used moisturizer. After a few months' treatment it would all be much better, but if I couldn't get this job now I wouldn't be able to afford the next treatment.

"Now, now," he said, trying for a fatherly tone. It wasn't helping. "I don't have any problem with folks who are Becoming. We see many of those around here – generally the other way around, but nonetheless. You don't have anything to worry about."

I gulped. "The office said I needed to have a good stability rating." Obviously I couldn't have one in my deviant, inherently unstable state. Once I Became, now... But that won't help me now.

Dr. Hammond got up and closed the door. I startled again, cursing myself for being so reactive. Of course, that's part of what marked me for Becoming in the first place... No, I can't think about it, not now.

"It's fine," Dr. Hammond said. He was standing behind me. "That's up to my judgment as your future employer. However..."

I said, hesitantly, "Yes?" I hated being so timid. Of course, it was only one more sign of my maladjustment, which was why I had to Become.

His hands slid on my shoulders. I couldn't help myself from shuddering. It was weird and inappropriate, but it's been so long since I've been touched, since...

I won't think about that anymore. I promised.

"I do," Dr. Hammond said, "have a curiousity regarding those things."

I didn't ask what things. My heart was hammering. I didn't know what was happening.

No, I knew perfectly well what was happening. I just wished I didn't.

His hands crept down to where I was still mostly padding. The clinic said, with my build, I might always have to pad. Some women are just like that. I half-expected the Dr. to flinch.

His hands halted for a moment. He said, "How's your secondary development coming on?"

That was one hell of a personal question. Then again, the way he was touching me wasn't exactly impersonal to begin with. "Okay," I said, near-whisper.

He chuckled. "I suppose you would know." He retreated. I breathed out a relieved sigh.

He turned my chair around, so that I was facing him.

I'd worn my skirt, obviously, which only made being called "boy" worse. He asked me, quite politely, to remove my underwear.

I bit my lip as I stood up to do it. I kept hearing something inside my head telling me not to do it, to go away and never come back.

And then what? The office would want to know how I screwed up my interview, and when I told them, then...

"Why did you wear a skirt in the first place? You wore makeup and stuffed your bra, didn't you? And probably forgot to cross your legs properly.

"And besides, why would you say no?" The 'who else would want you' would be left unspoken.

I looked on Dr. Hammond as I sat down. He wasn't bad looking, at his late thirties at worst, full head of dark brown hair. I suppose his smile could be considered nice. He had good teeth, anyway.

I closed my eyes as he parted my thighs. I hoped he wouldn't try intercourse – my primary progress hadn't gotten that far yet – and he hadn't. He put his hand on the outside of my cunt, brushed one exploratory finger against my clit.

I gasped. I couldn't help it. I couldn't even tell if it was from fear or pleasure.

He hummed, sounding like he was rather enjoying himself. "Is it making good progress?" he asked, pushing a finger gently into my pussy.

It was wet; it's always wet. That's the way it is when you Become.

I relaxed when I saw Dr. Hammond wasn't giving me more than I could handle. He pushed a little. He could only fit the first two knuckles of his finger inside me, and I felt the stretch of it.

He wiggled his finger gently. I gasped.

He slowly took his finger out. It was glistening. He licked it and made an approving noise.

I was shaking.

It's a very unkind thing to arouse someone who's Becoming. We are very easily turned on, even when we don't want to be, and the Wards the office sets make it virtually impossible to take care of ourselves.

I couldn't ask anything of this man. Especially not this. But he looked at me, and for a moment I really did feel his expression was kind.

His tongue on my clit was shocking. I made a noise that was nearly terrified. It was a good thing he held hard unto my hips, because I couldn't control their twitching.

I closed my eyes tightly, and the images came to me before I could hold them back. The times with the gang, when they held me down and taught me that I was weak and open and theirs, that they didn't care what I wanted and neither did I.

And Dan. Always, never Dan.

I cried when I came. Not cried out – I have better self control than that. But my eyes filled up.

I managed to blink them away before Dr. Hammond got up and wiped his face. "Marvelous," he said. "Wonderfully responsive. I didn't realize they did that good a job."

"They're very good at what they do, Dr. Hammond" I said, nearly at my normal volume.

"I should say so." Then he blinked at me. "But you must call me Tom if you're going to work for me. And I must call you Henrietta."

I flinched. "Netty, please." Then what he said filtered through. "I... I got the job?"

He beamed. "Most certainly! You look like a very hard-working young woman," he said, without pause or any kind of hesitation. I had to smile at that.

I thanked him and left. It was cold outside. I drew my scarf around me.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad.