The Gemini

"Let me see if I have this straight," Janice snorted angrily. "You had an affair with one of my patients?" She glared at me balefully, which served only to make her more attractive than she already was. Janice Merrill could easily have been a successful model; she was a tall, willowy brunette with striking features and a perfect complexion. In fact, she had done some modeling in college and med school. She was now a clinical psychologist and director of the Leto Clinic. The clinic was her 'baby' from the start; the only facility in the world that treated all facets of Gender Dysphoria under one roof, from assessment and counseling to sexual reassignment surgery.

Janice had become involved in the transgender scene in college. She had developed a special empathy for boys who wanted to be girls and had devoted her practice to treating them. Somewhere along the line she had found time to marry me, although I am not really sure why. We had been happy enough at the beginning, but she was a woman possessed; first with treating her 'girls', then with the idea of the clinic. Once she got it going, she began spending more and more of her time there. When we did see each other, she seemed increasingly preoccupied, distant, aloof. I had my job as a broker to keep me busy, but it was a lonely existence. I had committed a little indiscretion the night before. When I found out about the connection, I felt obligated to tell my wife. It was an honest mistake - as honest as Infidelity can be. She was not taking it well.

"I didn't know she was one of your patients and it wasn't an 'affair'. I was only with her once - last night. We met. We talked. One thing led to another. I didn't find out she was a patient of yours until afterwards."

"Oh, well, that makes it all right, doesn't it? Just a little fling with a pretty girl you met in a bar - you did meet her in a bar, didn't you? That doesn't count against 'love, honor, and cherish', does it? That doesn't compromise my professional ethics, DOES IT?!"

I hate it when Janice is in her 'dripping with sarcasm' mode. I always get very defensive.

"I hardly ever see you anymore, and when I do, your head is still at the clinic with your 'girls'. They seem to be the most important thing in your life, and I had never even met one, let alone talked to you about them. I heard through a friend about a bar uptown where transsexuals go, so I decided to check it out. I didn't go there with the intention of getting laid. I went to find out more about the people you treat every day. I met Jade there..."

"Jade! Please, God, no!! What was the name of this place?"

"Tush Street."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, NO! Tush Street is a HOOKER bar."

Janice slapped her forehead with her palm, paced back and forth frantically, then turned back to me and grabbed me by the lapels.

"Richard, this is very important. Did you PAY Jade to have sex with you?"

"Well...yes."

She flung open her fingers, releasing me from her grasp, then turned, folded her arms across her chest, and walked across the room to the picture window overlooking the well-groomed yard. She gazed out the window silently for several moments, as though collecting her thoughts, then turned back to me and solemnly spoke.

"Well, Richard, you had a busy night last night. Not only did you break your marriage vows to me; you may have just undone six months of intensive psychotherapy. I don't talk about my patients to anyone, including you, out of respect for their privacy and confidentiality; you know that.

Since you have already met Jade, I suppose I can tell you a little about her, so you will know exactly how much your little peccadillo may have screwed things up. Jade is my most difficult case. She came to me a couple of years ago and seemed to be an ideal candidate for SRS. She was bright, out-going, and had the right attitude about herself and what she wanted. She already exhibited advanced female secondary sex characteristics; breast and hip development, feminine vocal range and pattern, little or no facial or body hair, and almost no testicular development. She said she had always been like that. She was a beautiful boy, like you, who became even more beautiful as I transformed her into a woman - but then, you already know that, don't you?

Later, after we did her surgery, I found out she was also a very good actress. She had hidden from me a dark side of her life; chronic sexual abuse by her father, leading to low self-esteem, substance abuse, transvestism - she was a full-fledged Drag Queen and shooting up female hormones and androgen blockers by age Fourteen - which only made her more attractive to her father. That led to rejection and abandonment by her mother, who mistakenly thought Jade was to blame for the whole situation and was trying to steal her man away from her. Jade's father eventually abandoned her as well, leaving her alone and on the streets.

She now equates being a man's sex toy with being loved. She has a compulsion to be used, and therefore 'loved', which drives her to prostitute herself. The money doesn't really interest her in the usual sense; her real turn-on is being wanted sexually by a man - any man. The money is the key; if he pays her, he is somehow proving to her that she has worth. The more he pays, the more valuable she feels. She somehow sensed that telling me this would have caused me to postpone, or even cancel her surgery, and she was right - I wouldn't have touched her without extensive therapy.

As it was, we were making real progress. She was really starting to come to terms with herself, and I thought I had gotten her to stay off the streets. I have no idea what she was doing in Tush Street last night. Nostalgia? Catharsis? Denouement? A full-fledged relapse? Whatever the causality, she was there. Then, along comes good old Richard with hard cash and a hard-on. I wondered why Jade missed her appointment this afternoon; now I know. I'll put word out on the streets with the other girls, but she may never come back. Thanks a lot, Richard. You can sleep on the couch tonight."

I felt considerably smaller than my 5'7" stature. I really did love my wife, and had not intended to wreck our marriage or ruin her work. I tossed fitfully for several hours, finally drifting off into some semblance of sleep. I awoke with a start sometime later, as several pair of enormously strong arms held me down. I shouted out for help. Then my cries were muffled by a cloth forced over my mouth and nose - a cloth with a sharp, pungent odor. I saw stars - then nothing.

I drifted into hazy consciousness, disoriented and alone. I couldn't command my arms or legs to move. I was in a bed, in a room... like a hospital room, with an IV inserted in my right arm. The clinic? That's silly - what would I be doing there? I heard voices outside the open door. I couldn't quite make out the conversation, but thought I heard the word 'Gemini'. Then two women walked into my room. Janice was dressed in a white lab coat, looking every bit the Director of the facility. The other was dressed in green scrubs.

"Good morning, Richard. Don't try to move; you are under sedation and have no muscle control anyway. This is Doctor Collins, my Chief of Surgery. Forgive the unorthodox method of getting you here, but I anticipated you might not cooperate fully once you found out why. The more I thought about what you did, the angrier I got. I really can't forgive you, either for ruining my work with Jade or for cheating on me, so I have arranged for a 'divorce', so to speak.

One of the nice things about being the Director here is that the staff is intensely loyal to me. I made a few phone calls, and voila; everyone turned out in the middle of the night to assist me in my plans for you. Since you want so much to know about my work here, you are going to experience it first-hand. You want to be a slut instead of a faithful husband? No problem; I can arrange that, too. Sweet dreams, Sweetheart!"

Janice turned a dial on the IV line, and before I could mumble even a feeble protest, a cold, drowsy humor came over me, followed by blackness.

What followed was a kaleidoscopic montage of sights, sounds, smells, and scenes. There were operating rooms, bright lights, people in masks, a bustle of activity. There was a hospital room, with nurses going in and out, Doctor Collins and Janice hovering over me, examining me, gadgets whirring, tubes, needles - lots of needles.

These images were replaced with other, even more disturbing ones. Beauty parlors. Long blonde hair being curled, shaped, fluffed out. Long, long crimson fingernails. Furry coverings over my eyes. Make-up, a lot of make-up. Fitting rooms. Bras. Panties. Stockings. Something squeezing me. Tighter, tighter - I can barely breathe. I'm walking back and forth, back and forth, again and again. I'm getting taller all the time, like Alice. I'm swaying back and forth, as though I were on a boat rocking side to side.

I am not alone; there is a beautiful, busty blonde walking back and forth, too. She is walking towards me; I turn and walk away. I turn back towards her and she turns and walks toward me at the same time. She is so beautiful, so sexy - I am in love with her! I see her everywhere - in the malls, on the streets, in bars, making love to men. Oh, yes - making love to men! I watch her sucking their cocks, impaling her pussy on their long, slick love shafts, and it makes me so hot! I sense she knows I am there, watching her, but does not mind. In fact, she seems to get off on having an audience.

Above all, I see the image of Janice, speaking softly, reassuringly, offering words of encouragement. I cannot remember the words, but somehow I now know all about the blonde, everything she does, everything she thinks, everything she feels. I know her intimately, as though we are old friends who have no secrets between each other. Her blatantly-sexual nature intrigues me - no, more than that. I feel excitement, desire, longing, in a way I cannot describe.

The images faded, and I drifted slowly into consciousness. I was in Janice's office; that much I recognized. But I felt - different, somehow. I was lying on the padded leather couch; Janice was seated in a chair next to me. She gazed down on me with a bemused smile, giving me the once-over from head to toe, and nodding approvingly.

"Good afternoon, Richard. I wanted to take this opportunity to speak with you before you leave us. I must say, you turned out to be my finest work yet - even better than Jade. Why don't you go look in the mirror and see for yourself?"

It was as if I had just received a commandment from God. I HAD to go look at myself. I swung my legs over gracefully(?) and stood, then strutted sensually towards the full-length looking glass, as though I had been doing it all my life. I was stunned to see the gorgeous blonde of my dreams strutting towards me! She was poured into a skin- tight red pucker-knit tank dress. Her impossibly-big breasts threatened to spill out over the deeply-scooped neckline. Her handspan waist was set off by a tightly-cinched, wide black patent leather belt, and segued into full, rounded hips which undulated sensually from side to side. Her long, shapely legs were sheathed in whisper-sheer black stockings, ending in black patent leather pumps with five-inch stiletto heels.

Her hair was coiffed in the fullest, fluffiest, waviest Prime Time Hair 'do I had ever seen, cascading softly around her shoulders and down her back. Her lovely face, with its high, prominent cheekbones and full, plush, kissable lips, was made up in an outrageously overstated way, her azure eyes heavy with eye shadows and liner, the blackest, furriest lashes this side of a Las Vegas showgirl's, smoldering rose blush, a deep red lipstick over-coated with shiny gloss.

The overwhelming - and unmistakable - effect was that she was a whore on the make. I was stunned to realize that she was ME! I slowly raised my hands to my moist, crimson lips and was stunned again to see my fingertips adorned with one-and-one-half-inch, square-cut crimson fingernails. I pivotted expertly on my toes, looked at Janice uncomprehendingly, and started to speak.

"Janice, what has happened to me? What have you do...."

The import of my words stunned me. My voice! What happened to it? This wasn't my voice; this was soft, high, melodic - a woman's voice!

"Come over here, Richard. Stand before me and strike a pose."

My body moved on its own, as if it were on auto-pilot. I glided gracefully toward her, heel-toe, heel-toe, hips swishing back and forth. I stopped before her, feet together, left knee flexed slightly. My right hand rested softly on my outthrust right hip, and my left hand hung gracefully at my side. I parted my lips slightly and ran my tongue around them. I had no idea how or why I did the things I was doing, and was powerless to stop.

"Hot, Sweetie; verry Hot. What has happened to you? I should think that was obvious. You may recall that first morning in the clinic, when I promised you would experience my work first-hand? Well, I kept my promise, and you can see the results. You are now a woman, the most beautiful, sexy woman I have ever created. You turned out even better than Jade.

Normally, the entire process takes a couple of years; screening, counseling, hormone therapy, cosmetic surgery, right up to the blessed event itself - the sex change. I really pulled out all the stops for you, Honey; we did it all in three months! With breast and hip implants, liposuctioning, fat injection, and constant corseting, you now measure a fantastic 40-22-36. You're a DD-cup now, Sweetie!

We altered your face to make you even more beautiful than you were before. We altered your voice surgically too, so it is as soft, melodic and feminine as the rest of you. Hormone therapy has made you very sensitive in your nipples and new clitoris. You are truly multi-orgasmic now. I know; I have watched you.

Dr. Collins did her best work ever; I defy anyone to tell that your pussy was once a cock. With the hormones and special medication you will be on, you will even have a period once a month, just like every woman!

"But I look like a whore! How could you turn your husband into a hooker? What will we tell everyone; our friends, the guys at work?"

"I was coming to that! Do you remember the rest of what I said? That I was divorcing you because of your infidelity, and if you wanted to be a slut, I would arrange it? Well, I have done just that. 'Richard' has been gone three months now - disappeared without a trace - so I had my attorney draw up a bill of divorcement, charging him with desertion. Since you weren't - available for comment, shall we say? - it went through as 'uncontested'. The final decree was signed in court this morning. I got the house, the bank accounts, the stock portfolio, the personal property - everything! I just HAD to bring you out of sedation to tell you the good news.

As it happens, the timing was perfect. I have been fulfilling the other part of my pledge to you, too. Since we created a nice, new body for you, I thought it was appropriate to create a nice, new personality and a whole new lifestyle to go with it; something more suitable to your trampish proclivities. You have been undergoing an intense daily regimen of hypnotherapy for the last three months, during which I crafted the 'new you'.

Your name is now 'Amber', and you look like a whore because you ARE a whore. You love making yourself up like a slut, wearing only the sexiest, most revealing clothes to flaunt your body, and slipping on the highest spike heels you can find. You also adore the tight, confining feel of being corseted. You told me it makes you look and feel 'extra-special sexy'. It also relieves the stress on your back, caused by those big tits and outrageously high heels.

You are beautiful, sexy, not too bright - kind of a bimbo, really - and you LOVE to fuck! In fact, you cannot get enough - the more you have, the more you want. The sight of a good-looking stud makes you ooze, and you practically rape any guy who comes on to you. You have been in 'training' for the past month on some of the male members of my staff. Once I introduced you to them and informed them that you were 'available', I had no trouble finding volunteers.

I must say, you have become very, very good at your work. The boys have all given you rave reviews. Perhaps you remember some of them; you humped them shamelessly in some of the most public places imaginable. I loved turning you into a brazen slut, then watching you fuck them with total abandon. You are now exactly the kind of woman you were dying to get your dick into before. After you leave here this afternoon, you will go uptown to get acquainted with your new 'home'. You don't have a place to stay yet, but I'm sure a girl who looks as good as you won't have any trouble getting an offer.

After you get 'settled in', you can go back to the storage locker I rented for you - you'll find the address and key in your purse - and pick up the rest of your new wardrobe. I had a ball shopping for you. I picked out the sleaziest dresses, tops, skirts, and spike heels I could find - the kind of clothes I have always fantasized about wearing, but wouldn't be caught dead in. You, on the other hand, wouldn't dream of wearing anything else. After all, you are a 'working girl' now and Tush Street is your new 'office'!

Which reminds me; I even obtained control of your seat on the Exchange through my Power of Attorney - which you thoughtfully gave me while you were under hypnosis - and I am renting it out. That will be a nice additional source of income for me, and you won't be needing it anymore, anyway. Even if you went back there, you wouldn't remember any of it, no one would believe you were 'Richard', and 'Amber' wouldn't have a clue how it all works. She could only make money there by humping every man in sight - and probably would!

So you see, Richard, you really have no choice. You saw yourself in the mirror. 'Richard' doesn't exist anymore; you are 'Amber' now. You can't go back; you can only go forward. To be honest, I like you much better this way."

"But I don't feel like Amber. I'm still me. Richard."

"Not for long, Sweetheart. I have conditioned you with a couple of post-hypnotic suggestions - command phrases, really. When I speak one of them, 'Richard' goes away, and 'Amber' takes over. She has no memories of 'Richard' or the life he led. She remembers only her own life - her unhappy childhood as a boy, the joy of becoming a woman, and her career as a hooker. She loves her work; it is all she knows, and all she wants.

When I speak the other command phrase, 'Amber' goes sleepy-pie and 'Richard' comes back, with full memory of everything 'Amber' has done. Amber is one of my 'girls' and is thrilled that she has someone to talk to 'girl to girl', who understands her in a non-judgmental way. Amber and I have gotten to be quite good friends, actually. I envy her in a way. She is doing things, experiencing things that I can only dream of doing. She has an appointment with me every week for counseling, hormones, her special medication - and to fill me in on all the juicy details of her life during the previous seven days. I may bring 'Richard' out from time to time to see how you are enjoying your new 'lifestyle'.

Well, so much for the background. Are you ready to begin your new life - Sugar?"

"Wait! What about..."

"Check your makeup, Amber."

"What? Oh, sorry, Janice.I must have spaced out for a second. I swear, I am such an airhead sometimes. Am I late?"

"No, Honey, you are right on time. Make yourself comfortable on the couch and tell me all about your plans for your new life. I'm so excited for you!"

I parked my bod on her comfy couch, just like every day for the past couple of months. It's kind of a shame we will only be seeing each other once a week now. She is such a sweetheart. In fact, she might be more than that. Let's find out. I'll just rest my hand on her arm, like I'm using her for balance, then I'll swing my legs up and over ever-so-slowly and scrape the stockings together just a little bit, the way that drives all the boys wild. Now I'll just scrape her arm really gently with my fingernails as I remove my hand.