Jimmy

Life as a police officer is not simple. Ever. It is a world where the job itself is almost entirely reactionary. There are tactics, techniques and procedures that can be followed to try and mitigate that truth. It is a life of 23 hours and 45 minutes of boring routine, punctuated by 15 minutes of sheer adrenaline and terror. The problem is, no one ever knows when that 15 minutes will show up. Perhaps by design, or just by tradition, the profession is dominated by those who crave that rush. They seek out those 15 minutes. And in some extreme cases, if they can't find it; they will create it. In worst cases, the job attracts those who love the power and the trappings. These are dangerous people. It attracts a very masculine kind of person. And on a rare occasion, it will attract those who really want to make a difference. They want to help. They want to be part of the solution. Unfortunately, they are few in number.

James Ryan, or Jimmy as he preferred, was a member of this later group. However, standing right at six feet, with light blonde hair and green eyes, a swimmer's well-toned body that he pushed through two hours of exercise daily, he had found himself inadvertently grouped by his peers with the former. Outward appearances are deceiving, which was fortunate for him. He was accepted by the adrenaline junkies and power brokers. Without wishing it, he was part of this inner circle. To date, it had served his professional needs and landed him commendations, accolades, and advancements. For all intents and purposes, he was a man on the move. At the age of thirty, there was no one in the department who would disagree with the statement. The sky was truly the limit. But Jimmy had a secret, a secret so dangerous that it had to be hidden at all costs. If it was ever found out, there is no doubt that his life would have been in peril.

Jimmy was a transsexual. He had fought hard against it. He repressed it. He never acted on it. He kept out of the bars and clubs in his city. He stayed offline. He lived his life in constant frustration. On those nights where it threatened to reveal itself, he would lock himself in his small apartment and grab a bottle. He made sure to lock his car and house keys in his combination gun safe so he couldn't escape the deadbolt security of his home. He imprisoned himself in the one place that should always be a refuge: his own home. And then he would drink. It was done in a mighty rush. The quicker he got wasted, the quicker he would pass out and avoid the danger. He crushed his problem under a massive weight of Bacardi. Weekends were always the worst.

It was inevitable that questions would arise. He was a good looking guy. Better than average, he had been referred to by some of the female as a 'fine piece of man meat.' The questions began to arise from the rest of the force. Why didn't they see him with a girlfriend? Why didn't he enjoy the company of the force sluts? Didn't he just turn down Linda the Loose, what's up with that? Jimmy was aware that at the rate these whispers were multiplying, it wouldn't be long before conclusions would be drawn. When that moment happened, his 'Most-Favored Officer' status would be revoked. No longer would others want to be his partner. No longer would the perks of the in-crowd be available. Then things would get very scary. Suddenly, patrols would be assigned to him that no one wanted. Then back-up would not arrive timely. If he was lucky, he would simply be banished to a desk. If he was unlucky, he would be alone and dead in the middle of a call. He knew he had to do something. He had to fix this.

Jimmy decided to try Denver. A big out-of-state city. He hoped to find help where he was not known. He had saved a lot of vacation and sick time. It was time to use it. He completed some on-line research and found a sex-therapist. Psychiatry, psychology and even religion had not worked. This was a last ditch effort. He was desperate. Perhaps they could fix him? It was worth a shot. He put in his vacation paperwork and made a big show of bragging how he was going to see an old girlfriend. The love of his life had just reappeared. The in-crowd seemed to latch onto the ruse. 'Oh, we get it, Jimmy is in love and his heart got broken. Now we get it.' Jimmy was well-aware that this wasn't a real buy-in, but he was willing to take the time to just rent himself some breathing room. He made an appointment over the phone from his apartment, and was in the Mile High City on a Thursday.

"Mr. Ryan? Doctor Grindle will see you now," the receptionist's voice softly pulled him out of a month-old issue of People. He smiled at her as he set the magazine down and rose to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he followed her to the office door. She held it opened for him, returned his smile and closed it after he entered.

Dr. Grindle was anything but what he expected. He was anticipating a middle-aged man, maybe wearing glasses in a room full of text books. Instead, he found himself looking at an auburn-haired beauty. She wore a simple tan professional knee-length skirt, and a sensible white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a large French braid, her glasses hung around her neck and were held there by a gold bead chain. She sat in a large high-backed leather chair, which she rose from offering her hand as he entered. She was tall, maybe 5'9", but surprisingly small of breast. If she weighed more than a buck twenty, Jimmy would be surprised. She was thin. And his years of experience told him, she was a runner. The Addidas shoes and gym bag in the far corner confirmed this.

"Mr. Ryan. Nice to meet you. Please have a seat," she motioned to an identical chair set across from hers. A small, yet elegant, coffee table separated the two seats. A yellow notepad and an old school fountain tip pen rested on its top. Jimmy took the offered position. She also sat and demurely crossed her legs, as she took up pad and pen and slipped on her glasses.

"So, what can I help you with?"

Closing his eyes, Jimmy gripped the arms of his seat, took a deep breath and then released the truth. It came out in a rush. He kept it short and only the facts. He held nothing back, even his self-medication with booze came out.

"So, Doc. You see? I gotta fix this. I've got two weeks and some money. I'm at the end of my rope. I need a solution. And, as cliché as it may sound, you are my last resort." Dr. Grindle had been taking copious notes throughout his tale. The room was silent except for the sound of her pen on the paper. Finally, she finished her last note.

"Fix?" She looked over the rims of her glasses questioningly. "James, I don't think you get this at all. You are who you are. There is nothing to be 'fixed.' You have got to come to terms with yourself. Now, you can always develop a cover story to keep your professional life satiated, but that's not going to help your personal issue."

"Shit!" Jimmy saw almost immediately that this wasn't the help he was looking for. She was implying that he create a very deceptive lie and then lead a hidden life. This wasn't what he meant by fix. He told her so.

"James, let's get a few things straight," she set down her pad and removed her glasses, letting them swing on their chain. "You are operating under the impression that you are somehow broken. The first truth you have to come to terms with is that is false. Gender is not a learned behavior, despite what many people seem to believe. The second truth you already have a grip on, anything except the socially accepted convention of man-woman is going to be viewed as deviant. Perverted. The final truth you will have to come to accept is that you have two and only two choices. You can either accept who you are, and then do your best to 'blend' into your environment. Or you have to simply out yourself and accept the scraps that society is willing to leave you. You have invented a third and fourth option, neither of which are possible."

Jimmy grasped at the straws he thought he saw, "third and fourth option?"

"Option three you are trying. Denial. Do I really have to re-enforce what you already know? It has been temporary, at best. And the addition of the alcohol is only going to hasten the inevitable disaster it will become. The fourth is your quest for a 'fix.' It doesn't exist. There is no magic wand to change who you are. There is no drug, no therapy, no prayer, no miracle cure."

Jimmy's hopes were destroyed. He stared at his hands in his lap, his fingers twisting around his knuckles. This was his last hope. It was over. He was a broken man. His mind began searching for alternatives. There simply weren't any. His mind flashed to images of his service weapon. The bloody aftermath of his final solution. At least there would be a positive memory of his life. That was something. He had done some really good things. He had contributed. He had been a positive force in his community. Perhaps the memory of his efforts would carry on after him.

"Well thanks, doc. You have given me a lot to think about. Thanks for the time," he started to rise from his chair. Dr. Grindle caught the tone immediately. She spotted the signs instantly. The resignation. The surrender. Every warning light was lit and her mind went into damage control mode instantly.

"Whoa there, cowboy!" she stood and placed her hand on his shoulder, pushing him lightly to return to his seat. "We haven't even gotten to the part where we start dealing with this."

"Deal with it? I think you have made it quite clear that there is no dealing with it," Jimmy sank back into the plush chair. His quiet plea hung in the air.

"Yeah? I thought you were a cop? Since when do you guys just write shit off? Alright, so you tried option three and it has come up empty. We both know that option four is a pipe dream. But, it sounds odd to me that a person with your record and resolve, has made a snap decision to just give up."

"Well, what in the hell can I do?"

"Let's start with a few questions first. Do you make an impact in the community you serve? Do you make a difference? Or, are you one of those really shitty cops? One of those who just takes what you can get, live off the misery of others?" this angered Jimmy. He had spent a lot of time and effort at his job. Wasn't he here trying to even be better? Who the fuck did this woman think he was, anyhow?

"Look here, goddamn it. I'm a good cop, no check that, I'm a DAMN GOOD COP!" his face had started to turn red, "I've seen shit, faced it, and made things safer because I was willing to stand up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. I STAYED ready! While you sit up here in your plush six figure fucking office – I HELD THE LINE! I made it so those with less could sleep at night and have a peaceful rest before they gave one more try at a working day in a fucked up neighborhood. I did everything I could to make sure the innocent didn't become fodder for the wicked. I MADE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE!!! Which is more than I can say for whatever in the fuck you think you're doing here!" Jimmy waved his hand at the office for emphasis.

"So, why stop?"

"Huh? Who, uh, said anything about stopping?" Jimmy's hand flopped to his lap. His eyes suddenly diverted from the doctor and found his shoes instead.

"Well, you don't seem to like the idea of shrinking from a challenge, so how about I give you one. You SAY you have all this intestinal fortitude. You SAY you can hold the line. You SAY you help others. So, let's see if you can do that for yourself. Let's see if you really have what it takes to go back and keep making that difference. That is assuming, of course, that you've got the guts for it."

Jimmy's face flushed red with anger as his head shot up. His eyes narrowed and his eyes flashed with the challenge. His voice came out in a low dangerous growl, "Don't you ever, and I mean EVER, imply that I am a coward. Or you may not survive this appointment in the same shape you began it."

Dr. Grindle just shrugged her shoulders in a non-committal fashion, "Alright, if you think you are up for it. But this won't be easy. You sure?"

"Bring it, bitch!" Jimmy ground his teeth. His eyes set on her face, "I don't back down from a fight!"

"Then I will see you back here, tomorrow. 9 am sharp. Don't be late."

Jimmy stormed out of the office. How dare she?! She had questioned everything that he held most dear. She had all but called him a coward. Who the fuck did she think she was? He spent the rest of the day and into that night stewing, cultivating his anger. He was laser-focused on her words. He was determined to make her eat them. Jimmy was back at the office by 8:45 the next morning, still smoldering.

"Mr. Ryan?" the receptionist roused him from his determined thoughts.

"Huh?" he tried to clear his thoughts.

"Sir, Dr. Grindle has you set for a whole morning of treatments. If you are ready, just follow me."

Jimmy followed the woman through the waiting room door and down a very antiseptic hallway. She stopped at Exam Room 3. She placed a folder in a plastic inbox next to the door and smiled at him.

"Here ya go," her voice was very chipper, "just take your clothes off and hang them up on the hooks. There is a gown on the bench. The tech will be in shortly." She smiled, opened the door and then retreated down the hall the way they had come. Jimmy stepped into the exam room. It was like every doctor's office he had ever been in, right down to the smell of disinfectant. He entered and followed the instructions. In under five minutes, he was seated on the paper-covered table in a backless gown. The slightly chilly air teasing the skin of his back. The slippers dangled on his feet as his legs involuntarily swung from the edge of the table.

It took only five minutes before the door opened to allow a short oriental woman, dressed in blue scrubs covered by a white lab coat, to enter. The door swung shut softly behind her as she looked through the file in her hand. She didn't look at Jimmy as she flipped page after page in the folder.

"Ok, let's see here, Mr. Ryan. Mhmmm, ok," she continued to peruse his file, "got it!" She looked up. "Please stand up and remove the gown." Jimmy remained seated. The woman's eyes shot back down to the file.

"You are Mr. Ryan, aren't you?" she read off his birthday and the last four of his social security number. "That is you, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah. But, um, you want me naked?"

"Sir, I was under the impression the doctor had spoken with you about the procedure. Do you not know why you are here?" Jimmy thought for a moment. It finally dawned on him, there had never been a discussion regarding the specifics. She had simply challenged him and he had accepted.

"No, not really. Exactly what are these treatments?"

"Well, we are going to look at hair removal, nail care, preparation, appearance. Think of it like a make-over or a spa day, if you prefer." She waited for him. That didn't sound so bad, he thought. If this was the big challenge, he knew he could handle it. He smiled, hopped off the table and dropped the gown with a flourish and a smile.

"There ya go!" he placed his hands on his hips for effect.

"Alright," she smiled back and took out a pen, flipping his folder open to reveal a chart. She began looking him up and down making small notes and checking boxes on the checklist. "Turn around please." Jimmy complied.

"Ok, I think I got it. Now hop up on the table and put your feet in the stirrups, please," she put the folder down on the counter and began washing her hands. The stirrups? Jimmy's was clueless as to what was intended, so he just sat there. The woman put on a pair of latex gloves with a snap and turned to him.

"Uh, sir, just lay down and put your heels in these," she tapped the pair of metal poles with the semi-circular pads. Jimmy's eyes narrowed as he laid back and lifted his legs to try and get them where he was supposed to. The woman gently grabbed his ankles and guided them into their correct spot. He felt strangely exposed, legs slightly spread and in the air, his ass nearly open to this stranger. He felt her adjusting the table, allowing the poles to swing apart, splaying his legs even further.

"Alright, now just relax. I am going to use some surgical jelly, it might feel a little cold." He heard the squelch as she squeezed a tube of clear gel onto her fingers. He jerked slightly as the tips of her hands made contact with his anus.

"Wow! Yeah, cold. Got it," he shifted uncomfortably on the paper as a single finger rubbed around his puckered hole. Slowly, she inserted her digit into the orifice.

"Unh!" the shock ripped the word out of him.

"Shhhhh, just relax," the woman lowered her voice and set her free hand on his belly, just above his penis. Slowly, she began to rub his stomach as she inserted another finger, "just relax. This will only take a moment." Jimmy felt his cock begin to respond to the tingling sensation her fingers elicited from his ass. He kept his eyes glued to the ceiling and tried to mentally create images that would stop his embarrassment.

"Just relax," she was now purring as her fingers began a slow circular movement, "enjoy the moment. Whatever you do, don't fight it or try to bear down. We're almost done." Her voice was comforting and he could now feel small tingles that seemed to race from where her fingers worked and culminated in his tightening testicles. He sank into the feeling, not realizing that his cock now stood straight up in the air. Her other hand never stopped the gentle strokes on his belly.

"Ok, I think we can work with this," suddenly her hands left his body. He felt a strange emptiness. He looked down to see his rod quivering as she stood and stripped off the gloves. She picked up her pen and made some notes on his chart then opened a drawer.

"Alright now, you can remove your feet and sit up," as Jimmy changed position, she removed a needle and a small vial. She speared the vial through its rubber mouth and withdrew some of the clear liquid into the syringe, then put the vial away. Tapping it lightly, she held it in one hand while pulling out a bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball with the other. She approached him with a single step.

"Extend your arm, please," Jimmy put out his right arm and watched as she saturated the cotton and then swabbed a small area inside his elbow. With a quick experienced maneuver, she stuck him and pressed on the plunger. He watched as the liquid was forced into his arm. A sudden warmth spread from his arm and into his chest.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That is a quick hormone shot, just to help you along. You and the doctor will have to discuss and decide if more of these are needed. We just administer this for the initial treatment to help ease you into things." She withdrew the needle and covered the spot with more cotton.

"Press on this, please," she reached for some surgical tape and sealed the ball to his arm, "there we go. Now, put on your gown and follow me."

The rest of the day was spent going from room to room. In the first treatment area, he received a complete massage, which was followed by a body waxing. It was shocking. The first strip caused him to yelp. But it didn't take long before he was able to relax and anticipate the following strips. His skin tingled as each line and curve was cleared of the fine hair. By the end, he was thoroughly enjoying the feeling. He did get quite red-faced when the different technicians had him put his feet in stirrups and shaved his private parts. Of course, that was nothing compared to the waxing of the crack of his ass. But in due time, his body was bare. Once that was complete, he spent a moment rubbing his chest and legs, feeling the soft smooth skin under his touch. It was exhilarating.

The next stage was a soak in a skin conditioning bath. He sank into the warm water and laid his head back on a towel. Soon, new technicians came in and began to mess with his hair, his eyebrows, his finger nails, and even held his feet out of the water as they scrubbed and pumiced. As they worked, the oriental lady came in with another injection. He didn't even flinch. The intercom in the room played gentle flute and violin music, the sweet fragrance of lavender wafted past his nostrils from the incense, and the soft lighting almost put him to sleep. The techs were incredibly gentle, and he allowed himself to fall into a semi-conscious state as they did their work. The little tugs in his hair, and the soft rubs on his hands and feet lulled him to sleep.