The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 39

Scientists say that the average human body regenerates its skin cells every forty days. For liver cells, it's three hundred days. Over about seven years, practically all cells die and are replaced by new ones. So the "you" of you now is different from the "you" of seven years ago. Every seven years, you are a completely new human being. Slowly but surely, you become the new you; your body is constantly in motion until you truly become someone else. We all undergo this process, constantly changing even when we don't perceive it.

After the gender confirmation surgery, Rachel was transferred from the hospital to the yacht while she slept. The next morning, Rachel found herself situated in Levant's Super yacht. Gregor Samsa walked in to boast about his Vaginoplasty. Perhaps due to the effects of the drugs, the pale Samsa looked to Rachel as if his face was a leather bag filled with rotting walnuts. He attempted to appear reassuring. You could envision his sallow features as he assured some fourteen-year-old gymnast that the injection was merely vitamins to make her strong enough to win. He informed Rachel that she would be connected to a urinary catheter for five days and confined to bed for a week. Rachel surmised that she wouldn't be making an escape on a supply boat anytime soon.

"Itchiness and shooting electrical sensations should, under no circumstances, be a cause for concern," Samsa grimly promised. "These are simply the nerves reestablishing connections."

He had asserted that he had devised this procedure, and unlike the standard Vaginoplasty, he could reverse it. In all aspects, it was superior to 'Yankee Medicine,' but only he understood how to undo it.

As he explained the process, Rachel was able to reach for a syringe while keeping her attention on him. Then, she attempted to stab him with the syringe, but he overpowered her. As a consequence of her actions, she was sentenced to being strapped down and was only allowed to watch daytime television.

He informed Rachel that she would be able to leave the 'hospital' in a fortnight and be ready for sexual activity within four months.

Rachel recuperated aboard the super yacht, gradually realizing that it was a confined, floating prison. She had her phone with her, yet they were too distant from the shore for her to make a call. The brilliant Californian sunshine formed an odd juxtaposition with her mood. The crew observed her, exercising discretion, but concealed eyes tracked her every breath. Rachel's emotions were all over the place, she knew that the loss of her testicles would throw off the careful chemical balance Dr Grant had established from the beginning. She no longer had the familiar hormone patch under her arm. Her mind took a peculiar wander, wrapped in the opulence of the super yacht.

For the first few days, Gregor had lived on the yacht. In the mornings, after attending to matters, he secured her with straps to prevent her from attempting to remove the new graft they were applying. She remained there, secured and listening to music from her phone on random. Later, they transitioned to administering injections of Thorazine to ensure her compliance. Rachel observed passively as they inserted the needle, referring to it as her "liquid cosh." Now unrestrained, she watched television or listened to music like a ship's ghost.

After a week of watching the election news on TV, Rachel was finally allowed out of bed. As soon as she was free, she cut away the bandages to confirm this wasn't some strange joke. Following that, she proceeded to break everything in the cabin. Walking proved to be painful, as was peeing. The crew and Gregor returned, and she was promptly strapped down again, with the return of the Thorazine.

Rachel found herself reclining on the deck of the luxurious yacht, its polished wood bathed in the warm embrace of the sun's golden rays. The gentle caress of the ocean breeze played with her hair, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater and adventure.

Dr. Cooper arrived by boat and exuding an air of quiet authority, settled into a plush deck chair beside her. His gaze, framed by a pair of meticulously polished spectacles, carried a blend of professional concern and genuine empathy.

"How are you feeling, Rachel?" Dr. Cooper's voice, smooth and reassuring, carried over the gentle lapping of the waves against the yacht's hull.

Rachel's eyes met his for a moment, her own reflection shimmering in the lenses of his glasses. The rhythmic sound of the ocean seemed to echo the repetitive cadence of the music that had been playing--a melodic backdrop to her contemplation. She had been sitting in the main cabin, lost in thought, the music providing a fragile thread of comfort as it looped endlessly.

He waited.

"How are you feeling, Rachel?" Dr. Cooper said.

Someone came in with a coffee for each of them. It was an exotic service, a gift from the Oil prince. Dr. Cooper waited until the steward left.

"The Thorazine should be wearing off soon. It's me, Dr. Cooper. How are you feeling, Rachel?"

Rachel thought for a minute. "I can't feel," she said, not looking at him.

She knew she was angry about something, but she couldn't remember what it was. It was like it was on the tip of her tongue, but always just out of reach.

"This Thorazine isn't helping. I don't think you can process your feelings spaced out like this. Look, if I said I could stop the Thorazine and get someone like Charlie or Mimi, or who is it? Samantha to visit, would you promise to behave?" Dr. Cooper said.

"I don't feel like I'm existing," Rachel said after a while. Then she added, "I'm not sure I ever existed."

After the initial shock, the psychologist Dr. Cooper spent a lot of time with her. This was, in fact, what she really wanted, if she just had the courage to admit it to herself, he said. She had manipulated Levant into doing this to her. No one forced her to spy; she knew he would find out eventually. The fact that she claimed to have done nothing with the data only proved it. She was a provocatrix.

Perhaps it was the Thorazine in her system, but she almost felt that it was true. Then she felt that it was all his usual seductive bullshit, which now wouldn't wash.

On the promise of behaving, the Thorazine was reduced, but the therapy did not change. Slowly, she was allowed out of bed each day for a little longer each time, and she learned to be a good girl.

****

A few days later, Gregor Samsa came in. "How are we feeling today?" he said in his heavy accent.

With the reduced Thorazine, Rachel felt able to talk. "Like I've just had my parts ripped off by a maniac and his sidekick. You?"

Gregor couldn't answer but undid the bandages. Between her legs Rachel could feel a tube stuffed up her, it was sized to Levant's dimensions, around it her new vagina was forming.

"The antibiotics. They are working well. Very well," Gregor said in his broken English. "Healing good. This is a rare operation. He said it should be done. He said you'll go back to being a boy."

Rachel knew she wasn't herself. Intellectually, she wanted to go back to being Denver. Emotionally, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was the loss of the residual fear that she would be found out. Perhaps she guessed it was the pain medication, but she didn't trust herself. She wasn't sure if her thoughts actually belonged to her.

"My parts, are they OK?" Rachel said.

"Hold still. Hold still. They're doing fine," Gregor said. "I saw them myself this morning. They are fine." He had flown in on Levant's helicopter, which meant Levant was on the other end of the flight, behind it all.

Rachel's strange sense of relief was tempered by the fact that she was a mule. She was just a flesh creature. She felt that sex would be purely for show or as a service. Now she realized she was sounding like her mother. Rachel couldn't forget Levant's words about history. They echoed through her head like a ball bearing rattling in a metal bucket. She knew many people who were childless; her aunt, for example, never had the right man. Denver was the only hope for his side of the family. Now that future of his family was hidden in a tank somewhere. What Rachel couldn't explain was why she felt so comfortable about the set up.

"How does it make you feel, turning me into a sterile sex doll for your master?" Rachel said in a monotone.

Gregor narrowed his eyes for a second, then turned back to checking. He touched what would be Rachel's clit. "You feel this?"

"Yeah," Rachel said slightly surprised.

"You enjoy this very much. I make sure of that. I just want to help, you know. I said to the big man, 'Hey, I could do an operation, I could transplant an entire cervix, womb, everything. I could make her all woman. Maybe you'd get pregnant. I, Dr. Samsa, could be the first to do this, if you like,'" Gregor said, his words rasping with his accent. "He says no. No, you find a way of going back. I think she likes it, but be ready. I just want to help, you know."

"You sure can undo all this?" Rachel said, pointing.

Gregor shrugged. "Yes, only I, Gregor Samsa, can undo this. Only I am, how you say, smart enough. I'm smart enough than all the American doctors. You know that. Only I can cure him yes. Now only I can cure you. You're not sterile - you're, err, still making seed, you know? In the err, tank..."

The conversation was strong enough to give Rachel hope. She found it odd that she was more worried about having kids than having a dick. In truth, the hormones had made Denver's dick mostly useless, so its loss wasn't as bad as it would have been two years ago. At some point, she couldn't tell it had become just property.

*******

A few days later the bandages came off, and Rachel was able to feel around her new pussy. It felt real if tender enough. The strange part was she could feel sensations on her new clit.

After lunch, she had ended up resting on a sun chair. The recovery was taking a toll on her young flesh. She sat under a blanket on the deck of the yacht, looking out at the sea. She felt the sea air, heard the lapping of water on the side of the ship. Her nose was still covered in a bandage that held the form. Samsa said she could take it off now, but somehow Rachel couldn't face the bruising. This morning, she could begin to smell things again. Just then, there was the sound of Levant's helicopter approaching.

At first, Rachel couldn't believe he had done it. She had been mad They had taken the knives away from the ship, and she could only eat soup with a blunt spoon. Then she had tried to negotiate with Gregor, then Lucy... Then she had just fallen into the slow-motion experience of profound sadness. She felt lost, hopeless, isolated, and alone. A dark shadow settling on her every thought and into this penumbra, Charlie now walked in.

Charlie stepped down from the executive helicopter. She looked good and cool in sunglasses, and she was growing her hair again. It was dyed a no-nonsense black. Seeing Charlie again helped Rachel pull herself back together. Charlie stepped down and joined Rachel on the deck.

They talked, but it was a conversation conducted with the knowledge that every syllable was being recorded.

"How are you feeling?" Charlie said, sitting down after a long hug.

Rachel looked up. "You should know. It's not like you've got anything between your legs either."

"God, I'm so sorry for what he did to you," Charlie said.

Rachel looked up and stared at Charlie for a second. There was a sincerity in Charlie's face that Rachel wanted to believe was real.

"When did you know?" Rachel asked.

Charlie paused. "The day after it happened, he announced finding the spy. What are you going to do?"

Rachel took a breath. "Lucy and the lawyer were clear. Technically, I've broken the NDA, and I could be charged with corporate espionage. If I go to the police, the deal is over. Douglas was very clear he would out me, he would also make sure certain people would not have a pleasant life. Plus, you heard about the machine?"

"Vaguely," Charlie admitted.

"There is an organ donation machine." Rachel said peering over the bandage over her nose, "It is somewhere, keeping my parts alive. I'm the last one in my family Charlie. If I go, then my mom, my dad, my grandad--all of their life's effort and work would have been for nothing. I'm not going to risk going to the police while he still has his finger on the button of that machine."

Charlie sat back, aghast. Her large eyes couldn't believe what she was being told. "Fuck" was all that came out of her open mouth. "I promise I honestly didn't know anything about this until it was too late."

"He says he can reverse it. I'm waiting to find out when." Rachel said.

Charlie typed a note on her phone and showed it, "BEING RECORDED: IF YOU WANT A WITNESS IN COURT, I WILL BE THERE. GET OFF SHIP FIRST."

"So yeah, don't spoil things and go to the police on my behalf," Rachel said protecting Charlie.

Rachel wondered if Charlie realized that the list of people who would not have a pleasant life included Charlie. Rachel's mind had recovered enough to also be fully aware that if she took Levant to court, he would use the zeitgeist machine against her. The court of public opinion would support him against her. He would be the offended man in love with a woman, paying for her gender reassignment surgery. Rachel would be the bad trans woman who changed her mind after the fact and was blaming him. Samsa would back him up. Certain political parties would want to bring in regulations delaying reassignment surgery for all trans people while new ethical guidelines were made, and she would be held responsible.

"You're taking this all quite calmly," Charlie said.

"That's the problem when you're on the kind of medication I'm currently on. I would look at a nuclear explosion and go nice cloud then look back at the TV," Rachel said. She paused. "Tell me, does Douglas seem normal to you at the moment?"

Charlie looked around then at Rachel, clearly curious about what Rachel had said.

"Sure," Charlie said.

If you needed any other evidence that they were being recorded, this was it.

"For me," Rachel began, "Levant wasn't like his old self. Perhaps it was the accident or perhaps the election, but he's changed. The old Levant wouldn't have done this. Like does he think he has a hope in hell of fucking me now or something? I don't get it. "

Rachel knew from the TV, he was now in third place and behind Jenifer Able; he was losing in public, and he hated that.

"No, he seems fine," Charlie said, then typed. "THERE HAVE BEEN MORE THAN THE NORMAL NUMBER OF OUTBURSTS."

Charlie downplaying the events she had witnessed.

"The election is close. Five months to go, He's managed to secure a strong second place. It's a remarkable achievement. He's under a lot of stress. I'm sure he will be better afterward," Charlie said. "I handle all the business aspects so he can concentrate. We had some surprise income from shorting a company its helped keep us afloat for now. "

Before the surgery, the polls placed him significantly behind. The margin was large; everyone in the Thornbury and the Asylum was wondering how to deal with a brooding, wounded Levant. He hated losing with a passion bordering on psychosis. Normally, Rachel could soothe Levant, and she would need all her talents post-election to ensure he didn't do something foolish and jeopardize the company. She didn't feel like it at the moement.

Charlie typed and talked simultaneously, saying, "I've told you about his construction projects. He becomes obsessed with them, immersing himself totally, but upon completion, he forgets about them and moves on, losing interest or memory of them. It's like that with the election -- he's hyper-focusing." Then Rachel read the phone.

"HE HAS HAD NEW VIOLENT OUTBURSTS, SOMETIMES DROPPING INTO A STRING OF PROFANITIES. EVERYONE HAS NOTICED."

After the devastating loss, Rachel found solace in hope. Perhaps this wasn't permanent. She could escape but his retribution would be a hurricane of vile punishments. What would he want for in return for Denver's parts? A life together? During the incident they said the brain shadows were not good he might die eventually. Maybe in five years? She'd have to sleep with Levant until then. How different would the new sex be from the silicone prosthesis? She'd lie back, let him do it, business as usual. Pretend then when he was gone or the divorce happened get it all reversed.

"I still don't get why you were spying on him," Charlie said.

Rachel wondered about telling Charlie the truth. Would Charlie believe the Zeitgeist machine? She hardly believed it herself -- a machine that could manipulate elections by whispering in the ears of millions of people over social media. It seemed impossible.

"Well... I forgot... no... um... I wanted information for the divorce. If I had evidence of some of the illegal deals he was involved in, I thought I could use that as leverage for my exit. I didn't know what he was up to," Rachel explained.

Charlie immediately surmised that Rachel wouldn't recognize an illegal deal even if she came across one. She had little knowledge of accounting or finance, but she didn't press the issue. She interpreted Rachel's desperation as the driving force behind her actions.

"Rule nine: We get quite close to the line sometimes but we never knowingly cross" Charlie said giving the corporate line. "Your face looks good by the way. What about your nose?"

"I'm still in mourning for parts. I don't want to be reminded about it." Rachel said.

Charlie shrugged "Might cheer you up. You never know. Look I can't stay for long, but I can be back in a couple of days."

"If I behave." Rachel said.

Charlie looked down "If you want me to come back."

After Charlie left and Rachel returned to her cabin, the sound of the air being churned by the rotor blades died down in the distance. Rachel went and sat gingerly on the chair in front of her large, well-lit makeup mirror. She paused for a moment, took the nose bandage off, and caught her breath. Perhaps even more unsettling was what had happened to her face. The swelling had gone down enough to reveal her new profile. Her nose was much smaller and more feminine, just as he wanted. Her jaw had been treated as well. She didn't look drastically different, just different enough -- any hint of androgynous features was gone. In Levant's words, she was 'all girl'.

Rachel applied some makeup, mostly out of habit; she didn't feel dressed without it. With bruising hidden under foundation, she did look stunning now. She had been eighteen when she started, and she was biologically twenty now. Any woman would naturally grow and look different, and she appeared less like a teen and more like a full-fledged woman. The surgeon certainly knew their way around a face with a scalpel. She took some selfies to check. Yes, she looked beyond fabulous. It felt like a weird moment of triumph.

"Eat shit Cara Delevingne" Rachel said looking at the picture.

Objectively, Rachel reluctantly admired the change. She looked better than she had ever looked before. It was the face of a star, of a seductress. It was the kind of face you saw on television, not on the street -- the kind of face that would look good next to Douglas on the podium. She took out her phone and scrolled all the way back to the first selfie of Denver outside the Thornbury. She looked back in the mirror to see the blonde stranger. On a whim, she flicked forward until she found the photo of Levant's first wife. She nodded; the noses matched.

Having made up her mind, she went to the closet and found the tightest pair of black shiny leggings she owned. As she put them on, she posed in front of the mirror; the curved gap between her legs looked perfect, and the absence of any bulking made her legs appear longer, sexier. She was the embodiment of a vixen now.