Preview - Jason To Jessica - Chapter One



Don't you hate buying a pig in a poke? Can't sample it before making up your mind if you want to plunk down your hard earned cash for the whole thing? Well, here you go, the first chapter of my book Jason to Jessica to help you decide that you want to purchase it.


Buy it here:  eXtasy Books or here Amazon.com



Whose music is playing? That was the first conscious thought I had as I woke up. It was my sister's style of quick instrumental. Crystal must be doing her exercises, or just got back from practice. My hands slid across slick sheets as I stretched. Satin? My sister was the only one in the house that used satin sheets.
Wiping the gunk out of my eyes, I blinked a couple times to let things focus. Once my vision cleared, I could see the light pink walls and the one opposite from me was covered in boy band and movie posters, including this year’s teen hit, Twilight 2020.
What was I doing in Crystal’s room?  My fuzz-ball brain barely cranked out that second thought before the body told me I needed to get to the bathroom, quickly.
I made a half-awake dash to the bathroom and sat down on the commode. Rubbing my face, I didn’t find my normal morning stubble. As my hand fell to my lap, it bounced against something warm, firm and sensitive before landing.
Huh? I brought my hands back up and they ran into my chest again. Fingers curled against warm flesh and nipples stiffened. The higher functions of the brain finally engaged, processed the data, and outputted an exclamation.
“What the hell?”
Apparently, my yell carried downstairs. I heard shoes on the stairs and then on the hardwood floor outside the bathroom.
“Jason?” Mom’s voice came through the mostly closed door. Her shadow flickered through the gap between the door and the wall.
“Mom?” My higher pitched voice sounded very strange. “What happened to me?”
“I’ll tell you all about it, hon when you get out of there,” her strong, confident voice the only thing nearly normal about the strange situation at the moment.
“When you’re ready, come into the studio and we’ll talk.”
I finished, flushed, washed my hands, then caught my reflection in the mirror over the sink. The mass of dark violet hair on my head held my attention. It cascaded down my back and brushed against my still bare bottom. I ran my fingers through the heavy silk-like strands wondering what it would look like after taming the morning bedhead.
Next to draw my attention was my eyes. Green. Not a dark, emerald green, but an intense crystalline green.
Leaning close to the mirror I peered into the reflection of my eyes. Everyone my age knew this could happen. There was no way you could prepare for the day that it did happen.
I stepped back slightly to see my chest—no, not chest—bust. Very full and spaced close together. The aureoles were the size of a quarter and not much darker than the surrounding pale skin, but the nipples were much darker. I cupped my new features. Each was more than a double handful, firm and bounced only slightly as I let them go. The nipples crinkled and stuck out quite a bit. I strummed my thumbs over the stiff points and shivered as places lower down tingled.
A part of my mind dimly noted I would need a brass bra to keep the nipples from showing through whatever I wore. I stifled a giggle as an image of me dressed as Brunhilda flashed through my head. Wagner wasn’t part of my repertoire.
I wrapped a bath towel around my waist and made my way up the hallway to the studio. My progress was slow since, now that I was fully awake, I had to think about how to walk. It felt more like my chest was pulling me forward and the rest of me was keeping up. I knocked and pushed open the studio door and stood in the doorway. Mom was in the closet rummaging.
“Come on in, honey,” she called out while laying out outfits on hangers on the far side of the bed. Mom was dressed in a light pastel blue leotard and legwarmers, her normal costume for an exercise show.
“Is the camera off?”
“Yes, honey. I don’t have to be online for another hour or so.”
I guess she saw my nervous look, walked across the studio to the professional quality camera and snapped the lens cap into place. It wouldn’t have been the first time she had been on the air without realizing it.
With that done, I crossed the room and sat on the bed.
“What happened?” I asked, my higher pitched voice sounding almost normal.
“What was the last thing you remember clearly?” she asked, turning the makeup table’s chair around to face me.
“Picking up Crystal after gym practice. We stopped to get milk for her protein shakes and were on our way home,” I replied, the image of my little sister running into the convenience store in her sweat damp leotard and bare feet was clearly etched in my memory. “We were on Nine Line Road, coming around that sharp curve. Some yack-off took the curve wide and sideswiped us. A grey sports car.” My voice shook as memories flooded back. “We…we went off into the ditch, flipped and rolled.”
Tears leaked from my eyes as more of that night resurfaced. Crystal’s screams, the yelling of the firefighters, the screech of metal as it gave way to their rescue efforts. There were bits and pieces of the medics’ conversation as one called off my injuries finishing with, depressed skull fracture, the worried look on the face of the flight nurse as we were airlifted to the hospital.
Mom moved to the bed, wrapping her arm around me. Tears leaked from my eyes as she held me.
“Is Crystal okay?” I asked, taking the offered tissue, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.
“I’m fine, Sis,” Crystal answered from the doorway. She came in and sat on my opposite side, wrapping her arms around me in another long hug. When she sat up, she continued, “The doctor told me I’m fine other than some heavy bruising from knocking about in the car. I can go back to gym next week.”
“I’m sorry,” I said looking at her, brushing her hair back. I could see the fading remnants of a bruise on the side of her face.
“It’s not your fault, Jason. The jackass in the other car hit us.” She wrapped her arms around me again reassuring me that she was okay.
A bus horn beeped outside and my little sister was out the room door and down the stairs like a shot with a “C’ya!” I could hear her shoes going tacka-tacka all the way to the front door.
That was new. My hearing had never been that sharp before.
“What do you remember after the accident, honey?” Mom asked, drawing my attention back from the slam of the front door.
I let my brain churn on that a moment. “A little bit in the car, but nothing in the hospital and nothing else until I woke up,” I replied. “It’s pretty obvious that I got morphed.” I tried to smile, but the implications of that statement were only now starting to sink in.
“Yes, you caught that damned disease,” Mom spat, vehemence in her voice and tears wetting her eyes. “And I’m so glad, too. The doctors told me that with as much head trauma as you had, there wasn’t much they could do and that without it, it was doubtful that even if you survived, you would have had a meaningful existence.” She left her hand on my arm, giving it a squeeze.
I sat back when I heard that. A meaningful existence? I wasn’t quite sure, but I think that was doctor speak for be glad you got morphed unless you really wanted to be a celery stick.
“I’m just glad that you’re all better.” Mom gave me another hug.
All I could do was nod my agreement. I sat there, trying to come to grips with the idea of being a veggie platter on the one hand and on the other breathing and being the focus of guys like me. Guys like me, I almost laughed at the thought. Mom had told me that what I put out into the Universe would come back to bite me. At the moment, I wasn’t sure if Karma was saving my bacon or warming up to whale on my ass.
I sighed. Leave that thought for another day I told myself.
MORFS, government short-speak for Massive Otogenetic Regulation Failure Syndrome. Nowadays everyone lived with the possibility of having their DNA scrambled during their teens and twenties. It’s a virus that was reputedly developed for bio-warfare by, depending on who you listen to, jihadies, shining pathers, or other sundry crazies or malcontents. How it got loose in the environment is still being debated by conspiracy nutters ten years after it first started showing up.
The short explanation is that the syndrome, if triggered, can cause whatever regulates the replication of DNA during cell division to fail. In about half the people that get sick, nothing happens. They feel like death warmed over for about a week, about the same as eating the chow mien at school and they go on with their lives.
The other half gets changed in some way. Sometimes it’s a small change, different colored eyes, better hearing or finally loosing those stubborn ten pounds. On the other hand, the changes could be massive, like mine. There have been more than a few reports over the years of hybrids, people waking up part human and part something else. If the eggheads ever publish how that happens, horse stables and breeding ranches won’t ever be short of help.
Society, in most parts of the world, has learned to live with the changes that MORFS has brought about both in humans and the biosphere in general. However, there are pockets of Luddites that refuse to get with the program and treat MORFS as some sort of divine punishment. In the more primitive parts of our fair planet, MORFS tends to be a death sentence unless you come through with something that's useful to the local mullah, warlord or despot.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by the scrape and clank of clothes hangers.
Mom was rummaging through her closet, pulling outfits into the light so she could see them better and then putting them back. She sorted through the clothes on the bed and then returned all of the outfits to the closet.
“I hope you have some sweats you can wear so we can get clothes to fit that brand new body of yours,” Mom told me.
These was typical of her, fret and fuss about something, no matter how big or small for a few minutes then put it aside and charge right on ahead with life.
“You’ve got a show scheduled in two hours. You’ll be on the air before we can get back. I know how you shop.” I looked at the clock then at the camera and studio equipment.
“Just queue up an earlier show, hon. I don’t need to go live until after dinner in any event.” Mom stepped out of the closet, shutting the door. “I wasn't in the mood to do a fitness show this morning anyway.”
I stood from the bed and got a whiff of myself in the process. “Phew! You don’t want me going anywhere the way I stink. I need to shower before we go anyplace.”
Mom motioned for me to stand where I was and disappeared into the studio’s bathroom. She returned a moment later with a pair of large bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
“You’re not in a brush cut anymore, honey. You’re going to have to learn the hard and quick way about taking proper care of that head of beautiful hair. And proper care means lots of time.”
She gave me a playful grin. I had razzed both her and Crystal several times regarding their long hair and how much time it took to get it cleaned, brushed and ready to do anything. Karma was just getting started on me.
I made sure there were clean towels in the bathroom and set the shampoo and conditioner within easy reach. When the water was hot I doffed the towel and stepped into the shower.
Now, for any of you that have never done this, washing a head full of hair long enough to sit on is an adventure. You just don’t pour shampoo on the top and start scrubbing. Instead, you do one section at a time, the longer the hair, the smaller the sections. If you want to know how I know, I spent a wonderful weekend with a classmate who didn’t need a wig to play Lady Godiva. We had a wonderful time in her pool, and an even better time in her shower.
Once my hair was done, I turned my attention to the rest of me. The obvious place my hands went first was my breasts. I found out just how sensitive the nipples were when my soapy hands slid over them. They were hard in an instant, and other places flooded instantly and not from the shower. Damn, that was a wonderfully strange feeling. Soaped hands slid over a very taut, flat stomach and then outward across my hips and down over a firm ass. I recharged the soap in my hands and started from my feet, working my way up. My new legs were hard and shapely and devoid of hair. The moment of truth came when I stood upright in the shower and drew my hands up the inside of my thighs. My fingers found the wet, sensitive opening framed by baby smooth skin and just above, jutting out where my clit should have been was a long, thick cock. I looked down and could see the hidden tip. I had a foreskin again.
Both? Oh bloody hell! I took a long breath and let it out slowly. I could feel the freak-out building and quickly bottled it up. If I was a herm—a hermaphrodite, then I was a herm and nothing I did right now would change that. A meltdown in the shower wouldn’t help anything.
The cooling water brought my attention back to more immediate things. After a quick final rinse, I turned the shower off and grabbed one of the sinfully thick bath sheets Mom liked to buy. I let my hair drain while I scrubbed the rest of me pink with the terry cloth.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and used a second towel to squeeze what water remained from my long locks. Even having used the conditioner, there were tangles in my hair that had to come out with the help of a fine toothed metal comb.
Back in Crystal's room, I closed the door and stood in front of the full length mirror, looking at myself. I know, I know, vanity thy name is woman, but this wasn't vanity, it was curiosity. Turning one way then the other, I tried to see all sides of me. Pulling the towel away, I tossed it on the bed and looked at my lower half. My abs were better defined now than they ever had been when I was Jason. Looking lower, I almost laughed as I realized that I was better equipped now than before I got tit...um breasts.
Mom tapped on the door asking if I needed help. I called back No that I would be out in a few minutes. I plopped down in front of Crystal's vanity. I scanned the array of personal products on the table and picked up the bottle of talc. After squirting some on my fingers, I swiped under my arms and with another squirt spread the powder under my hoot... breasts.
First karmic lesson, they were breasts, not hooters, not tits. Even in my own head, it felt wrong to call them anything but what they were. I even tried forcing myself to mentally say the words, and the image that popped up was from spring break when I and a few friends made the trek to Daytona Beach. We made absolute fools of ourselves as we loudly judged the women who walked past on the size and bounce of their chests. We didn't even have the excuse that we were drunk.
Picking up a brush and the hair dryer, I tried to coordinate my moves, but I couldn't seem to get things working together. Mom tapped on the door and entered the room after hearing me yelp the second time. She took the dryer and brush from me and in seemingly no time, had my hair manageably dry. She did a quick three-plat braid of my long hair and fastened the end with an elastic tie.
Mom had found some old sweat pants of mine and laid them out on the bed along with a top of hers. I looked for underwear, but didn’t find any. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I had gone commando. The bottoms were tight along my thighs and around my waist and hips. The top was tight and tied up under my breasts. I buttoned the one button to cover as much as possible, but I could feel cool air brushing against a lot of bare skin. I hoped I wasn’t going to draw a lot of the wrong type of attention.
That thought struck me. As a guy, I enjoyed watching women who displayed a lot of skin, and now I was afraid of showing too much.
I pulled the braid over my shoulder and was surprised at its weight. With a waist bag holding my wallet, keys, PDA, and other essentials I was almost ready to go. I went into Mom’s room to find something to slip on my feet until I could get shoes of my own. It was obvious that my much smaller feet would rattle around in my normal size fourteen cross trainers like peas in a pod. Mom tossed out a pair of clogs for me to try. After adjusting the strap a bit, they would be okay until we got to a shoe store. I walked around the room a bit to get the hang of wearing them. Not too bad. They were comfortable, but the breeze across my bare toes was going to take some getting used to.
Turning, I caught my reflection in the full length mirror on the wall. I couldn’t help but give myself a once over and then a once over again. The girl in the mirror was just, wow. She was beautiful, but not in that commercial, faked, entertainment stardom way. The beauty the woman in the mirror possessed was much different, athletic, graceful, powerful. Her breasts were large and even with the tied top buttoned up as much as it could, there was still a lot of cleavage, not to mention a pair of eraser points that led the way. The flat abdomen was defined and the tush was tight. The face was pleasing, the eyes held intelligence, not a vacuous stare. The overall impression was, the lights were on, someone was home and she would gladly kick your ass if she thought you needed it.
The male half of the brain salivated going, oh yeah, have got to meet her. It hadn’t completely sunk in that it was me in the mirror.
Mom stepped up beside me and put her hand on my arm.
“Ready?” she asked.
“As much as I’ll ever be.” I gave her a smile that I knew was only halfhearted. She gave me a supportive hug and I led the way down the stairs.
I stalled at the door, my hand on the knob. Could I do this, let the world see me in drag? But I wasn’t in drag, I was a girl…with added parts sure, but a real genetic girl nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, I twisted the knob and walked outside. I tried not to think about what the Universe had taken in exchange for me to remain on this mortal coil as we drove to the mall.
Mom had dressed in her Miss Incognito outfit—frumpy pants, an oversized blouse and dark sunglasses. Anyone seeing her would just assume that she was a soccer mom housewife that had bought into the hole in the ozone hype. No one looking at her would suspect that under it all was a forty something woman with the build of an Amazon queen who had enough physical stamina to take on three young studs for a three hour marathon live show. When out of costume and out of the studio, she didn’t project the image one would expect from one of the best adult entertainers currently on the Internet.
Oh, come on, it may be 2020, the Year of Perfect Clarity according to the political pundits and soothsayers, but it’s no different than any previous year. Businesses got started and went under, people got hired and were fired. Politicians made promises they couldn’t keep, got caught with their pants down and were re-elected while the boys and girls they were caught with went on to some level of minor notoriety. And in the on-line world, adult entertainment was still a big moneymaker.
Let’s face it, there are always going to be people, men and women, that are going to be hard up, horny and their only outlet was going to be online, ‘cause they are too embarrassed, too broke or too married to find relief at a brick and mortar strip club or with a live sex worker. Nothing against the men and women who choose that profession, but they are expensive and for the cost of a single, two-hour session with a licensed professional, you could get a year of unlimited access to Madame Venus.
After dad was killed in Pakistan, Mom had to do something. She was past the age where she would have been hit by MORFS, had never been enhanced in any way, but she was one of those people that were always fit. Many of my friends during junior high school would comment on what a hot looking mom she was. Not having any real talent for working outside the house, she came up with this idea. She sold the idea to a web service provider and Madame Venus was launched.
Mom never hid it from Crystal and me. We were told that when the sign was on the door, not to knock or come in. The first year she not only broke even, she was even profitable into the low five figures. At the end of her second year, she bought herself back from the service provider and started, VCOMM Online Services, a supplier of online interactive adult voyeuristic services. Last year, her fifth year, we closed the books on net profits in the mid seven-figure range. This year was barely half over and we were on track for either high seven figures or low eight figure profits.
It seems that I’ve used up a lot of space talking about Mom and her profession. It’s probably time I introduce myself. My name is Jason, and apparently, I’m a MORFS survivor.
I’m twenty-two years old and a student at a private college studying, naturally, broadcasting arts and sciences. When I’m not in class, working at the college’s television studio, engineering a Madame Venus webcast or out with a girlfriend, you can usually find me involved with an amateur theater group.
My sister, Crystal, is sixteen. She is also a survivor. MORFS got her when she was twelve, but it didn’t really do anything to her other than improve her flexibility, balance and overall muscle strength. Sis was limber before from years of gym, but after, well, seemingly boneless would be a good description.
Now, back to what we were up to. Since we lived in town, the drive to Lenox Mall didn't take long. Mom parked close to the main entrance and we went inside, arm in arm. Once inside the mall, I was sure everyone could see what I was—a fraud, a dude in drag. We passed a number of people as we strolled along the wide walkways past the various shops. None of them batted an eye or gave any indication that they saw me as a guy in a dress. I was beginning to relax as we made our way to the specialty shop where Madame Venus bought her costumes.
The manager was very friendly with Mom since she spent so much money at the store. It was early in the day and there was only one other customer. Rachel, the manager, listened to what she had to say and then I was led to the changing area. Now, if you’ve never been measured for undergarments, it’s an experience. Rachel was the first person to touch me so intimately since my change. The touching wasn't sexual, but it was intimate, and the sensations were new and intense. By the time Rachel was finished with her measuring tape, I was stiff in my sweats, my nipples were even harder than before, and my legs were shaking.
Rachel seemed to sense my condition. She left me to recover at least some of my wits while she went out on the sales floor. The older woman was back after a few minutes with a selection of bras. Picking one up, I turned it over in my hands. It wasn’t like I’d never seen one before, or even had one in my hands. Granted up until now they belonged to my girlfriends and I was helping them out of it as a prelude to more pleasurable activities. I had never, in my wildest imaginings, believed that I’d need to buy one for myself.
I put the bra back in the pile and took a deep breath as my emotions threatened to break out of the box where I’d stuffed them.
Come on Jason, buck up, I told myself. You can do this.
Rachel stood by quietly while I got myself under control again. I sifted through the pile and found one with a front hook. It was a lot simpler to put on than a back hook style and I needed simple right then.
Mom opened the curtain and traded places with Rachel as I closed the last of the hooks on the bra.
“I'm not a basket case,” I joked sourly—yet.” I gave her a weak smile.
“You're doing just fine, honey,” she reassured, helping to adjust the narrow shoulder straps on my bra.
She had me bend, stretch and twist then checked the fit of the bra band and cups. “You’re large enough that you’re going to need more support. Those straps are going to dig into your shoulders and hurt. Stay here.”
Mom left me standing facing the mirror. Looking at my reflection, I couldn't help but think about how nice the bra looked and it felt really good. I resisted the naughty boy temptation to reach up and see if I could open it with a snap of my fingers.
“Behave, Jason,” I told the image in the mirror, chuckling.
Mom returned with new bras and packages of undies that allowed for my dangling bit. I slid out of my pants and donned a pair of flame red lace boyshorts. Things were tingling again once I got the panty settled into place. I got my sweats and top on and with selections in hand, I joined Mom out front to pay.
Our next stop was the high end women's department store in the mall. I’m sure that most twenty something guys wouldn’t want their Mother in the same county when buying clothes, but I was glad to have mine along. I was the typical college male and brain dead regarding woman’s fashion. She patiently explained what would work together well and what didn’t. She was also the touchstone that kept me from a complete, catastrophic emotional meltdown.
We claimed a large size-changing booth and stashed our selections in it. I stripped off the sweats and tried on various tops. Pull-over tops were easy, even with my new attributes, but the blouses, with the buttons on the wrong side, took some getting used to.
Slacks and jeans didn't faze me too much, but I saw that I would have to find different panties that didn't cause lines. I was actually beginning to think that my new clothing wouldn't be so bad. That thought evaporated like morning fog when Mom handed me my first skirt.
“Honey?” she asked. I looked at the piece of fabric like it was a deadly creature.
“It's okay,” I told her, not really believing the words myself. “This really is it, isn't it?”
“Is what?”
“Is where I have to accept the fact that she,” pointing to my reflection in the mirror, “is me.”
“Is she really so bad, Jason?” she asked looking at me in the mirror, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“No, considering I could have come out looking like Bess Zimmerman,” I replied. Bess was a girl from fourth grade that had heavy buck teeth and hair like dried straw.
“Or not at all. Besides, it's not like you’ve never worn a skirt before,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“That was in high school and they never let me forget it. They put it in the yearbook!” I whined plaintively and then chuckled.
“You looked splendid as Josephine.”
“I was crippled for a week after doing five shows in heels,” I replied, laughing.
The drama club in high school had decided to run, Some Like It Hot for their fall play. Some form of insanity must have taken me during cast assignments ‘cause I put my hand up when Mr. Myerson asked who would be interested in playing Joe, one of the co-lead male characters. Little did I know that Joe would be Josephine for most of the show. Mr. Myerson took great delight in presenting me with the heels I would be wearing during rehearsals. I challenged the drama coach that if I had to wear heels, he should as well. He was a good sport, and for rehearsals and each curtain call during the run, he would come out on stage wearing heels.
I shimmied out of the painted-on jeans I had been trying and put them back on the hanger before reaching for the black denim skirt. Taking one more look at it, I stepped into it and pulled the skirt up my legs. I zipped, and then hooked the catch. With it settled, I looked in the mirror. The hem stopped just above my knees. Stepping into the clogs, I walked out of the changing booth and modeled the skirt for Mom. She made me walk up and down the aisle a couple of times and do some twirls to see how the skirt fell when I stopped.
“You look wonderful, honey,” she complemented as we made our way to the checkout line with clothes in hand.
Mom linked arms with me as we walked the mall. She chatted at me about nothing in particular keeping my focus off the fact that I was wearing a mid-length skirt in a public mall and not in a stage play.
By the time we were ready for lunch, we had already made one trip out to the car to store our purchases. We bypassed the fast food court, opting for a chain restaurant that had a menu that wasn’t all pan fried, stir fried, deep fried or grilled fat. We shared a booth away from the door and I slowly gathered my frazzled nerves with the help of a double shot of bourbon, neat. The lunch rush was ending so while there were plenty of people in the restaurant, it wasn’t packed. Many of the booths around us held good looking women and I let my gaze wander over them. Then disconcertingly, I caught myself taking long looks at the men. More than one set of male buns held my attention as they moved through the restaurant. Had my wiring changed that much?
Mom smiled saying nothing about what I was looking at while I felt the heat rise in my face when I gulped the last of the bourbon.
Our server was someone that I recognized from school. We were in one class together and I doubted very much that she would have noticed much less remembered the old me.
When Kelly came by with the bill, she slid the folder toward Mom and a business card toward me. She smiled slightly and then retreated. Mom put away her bank card and signed the receipt. I looked at the business card, it had Kelly's name on the front. When I flipped it over, it had a phone number neatly hand printed on the back. I was surprised and showed Mom. She smiled and suggested that once I was comfortable with my change, I should give her a call, but that I shouldn’t wait too long.
Together, we continued our mall crawl. I was beginning to understand why it took so long for Mom to go shopping when she wasn’t going for a specific thing. Even though we weren’t spending money at most of the stores, we were still shopping. Mom pointed out how basics could go together, be mixed, matched, and accessorized to make casual, business casual and business professional style outfits. Most of this I had heard before when I had been drafted as a pack mule when Mom was taking Crystal for some big shop. It stuck more now that we were talking about me instead of my little sister. We entered one of the large anchor stores, right into the makeup and perfume department. Mom tried to steer me to the ‘beauty consultant’ that was on duty and I just shook my head. The thought of having to learn about beauty makeup was more than I could handle on my first outing as a woman.
“Not today,” I told her quietly. “Next time.
“Okay, Jess,” she replied giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I heard the name change, but didn’t say anything.
The number of shoppers had increased since we had first arrived, but it still wasn’t anywhere near crowded. The mannequin in the display window at one shop caught my eye. It was dressed in black ultra-low ride leather pants and a lace-up bustier that would leave my midriff bare and the valley between my breasts uncovered for anyone to gawk at. It was sexy as hell.
“A penny for your thoughts, honey,” Mom asked coming back to stand next to me.
“Wondering if they have it in my size and if I’m brave enough to wear it.”
It had to be the remnants of the liquor talking.
“Let’s go find out,” she replied, sliding her arm through mine and smiling mischievously.
Forty-five minutes after going into the store, we were ready to leave. Mom paid for the outfit and the two gold studs in my newly pierced ears while I checked out how I looked in the full length mirror. The supple leather top molded to me like a second skin while the waist of the painted on pants rode right at the line of my hips.
Damn, she's a hottie. I thought, staring at the reflection. The other part of my mind replied, Not she, Jessica. You. That’s you in the mirror.
That thought hit me like a shot. She. Jessica. Not him, not Jason. Jason wasn’t here anymore.
My hands started shaking and I sat down hard in an available chair as that thought overwhelmed me. Mom sat next to me and took my hand in hers. That simple gesture helped more than she could know.
The sales associate that had helped me with the bustier brought a paper cup of water, bending down to ask if I was okay. Her top was loose and I had an interesting view from neck to navel. I nodded my thanks and sipped the water. Jason wasn’t completely gone, not yet anyway.
The shoe store was next and we were lucky that it was right next door. The slender, effeminate store manager approached and asked if he could help. I gave him my best smile under the circumstances and nodded. The man took his time measuring my feet and looked almost worshipful as I gently placed my foot on the ramp of the stool. He helped fit several styles of flats and moderate heel shoes.
“Do you have anything that will go with I'm wearing?” I asked as he gently removed and boxed the pair of heels I was wearing.
He nodded and walked into the back. A moment later, the man emerged and set a large box on the floor. He removed a calf length black boot with a wide mid-heel. The manager helped me slide the side zipper boots on and then slid back on the stool to let me stand.
I took a few tentative steps before Josephine kicked in. I shortened my stride and rolled my hips as I strolled from one end of the store to the other. The manager was beaming as I stopped in front of him and set my foot on the edge of the stool where he sat.
“I'll take them.”
Mom and I left and walked to the far end of the mall, again for our final stop of the day. Mall architects are second only to grocery store designers in placement of shops and products. They each make you walk from one end of the building to the other to get the things you need. It was good exercise if nothing else.
Mom was quiet and I wasn’t feeling very talkative anymore. There were a lot of high school- aged kids, girls mostly, wandering the mall. I checked my watch—the schools had let out a half hour ago.
I started noticing the looks we were getting, me in particular, as we made our way to a sports and activewear store Mom liked. It wasn’t hard to imagine the thoughts going through their heads, especially the men who stared at us, at me. The lust was plainly visible in their faces.
The men weren’t the only ones looking…the women did their share as well. Their looks weren’t nearly as complementary though. Jealousy and outright spite colored their expressions. Outwardly, I tried to ignore their reactions, while inwardly I was cringing. It then hit me that the women on the beach probably felt the same way when my friends and I were judging them so loudly.
It wasn’t hard to hear the Universe laughing. Karma was being a total bitch and had to be enjoying giving me the beating I was getting.
The sports shop was nicely sized with lots of variety. Mom walked around while I went to find a sales associate.
The sales associate was the standard minimum wage sales weasel. In other words, she didn’t know squat about what she was selling. We walked out with the bare minimum I thought I would need, shorts, a bra top, a heavy duty jogging bra and a leotard. Crystal could help me find better things later on. MORFS had presented me with a full body reset, among other things and I vowed silently it wasn't going to go to waste.
We separated just outside the sports store with Mom telling me to go on ahead to the car because she wanted to get something on her own. It was good that we had parked close to the mall entrance. My feet and legs were tired from all the walking and the new boots. My route took me through the central court, where there were a number of benches for people to enjoy.
 As poor luck would have it, or Karma really wanting to drive home a lesson, a group of boys were hanging out there. They made all sorts of rude comments and catcalls as I walked by. Halfway down the hallway, I spotted two of the group following me in the reflection of a store window. This was not what I wanted on my first outing.
Slowing my pace briefly, I heard the one behind me increase his pace to overtake me. I thought about turning and confronting whoever was behind me, but rejected it. Too many unknowns and the biggest unknown was me. Nearing the entrance, I made a quick right turn into a children’s toy store. The clerk looked up and seemed to sense right away that something was amiss. No one in skintight black leathers, boots and carrying bags from high-end specialty stores, walked into a toy store aimed at pre-school children. I browsed the store pretending to look at things and made my way around to the register. When I looked out the door, my pursuers were gone.
“Everything okay, Miss?“ the grand-motherly woman asked, peering out the door then back at me.
“Yes,” I replied. The woman looked like she didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t have believed me either.
She got up from her stool and set it in front of the register. I thanked her and all but collapsed as my legs gave out and the shakes hit me hard. A man in the store came up and also asked if I was okay.
“I will be. Thank you,” I told him.
“You’re a morf, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, concern on his face. He had to be in his mid-fifties. I nodded silently. He smiled.
“How did you know?”
“The hair is a clue. Dyed hair never looks that natural and there are other hints that everything isn’t as it should be,” he replied gently. “Would you like an escort to your car?” He crooked his elbow and his smile was very disarming.
“You do me a kind service, good sir,” I told him, putting on my best fake English accent.
“Nay, good lady, ‘tis I who is indebted, allowing an old warrior to show simple chivalry to such a fair damsel,” he replied. We both laughed quietly at each other’s silliness. He helped me gather up my spilled bags and we walked outside into the late spring day.
Chatting about nothing in particular, the man discreetly looked around as we made our way to the car. As we arrived, we stopped behind the large SUV and he proceeded to walk around to make sure there was no one hiding in or near it.
He reached out his hand toward me with a card. It had his name and a crest in one corner. The crest leapt off the card at me. I recognized it immediately.
“You were with the Forty-Fifth Fusiliers?” I blurted out.
 “Not many people know that crest young lady, especially this far south of Canada. Might I ask how you do?”
“My father was in the unit, Sergeant Major Ryerson.” Emotions I thought resolved long ago, welled up as did the tears in my eyes.
“Was?”
“He was killed, in Pakistan, almost, almost seven years ago,” my voice said with a tremble. I was trying very hard not to burst into tears on this nice man.
“You have my condolences, Miss. It was a bad time for all of us.” He put his hand on my arm gently.
He waited until I was secure in the car before he waved and walked back to the mall.
~ * * * * ~
The drive home was quiet. Mom suggested that we should visit a salon to get my hair trimmed and nails done, but I nixed that idea. We could go out some other day. I was tired physically and emotionally wrung out. Crystal was already home when we arrived and was waiting for us at the kitchen door.
“Boy, Sis, did you leave anyone standing?” she asked, looking at me with a grin on her face.
“A few gay boys here and there,” I joked back wearily.
We all grabbed shopping bags from the car and headed inside and up the stairs to my room, well, what was left of my room.
I stood in the doorway and stared at the destruction. The bed was smashed flat on floor, the headboard splintered, bookcases overturned and the contents shredded like confetti. In the far corner were the remains of my work desk. It was a pile of rubble ready for the dustbin. Even my computer hadn’t survived, pieces and parts were scattered all over and the monitor had a large crack through the screen.
“You were having a nightmare when you were coming out of the sedation,” Mom answered my unspoken question. “The nurse didn't really know how to explain it, but said that it wasn’t unheard of,” she slid an arm around my waist, giving me a hip to hip hug.
“Did anyone get hurt?” I asked, wondering how the room could have been destroyed if I was sedated.
“No. It was confined to the room. A few pictures were knocked off the wall in the hallway, but that was all.” Mom was matter of fact about it, like it was an everyday occurrence that someone exploded a bomb in one of the bedrooms. “Now that you’re up and about, the contractors can renovate. Move what you want to keep it into the guest suite. You can use it until you decide what you want in your old room.”
Crystal followed me into the guest suite and we piled the shopping bags on the large queen sized bed. I stripped off the leather outfit and, in just my panties and a bra, I walked back into my old room and tip-toed through the wreckage. The closet yielded a pair of camp shorts from summers ago. They were tight across my ass and a bit loose around the waist. Cinching the waist string fixed that. I reminded myself to get some casual and knock about clothing the next time we made a shopping run.
There wasn’t much in the closet that I could, or wanted, to save. There was the collection of  college geek and acting tee shirts I could snug into that would be okay for around the house wear or give to Crystal to wear. Going through everything brought back memories of my previous life, rank belts from years of ju-jitsu classes, a jersey from when my Little League team won the regional championship and other things that I couldn’t just toss out in the trash. I might have changed sex, but they were part of my past, part of me.
Out of curiosity I tried on a pair of my old jeans. The waist came almost all the way to my breasts and my feet were still hidden in the cloth. When I fastened the button and let go, they puddled on my feet. Crystal giggled and I sighed. I knew in my head I was smaller but the jeans around my ankles were proof.
After an hour of working we had three piles, sentimental keepsakes, salvageable clothing and stuff to toss or for the Salvation Army. Crystal helped me pack the salvageable clothing and stuff that was going out into cardboard boxes. We left those boxes in the room. All the important remnants of my life as a male fit easily into one medium sized plastic storage box. It moved into the guest room with me.
Putting the box down, I caught a glimpse of the time. Two hours until Madame Venus went on the air. I’d just have time to shower, grab something to nibble and get the studio set for the show. Tammy T would be putting in a guest appearance. I would be in the studio to work the sound board and run the computer so they could take requests and chat with the audience.
It was a three hour show, each segment was about 50 minutes long with Venus and Tammy playing during the first segment, then on voice, responding to questions typed in the chat or performing viewer requests, using toys and the like during the second. The last segment would be Venus going solo and using the pole. A dance pole had been installed in the studio that Venus or a guest performer could use. Venus had several different routines she did, clothed or unclothed, as well as plain fitness exercises. Often there were more people watching her fully clothed doing hanging sit-ups from the dance pole than when she was putting it to a more traditional use.
Tammy arrived an hour before the start of the show. As usual she came upstairs, dropped her costume bag in the guest bedroom and started changing out of her street clothes, unbeknownst to me at the time. I came out of the hallway bathroom in just a towel around my waist and walked into what was now my bedroom and caught Tammy sitting at the makeup table in the altogether.
“Oh, hi, hon,” Tammy looked at me in the mirror unconcerned about her nudity. “I thought I was scheduled with Venus. She didn't tell me there would be a new girl.”
“You are scheduled and I'm a new girl,” I replied recovering from the surprise. “I'll be doing the engineering.” I wasn't sure I wanted to be outed this way.
“Jason does the engineer...” Tammy gave me a serious look in the mirror, her hand hovering in mid-air with a large makeup brush. “Jason?”
“What's left of him,” I replied. “It’s Jessica now.”
“Lordy, Lordy, girl let me have a look at you!” Tammy squealed getting out of the vanity chair and turning toward me. “Hot damn girl! You're making me jealous just standing here!” Tammy laughed and held out her hands and we hugged as girls do. Pressed together the way we were was too much for a certain bit and it reared its head. Tammy felt it and held me at arm's length.
“Is that what I think it is, girl?” she asked dropping her chin and looking at me straight on.
All I could do was blush and nod in embarrassment.
“Wait a minute.” Tammy looked at my breasts. “Those look way too good, there’s no way those are implants.” Tammy searched my face and suddenly the light came on. “You got morphed?”
 I nodded. Tammy hugged me again this time not pulling away when I got hard under my towel.
“Now I am jealous, totally one hundred percent green-eye jealous.” Tammy laughed holding me close. Her smile faded and her face took on a serious look. “How are you holding up, hon?”
“I don't know, Tammy,” I told her. “One minute I'm doing pretty good, and the next...” I shrugged.
“It's going to sound trite, but it does get easier.” The tall, coal black woman looked me in the eyes. “The first time I went out after having my top done, Lordy, I thought I would die of nerves. I was waiting for devils with pitchforks to jump out and carry me off.” We both giggled. “There's another thing, Jessica.” Tammy pulled my chin around so that I was looking directly into her dark eyes. “I did this to myself. I doubt that you were hoping to wake up one morning with a rack and a half, and killer curves.”
“No, I don't remember wishing for that,” I replied quietly. Tammy's genuine concern was helping soothe my raw nerves.
“We can talk more if you want.” Tammy walked back to her costume bag and pulled out her purse. She fumbled around in it for a minute then pulled out a card with her name and mobile number. “If you need to talk during the day, give me a call. If I'm busy and can't pick up, just leave me a message. I'll call back as soon as I can.”
I took the card.
We hugged again and Tammy turned back to touching up her makeup and getting dressed for the show.
Three hours later, when Venus signed off, it was all I could do to stifle my yawns.
Going to my new room, I stripped down to skin, slipped a soft sleep bra on, and slid between the sheets. Tammy wasn't part of the last segment and was asleep already. She would wake early to leave for her regular day job. I barely remembered putting my head down before I was out.