by Rick K. Reut
“Everyone?” he echoed. “You mean you too?”
“Me too. And you thought I was also a woman?”
“Well,” Adam regarded Rafaela, appraisingly, “actually, I still do.”
“In that case, watch closely,” said the assistant and, without another word, stood up and started stripping off her clothes.
She did it utterly unemotionally. Not even like a patient before a doctor, but like a person casually disrobing before going to bed all by oneself. First went the white blouse and then the black skirt followed. Having disposed of the doctor’s smock before the interview, she was now standing in a cream-colored bra, which went perfectly well with a pair of body-colored panties, creating a visual illusion that the person wearing them was totally sexless.
But pretty soon the bra was gone, too, and Adam was blinded by a couple of colossal, sun-tanned breasts hanging form her body like ballast bags from a balloon basket. He felt another solid hard-on begin to build in his pants and tried to suppress it by crossing his legs. But he couldn’t. The desire was too strong for him to handle. There was no way he could cut off the pulsing torrent of blood being pumped into his genitals by the power of his will alone as his body was taking control over his mind.
And then all went still. Time itself seemed to stop for a second or so as Adam froze in his seat like a cartoon character staring straight ahead with surrealistically widened eyes. By that time Rafaela had finally slipped off her panties and, having placed them on the back of her armchair, stood before him stark naked, except for a pair of cream-white high-heeled shoes on her feet.
But it was neither the shoes nor the feet that Adam was so transfixed by. It was the thirty-centimeter-long, uncircumcised cock hanging loosely between her wide spread legs he couldn’t take his eyes off for the next eon in eternity.
He was pulled back into time by a soft touch on his shoulder. Adam started and automatically shrank sideways, turning his head towards the source of the touch. It was Director Downing. Having slipped into the ward during the striptease spectacle, she was standing behind him with her hand on his upper back and her eyes on her assistant’s face.
“So, how is his psychological evaluation going?” she spoke in a trance-inducing tone that seemed almost as soft as her touch.
“So far so good,” answered the assistant.
“Any signs of anger or aggression?”
“No, none at all. Only some oversensitivity and overall shyness. Quite natural for an unprepared mind.”
“So I see,” said the Director, glancing down at Adam and then back at Rafaela. “Why don’t we prepare it a little then? Show him how incredibly intriguing this instrument of yours can be in action.”
“With pleasure,” said the stark naked assistant, baring her teeth in a predatory grin as she moved towards them, stroking her rapidly growing rod of rose-red flesh.
“I think it’s time to prepare our patient for his first oral exam,” said Director Downing, opening Adam’s mouth with her perfectly manicured fingers and whispering in his ear:
“Say “ah”!”
“Ah!” helplessly moaned Adam, his eyes widening at the sight of the approaching snake as he was forced to taste his first forbidden fruit from Rafaela’s thick-trunked tree of knowledge.
When all the tests were taken and Adam was deemed fit for the trip to the mainland, he was escorted to the roof of the polyclinic and put on a trans-plane bound for London. The moment before the plane took off, his convoy, consisting of the Director’s assistants, was augmented by Director Downing Itself.
The Director climbed into the cockpit and, after settling in the pilot’s seat, activated the AI autopilot. The next second the plane rose from the polyclinic’s roof and rocketed into the rain-water-colored sky.
The reason for the haste was a direct order from the European Continent Controller. Having heard of Adam’s hereditary history in course of a T-phone conversation with Director Downing, the Controller decided that he was just what they needed. The grandson of the notorious Bernard Marx, whose textbook case of failure to adapt to the conditions of the First Coming had triggered a change in the entire political system that resulted in the Second Coming, was a truly big fish to catch at the very first try.
Seeing this as an auspicious sign, Controller Globe ordered Its subordinates to wrap up the program sooner than they had planned. It wanted to meet the candidate as soon as It returned from the Annual Controllers’ Summit, for the month It had haggled from the Controllers’ Council for presenting them with at least one naturally born male, who would be willing to change in compliance with their wishes, was already on the wane.
“Any negative indications so far?” Controller Globe addressed the Director’s depiction on Its T-phone touchscreen.
“There seems to be only one.”
“What is it?”
“It turns out that our candidate has been a chain smoker for the past couple of years.”
“Has he? That’s a truly horrendous habit! I’ve always tended to share some of the late pre-transsexuals’ views that public smokers should be shot to death on sight for what they do to the health and, hence, wellbeing of others. Luckily, alcohol and tobacco have been successfully outlawed since then. You do understand that we don’t stand smokers on the mainland these fume-free days, don’t you, Director?”
“Certainly, Controller. He was totally detoxed before the departure. Besides, according to the analysis data, the subject’s internal organs don’t seem to have suffered any serious damage.”
“Well, good for him. But the question remains: will he be able to survive a total physical transformation?”
“The estimated probability of failure is five to ten percent.”
“That’s quite acceptable. And what about his overall attitude?”
“I’d assess it as predominantly positive.”
“Expand.”
“Well, from the purely psychological point of view, he comes across as a willful and, I’d even say, stubborn character. But at the same time he seems desperate to change. So it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him to do so once he’s seen the high standards of our living. It looks like he’s endured a lot emotionally and is willing to do almost anything not to feel too much about things.”
“Alright, bring him in as soon as you can. I’ll return tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see,” said the Controller, cutting off the connection.
Director Downing put away Its T-phone and opened the door leading to the polyclinic rooftop to be welcomed by a wild waft of western wind blowing from the bay. The transformer plane, with both assistants and Adam on board, was already waiting for the Director’s arrival.
Shielding Its crown of blond hair with Adam’s case chart, Darlina trod across the takeoff area marked by a circled capital letter (“T”). On reaching the transformer, It tapped on an icon on the T-phone’s touchscreen to open the cockpit door.
“You’re a lucky man, Mister Marx,” said the Director, settling in the pilot’s seat and shutting the door with another click. “The Chief Caretaking Continent Controller for Europe, Its Freudship Gianna Globe Itself, has just issued your official release warrant. Which means that you’re totally free to go to the mainland. Isn’t that what you wished for, Mister Marx?”
“I imagine it is,” Adam answered apathetically, staring straight ahead at the trans-plane’s windshield wipers rubbing away the rain and feeling like he’d just seen his last wet dream run dry.
Adam had lost touch with reality when he witnessed Rafaela take off her body-colored underwear. Now he was having trouble regaining it, still feeling the aftertaste of the forbidden fruit from the tree of true knowledge in his mouth. The soothing cream lotion the Director had lent him to assuage the ache in his anus, after taking him from behind, had not been of much help either.
The Director had told him that the first time was always the hardest. However hard it was, Adam was assured that he would soon learn to enjoy and, eventually, even love it. Almost as m
uch as doing the same thing with both of them taking turns. She or It – he was still not sure about the right way to refer to these strange creatures – had told him that he would soon learn to control his ejaculation, and then the pleasure would not be over so soon. They also promised that there were more than plenty of pharmacological solutions available on the mainland, which would help him pass through the first stages of transition.
Be it as it may, Adam’s mind needed time to digest and absorb this avalanche of experience that had befallen him so suddenly, covering his whole body, especially his head and face, with all sorts of sticky, befuddling thoughts that seemed to have blown away half of his brain cells in course of the last couple of hours. At least that was how he felt. Like somebody had put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
He was still busy gathering the pieces of his shattered consciousness, when the Director addressed him and, after hearing his answer, tapped on the “autopilot” icon to see the circled capital (“T”) dwindle and dissipate among the dropping down clouds.
Chapter Eleven
“Alright, bring him in as soon as you can. I’ll return tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see,” said the European Controller before sliding Its T-phone back into the side pocket.
“Who was that?” wondered Controller Fordy.
“Your dear Director Downing,” a genial smile stretched Gianna’s lips. “It claims they’ve already come up with a…” – It was about to say “perfect”, but then checked Itself, thinking it would be safer to settle for a less eulogizing epithet – “…sufficiently suitable sample for our experiment.”
“So soon?” Freudina sounded surprised.
“The sooner we make our move, the more chances for success we’ll have,” Controller Globe’s smile stretched even wider. “Which means that I must leave you.”
What, right now?!” exclaimed Freudina.
Gianna nodded.
“I’m afraid so.”
“But I thought you were going to spend this night in New York,” complained the North American Controller, with waves of regret rising in Its voice. “We could go to that chic Latino club I told you about and have a nice little orgy there. Just you, me, and a thousand anonymous Latino trannies with monstrously large members. Come on! We would have a terrific time together!”
“I know we would. But first things must come first. There’s something I still need to do in London. However, I promise that as soon as I finish this project, you’ll be the first to share its spoils with me. I’ll even bring your darling Director Downing for a friendly little threesome if you like.”
“But I don’t want Director Downing. I want you! I mean both of you! And not in a threesome, but in a wholesome orgy!”
“Now, nark it off, Freudina! You know that it’s only one month. And then I’ll get back to you together with the Director and our newly converted disciple,” Gianna tried to coax Its colleague. “Besides, we’ve just had a Freud of an orgy down in the mess hall, haven’t we?”
“We have indeed. But I want more!”
“And I promise that you’ll have more. Just not now.”
“But I want now!”
“Now come on, Controller. Be reasonable. You know I have to go,” Gianna checked Its wristwatch. “But we could still have a quickie in the cockpit if it’s going to make you feel better.”
“But I don’t want a quickie! I want hours of nonstop sexual intercourse with you and a thousand – ”
“ – anonymous Latino trannies. I know! And you’ll have them! I promise! You’ll just have to wait a little.”
“But I don’t want to wait! Everyone knows that waiting begets emotions, and emotions are bad for one’s health!”
“Sometimes a little emotion can be good. And besides, it’s not like you’ve got nobody else to go with. Take Tania, for instance. I am sure It’ll jump at this opportunity, knowing how much It likes Latinos.”
“But I don’t want Tania! I want you!”
“Stop being such a baby, Freudina. I sometimes wonder how you manage to act like an adult in one instant and then turn into a freshly decanted infant in another. Remember that you’ll have your thousand Latino trannies no matter what, whereas such great quantities will only ruin my concentration.”
There followed a long spell of silence. Gianna stared straight at Its colleague, who looked discomfited down at the Trans Tower’s rooftop under their feet, where two shapeless, pool-like shadows were currently swimming in and out of focus in the spotlight of the sun.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Freudina finally yielded. “You’re absolutely right. I can only wonder if the cockpit offer if still on?”
“Of course it is,” chuckled Controller Globe, strapping on one of Its shiniest smiles.
And with these words the two trannies walked straight to the aircraft hangar, where the Controller’s T-Rocket was already being fueled for another transatlantic flight.
Deep blue and blazing like a diamond in the sun’s golden ring, setting on the skyline, the wavy Atlantic sea was whooshing past one of the oval portholes of the Transcontinental Rocket Controller Globe sat at, staring out in pensive silence.
It had heard somewhere before – perhaps from the pre-trans or even pre-modern ages – that staring at seas and sunsets made one’s mind meditative and moody. Somehow it was supposed to be a good thing, but Gianna was having a hard time trusting the truthfulness of that theory. It certainly had nothing to do with the coarse sensual pleasure of an orgiastic orgasm, thus begging the question: was there any real pleasure besides the one of the body? Spiritual? But was spirit anything more than an unreasonably expensive substitute for, for some reason, inaccessible pleasures of the flesh?
Can it be something more than stereotypical sublimation, as Our Great Prophets would probably put it if They were still alive, thought Its Freudship. It did admit that all those sunsets and seas made you forget yourself for a while, made you feel as if you could dissolve in them. Like a granule of soma in a glass of water, It mused, seeing the sun melt in the porthole glass sea, brushing by its breathtaking beauty. But that kind of beauty could be appreciated only at the astonishingly high, almost countless costs of constant sexual deprivation. And wasn’t this too expensive, too terrible a price to pay for enjoying something as trivial as that?
Besides, it was only a substitute. Like a picture of a fruit instead of the fruit itself. The whole wide world reduced to a banana between two withered oranges. Dead nature in disguise of art. And has art ever been anything more than mortified nature, or still life in the literal sense of these words? Dead-still life…
Or maybe it’s all just a much more sophisticated sort of pornography? A ponderous phallus standing as tall and hard as some heathen god’s statue on the shoulders of ancient cults? Is there really anything else to it? Anything at all?
The Controller couldn’t help asking Itself all these questions as Its own nature was being put to temporary death. Slowly, very slowly, dead nature seen through the eyes of the Devil with all its beauty sunk deep into the mind of the beholder. A day dreamer of death...
Lucifer! Like a whisper of the wind, the word woke Its Freudship up. The Controller squinted at the ship’s saloon, and then out of the window. The blue, steel-like sea had gone dark, almost black, as the blood-red sun had clotted on the horizon. Meanwhile, a strange kind of fear started to fill the space around Its Freudship. Like a phantom flame with a flower of smoke growing out of the soot-colored sky where the seed of the burnt-down sun had been sown.
Suddenly, Gianna was seized with a craving to call someone. Someone who would chase away this strange feeling. Then It remembered that the flight crew of this newly constructed trans-rocket consisted of AI robots only. Well, it wouldn’t be much better if they were Deltas or Gammas. And especially Epsilons, the Controller thought, and this thought consoled It a little, making It believe It was on the right track.
Right track or not, It should definitely have invited someone to join It on this journey. Contr
oller Trahova and Controller Hee, for instance. They could make a short stop in London and have a threesome or something there. And then the other two would go on: one on Its way to back Moscow, and the other to Tokyo, Beijing or Bang-cock, as it was spelled these days, while Its Freudship would stay in Britain and get on with Its own business.
But instead, Its Freudship decided to be alone and focus on the future. And now It was paying for it with the pain any loneliness will produce provided it lasts long enough. Unfortunately, it seems like the only way for human and even trans-human kind to create something worthy, thought the Controller. Through loneliness and the pain it causes.
But then again, isn’t this loneliness and pain exactly what It is fighting against? And if It is, wouldn’t it be a totally senseless strategy to try to defeat them by means of more loneliness and more pain. All sacrifice ever leads to is more sacrifice. And so, all sacrifice is essentially ineffective. Just like suffering, which only begets more suffering in its turn. And when everyone suffers, nobody benefits, thought Its Freudship, standing up straight and striding down the saloon, Its face contorted with fury and fists clenched in anger. But only for a moment, for when the Controller finally stopped, Its face was smooth as silk again.
Rage begets nothing but rage either, It thought, picking up the T-phone to dial Director Downing.
The Director was just entering the air limits of London when Its T-phone began to ring and vibrate in unison with the playing tune. The vibration reminded Darlina of a lately procured sex toy currently charging in Its jet-black silicotton purse. The accessory was attached to the trans-plane’s dashboard via a winding, worm-like wire. Director Downing decided to let it ring a little longer just to enjoy the sound.
When It finally retrieved the ringing T-phone from the side pocket and saw who was calling, It immediately pushed the pick-up icon. The touchscreen lit up with Controller Globe’s fiery face. Still fueled with the fury at the ancient world of cruelty and injustice, it was burning bright-red against the ash-dark Atlantic sky.