The Syntax of Seduction

by Carlos Malenkov

  The female soldiers had a barracks of their own. Later that night Morrison got into the storage room of that barracks by removing a screen from a back window using just a screwdriver. Piss-poor security.

  The faint beam from his penlight showed a row of locker doors. Now, it was a matter of finding a uniform that would more or less fit him and maybe getting some cash and ID.

  Early the following morning, Sgt. Naomi DuPlessis showed her identification to the sentry at the gate. He waved her through, staring appreciatively at her well-proportioned ass as she walked away. Nicely pear-shaped it was.

  The leather purse had $24 and change in it. Enough to buy Morrison/DuPlessis a bus ticket to San Durango and a sandwich, but that was about it.

  "Can you help me? I've been having severe abdominal cramps, and . . . "

  "I'm sorry, Miss, but if you don't have an appointment -- "

  At that, the woman burst into tears, and if there was one thing that could melt the heart of old Doc Keldysh, family practitioner, it was a crying woman. A very attractive crying woman.

  "Let me show you where it hurts." She was unbuttoning her blouse. The good doctor barely had time to notice that it was an army uniform blouse with sergeant's chevrons on the sleeves before his attention was riveted by the bare breast peeking out. Such a nicely formed mammary it was, too.

  "Now, look here, ma'am," the doctor said. "I couldn't possibly -- "

  Then she was on him, smothering his trembling lips with burning kisses and groping between his legs. He collapsed onto the floor with her on top of him. He was lost.

  Getting fucked wasn't all that big a deal, Morrison decided, glancing at the gray-haired old man snoring on the vinyl sofa in the waiting room. Well, playtime's over. Time to acquire some resources.

  The doc's wallet held $473, some business cards, and a small address book. That should be more than enough to get to the east coast.

  Time to change back into a man; it was safer to travel that way. Morrison had by now gotten quite adept at using the cube.

  Orelia Morrison heard the cries of pain on the other side of the wall. The man was beating his wife again. It was painful to listen to, especially since Orelia, formerly Orville, had gained an in-depth appreciation of the kind of shit a woman had to put up with at the hands of an abuser. A few months back, she had been given a ride by a trucker, then overpowered and raped repeatedly in a motel room later that night. Said trucker had subsequently fallen asleep, which had allowed his victim to exact an interesting sort of revenge. Said trucker woke up the next morning, bound hand and foot, with semen seeping from vagina and anus. Said trucker would would later turn out to be pregnant with triplets, and the subject of lurid stories in the supermarket tabloids.

  That asshole next door had beaten his wife for the last time. From the sound of drunken snoring, apparently the exertion of wife beating had exhausted him and he was out like a light. All right, now to set things to rights. After selecting COMPLETE CHANGE, 1-5/180 RANGE/FOCUS, and 10 YEARS on the menu, Orelia aimed the cube at the wall and pressed the EXECUTE button. For the next decade, the man would be learning very some hard lessons about life. And from personal experience, Orelia knew that there was nothing like being penetrated to teach a man that he wasn't the lord of creation.

  The visiting room at the State Penitentiary is a depressing place. A reinforced wire barrier separates inmates from free citizens.

  "So, you say you're from some victims' rights group? Why should I give a flying fuck? Unless, maybe, you could get me out of this shithole, huh? An' yeah, there'd be something in it for you too, honey. I know how to show a woman a good time, you betcha, I do."

  "Now, Mr. Smith, what we're looking for from you is some expression of remorse, a statement that you're sorry you assaulted all those women, and . . . "

  "Yer barkin' up the wrong tree, slut. Less'n maybe you want I should do for your pretty ass, too. And I'm tellin' you I won't be sorry after, an' neither will you. C'mere and gimme a kiss-kiss, ya FUCKIN' CUNT!"

  "My word! I happen to be a respectable lady, and you should really show proper respect. I assure you that you'll find ample cause to regret your uncouth behavior. You see, I happen to have a magic cube that will teach you manners and assist in your rehabilitation."

  "Magic cube, my ass!"

  His ass, indeed. By judicious experimentation, Orville/Orelia had discovered a periodic-repeat setting in the ADVANCED options menu. Inmate Smith would awaken in the early hours of the following morning to discover herself inhabiting a voluptuous female body. The other occupants of the cell would no doubt find that very interesting, not to mention entertaining.

  Smith would learn what it felt like to be a victim. Involuntarily shapeshifting into a voluptuous woman between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 3:00 a.m., only to revert to one's original male body for the remaining 22 hours of the day might be a traumatic experience for anyone. For a convicted serial rapist in a maximum security penal institution, it would be a survival test. A survival test that would repeat every single night for the next ten years.

  Over the years, Morrison had come up with some very entertaining uses for the cube. He had, for his own amusement, set out to answer the age-old question of whether sex was better for a man or a woman. In the Orelia body/identity, she had taken both male and female lovers. Most male lovers, she had found, were essentially clumsy oafs who hadn't the faintest notion of how to pleasure a partner. Female lovers were usually more sensitive and knowledgeable, and, on balance, lesbian love was a more sensual experience. Morrison came to the tentative conclusion that when sex was good, really good, that a female body had the physical capacity to enjoy it more than a male one. But when sex was bad, the woman suffered while the man got at least physical release from it.

  Once, just once, Orelia had taken on two men at the same time. Double penetration turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. It required carefully choreographed positioning of assorted limbs and organs and orifices. And it turned out that having cocks up both pussy and ass simultaneously was a kaleidoscope of awkward thrashing around, vaginal-rectal fullness, now-pleasurable, now-irritating friction, intermittent pain, fleeting moments of near-ecstasy, inconvenient distractions, conflicting emotions, and sensory overload. It was a fruit salad of clashing sounds and smells, sensations, and secretions. It was also quite messy to clean up after. Dealing with the emotional baggage of two easily-bruised male egos was no picnic either.

  One of Morrison's most fulfilling liaisons was with a man. What was unusual about it was that he remained in the original Orville-vintage male body for the entire six-year duration of the relationship. It was a straightforward homosexual affair -- nothing fancy -- but smoking-hot sensual all the same. It was purely and simply about ass-fucking, with each of them alternating as top and bottom, as the mood happened to take them. There was something profoundly moving about sharing same-sex flesh with a lover, and after the first few weeks together it was totally immaterial who did the inserting and who was inserted into. It just went to show, Orville mused, that if two people were in tune with each other, then the physical details didn't much matter.

  Then there was the time he fell hard for Chastity Chastaine. She was a department store heiress, a moderately successful actress, and the proud owner of a beautifully-developed body, with a mind to match. Orville, it turned out, was a smash hit as a companion and dinner partner, but couldn't quite satisfy her physically. Orelia had somewhat better luck. Chastity never did catch on that she was cheating on her lover with the selfsame lover, and so it wasn't really cheating at all.

  Over the years Morrison had revealed his secret to only one person. Corliss Marlowe was a former field operative for the National Security Bureau. In the aftermath of a political shakeup, she had been forcibly retired under "adverse circumstances," so she shared Orville's bitterness about anything concerned with government agencies. Corliss was intelligent, empathetic, and she knew how to keep her lips zipped. She also had a nicely-contoured
body. In the natural course of events, they became lovers.

  After several months, the passion had pretty much burned itself out, but by that time the two of them were completely at ease with one another. They were best friends and confidantes. It seemed a shame to give up the closeness that only physical intimacy brings to a relationship. Corliss was the one who proposed that they both change gender and continue as a male-female couple.

  As usual, having a lover's penis deep in her pussy (and betimes her ass) brought Orelia a sense of completion and inner peace. But Corliss remained restless.

  They tried it as female-female lovers, then as male-male. Each had its own peculiar attractions. Once, when Orville and a male Corliss had finished mutual ass play (ah, the delights of sodomy), they just sat and looked into each other other's eyes for hours, not saying a word. It was as if they were Siamese twins, sharing both body and soul.

  Of course, it couldn't last. They were too much alike. The arguments became more frequent and, at times, nearly violent. One morning, Corliss was gone. There was no note.

  As the years passed, Morrison spent more and more time as Orelia. Being a woman provided a broader perspective on things, and the physical and hormonal makeup of the female body gave the mind a far greater depth of emotion, of feeling, of capacity for connecting with fellow humans of either sex. Women were more complex creatures than men in all the important ways.

  It was hard to believe that more than five decades had gone by. Morrison was a senior citizen with a full-grown daughter. When she nursed from Orelia's breasts for the first time, only the name Athena would do, in memory of the original Athena who had sprung from the brow of the Greek deity Zeus. Orville/Orelia was both father and mother to the child.

  It's not all that difficult to self-impregnate with your own genetic material when you can provide the seed, the egg and the womb. Orville had masturbated into a paper cup, then moments later Orelia used a turkey baster to inseminate herself. Nine months later, Athena happened.

  And now it appeared that it was all in jeopardy. All of it. Human civilization, and humankind, might have only scant hours to live. The SKANK ultimatum was about to expire, and then the missiles would fly.

  Who could have predicted that Somalia would team up with Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, and North Korea in a deadly outlaw alliance given to nuclear blackmail? Who could have known that SKANK-sponsored terrorist acts would tip the balance toward total war? Who could have forecast the proliferation of unstoppable delivery systems for mini-nukes?

  Morrison felt the winds of destiny. Perhaps this was why he had been fated to discover the GenderChanger™. Perhaps he had been intended to save the world. Perhaps . . .

  Modern nuclear devices were all fourth-generation "smart" weapons. That meant that their triggering mechanisms were biometrically keyed, and only a small group of "authorized" individuals could activate them. The biometric safeguard depended solely on genetic identification. The DNA of the triggermen had to match the sequence that had been scanned into the computer chips controlling the detonators of the bombs.

  Had to match! If an "authorized" individual had his gender changed, then the DNA sequence would no longer match. The 48th chromosome determines biological sex, and, if that flipped over, there could be no match. It was the only thing that might yet rescue humanity from fiery annihilation.

  He set the RANGE/FOCUS of the GenderChanger to 500000000 meters / 360 degrees. This should take in every person on earth, and in the orbiting space stations and on the moon base as well. Every human being alive would undergo an involuntary sex change. In the span of a couple of minutes, males would become females, and vice-versa. It would cause major disruption, and possibly chaos and anarchy for a good while, but the human race would survive.

  How long should the change last? If only a few weeks or months, then humankind would revert to its old habits of destruction and war. All right, then. He set the timer to its maximum, 100 years. Every man, woman, and child would live out their life span as a member of the opposite sex. It should be quite interesting.

  Morrison smiled grimly, then pressed the EXECUTE button.

  LOVE AND MARRIAGE

  I've always loved Keirin. We've been inseparable for as long as we've known each other. She won my heart in the instant that I first saw those flashing eyes and that warm smile. There she was, sitting on the teeter-totter in the school playground. We were both in the third grade.

  Sure, the other kids poked fun at us. Boys weren't supposed to like girls, and most certainly not vice-versa. The grownups were relatively tolerant, smugly certain that this was something both of us would outgrow. Just a normal stage of development.

  But we didn't outgrow it.

  We had been best friends for years. Years of snickering and sly whispering behind our backs. Years of petty harassment by teachers and Morality Monitors. Opposite-sex friendship in adolescence inevitably leads to illicit sex, don't you know? And: Hey, lookit them dirty perverts!

  When we finally did become lovers, it was almost by accident. The details of hetero sex may be whispered in lavatories and are the material of dirty jokes, but you certainly can't find anything about it in books. Well, not in books sold over the counter, anyhow. But, when the time comes, you somehow find a way.

  She had come to me in tears. Her tight little circle of girlfriends -- her bosom buddies, her sources of emotional support -- had abruptly cut her off. Rejected her. Shunned her. And, all because of me. Because of our forbidden closeness.

  I cradled her head against my chest and let her cry herself out. We were hugging tightly. Unintentionally, my hand seemed to be creeping down behind her back, comforting and caressing. Caressing her behind. Her curvy, enticingly padded butt. Forbidden woman-flesh!

  Now she was kissing me. At first gently, then, as if losing control of herself, wildly and with complete abandon. She was sobbing my name. And her hand . . . her hand was on my . . . my erection. She was saying something. She wanted something. She wanted me. She wanted me inside her.

  It was oh, so sweet. She had guided me into her (somehow she knew how), and our gentle rocking as we lay side by side both comforted and excited us. We were doing something terribly forbidden, and yet it felt so right. It was a profound expression of our love. And, we could get in terribly serious trouble if we were caught.

  "Oh, my gosh! You could have gotten her pregnant! Not to mention . . . "

  Gayla is my favorite mom. She's the one I always go to when I have a problem or something to confide. Even if she does get a bit overly emotional at times.

  "As you well know, Thomas, carnal relations between the two sexes are strictly forbidden in the Holy Book. Except for authorized reproduction, of course, and nowadays artificial insemination has made even that superfluous. I'm not the squeamish sort, but just the thought of having a male's thing inserted into -- ugh!"

  "But, mother Gayla, I love --"

  "Don't talk to me about love, foolish child! Love is when you pledge a lifelong commitment to a person, as Cornelia and I have done. Love is when you make sacrifices to raise a child, and believe me, it hasn't been easy. Love is the traditional bond between two people of the same same sex, and that's been true throughout all of recorded human history. As you well know.

  I'm as open minded as anybody. It doesn't particularly bother me that you turned out to be hetero. But, look, you've got to take precautions. Not just to avoid getting her with child, but to hide from prying eyes."

  "Mom, why do we have to hide our love? Heterosex was decriminalized ages ago in the Great Legal Reform. We're all supposed to be enlightened now. And -- "

  "And? And what about your reputation? What about being able to find a decent job after you graduate? Do you really think any respectable firm would hire a hetero?"

  It made sense, what she said. Too much sense. I let her talk me into a long vacation trip back east, a trip to a luxury resort, and with all expenses paid. A trip that would give me time to cool down and think things over. A
trip that would . . . put distance between me and Keirin.

  Oh, yes, we wrote to each other. But, after a while, the letters got more and more infrequent. I was just enjoying myself too much. And maybe absence doesn't necessarily make the heart grow fonder. And then I met Brent.

  We hit it off right away. He had a lively intelligence and the kind of sparkling good humor that can't help but make you enjoy his company. It didn't hurt that his classically sculpted masculine physique -- and especially his tight, muscular butt -- made the blood sing in my ears (and made my member engorge).

  At our second meeting, the Hug of Greeting turned into something more intimate as his hand strayed down below . . . and felt my tumescence. We raced one another down the stairway into the sleeping quarters and tore off our clothing.

  Naked, he crouched before me in the prescribed Ceremony of Yielding, then touched his forehead to the ground. I laid my hand on his exposed posterior in sign of Total Acceptance and positioned myself on my knees close behind him. Then came that magic moment when he opened his hind cheeks to me. I entered into him and we were one flesh.