“I could use one of those,” Rita said, spotting the glass in my hand. She left the woman sitting on the large lounger while she made them both a drink.
Don—to make things easier, I'm going to call the woman Don for the time being—slugged his down and then doubled over in a fit of coughing.
“God,” he finally said in a strangled voice when the coughing stopped. “That burnt my throat. What did you put in there?"
“The usual.” Rita gave him a worried look. “If that body is brand new, maybe it's never tasted liquor before. Better take it easy.” She took the glass and made him another drink, but I noticed she added only a bare minimum of liquor to the mix.
Don took a tentative slip and seemed to relax a bit. He—no, I guess I'd better call him ‘she,’ since her body certainly left no doubt about gender—she finished what was in the glass, then sat slumped over as if trying to hide her new breasts behind the oversized shirt.
I was still struggling to sort out my thoughts. Don had been my best friend for years. We enjoyed the easy, comfortable friendship of two people who thought alike, were both crazy about science fiction, played the same web games and helped each other in classes. Don was my tutor when I struggled with math, and I helped him when he had to write a paper. We had grown close, almost like brothers. In fact, many times I had found myself wishing he actually were my brother rather than the one I had. I had never been comfortable around Derek, even when we were young. And since he had come out and told the folks and me he was a transsexual, I hadn't had much to say to him. Every time I thought about his claim that he was a woman trapped in a man's body, I became queasy.
Russell's blonde eyebrows creased in a frown. He looked at Don, glanced away from where she sat, and then forced his gaze back to her.
“Uh, Don, do you remember what happened to you when you went into that, uh, gate I guess we can call it?"
“I don't remember a damn thing. One second I was walking toward the arch, and the next thing I remember is coming out on the other side like this.” She looked down at her body, then got up and stalked over to the bar again. I couldn't help notice how her hips swayed as she walked. I looked away, taking a deep breath. This was crazy.
By this time I had abandoned the idea that I might be dreaming. The whole scenario was too clear and defined, too logically linear once the basic assumption of that gate, as Russell called it, was stipulated. I had two thoughts in rapid succession.
“How do we know you're really Don?” That was the first one.
“Et tu, Brute?” She looked pained.
As much as I loved Don, I needed to make sure this was really him. Maybe I had read too much science fiction, but I couldn't help wondering if some strange force inside the gate had made an exchange.
The woman who claimed to be my best friend seemed to read my thoughts. She glared at me and snapped out a few words like a challenge. “Willy's Arcade. The redheaded stripper."
I blushed, remembering the incident, and Rita turned to give me a curious stare. I had never told anyone about that episode except Don.
She leaned close and whispered something to him. This time she blushed. She looked over at us. “She's Don, all right. I have to believe it now."
“Don't call me ‘she,'” Don snapped.
“I still say it's impossible,” Russell said. “Something like this violates all the known laws of physics. Maybe we've all been hypnotized or drugged."
Rita shook her head, making her thick black hair dance around her shoulders. “I don't think so. This isn't how hypnotism works."
“How do you know?” Don got up and poured another two fingers of whiskey. She almost dropped the bottle when she picked it up to pour. She was drinking way too much, especially if her body wasn't used to it, but I could hardly blame her.
“Remember, I took a course in clinical hypnosis last semester."
Hypnosis hadn't been my second thought, but it was close enough not to matter. “Suppose the, uh, entity inside the gate stole your, or Don's, thoughts and transferred them into another body?"
“I didn't see any entity, and I'll guarantee you I'm still me, even if I am in this fucking female body.” Don slugged down his drink and endured another coughing fit. I couldn't help notice how his breasts jiggled with each cough.
Rita gave him an odd, almost angry stare. He should have known better than to say something like that, but I guess I might have, too, under the circumstances.
“How can you guarantee that?” Russell said.
Don plunked her glass down on the bar, her soft red mouth trembling as she fought back tears. She leaned away from the barstool she had been propping her arm on and wobbled a step or two toward the bathroom. “Because I have to piss, God damn it, and I don't know how!” Her features twisted and I thought she was about to cry.
Rita rushed over and led her to the bathroom, keeping an arm around her waist.
For a moment after they left, Russell and I sat in dead silence. Then Russell spoke up. “Hey I wonder if there's anything on the news about this?"
I don't know why we hadn't thought of that sooner.
“On!” I told the wall screen. The screen lit up and we were looking at a shot of a bright green arch. A mob surged around it, held back by policemen. I noticed immediately from the buildings in the background that it wasn't the same gate we had seen on campus, not unless it had moved in the meantime.
The volume came up and we heard a newscaster's voice, shaking with emotion. “You are looking at the gate that a young woman passed through shortly before police arrived. She vanished, but now a man who appeared naked on the other side is claiming to be that same woman. He says his sex was changed by the gate."
And that, of course, is how the term sex gates came into being.
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* * *
Chapter Two
While the news anchor was still blathering about “this unique event” and “awesome phenomena,” I unhooked my phone from its belt latch and glanced at the charge. It still had almost twenty-four hours left on it so I didn't bother to plug in. I pointed it at the other screen on the adjacent wall and zapped into the web to see what was happening there, then asked for two minute scans from my favorite web sites.
Coverage on the web wasn't much better than the networks. The first two showed scenes similar to what the networks were displaying. Just before the screen changed to the third, Rita and Don came back out of the bathroom.
Don was still feeling the effects of her three quick drinks. “Look, ma. No cavities!” She grinned, showing a set of perfect teeth.
I looked. Don had had a gold crown, and it was missing. Maybe this wasn't Don after all. Then I remembered that stripper incident. If this woman wasn't Don, how could she know about that?
“And look here! My scar is gone.” She pulled up one pants leg to display her shin, where Don had a scar from a cleating accident in high school. It was gone, too. I stared, still feeling a sense of unreality, and couldn't help but notice the shapely curve of her calf. She dropped the pants leg and headed back to the bar.
I got up and followed her. We stood next to each other at the counter. I was aware that this new body was soft and slender and wonderfully shaped, and that awareness made me squirm. This was my friend—my male friend! I tried to think of something to make her feel better.
“If you had to change into a woman, at least that gate made you into a pretty one,” I said. It was true. Don was a good-looking man; as a woman (if it was really him), she was gorgeous.
She glared at me. “I don't give a damn. And stop staring at these.” She folded her arms across her breasts. “I'm not going to have them much longer."
“What? You're not?"
She tipped her glass and swallowed half the contents. “Damn right. I've figured it out. It's simple enough. If going into that gate turned me into a woman, then going back through it ought to make me a man again."
Russell, on his way over to join us, o
verheard the comment. “That doesn't necessarily follow."
“You got any better ideas?” Don demanded.
“Don—” I hesitated. I was still having trouble thinking of her as my best friend, but I was concerned for her, nevertheless. “Why don't you wait a bit? Like Russell says, you don't know that would work."
“I don't care. How would you like to have to squat to pee?” She swallowed hard as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Or, Jesus Christ, what if I have a period?” She set her glass down, and turned toward the door, her face desperate.
Rita's yelp stopped her. “Hey, listen! A man who was changed is trying to go back through the gate! Right now, live!"
We all hurried over to the lounger where we could get a better view of the screen.
“What happened? Did he come back out?” Excitement, or maybe the liquor she was still drinking, slurred Don's voice.
“Not yet,” Rita said. “Be quiet and listen."
The report was coming in over the CNN network.
“...two minutes now and so far he has not come out the other side, nor has any sign been seen of her, or I should say him, as he was male before the change. Going through the first time is almost instantaneous, so this may be a bad sign. It may mean that the sex gates are a one-way proposition, but, of course, it is too soon to say for certain. And as hard as it may be for you to believe, some people do want to change their sex. Already, we have one report of a police guard set up around the gate near the Presidio to keep a crowd of men and women from going—"
“Aw, smash it to hell!” That was another one of Don's favorite expressions. She turned away from the screen, her face filled with despair. I could see she was discarding the notion of trying to go back through a gate, at least for the time being.
Instead, she sat with the rest of us through the afternoon and on into the evening, watching the screens and listening to more and more information pour in from the web and networks. In that, we were not alone. Most of the people in America sat down and watched the news that night as the gates began to change our world forever.
I sent out for pizza. Don ate enough to soak up some of the whiskey and topped it with a Nohang pill to ease her transition back to sobriety.
Secretly, I'd been worried that the government would soon block access to the gates, stopping Don from going back through even if she wanted to. But it quickly became obvious that the military and police, no matter how hard they tried, were going to be unable to stop people from using the gates; there were simply too many of them.
As reports came in, we learned there were thousands now in place around the world. They had appeared all over the planet at exactly the same time (or as near as anyone had been able to figure). The largest numbers materialized where the most people lived, suggesting some sort of knowledge about earth's population density on the part of the originators of the gates. The networks were soon displaying a giant world map, with different colors depicting population gradients and white dots representing the location of every gate known to exist up until that moment.
Another startling development (besides the sex change) was announced as we were polishing off the last of the pizza. This time the network news was ahead of the webs. The elderly anchor, retired but brought back for commentary, was as excited as a child on the way to Disney World.
“So far, every person who has gone through the gate has reappeared as a young man or woman in vibrant health, no matter what age they were when they entered. Are these gates the long-sought fountain of youth? It appears that they are, if you don't mind changing your gender along the way. Not only are those who go through emerging on the other side young, initial reports indicate when they go through the gate they come out with whatever ailments they might have had cured! No more arthritis or failing eyesight! No more senility or incurable cancer! This could be a boon for humanity, the dawning of a wonderful new age, a precious gift brought to us by the benevolence of unknown—"
The network cut him off as he began to ramble euphorically, not making much sense. If I had to bet, I would put money on him heading for a sex gate straight from the studio.
“See?” Rita said to Don. “Maybe it's not as bad as you've been making it out to be."
Don pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. She had told me once that her family had a genetic predisposition to vascular disease, one of the illnesses still not curable by gene therapy. Her dad had died of it a year after we met.
“That's wonderful for old people. But damn it, I don't want to be a woman. I'm a man.” She tossed her thick brown hair back over her shoulders with an annoyed flick of her hands.
“Why do you feel that way?” Rita looked curious. It's obvious to me why she's a psychology major; she's always asking people about their feelings. At the moment, she was cuddling next to me on the lounger, but she leaned forward to listen to Don's answer.
Don was sitting by herself in my easy chair. “How would you like it if you were wearing the wrong body? Everything is heavier. I almost dropped the Jack Daniels bottle. And my hips seem like they're out of joint when I walk. Besides that, I feel top-heavy.” She grudged a small smile. I could understand that, at least. My eyes strayed to her full breasts. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to walk with a couple of weights swinging from my chest.
Rita went over and scrunched into the seat with her. She patted Don's cheek, and turned on the sympathy. “Don't worry. You'll get used to all that.” I knew from personal experience Rita was good-hearted and optimistic, otherwise I would have thought she was overdoing the empathy.
“Maybe,” Don admitted. “I still don't like it."
I believed her. Don had never impressed me as the least bit feminine. I still didn't know how to treat her, and I was worried about how we could stay close friends if the change proved to be permanent. I guess she had noticed my reluctance to even speak to her, because she suddenly pinned me with a stare.
“Lee, you're not saying much."
I shrugged and felt my fingers tighten around the arm of my chair where I had been resting my hand. “I don't know what to say. This is like something out of a science fiction book."
“Yeah, with me as the alien."
“At least you're not a BEM,” I said.
“What's a BEM?” Russell asked.
“Bug-eyed monster. It's a science fiction term for a nasty alien.” Don didn't look happy about the comparison.
“Would anyone like some wine?” Rita was an expert at diffusing tension. We nodded. She opened a bottle of Texas Valley Chablis, and poured us all a drink while we continued to watch the news.
Of course, the gates weren't on earth for more than an hour before the politicians started making pronouncements. President Forbes made a brief address from the Oval Office. He asked for calm and said the government was attempting to communicate with the entities controlling the gates. He assured us that there had been no sign of hostility from any gate so far. During the shock of the first appearances, a few soldiers had panicked and attacked one gate, but there had been no reaction. He warned against trying to pass through a gate until a thorough study of long-term effects was completed.
It was about what you could expect from a politician. He probably hadn't gotten his daily webpoll yet. Even if he had, he may as well have been talking to the wind. The people weren't listening.
Right after his speech, the networks showed shots of older citizens, most walking but some in wheelchairs. They were lining up and entering any gate they could find that wasn't guarded by soldiers or police. They were even rushing some of the ones that were. One memorable shot showed an old woman beating a soldier over the head with her cane, then limping past him and disappearing into the gate. The shot shifted to the other side of the gate and caught a young man emerging, his arms uplifted in victory. The once-old woman was grinning and the camera made no attempt to avoid showing his well-muscled nude body.
By now the people coming out of the gate weren't looking bewildered or acting hyste
rical, the way that Don had. They knew what to expect.
While I chuckled with the others at the sight of the soldier getting caned by the old lady, I couldn't stop thinking about the gate that was attacked early on. So far, they hadn't shown any clips on that, but about halfway through the second bottle of Texas Valley, a replay came on.
As usual, someone with a camera had been close enough to film the event. However, the camera was far enough away that even the close-ups were fuzzy. A contrail from a military jet descended from the sky, leveled out, then curved back up. Out in front of the contrail, a bright green speck glittered on a low hill surrounded by what looked like Fourth World shanties. Presumably, the squatters had been ousted from their shacks before the bombing run, but they might not have been. Governments at that time didn't pay much attention to the bottom fourth of their population.
You could barely discern the curve of the arch from the distance, but that peculiar green color was unmistakable. Suddenly, there was an explosion and a black cloud ballooned up around it, obscuring it from sight. We watched as the smoke thinned. The gate was still intact. In fact, it didn't appear to have been touched by the blast at all, though you couldn't say the same for the hovels clinging to the sides of the hill. So much for explosives.
“They shouldn't have done that.” The words came out of my mouth before I thought about it.
“Why not?” Russell asked.
I paused for a moment to marshal my thoughts. “Hasn't anyone noticed that we haven't heard a single word about who or what put the gates here? My bet is they came from technologically superior beings from somewhere else in the galaxy."
“You and your science fiction,” Russell said. “Why not from another dimension?"
“Same difference."
“Maybe God put them here,” Rita said.
The Sex Gates Page 2