The Witness Protection Program with a TG Twist

by Deane Christopher

THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM WITH A TG TWIST

by Deane Christopher          
Copyright 1999, 2000 by Deanne Christopher
All rights reserved.

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     "I have no further questions for the witness, your
honor.", the attorney who was leading Jason Tamborn's
defense team said in a off-handed manner; knowing with a
certainty that though he had tried every ploy he knew during
the course of his lengthy cross-examination, he had been
unable to impeach Daniel Faber's testimony.

     The judge, with a cursory glance to his wristwatch as
he did so, perfunctorily inquired, "Does the prosecution
wish to re-direct?"

     "No, your honor.  The prosecution does not."

     "Very well then, the witness is excused."

     Heartened by the fact that his long awaited testimony
was now behind him, a much relieved Daniel Faber stepped out
of the witness box and began his passage out of the
courtroom.  As he did so, no less than four burly and alert
FBI agents along with an extremely attractive
twenty-something year old woman rose from the aisle seats
they had been occupying and formed a protective cordon about
him.  Passing out of the courtroom and into one of the
magnificently marbled hallway of Washington's Federal Court
Building, two other agents, both carrying concealed, yet
easily assessable Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns, took
up their assigned positions, with one preceding the
entourage to act as pointman and the other, taking up the
rearguard position.

     Briskly, Faber and his armed entourage made their way
along the hallway and, upon turning a corner, ducked into a
small, sparsely appointed holding room who's security was
being expertly maintained by no less than another four
heavily armed FBI agents.

     "Well, I'm glad that's finally over.", Daniel wearily
offered comment as he entered the room and proceed to take a
seat at the conference table which fairly dominated the
room's interior.

     "I guess you are, Mr. Faber.  I guess you are.",
Justice's Liaison Officer Grace Clark concurred, knowing
fully well that in one manner of speaking or another, it
would never be over for the unfortunate Mr. Daniel Faber. 
It would only be different.

     "So now what, Grace?", Dan, who was on a first name
bases with Justice's Ms. Clark, felt the need to asked.  "Do
you guys turn me over to the whomever in the hell it is who
will be handling my being processed into the Federal Witness
Protection Program or what?"

     "No, Dan.", with regret clearly evident in her voice,
Grace Clark reluctantly replied.  "Sorry to say that until
we are directed otherwise, you are to remain under FBI
protection for the near to foreseeable future."

     "How come?", a disgruntled Dan Faber demanded, as the
hallway door opened to admit Paul Shucks, head Federal
Prosecutor for the government's case against Jason Tamborn.

     "Tell you what, Dan.", Grace Clark pleasantly
returned.  "I'm going to let Mr. Shucks here answer that
question for you."

     Paul Shucks, having caught the gist of what was going
on as he maneuvered his massive body around the close
confines of the room in order to take a seat directly across
the table from Dan, took up the cudgel, saying as he did so,
"First, we wait for a conviction.  Which, thanks to your
testimony Mr. Faber, I do believe we will most assuredly
secure.  Then, as sad as I am to have to tell you this,
especially so after what you've up and done for us in the
government's case against that arrogant son of a bitch
Tamborn, we going to have to put you back in cold storage
for just a little while longer."

     "And why's that, Mr. Shucks?", Dan Faber despondently
inquired.

     "Because of the appeals process, Mr. Faber.  While I
know that you're getting ency and that you'd like nothing
better than to get on with your life, I'm sorry to say that
we are going to have to keep you on ice for awhile longer on
the off chance that something unforeseen happens,
necessitating the need for us to call on you to testify
again.

     "However, be advised that once Tamborn's appeals
process has run its' course and that cretin is safely behind
bars, as I assure you he will be, Mr. Faber, rest assured
that you have my personal guarantee that the Justice
Department will move Heaven and Earth to show you just how
much it appreciates all the cooperation you've afford us."

     Thinking, 'Yeah!  Right!', a noticeable disturbed Dan
Faber replied, "Pray tell!  Just how long do think Tamborn's
appeals process might take before everything is all said and
done, Mr. Shucks?"

     "Anywhere from six months to... shall we say... three
years at the outside.", Paul Shucks promptly returned. 
"However, Mr. Faber, though I don't want to get your hopes
up, there's a pretty good chance that Tamborn's lawyers,
aware that your testimony has - in effect - nailed their
client's ass to the wall, might be able to persuade their
client to wise up and reconsider the extremely generous plea
bargain we offered Tamborn at the outset.  And should he do
so,  Mr. Faber, you, my friend, will be off the hook.

     Encouraged by Mr. Shucks' news, Dan Faber's attitude
underwent a remarkable uplift as he eagerly prompted, "Did I
hear you correctly, Mr. Shucks?  Are you saying that if
Tamborn cuts a deal with you, I'm off the hook?  And I get
to get my life back?"

     With a degree of reluctance clearly conveyed in his
voice, Shucks continued on to clarify the matter, "I'm
afraid it's not that simple, Mr. Faber.

     "As you well know," Shucks continued, "Jason Tamborn
is only the linchpin in the despicable plot that was to have
brought about the assassination of several of the Supreme
Courts more conservative members.  If, the people who
solicited his rather unique brand of services are who and
what we believe them to be, I think it's safe to say that
they are not going to allow your duplicity in the matter go
unpunished.

     "Make no never mind about this, Mr. Faber!  The people
that we believe Jason Tamborn can finger for us are very,
very powerful people.  So powerful in fact that, were anyone
of them to place a personal call to the President of the
United States, no matter what he was engaged in at the time,
the president would feel obligated to excuse himself from
whatever he was doing and take the call.

     "Believe me, Mr. Faber, these people, who must, out of
necessity, remain nameless for the time being, have an
agenda.  You, coming to us the way you did, threw a monkey
wrench into but one of the means by which they were hoping
to put that agenda of their's on the fast track.

     "Be warned, Mr. Faber: they will neither forgive nor
forget your involvement in the matter..."


* * *


     That evening, at an FBI safehouse located in the
vicinity of Lenoardstown Maryland, atop the fossil laden
chalk deposits that form much of the western shoreline of
the Chesapeake Bay from Chesapeake City southward, the
female FBI agent whose task was to screen the incoming calls
that were discretely routed through several NSA facilities,
alerted Grace Clark to the fact that Mr. Shucks over at
Justice wished to talk to her.  Excusing herself form the
inconsequential conversation she was engaged in with  a
mildly despondent Dan Faber, Grace, saying she'd be back in
a moment, went to take the call.  A minute or so later, with
a great big shit-eatin' grin spreading happily across her
face, Grace Clark waltzed back into the room and giddily
informed Dan that Jason Tamborn had reluctantly accepted
Justice's plea bargain offer; adding in an afterthought,
that as soon as Shucks and his legal team got threw
thoroughly debriefing Tamborn and had secured his John
Hancock on a affidavit attesting to the facts he was even
then in the process of giving them, they would call her so
that she in turn could start the ball rolling with respect
to getting Dan enrolled into the Federal Witness Protection
Program.

     Somewhere around half past three the next morning,
Grace Clark roused Dan from sleep and curtly informed him
that she had just been given the green light from one of
Shuck's deputies and for him to get dressed so that they
could get crakin' and get on the move, A.S.A.P.!  Shortly
thereafter, Dan, dressed in a worn pair of jeans, scuffed
linemen boots, blue denim workshirt and a navy windbreaker,
having exchanged good-byes with Grace Clark, was hustled,
under the cover of darkness, into the back of a one of the
three nondescript white panel vans whose rear and side
windows were so darkly tinted that they appeared to be
almost black.

     And so began Dan Faber's six day interstate odyssey
traveling the highways and byways of America in a concerted
effort to thoroughly bamboozle anyone's attempt to ascertain
his whereabouts.  Traveling in a wide assortment of vehicles
Dan was kept constantly on the move.

     Then, just when he thought he was on the verge of
going bonkers, Dan was informed, via an intercom system that
allowed him two way communication with the undercover FBI
agent who was riding shotgun up in the nondescript looking
eighteen wheeler's cab, to get ready to make yet another
transfer.   Having received and dutifully repeated the
precise instructions that had been relayed to him, Dan
opened the trailers rather nifty trapdoor and dropped to the
tarmac below.  Using a hunched over duck waddle, Dan moved
out from underneath the trailer and as quickly as his road
weary body would allow, climbed somewhat awkwardly into the
right front seat of a dilapidated, rust eaten, red Ford
panel-sided van.

     "Buckle up so I can get this show on the road, Dan.",
a very familiar female voice curtly instructed.

     Caught completed off guard, Dan, who was having a
difficult time trying to locate the restraining strap,
pleasantly exclaimed, "Grace!  My, my!  I must say that this
is an unexpected surprise!

     "When we parted company damn near a week ago, I never
- Ever! - expected to see you again!"

     "That's the idea, Dan!", Grace returned, as she put
the van in drive and began to maneuver it out of the
sparsely populated truck stop.  "You are quite correct!  By
all rights, I should be out of the loop at this juncture! 
And that - in a nut shell - is exactly why I'm handling the
chauffeuring duties for this particular leg of your journey
and not the FBI.

     "As far as everyone except my immediate superior over
at Justice is concerned, I'm off enjoying a well deserved
month long vacation in Maui.

     "Hey!", Dan, upon realizing that there was no escort
vehicle of any sort accompanying them, registered an
objection. "What gives, Grace?  How come we don't have
anyone chaperoning us?"

     "In order to make this disappearing act of yours work
Dan, the fewer people who know where I'm taking you, the
better.

     "If you say so...", Dan's reply was laced with a hint
of skepticism.

     "Please!  Try and relax, Dan.  Trust me!  I know what
I'm doing and I assure you, everything will be A-okay.

     "In just a few short days from now, nobody - And I do
mean nobody, Dan! - save for myself and the person we are on
our way to see will be able to recognize you."

     "Oh!", Dan said.  "So, I take it you're taking me to
see a plastic surgeon."

     "Normally, were you not the media celebrity that
you've unwittingly become, we might be doing just that.

     "However Dan, while a plastic surgeon can produce some
remarkable results, using one in your particular case would
be a little to risky.  Now a days, anyone with a PC and one
of the upper echelon ident programs could replicate any
cosmetic changes that a plastic surgeon might render. 
Eventually, an exhaustive and time consuming search of
various data bases would route the new and surgically
improved you out and then, you'd be shit out of luck."

     "So, if you're not taking me to see a plastic surgeon
- Pray tell! - who then are you taking me to see, Grace?"

     Opting to ignore Dan's question for the time being,
Grace replied by asking a question of her own.

     "Dan!  Tell me something!  Given the unenviable choice
of either being killed or living the rest of your life as a
woman, which would you chose?"

     "Huh!", Dan wasn't sure he had heard Grace's question
correctly.

     Knowing that what she was proposing would be a bitter
pill for her companion to swallow, Grace Clark prefaced the
restating of her  question by continuing on to say, "It's
like this, Dan!  You can of course elect to go the plastic
surgeon route.  However, should you do so, given the high
powered movers and shakers who are behind the people who
Tamborn ratted out, make no never mind about this!  They
will spare no expense hunting you down!  And when they
eventually find you - Which, of course, they no doubt will!
- they won't just have you killed, Dan!  Oh, no!  Believe
me!  They will take perverse pleasure in making an example
out you by having you tortured and then, after they've
extracted whatever revenge they deem fitting for betraying
their agenda, as a warning to others, they'll leave you to
die a most miserable and excruciating death.

     "Or, you can take that silly macho/male ego crap of
yours and stuff it where the sun don't shine and let me take
you to the one person I know who can pretty much ensure that
no one will ever be able to track you down!

     "And that - Dan! -  brings us back to the question
that I put to you before.  Do you want to go the normal
route and there by risk the high probability of your being
eventually tracked down, tortured and most likely killed or,
would you prefer the admittedly wacked-out, wild-assed
alternative I'm offering you, with that wacky and wild-assed
alternative of mine being: undergoing a drastic and
comprehensive sexual re-assignment so that you can safely
live out the rest of your life as am anatomically correct
and fully functional female member of society?"

     "Grace!", Dan , though he did so with a degree of
apprehension clearly conveyed in his voice, chuckled as he
continued on with his comments.  "That's the silliest damn
thing I've ever heard!

     "I mean, you're not seriously suggesting that somebody
has come up with a way to actually change a man into a
woman!"

     "Oh, but I am, Dan!  As crazy and absurd as it sounds,
that's exactly what I am suggesting!

     "You see, Dan, several years ago, driving along this
very same road that we're driving along now, as hard as this
might be for you to believe, my boss over at Justice put the
very same question to me."

     "Am I to take it that you trying to tell me that you
use to be a man, Grace?"

     "Yes, Dan.  That's correct.  As hard as it might be
for you to believe, I use to be a guy."

     "So what you're telling me is: you actually let
somebody hack off your male gentiles and fit you out with a
reasonable facsimile of a woman's cunt!"

     "No, Dan.", Grace replied flatly.  "That's not what
I'm saying at all.

     "You seem to have missed the point."

     "I have, have I?"

     "Yes, Dan!", Grace was emphatic.  "You most certainly
have!

     "You see, Dan!   I don't just look like a woman!  I am
a woman!  At least in a purely physically sense I'm a woman!

     "I mean, I'm guy!  Who is now a girl!  Who
menstruates!  You know, like roughly every twenty eight days
or there abouts!  Whether I want to or not!

     "Furthermore, if some son of a bitch were to slip me a
mickey and proceed on to have his way with me - Perish the
thought! - I could even end up pregnant!

     "Hell, Dan!  Would you believe that as a woman, I even
suffer form sever bouts of PMS every now and again!"

     "You're not shittin' me, are you?", Dan incredulously
heard himself inquire.

     "No, Dan!  I'm not..."

     As a thoroughly flabbergasted Dan Faber sat there
attentively listening, Grace Clark methodical told him how
she, as a male and former chief petty officer in the much
lauded United States Navy Seals, had ended up becoming a
very attractive member of the fairer sex.  Having been a
Marine Corps sniper who had been surreptitiously assigned to
several CIA Black Ops himself, Dan, though he was eager to
do so, couldn't find fault with either the technical or
military aspects of Grace's incredible story.

     Ironically, Grace's story was damn near a carbon copy
of his own.  Grace, during her gung ho days as a Seal Team
member and top-notched demolition and small arms expert, was
approached by a mid-level career officer from the Justice
Department who, upon appealing to Grace's sense of
patriotism, continued on enlist his help as an undercover
operative.  Shortly there after, on trumped up charges of
conduct unbecoming, Grace received a dishonorable discharge
from the Navy.  Several months after that, as the male Grace
sat in a barroom a couple blocks east of the Naval Base in
Norfolk Virginia sipping suds and loudly bemoaning the cruel
hand that fate had unjustly dealt him, first contact was
made.  A man, who would play an analogous role with Grace to
that which Jason Tamborn had with Dan, sat down on the next
bar stool and struck up a casual conversation.

     The guy was good.  Like Tamborn, Grace's recruiter had
the appropriate jargon down pat.  Had he been talking to
anyone else but Grace, he might have thoroughly convinced
them that he had been both an ex-navy man himself and a
former commercial diver as well.  Grace knew better and, 
under other circumstances, would not have hesitated one iota
on calling the guy on the line of bullshit he was spewing.

     However, even though the arrogant blowhard had
thoroughly pissed the Ex-Navy Seal off, Grace accepted the
guy's offered to buddy up with him for a long weekend of
diving a few of the many wrecks located off of the Outer
Banks of North Carolina, chief among those, the U352 of
Hitler's vaunted Kriegsmarine.  Other diving weekends
followed and then, following pretty much the same formalized
approach that Tamborn had employed with Dan, Grace's
recruiter inquired as to whether or not Grace would be
interested in something that, while illegal, was right up
his alley and would set him up for a life of affluent
leisure.

     Two weeks later, while he and that new diving buddy of
his were doing some nitrox-diving off the New Jersey coast,
Grace was appraised as to what would be required of him. 
Some influential friends of this so called new bosom buddy
of Grace's were in the market for some high tech pyrotechnic
devices that could, as Grace was lead to believe, take out a
Lear Jet's stabilizing system at a pre-planned altitude or
hole a fairly good sized yacht, so as to ensure that it
would promptly sink, taking all aboard down to Davy Jones
Locker with it.

     Though he tried on several occasions to learn the
identities of his dive buddy's influential friends, Grace
never managed to obtain them.  However, Paul Shucks and his
team of Federal prosecutors were somewhat more persuasive. 
Once appraised of all the charges and prison time he was
facing if he didn't cooperate, Grace's recruiter, adopting
the no honor among thieves credo, squealed like that
proverbial pig that everybody and his brother is always
talking about; fingering more than a half a dozen high power
movers and shakers in the business world as he did so.

     Trouble was, the government's case never went to
court.  As so often happens in such high profile cases
involving certain elite members of our society, the primary
witness against them died of what the Federal coroner would
deem as 'suspicious causes'.

     Fearing a vendetta that would result in the untimely
death of a patriotic Ex-Navy Seal, Lara Bigalow, Grace's
former liaison officer and current boss at Justice, stepped
in and, without authorization, usurped the normal handling
of the Federal witness protection process and made Grace the
very same offer that Grace had, in turn, made Dan.

     "Believe me, Dan!  My initial reaction to this girl
shit business was much the same as yours!  Like you, I
couldn't believe what I was hearing!  For some inexplicable
reason or another, I just figured that Lara was merely
pulling my leg."

     "However, since I was at a loss to come up with any
alternatives on my own, as skeptical as I was, I took Lara
up on what I wrongly assumed to be her ludicrous offer and
there by, to my ever lovin' amazement, became the woman I am
today..."

     "You're shitting me!  Right?"

     "No, Dan.  I'm not.

     "I use to be a man!  I am now a woman!  At least,",
Grace endeavored to qualify herself, "I'm a woman in a
purely physical sense."

     "What do you mean?  Physical sense?", Dan - confused -
sought clarification.

     "Mentally, I'm still the same old horny assed bastard
I use to be, Dan."

     "No shit?", Dan, taken aback by Grace's statement,
exclaimed.

     "No shit!", Grace, with a smirk, concurred.

     "And believe me, Dan!  That little fly in the ointment
makes getting used to functioning as a woman a real pain in
the ass at times."

     "I can see how it would."

     "You don't know the half of it, Dan!

     "However, if you take me up on my offer, guess what! 
You will!"


* * *


     Dan took a lot more convincing.  Grace was patient and
that helped.  Reluctantly, though he still didn't think it
possible, Dan finally gave up the ghost and so, informed
Grace that her prior assertion was indeed correct.  Becoming
a woman was indeed a far cry better than taking the chance
of ending up dead.

     "So, you're going to go for it, Dan?"

     "Sure...  Why the hell not!  Since the alternative
isn't all that appealing, I might as well take the plunge
and find out how the other half lives."

     "That's the spirit, Dan!", Grace, with an unexpected
gusto, brightly countered.

     "Is it painful?"

     "Is what painful, Dan?"

     "The change"

     "No...", Grace tactfully offered.  "The change isn't
in any way, shape or form painful.  However,", her voice
conveyed a sense of introspective thoughtfulness, "I found
it to be somewhat disconcerting."

     "Disconcerting!  How so?"

     "That's kind of hard to describe, Dan...

     "Tell you what though!  While I can't even begin to
put into words what the makeover process feels like, I can
tell you that it'll be a hell of a lot easier for you if you
don't try to fight it.

     "In others words, Dan, you need to just sort of go
with the flow.  If you know what I mean..."

     As an almost mandible sense of brooding silence began
to permeated the van's interior, Dan, in an effort to get
his mind off of his feckless contemplation of what he was
letting himself in for, asked an off-the-wall question.

     "Grace!  Just where in hell are we?

     "I mean, I know by the road signs and licenses plates
that we've been passing for the last hour or so that we're
in West By God Virginia!  But just where in West By God
Virginia are we?"

     "Let me think, Dan...

     "Okay!  Unless I miss my guess here, I do believe that
once we reach  the crest of this ridge that we've been
climbing for the last several minutes or so and begin our
descent down the other side, given how bright the moon is
tonight, we should be begin to catch glimpses of the
spectacular craggy outcrops of West Virginia's scenic Seneca
Rocks through breaks in the tree line directly ahead of us."

     "Oh!  So where - Pray tell! - are we heading from
here, Grace?"

     "You ever hear of the Dolly Sods, Dan?

     "No.  Don't think so."

     "Well, for what it's worth, Dan, the Dolly Sods is a
remote, plateau wilderness area that is located somewhat
north of here.  When we get to the intersection at bottom of
the hill, I'll be making a left.  From there, we'll be
following the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac
northward towards Smoke Hole Caverns.  Then, just a few
miles shy of the caverns, I'll be making another left, where
upon, we'll be sort of doubling back on ourselves as we
begin climbing the very ridge that we're in the process of
crossing over now."

     Grace, in a concerted effort on her part to keep Dan
distracted from contemplating what he had let himself in
for, continued on to tell him about how the army had
employed the Dolly Sods as an infantry training area during
the days of World War Two.  People, she proceeded on to
informed him, were still coming across unexploded munitions
from time to time.  Then, in response to Dan's half hearted
inquiry concerning the type of munitions that were generally
turned up by hikers and campers who visited the unique flora
and fauna of the Dolly Sods, Grace responded by saying that
to her best recollection, she thought that they were rifle
grenades of the type that could be fitted to the mussel of
the M1 Garand and generally fired with the butt of the rife
braced against the ground mortar style.

     The climb up from the road skirting the rock strewn
Potomac was tortuously slow.  It was one switchback after
another and the badly rutted, single lane  dirt road with
its' sharp turns, nonexistent shoulders and fairly steep
gradient forced Grace to exercise a modicum of caution. 
Reaching the plateau proper, Grace, made a left onto another
dirt and gravel road and proceed slowly along it.

     Ten minutes after that, having stopped and directed
Dan to unlock and then re-lock the entrance gate, Grace
gingerly maneuvered the van down a private lane so rutted
with pot holes that it was damn near impassable for a two
wheel drive vehicle like the van they were in to navigate it
successfully.  Somehow, gaining Dan's admiration for her
off-road driving skills in the process, Grace managed the
feat without any major mishap.  Five minutes after that,
Grace had the van backed into what to the untrained observer
would take to be an extremely dilapidated and weather worn
barn.  Turning on the battery of craftily concealed exhaust
fans and opening the van's hood, Grace hefted one of the
scads of CO2 fire extinguishers that seemed to be stockpiled
within structure and promptly urged Dan to do likewise.

     When asked why he should do so, Grace, freely
admitting that it was probably a foolish act of overkill on
her part, informed him of her intent to use the CO2
extinguishers to cool the van's engine block and there by
reduce and telltale heat signature of their vehicle.  Dan,
realizing that it was his life that was on the line,
complied without further comment.

     With roughly thirty spent fire extinguishers resting
somewhat haphazardly against the opposite wall, Grace turned
off the exhaust fans and, locating what at first glance
appeared to be an unusable handcart, wheeled it over to the
van's rear double doors.  Asking Dan to assist her, the two
of them moved several ungainly cardboard boxes out of the
van's interior and onto the cart.

     "What's in the boxes?", Dan nervously inquired.

     "Basically, I guess you call them care packages, Dan.

     "Though I do so infrequently, every time I pay Granny
Clampett a visit, I bring her some special things that I
think she might enjoy having.

     "Granny Clampett!" Dan's exclamation clear registered
both his surprise and disbelief.

     "Okay!  As you have may have already summarized for
yourself Dan, Granny Clampett's not her real name.  But
that's how everybody who knows of her existence refers to
her!  And so - I think it prudent for me to point out -
that's how you should refer to her as well.  Alright?"

     Dan said he would as Grace on her part, closed and
locked the vans rear doors.  With that done, Grace continued
on to ask Dan to assist her in covering it with a large
plastic tarp.

     Having done so, Grace, with Dan in tow, wheeled the
cart to the bogus barn's rearmost wall, where upon she
promptly placed her right thumb on one knothole and move her
right eye within an inch of another one.

     In short order a disembodied, electronically
manufactured voice stated, "Thumb print and retinal scan
verification completed.  Agent Clark, please enter the lift
and complete prescribed voice recognition sequence."

     At that, a portion of the wall before them split down
the middle and the two door halves slid towards their 
respective walls.  Grace, with cart in tow and employing a
flick of her head to urge Dan to follow suit, entered the
burnished metal confines of a small circular room.

     Stepping to the center of the glistening metallic
floor, Grace, knowing what was expected of her, began. 
"Grace Clark.  Witness Liaison Officer with the United
States Justice Department.  Passcode ID: Alpha Ventura Niner
Six.  Authorization Code:  Parsec Fifty Two dash Zero Five
One."

     "Authorization Code confirmed.  Please state access
level."

     "Access Level Two.", Grace dutifully supplied.
     
     Confirming Dan suspicions, Grace offered comment, "The
silo functions as the cover for an elevator shaft."

     "Kind of neat and if I do say so myself.  Very James
Bondish!", Dan responded.

     "It is, isn't it?"

     "Yeah, it sure hell is!

     "Grace, just what in the hell is this place?"

     "Beats me!  My authorization code only allows me
access to Level Two's warren of tram accessed passageways!

     "I mean, for all I know Dan, there could be a whole
shitload of other levels down here, each one designated for
who knows what!"

     The doors opened in front of them and Grace, pushing
the cart in front of her, exited the elevator cab and
prompted a noticeable intimidated and much bemused Dan Faber
to do likewise as she cheerily encouraged, "Come on kiddo! 
Time's a wasting!  Your girlhood awaits!"

     As a very discombobulated Dan stepped gingerly, if not
fearfully, out and onto a brilliantly lit metal platform
that was itself contained within a skillfully hewed out
limestone ensconced tunnel-like alcove, he belatedly came to
the realization that he was in some sort of ingeniously
contrived, high-tech monorail station.  Grace, keenly aware
that her charge was having a hard time coming to grips with
all that he was experiencing, wheeled the handcart onto the
rear deck portion of the open-aired tram car and proceeded
to secure it, via some nifty, cam-like locking devices that
were provided for the purpose of doing just that.

     "Come on, Dan!  You've lollygagged long enough!  Get
your ass in gear and hop into this car so we can get this
show on the road!", Grace good naturally chided, as she
teasingly took her right hand and used it to invitingly pat
the seat cushion next to her.

     Though he did so awkwardly, Dan nevertheless did as he
was directed.  Once her charge had seated himself, Grace,
using what looked to be a simple telephone key pad, punched
in the designation code for Granny Clampett's lodgings and
with a whooshing sound of pneumatic brakes being released,
the tram car dutifully responded by smoothly accelerating
out of the station and into the disquieting maw of a eerily
and dimly lit tunnel.

     All of a sudden, the walls, ceiling and floor of the
tunnel feel away, plunging a startled Dan into a moment of
sheer and utter terror as the small tram car he and Grace
were riding in seemed to effortless glide through a void of
green tinged blackness that was in turn, populated by what
Dan initially took to be the most grotesque and monstrous
forms imaginable.

     Then, as the otherworldly void was in its' turn,
replaced by the panic abating confines of the limestone
walls of yet another man-made tunnel, Dan belated came to
the realization of what had just occurred.

     "Grace!", Dan, in relief, exclaimed gleefully.  "Did
we just pass through a cavern?

     "I mean, those were stalagmites and stalactites I just
saw go whizzing past, weren't they?

     "They sure as hell were, Dan!

     "The whole ridge is honeycombed with 'em!", Grace
said, confirming Dan's assertion, even as the car they were
riding in began to transverse another cavern room that was a
good three times larger then the previous one they had
passed through.

     "Wow!  This is fantastic!  Why didn't you tell me?"

     "I wanted it to be a surprise, Dan!"

     "Oh!  It was a surprise alright!

     "I mean, there's a good chance that I'm going to need
to excuse myself when we get to this Granny Clampett's of
yours so that I can change into a fresh pair of boxer
shorts!  You know, because I do believe that I may have just
shit myself!"

     "Sorry, Dan!  No can do!"

     "How come?"

     "No boxer shorts!"

     "That's okay!  A pair of jockeys will suffice..."

     "Sorry, Dan!  No jockeys either!

     "However,", Grace, thoroughly enjoying the moment,
gleefully teased, "once you've completed your sexual
reassignment, I can offer you any number of panties. 
Skimpy!  Sexy!  Satin ones!  The kind of panties that'll
have that male mind of yours creaming in your jeans..."

     "Grace!", Dan's harshly delivered complaint echoed, in
a Doppler-like fashion, off the walls of the voluminous
cavern chamber they were at the time rocketing across.

     Then, as they passed out of the cavern they had been
traversing and into another man-made tunnel segment, Dan, in
a tone that clearly conveyed a raw sense of hurt,
beseechingly intoned, "Come on, Grace!  Cut me some slack
here!  Alright?

     "I mean, this girl shit is really starting to get to
me!  So much so, that I'm beginning to have some serious
second thoughts about going through with it!

     "So please, Grace!  Do me a favor!  Ease up on me!"

     "Sorry, Dan!  You're right!  I was wrong!  I promise! 
From here on out, I'll watch my Ps & Qs so it won't happen
again!

     Right on the heels of her apology, Grace's intonations
took on an urgency as she changed course in mid stream by
continuing on to say, "Dan!  When we come out of this
tunnel, look down and to the right!"

     "An just what am I looking for, Grace?"

     "A monorail track, running about five feet above the
cavern floor and perpendicular to the one we're on."

     Dan saw it and the cave it disappeared into.

     "Are there others?"

     "Yes.", Grace replied. "There's a whole slew of them.
But, you really need to know where to look in order to see
them."

     "So, I take it that there really are other levels down
here."

     "Yes."

     "Have you ever seen another tram car?"

     "No.", Grace casually admitted.  "But I think that
I've heard one a time or two."

     "Do you mean that metallic clicking sound that I keep
hearing from time to time?"

     "No.  That sound comes from the relays controlling the
lights."

     "Oh!", realization dawned on Dan.  "That's right!  I
remember now!  When it comes to cave and cavern systems,
lights aren't exactly environmentally friendly!  They tend
to promote moss and lichen growth if left on for any length
of time.

     "See!  Contrary to what Beth - that's the young lady I
took to see Luray Caverns a year or so ago - claimed, I was
listening to what our spunky little tour guide said.  And I
definitely heard the part of her canned spiel that
specifically dealt with lights, lichen and all that other
razzamatazz that has to deal with the preservation of cave
and cavern systems."

     "My, my!", Grace said with a chuckle.  "Have I been
wrong all these years?"

     "Wrong about what?", Dan, unknowingly, bit.  Hook,
line and sinker!

     "About you jar-heads!

     "About how it takes a hundred and forty one of you to
come up to the level of gross ignorance!"

     "Well...", Dan began as he frantically groped for a
fitting retort.  "Coming from an ex-squid and a snake-eater
to boot, who - I should point out! - looks damn good in
skirts, I think I'll take that as a compliment!"

     A few minutes later, as Grace went about the task of
removing the cart from the tram car, she broached another
matter that she hoped would help ally some of Dan's fears
and reservations.

     "Dan."

     "Yes."

     "To protect and preserve your anonymity, I'm going to
introduce you to Granny as Sam.  Alright?"

     "Sure.  But is that really necessary?  You know, what
with all the media coverage I've been receiving here of
late, Grace.

     "I mean, if she's watched any TV at all, she's bound
to recognize me."

     "Believe me, Dan.  Granny won't recognize you."

     "How come?  I mean, are you telling me that this
Granny Clampett of yours doesn't watch TV?"

     "No, Dan!  Granny watches a lot of TV!

     "Fact is, living alone out here in the boondocks like
she does, you might say that Granny's an avid TV addict.

     "And you're seriously suggesting that she still won't
recognize me?"

     "Trust me Dan, Granny won't know you from Adam."

     "How come?"

     "Because Dan, Granny's TV feed is on a fiber optic
cable that is routed through a NSA facility that
automatically filters out anything that even remotely
resembles a news program."

     "Oh!  Lucky woman!"

* * *

     "Granny.  This is my friend, Sam.", Grace, handling
the introductions, began.  "And I brought Sam to see you so
that he might receive some of your special treatment."

     "Please to meet me you, Sam.", Granny Clampett said in
her highly accented English.  "Please, come in."

     "Grace, while Sam and I get better acquainted, could I
impose on you to attend to preparing the arboretum's lily
pond for us?"

     Grace, saying that she'd be more than happy to comply
with the diminutive South American Indian woman's request,
reassuringly informed Dan that she was leaving him in good
hands and having done so, politely excused herself.

     Leading Dan into a comfortable, rustically appointed
living room of a rather large, glass fronted A-frame that
extended outwards from the craggy hillside, Granny bid him
take a seat at the small table that granted its' occupant a
magnificent vista of the next ridge over and the Potomac
River Valley below.

     "The view is breath taking, is not Sam?", the woman
known as Granny Clampett commented as she, upon seating
herself, took a  crystal decanter and from it, poured a
small amount of some pungently smelling liquid into an 8 oz.
juice glass.

     "Yes.  It most certain is.", Dan concurred.

     Without mincing words, the elderly South American
woman got right to the point.  Choosing her words with great
care, Granny proceeded on to ask the all important and, to
her mind, obligatory question, "So Sam, am I correct in
assuming that my Gracy has brought you here so that you too
can become one of my girls?"

     "Yes.", Dan, though he did so reluctantly, replied.

     "You do realize that once done, the change you seek
cannot be undone?"

     "Yes.  Grace has implied as much."

     "Well then Sam, if you are indeed resolved to take
this change upon yourself, please, pick up the glass and
partake of the elixir I have placed before you.

     Dan, though he did so with a great sense of dread and
foreboding, reluctantly did as directed.

     Placing the empty glass back on the table, Dan felt
the need to ask, "How long?"

     "Long and not so long.", Granny ambiguously replied.

     Standing, Granny encouraged Dan to do likewise, saying
as she did so, "Come, Sam!  Before the change is upon you,
we need to relocated to the arboretum."

     Taking Dan by the arm, Granny escorted him back
towards the A-frame's kitchen area,  where upon she turned
down a side hallway, passed through first one and then a
second hermetically sealed doorway and from there, out into
the oppressive confines of a large glassed-in, geodesic
bio-sphere, housing the flora and fauna of what Dan
correctly assumed to be clearly reminiscent of the Amazon
Rain Forest. 

     "Welcome to my home away form home, Sam.", Granny
Clampett proudly announced.

     "I apologize for the heat and humidity and I assure
you that you will quickly become acclimated to it."

     Thinking that there was no way in hell that he would
ever become even remotely acclimated to the sphere's
oppressive heat and humidity, Dan, who was sweating away to
the beat the band, didn't think it would be prudent for him
to point out the fallacy in Granny's prior assertion. 
Sometimes, as he learned through the school of hard knocks,
discretion was indeed the better part of valor.

     Just as Dan was taking the seat that Granny had so
graciously offered him, Grace entered the glass-in enclosure
carrying a Plexiglas transport cage in each of her hands. 
As she passed by, Dan took note of the fact that each
transport cage contained a rather hefty sized frog of the
most unusually indigo coloration.  Moving to the lily pond's
octagon shaped retaining wall, Grace placed one Plexiglas
container on lip of the near side and, having done so,
proceeded around to the far side of the pond where she
dutifully placed the other.  As she did so, Dan took note of
the fact that two other frog occupied transport units
already resided at the other two cardinal points of the
walled in pool.   

     A somewhat perplexed and overtly curious Dan was just
about to inquire as to what purpose the frogs served with
respect to the feminization he assumed he was about to
undergo, when Granny Clampett intruded on his thoughts by
asking a question of her own, "Tell me, Sam.  Does if feel
as hot and humid now as it did at first?"

     "No.", A clearly mystified Dan distractedly replied. 
"As odd as it sounds, I'm not even perspiring anymore."

     "Good!", Granny Clampett stated flatly.  "The change
has begun.  Your skin should begin to feel prickly."

     "It does!", Dan admitted.  "I've got goose bumps
running all up and down my arms and legs!"

     "That's to be expected, Sam.", Granny said
compassionately, as a series of involuntary shivers began to
wrack Dan's body.

     Grace, who had joined Dan on the wrought iron settee
in an effort on her part to lend what comfort and solace she
could by the mere fact of her nearness, felt prompted to
confirm a prior assertion of hers. "Sam!", Grace began,
remembering to use the bogus name she had given Dan.  "You
aren't feeling any pain are you?"

     "No!", Dan, employing a great deal of effort on his
part, managed a gurgling and noticeably strained reply.  "No
pain!  Just extreme amounts of discomfort!"

     Then, for some inexplicable reason or another, Dan
glanced down at his hands and was horrified to see that his
skin had taken on a sickening bluish tint.  Further
examination only served to compound his distress.  His
nails, he noticed, were damn near nonexistent and the loose
portion of skin that resided in between each of his fingers
had grown outward, so as to form a fleshy web extending back
from the terminus points of each of his fingers' first
knuckle joint.

     "Please!", Dan managed to croak, his formerly rich
baritone resounding now as a deep, groveling bass.  "What's
happening?", his neck, having become slightly more elastic
than it had been but a moment or so before, bulged outward
as he took his next breath.  "What have you done to me? 
You're not turning me into a girl are you?"

     "No, Sam.", Granny Clampett sadly confided.  "The
elixir you took is turning you into frog.  The frogs
there,", she continued, motioning with her hand towards the 
lily pond and the four Plexiglas containers that rested upon
the lip of its' encircling enclosure, "will, over the course
of the next three days or there abouts, complete the process
of turning you into a female.

     "After that is accomplished, I will take the necessary
steps that will return you to a human form, save that human
form will be that of a female."

     "That's absurd !", Dan, employing the fleeting
vestiges of a formerly human-like larynx, vehemently
countered.

     "Sam.", Granny Clampett, aware that Dan was well on
the way to loosing his ability to speak, endeavored to
explain the situation.

     "I come from a very remote region of the Amazon Rain
Forest, as do those frogs over there.  As you might guess,
their subspecies is an extremely rare and unusual one.

     "Would you believe Sam, all of them begin life as male
tadpoles that evolve into adolescent male frogs, much as
grouper fish all begin life as females.  However, unlike the
grouper fish, who undergoes a transsexualization during the
normal aging process, as these frogs pass from their
adolescent stage and into full adulthood, some as yet
unexplained hierarchy is established in which the more
dominated members of their subspecies remain male and the
more submissive members become female."

     "That is why those big fellows over there have been
kept separated, Sam.

     "Had I placed them all in the pond together, within a
day or so, one or more of them would have undergone gender
re-assignment.

     "Long ago, the shamans of my people learned of the
frogs' secret and so, after much trail and error, devised
the elixir of which you just partook.

     "You see Sam, the tribal clan from which I come is
most unusual one due to the fact that it is governed over by
a matriarchal council of eight women.  Four of those woman
comprising the council of elders are naturally born women. 
Four are men who have distinguished themselves as both
fathers and hunters and so, are selected to be honored with
the gift of womanhood and the extended, rejuvenated life
that is bestowed along with that cherished gift.

     "I myself was born a man and as a man, I have fathered
many children.  Upon becoming a shaman to my people, I, as I
knew I would, underwent the Frog Passage and so became a
woman.  As a woman,", Granny continued with a sense of pride
clearly conveyed in her voice, "I bore even more children to
add to the prosperity of my people."

     Just then, a pesky housefly, unaware of the fate that
would shortly befall it, lifted off of Grace's left shoulder
and flitted in the haphazard manner of flies, in front of
Dan's oddly contorted, bug-eyed and progressively bluing
face.  As it did so, newly imprinted primal instincts kicked
in and so, doomed the fly.  Without even being aware of what
he was doing, in the flickering of an instant, Dan's mouth
ratcheted opened and a tongue that was longer than long
shot, slingshot-like, from its' innards; catching the
bothersome fly in mid-flight.  Like a snapshot, the tongue
and fly were whisked back inside his newly distended lips
and with a gulp denoted by an elastic expansion and
subsequent contraction of that bulbous new neck of his,  Dan 
sent the insect-like morsel down his gullet, en route to his
stomach, which like his tongue, was well on the way to
becoming that of a unique subspecies of Amazonian amphibian.

     Dan's transmogrification into a frog progressed
quickly from that point.  Fifteen minutes after the incident
with the luckless fly, Grace was busy digging her frogified
charge out from underneath the pile of clothes he had been
wearing.  Taking a great deal of care not to do him any
bodily harm, Grace conveyed the former Dan Faber to the lily
pond and promptly released him into its' awaiting waters. 
Moving in a clockwise manner, Grace, as directed by Granny
Clampett, proceed on to introduce the other four frogs into
the pond.


* * *


     Two days later, during one of their damn near hourly
inspections, Granny pronounced that Sam and another one of
frogs had been duly intimidated by their brethren and so,
had begun the process of changing into functional females. 
When asked how she knew that by a most inquisitive Grace,
Granny responded by pointing out the two frogs who had taken
on a slightly lighter bluish coloration than that of their
pond mates; adding as she did so that the two she had
indicated would, over the course of next twenty four hours
or so, progressively become both lighter hued and somewhat
smaller in stature.

     Concerned for Dan's welfare, prompted Grace to ask
Granny about that particular subspecies of frogs' normal
gestation cycle and was promptly informed by the diminutive
Amazonian that there was nothing to worry about in that
regard, due to the fact that gestation would lag the
transsexualization process by a good week to ten days or
more.  However, Granny continued on to tell Grace that
should gestation occur, her unfortunate charge would be
locked into being a female frog for the rest of his
unnatural life.

     That evening, after Grace cleared away the dinner
dishes and began the self-assumed chore of washing them,
Granny began the task of preparing the potent that would
restore Dan to human form.

     "So Grace, what color hair do you think we should make
Sam's hair?"

     "Well...", Grace began thoughtfully, "since he seems
to have a preference for blondes, why not make him one?"

     "Alright.  We can do that.", Granny replied as she
reached for the appropriate vial containing the ingredient
that would alter Dan's genetic code in such a way as to turn
him into a blonde.

     "Eyes?"

     "Green."

     "Complexion?"

     "How about a golden bronze, Granny?"

     "You mean something in the order of a perpetual tan,
Grace?"

     "Yeah!  That's the spirit!  Since he likes looking at
all those gorgeous honeys on Baywatch, why not turn him into
a reasonable facsimile of one!"

     "And, I assume you want me to fit him out with a body
to match?", Granny returned in a tone that clearly conveyed
a sense of mock disapproval.

     "You've got that straight, Granny!  After what Sam has
done for this country, he deserves the best!

     "So...", Grace continued impishly, "I think you should
pull out all the stops and do whatever you have to do to
turn him into the girl of his dreams!"

 
* * *


     The next morning, Grace woke; dressed and promptly
joined Granny in the arboretum.

     "Which one is Sam, Granny?", Grace inquired, having
taken note of the fact that two of the five frogs boasted a
rich, sky blue coloration instead of the indigo hued of
their pond mates.

     "That one.", Granny replied, indicating the one on the
pool's far side.

     "How can you tell?"

     "The eyes!

     "Look closely, Grace.  You can see intelligence
lurking in that one's eyes."

     Grace did as direct, but had to confess, "I'm glad you
can tell the difference Granny, because I for one, can't!"

     "Please bring be so kind as to bring Sam over here for
me, Grace."

     Grace did as requested.  Where upon, Granny,
cautioning Grace to hold the Frog-San steady, used an
eyedropper to squirt the restoration elixir into the
amphibian's mouth.

      "Set her down, Grace.  The change will begin almost
immediately."

     Grace complied.

     Freed from the gentle restraints of Grace's fingers,
Dan hooped.  Stopped.  And began to shake and shimmy,
growing slightly, but noticeably larger with each convulsion
of her frog body.  Upon reaching the size of a springer
spaniel, Dan's body began the transmogrification process in
earnest.  Her skin continued to lighted, progressively
shedding its' bluish tint and frog-like constitution.  With
each and every passing second, her forefeet became more
finger-like than frog-like appendages as they, along with
her hind feet, began to lose their webbing.  The hint of
nipple surmounted breast bulges appeared along Dan's
undercarriage, followed shortly by the expansive growth of
golden body hair on the rear and upper portion of Dan's frog
to human transmogrifying head.  Her forelegs became more
armish.  Her head less frogish.  Then, more girlish.

     Grace, though she had undergone the very same
transformation during the ordeal of her own transcendency
from man to woman, was rendered flabbergasted.  It amazed
her to no end to see the former Dan Faber progressively
change from frog into a ravishingly sexy, twenty-something
appearing human female.

     With the change on the cusp of completion, Dan, in a
Herculean effort on her part, clamored, in a very
un-ladylike manner, shakily to those slightly higher arched
and dainty reconstituted feet hers.  Unaware that she was
doing so at first, Dan reached up with both of the sublimely
dexterous and enchantingly long nailed hands of hers and
proceeded to crassly knead those sensually and amply
proportioned new mammary glands of hers a time or two. 
Having done so for a moment or two, Dan, who was still
operating within the surrealistic fog of her all to recent
humanization, took her right hand and manfully thrust it
down there in between those new supple, long and ever so
lovely legs of hers; vulgarly and energetically groping the
living shit out of her reconfigured loins in the process.

     Acting to prevent a self-inflicted, premature loss of
her charge's newly imposed virginity, Grace, upon clearing
her throat to garnish Dan's attention, intruded in upon the
moment by asking, "Sam!"  Her voice cracking like a whip,
"Are you okay?"

     Much like the proverbial kid caught with his hand
thrust deep inside a cookie jar, Dan was caught with her
hand crassly crammed up inside that new little honey pot of
hers.  Turning carefully about, so as to face Grace, the
rosy blush of red faced embarrassment flushed those new high
arching cheeks of hers.

     Taking an extra moment or so to run a cursory
self-evaluation, Dan replied with a voice that fairly gushed
with sensual overtones, "Yeah...  I think so..."

     "Good!", Grace cheerfully declared.  "Then let me be
the first to welcome you to your new life as a woman, Sam! 
Or, should I now say, Samantha?"

     "Samantha!", Dan sounded out the name in an effort to
critique it.

     "Is that to be my new name?"

     "It is if you would like it to be.", Grace returned. 
"If not, I have a couple of others that you can chose
from..."

     Just then, Granny rose from where she had remained
seated on lily pond's retaining wall and by doing so,
clearly co-opted the proceedings.  Stepping passed Grace,
Granny took Sam's hands in hers and proceeded on to conduct
a thorough appraisal of her handiwork.

     Pronouncing her work done, Granny, suggesting that a
shower, followed by a good hardy breakfast was in order,
continued on to ask Samantha if she would like to avail
herself of a full length mirror.  Sam replied that while she
would really like to get a view of her new self in a mirror,
Granny's suggestion of a shower and food were what she
really wanted at the moment.

     Placing Sam in Grace's care, Granny, informed the two
stunning young ladies that she would first attend to
separating the frogs so as to prevent any additional losses
of her precious males.  Then, once she had rounded them up
and placed them back in their separate terrariums, she would
head for her kitchen and there, see to fixing breakfast for
the three of them.

     "So,", Grace began as she ran a steading arm about
Sam's femininely constricted waist in order to lend her
charge some much needed support, "What'ya think?"

     "About the frog business or about my now being a
girl?", Samantha curtly replied with that sultry and sexy
new voice of hers as the two of them began to gingerly make
their way out of the hot and muggy confines of the frosted
glass paneled enclosed geodesic bio-sphere that served as
Granny's self-proclaimed home away from home.

     "Well, since it's fresh on your mind, why don't you
start with the frog business.  Then, after you have some
time to come to terms with this new and, from my vantage
point, pleasantly proportioned body of yours, you can give
me your impressions on what it feels like to be a man
trapped in a woman's body..."

     "Alright!  I'll do just that...

     "While the change was - As you have said yourself,
Grace. - rather disconcerting.  All in all, being a frog
wasn't all that bad.

     "I mean, while it took some getting use to at first
and I have to admit that some of the stuff I ate was down
right disgusting, it all sort of seemed natural at the
time."

     "Yeah, having gone through the same rite of passage
myself, I know exactly what you mean, Samantha.

     "Tell me!  Could you feel it when you began to change
into a female frog?"

     "No.  Not really!

     "I mean, I was dealing with some really strange
sensations as a frog.  So, I didn't pick up on anything out
of the ordinary.  I can tell you one thing, Grace!  Those
other frogs intimidated the hell out of me!"

     "I know.  They intimidated me as well, Sam.  An that,
in a nut shell, is why you and I are members of the opposite
sex now!"


* * *


     Passing through Granny's kitchen en route to the guest
room's bathroom facilities, Grace picked up two high energy,
fruit filled nutri-bars.  Unwrapping the first of the two,
Grace, using a business like tone that clearly conveyed the
fact that noncompliance was not an option, instructed Sam to
eat it.  Sam did and was immediately handed another and
told, in the same no nonsense fashion as before, to eat that
one as well.

     Pausing briefly, Sam got an eyeful of her new
curvacious physique and then, with Grace's continued help,
stepped a tab bit awkwardly into the shower stall.  As she
busied herself with the heavenly task of ridding herself of
the pond's slimy feeling and olfactory affronting residue,
Grace stood by, directing her charge's efforts from just
outside the shower enclosure's frosted glass partitions.

     "Holy shit!". Sam emphatically exclaimed; prompting a
concerned Grace to ask, "Are you alright in there, Sam?"

     "Yes!  Yes!  I'm fine!  It's just...", Sam , at a loss
as to how best explain herself, let her statement dangle -
unfinished.

     "It's just what, Sam?", Grace, perplexed, prompted.

     "It's this new body of mine, Grace!

     "I mean, while I always knew a woman's body was a
whole hell of a lot more sensitive than a man's, I had no
idea that it was this damn sensitive!

     "I mean, damn if I don't have erogenous zones all over
the friggin' place now!"

     "Yeah,", Grace sheepishly agreed as her simmering
sense of horniness finally got the best of her and she began
to teasingly knead her own right breast with her left hand,
while concurrently, employing the middle finger of her right
hand, tantalizingly traced a path upward along the material
shrouding the swath of her own vaginal lip-folds.  "They are
kind of nifty, aren't they?"

     A few minutes later, as Grace helped a noticeable
tuckered out Sam towel off, Granny put in a brief appearance
in which she chided the two of them to stop lollygagging and
hurry up; informing the two of them as she did so, them that
their breakfast was awaiting them on the table.  Shortly
thereafter, dressed in a nondescript grey sweatsuit that
Grace had laid out for her, Sam dug into a more than
generous pile of pancakes that Granny had prepared for her. 
As she did so, Grace, who was steadily working on polishing
off a plate of pancakes of her own, casually went over her
and Sam's itinerary for the next several days.

     After breakfast, acting on Granny's explicit
instructions, Grace escorted her charge to one of the
spacious A-frame's guest bedrooms, where upon Sam doffed the
sweatsuit and crawled into bed for some much needed
recuperative sleep.

     That evening, after a splendid steak dinner, Grace,
saying that she was sorry that she was putting Sam on the
spot like she was, informed the  former Marine Corps sniper
that she really needed to pick a new name for herself, so
that Grace, in her turn, could do whatever she needed to do
to start the ball rolling on establishing Sam in her new
identity.  After some hemming and hawing and a few bouts of
rampant indecision, Sam went with the name Samantha Ann
Walthers.  Saying that the name suited Sam to a tee, Grace
scooted her charge off to bed and then, using a computer
terminal that was installed by some of NSA's senior
techno-geeks, made the appropriate entries that would
complete the transaction of making Ms. Samantha Ann Walthers
a viable person, complete with a verifiable history that
would stand up even under the closest scrutiny that could be
brought to bear upon it.

     Though it had taken one hell of a lot of cajoling on
her part, Grace's tenacity won out.  Sam, though it rankled
the living shit out of her, after a lot of who-struck-john
and some bombastic counter proposals, gave up the ghost and
finally donned the slinky nylon-lycra stirrup leggins and
satin sleep shirt that Grace had dogmatically demanded she
put on upon waking up the next morning.  Breakfast followed
and then Grace, beginning with a broad brush overview, got
down to the business of acquainting Sam with the highlights
of the bogus life that Grace had ingeniously and laboriously
created for the new Ms. Walthers.  Having done that, school
began in earnest for Samantha, as Grace, in a very no
nonsense fashion of a strict and demanding task master,
began to quiz her on the material she had just imparted.

     After a mid-morning break for coffee and one of
Granny's fresh baked apple turnovers, Grace, aware that Sam
needed time to assimilate all they had gone over that
morning before proceeding on to impart anymore historical
data, opted to relocate to Sam's bedroom.  There, with Sam
reluctantly seated at the rustically crafted vanity, Grace,
knowing fully well that the area she was about to enter into
would severely assault Sam's male ego, selected a bottle
pale pink nail gloss and proceeded to talk Sam through the
feminine art form of applying nail polish to those long and
deliciously tapered new nails of hers.

     Makeup and lipstick followed and, though there was
room for a considerable amount of improvement, Grace offered
her pupil a compliment; saying as she did so, that Sam had
faired a whole hell of a lot better in her first attempts
then Grace had in hers.

     After a break for lunch with Granny, Grace, having
made  mention of the how extraordinary a day it was,
suggested that she and Sam take full advantage of it by
spending a good bit of the afternoon catching some rays out
on the deck and there by, get a early jump on acquiring
their summer tans.  Shocking the shit out of Grace, Sam
passed over the spiffy one piece Speedo styled tanksuit that
Grace had provided her with and opted instead for the
skimpier of the two lycra-spandex bikinis she found in one
of her dresser drawers; selecting the thong cut bottom over
the slightly more modestly tailored one.

     "My, my!  Looking good, girl!", Grace, dressed in a
bikini that left little to the imagination herself, offered
a cheery comment.  "So, am I to take it that you're staring
to get into this girl-shit?"

     "No...", Sam began thoughtfully.  "But you know what
they say, Grace!  You know!  As in: if you've got it! 
Flaunt it!"

     "And since there's no getting around the fact that you
got it in spades now Sam, you just figured you'd take full
advantage of the situation!  Right?"

     "Yeah...", Sam returned shyly.  "I guess so..."

     A minute or so after that, having informed Granny that
if she should need the pair of them for any reason, they
would be out on the deck either sunning themselves or
luxuriating in the soothing waters of the hot tube, Grace
handed her charge a plastic bottle of suntan lotion and
continued on to ask if Sam would be kind enough to apply an
ample amount of its' contents to both her back and legs;
saying that she would be more than happy to return the
favor.  Sam did as requested, thoroughly relishing the
intimacy of the contact and unequivocally confirming the
fact that as far as that mind of hers was concerned, it was
still as manly as it ever was.

     'Damn!', Sam internally fumed as she deftly worked the
lotion into Grace's back.  'Wouldn't you just know it!  Here
I am!  Alone with the woman I'm in friggin' love-lust with
and I can't do a damn that about it!

     "I mean...  I've always said that life' ain't fair! 
But, damn if this sorry situation doesn't confirm it!'

     Oddly enough, though Sam hadn't the slightest inking
that such was the case, Grace, when it became her turn to
return the favor of applying the sun screen, found herself
dealing with like sentiments.

     Grace, a self-proclaimed narcissist since the first
day of her own sexual reassignment, had, on numerous
occasions, toyed with the notion of engaging in a lesbian
fling just to see if she could eventually manage a
monogamous relationship with another woman.  To that end,
she had even tried cruising a few of the clubs in and around
the District of Columbia that were known to cater to such
clientele every now and again.

     Trouble was, try as she might to get beyond her own
long held aversions to women of the lesbian persuasion,
though she knew that she definitely classified as one
herself, Grace was carrying around far to much baggage from
her life as a red blooded American male to get up the nerve
to take the plunge and there by, become a card carrying
member of Washington's affluent and Georgetown based lesbian
sub-culture.

     Even when Dan Faber had been nothing more to her than
a mere name on a Justice Department file, Grace had come to
form a grudging respect for the former marine for not only
what he had done in the service of his country, but more
importantly, what he had sacrificed in order to adhere to
the solemn oath he had taken as a young man to protect and
defend the Constitution of the United States against
enemies, both foreign and domestic.  Early association with
the man only served to affirm and broaden the scope of that
respect.  Grace, though she never came right out and
acknowledged the fact, looked upon Dan as a kindred spirit.

     And so had begun their friendship.

     Dan, Grace soon came to realize, was hopelessly
smitten with her, as were most of the men she came in
contact with on a day in day out bases.  Given the
opportunity, Dan would have given his right nut and maybe,
even his left one as well, to coax her into his bed.

     Ego aside, Grace knew that, as a woman, she was one
fine piece of work.  She also knew, given that her mind was
still very much that of a man's, how those feminine wilds of
hers affected a man's libido; sending it, more times than
not, into testosterone charged, male impassioned, sexual
overdrive.  And she knew that because, Grace still couldn't
look at herself in a mirror and not end up getting turned
on.

     Dan however, was one of the rare breed, a throwback,
if you will, to a bygone era when civility was the hallmark
of a true gentleman.  Dan would no more force himself on a
woman than he would cut off his own right arm.  As besotted
as he was with Grace's allurements, he would never
jeopardize the mutual friendship they had established by
trying anything even remotely untoward.  If a platonic
relationship was all that Grace was offering, though he
might be desirous of so much more, Dan would abide by the
constraints that Grace placed on their relationship.

     Grace, unsure that she could have faired even half as
well as Dan had, respected him all the more for the way he
had accorded her.  Trouble was, Dan's all to recent
transseualization into the shapely and sexually
scintillating Sam had thrown a monkey wrench into the whole
equation.

     As bizarre as it was to witness Dan the Frog's
metamorphosis into the fabulous looking femme fatale that he
had gone on to become, Grace also found the final stages of
that transition to be highly erotic.  Never before had the
image of another woman tugged at Grace's heart-strings the
way Sam had.  Never before had Grace desired a woman the way
she fervently desired Sam.

     Trouble was, instead of that amorous desire of Grace's
losing momentum as she had hoped and prayed it would, it
continued to become more pervasive.  More pronounced.  More
persistent.

     Grace couldn't get the image of the new and sexually
improved Samantha Walthers out of her mind.  No matter what
she did or didn't do, Sam was there.  Bare ass naked. 
Fanning the flames of Grace's ardor and making a soiled,
love-juicy slickened mess out of her panties in the process.

     'Paybacks are hell!', Grace continued to remind and
there by, reprimand herself.  And when she wasn't telling
herself that, she was castigating herself with the 'what
comes around, goes around' malarkey.

     For the past two nights, with erotic fantasies of Sam
and herself going at it hot and heavy serving as an
enchanting backdrop for such perverse and perverted
activities, Grace, at a loss as to how else to handle her
frayed emotions, played a semi-satisfying, multi-orgasmic
triggering game of titty-tweak and stink-finger with herself
in an all out effort to assuage the sense of raging
horniness that she had been contending with since she had
first beheld Sam, resplendent in all her feminine glory. 
Waking up in the mornings, Grace, much to her chagrin and
consternation, felt the pressing need to repeated the
process as more or less a preventive measure on her part.

     Needless to say, those preventive measure of hers
didn't work.  As soon as Grace linked up with Sam, damn if
her horniness didn't rear up and bite her on that succulent,
man troubling derriere of hers.

     Ironically, though Grace remained oblivious to the
fact, Sam was contending with the same sort of emotional
distress on her part, save that Sam hadn't had the good
sense to employ the techniques of female masturbation as a
means by which she could address the sexual tension that was
threatening to do a real number on that pretty little new
head of hers.


* * *


     That afternoon, as the two of they indulged themselves
by luxuriating in the invigorating waters of Granny's Army
Corps of Engineer installed hot tube, Grace, having just
finished grilling Sam for the umpteen time that afternoon
about center relevant facts of her bogus past, sheepishly
broached a subject that had been impishly tugging at her
mind.

     "So tell me, Sam.  Now that you've had a day or two to
get use to it, what do you think about you and your being a
girl and all now?"

     "Well...", Sam began, organizing her thoughts on the
matter as she did so, "It's like you said, Grace.  Being a
live woman is a far cry better than being a dead man."

     "That's pretty much a given, isn't it, Sam?", Grace
concurred.

     "Yeah...  I guess it is."

     "So come on!", Grace encouraged.  "Fess up!  I really
would like to hear your impressions!  You know, just to see
if yours are anything like mine were."

     "Alright them.", Sam began afresh.  "But bear in mind
Grace, right now everything is still pretty much up in the
air!  I mean, I'm still so damn discombobulated that I'm not
at all sure how I feel about this girl-shit!"

     "That's to be expected, Sam.

     "I mean, to this very day, Sam!  Would you believe
that I have some very mixed feelings about it?

     "One moment, I think that my becoming a woman is the
most wonderful and extraordinary thing that ever happened to
me!  The next, I thoroughly despise what I've become!

     "Sometimes I think I have the best of both worlds! 
Other times, the worst!

     "For instance, I love the way my body feels!  The way
it looks!  The way it moves!

     "I love looking sexy!  I love feeling sexy!

     "And Sam, as crass as this is surely going to sound, I
love - No!  Make that cherish! - the multi-orgasmic aspects
of this magnificent new body of mine!

     "However, even with all of that, I have to admit Sam.
that there's a definite downside to being a girl.

     "I mean, I for one could do without that tenacious and
de-humanizing little monthly visitor that's part and parcel
of what being a woman is all about!  I hate the cramps!  I
hate the PBS!  I hate muss!  I hate the fuss!  And I hate
all the hassles!

     "I hate having to get gussied up!  I hate having to
put on makeup!  I hate having to fix my hair!  I hate having
to shave my underarms!  Not to mention, saving these new
longer legs of mine!

     "I hate the way some guys leer at you!  I hate having
to deal with the trite and hackneyed come-ons of
egotistical, self-centered bastards who are so damn arrogant
that they think that all they have to do is to lay a line of
bullshit you, and you'll be so friggin' flattered that
you'll do everything in your power and then some, to service
all their crass and carnal needs!"

     "I hate it!  I hate it!  I hate it!"

     Then, upon the realization that she had co-opted the
precedings by going off on a tirade all her own, Grace
contritely apologized.   "Sorry, Sam!  I don't know
what in the hell was I thinking!

     "I mean, I go and asked for your impressions and then,
like a big dummy dunderhead that I tend to be at times, I
went and gave you mine!

     "And that's the very last thing I wanted to do!  You
know, because I didn't want to prejudice you!  You know,
about certain aspects of what you are now going to be
contending with on a damn near day in day out bases!  You
know, now that you're a girl and all!"

     "That's okay, Grace!  Think nothing off it.  I'm not
the least little bit upset.

     "And believe me!  I really appreciate your candor,
Grace.  And, since it's not the kind of shit that you can
talk to just anybody about, I just figured that you just
needed to get it off your chest.

     "I did at that.", Grace freely admitted. "But that's
no excuse, Sam!  I shouldn't have said what I just said!"

     "Was it the truth?"

     "Pretty much, though I may have exaggerated somewhat.

     "I mean, don't get me wrong, Sam!  I really don't mind
being a girl most of the time!

     "Truth be told, I sometimes relish being one!

     "However, I have to confess that there are somethings
that I could do without..."

     "Yeah!", Sam knowingly concurred.  "I think I
beginning to know exactly what you mean..."


* * *


     That evening, after a delicious spaghetti dinner,
Grace, with Granny's help, pierced Sam's ears; starting Sam
off with stud-posts surmounted with little golden frogs as
more or less a keepsake token of what she had so recently
undergone.  Later, having listening to Granny reminisce
about the many years she had spent in the Amazon Rain Forest
before being persuaded to come to the United States for
several pleasant and very relaxing hours, Sam, with an
unbidden yawn, excused herself; saying as she did so, that
she was tuckered out and was therefore, calling it a night
and heading off to bed.

     Shortly thereafter, as the Granny and Grace sat there,
gazing out at the stars that populated the eastern portion
of the night sky while meditatively sipping some herbal tea
that Granny had just seen fit to brewed for the two of them,
Granny caught Grace completely off guard as she bluntly made
the accusation, "You like her, don't you Gracy?"

     "Of course I like Sam, Granny!  I mean, what's not to
like?  She's a good egg!"

     Granny, always the insightful one, wasn't about to be
put off by Grace's casual dismissal.

     "Gracy!", Granny snapped sternly.  "That's not what I
meant and you know it!

     "You can't fool Granny!  You like her!  You like this
Sam of yours the way a man likes a woman!"

     Knowing that, where Granny was concerned, it was
futile to try and argue the point further, Grace gave up the
ghost and freely admitted to the elderly Amazonian that she
did indeed have strong amorous feelings for Sam.

     "Good!", Granny declared succinctly.

     "It's not good, Granny!  It's awful!  The feelings I
have for Sam are doing a real number on me!  You know, as in
they're tearing me up inside!"

     "That's because you are falling in love with this new
Sammy of yours, Gracy."

     "I know, Granny!  I know I am!  And the problem is: I
can't even tell her how I feel!"

     "And why - Pray tell! - is that, Gracy?"

     "Because!", Grace emotionally intoned.

     "Because...", Granny emphatically prompted.

     "Because, Granny, that wouldn't be ethical for me to
do that!"

     "And why wouldn't it?", Granny, tactfully playing
dumb, quizzically demanded.

     "Because, Granny!", Grace, on the verge of tears,
countered.  "I am responsible for Sam!  She trusts me!  And
were I to tell how I really feel, how I think that I am
staring to fall madly in love with her, I could end up
ruining everything!"

     "Trust me, Gracy.  That's not going to happen."

     "And why won't it, Granny?", a clearly distraught
Grace meekly inquired.

     "Because, child, that Sammy of yours feels the same
way about you that you feel about her."

     "She does?", Grace's mood markedly brightened.

     "Yes, my dear!", Granny confirmed her privious
statement.  "She most certainly does..."


* * *


     No sooner had those ever so flattery honey hued locks
of Sam's graced her pillows and she was out.  And so she
remain until somewhere in and around three of the following
morning where upon, she stirred, re-positioned herself and
so, entered into the surrealistic realm of dream populated
REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep.

     All of a sudden, though the incredulity of the dream
had as yet to register, Sam found herself once again
functioning as a young, male, marine recruit dealing the
rigors, rancor and regimentation of the infamous Parris
Island.  Returning to the barracks after a grueling twenty
mile forced march in full combat gear, Sam, along with the
rest of his barracks mates, wearily climbed out of his
fatigues only to come to the stark realization that, unlike
the other members of his platoon, the skives he was wearing
were anything but regulation.  French cut, black satin
bikini briefs and a matching Wonder Bra stood out in sharp
contrast to the GI issue underwear that his unconcerned
buddies were wearing.

     Alarm set in as Sam came to the shameful realization
that his libido was responding to the erotic feel of the
scintillating satin that cradled and caressed his male
genitalia into the state of full blown arousal.  Trouble
was, as Sam soon realized, his pecker wasn't the only part
of his anatomy that had risen to the occasion.  His chest
had as well.  Looking down, Sam became appallingly aware
that the cups of the formerly superfluous bra he had been
wearing were distended fetchingly outwards, filled with a
pair of the most exquisite, areola enhanced mammary glands
that ever troubled a man's leering and lecherous eyes.

     Just then, just as Sam was dejectedly contemplating
those new, ample and unquestionable feminine endowments that
he had, in some mystifying manner, been so brazenly fitted
out with, while at the same time, shamelessly fondling the
living shit out of them, his manly member experienced a
rather lackluster ejaculation of semen.  Having done so, his
penis immediately began to shrivel up and go flaccid.  As it
did so, its' exposed, circumcised head meekly retreated back
beneath the shiny satin nap of the scanty bikini briefs that
those loins of his were trust up in.

     A moment later, with more than a little trepidation
compounding in upon itself, Sam gingerly pulled the upper
extent of the bikini briefs outward, so as to allow him the
ability to sneak a peek.

     What he found horrified him to no end.  His penis,
testicles and unruly mat of male pubic hair were gone,
somehow magically, if not damn near instantaneously,
retrofitted into an anatomy that was clearly of a feminine
nature.

     Just then, just as Sam was in the process of
confirming the fact that his genitalia had undergone some
sort of outlandish pussifacation with a fumbling and
hurriedly executed hand-grope of his satin ensconced
privates, Sam became peripherally aware that other changes
had taken place.  His cot had become a brass bed.  It's wool
blanket: a pink, lace trimmed satin comforter.  His
footlocker: a black lacquered hope chest.  His recently
discarded fatigues: a lycra-spandex, camouflage print,
cocktail dress.  His combat boots: a pair of your standard
issue, stiletto heeled, U-throated, pointy toed, dick teaser
specials.

     An errant, flowing strand of spring scented strawberry
blonde hair served to inform Sam that the change he had been
undergoing had culminated in his becoming the living
embodiment of the exotically sculptured femlines that
enticingly cavorted and frolicked about in his most
cherished and oft times visited fantasies.

     Then, just as he was beginning to assess the damage,
one of Sam's squad mates brought it to everyone's attention
that there was a scantily clad, gorgeous young woman
parading around in their barracks; proceeding on to glibly
add, that he deem her a prime candidate for a no-holds bar,
tag-team styled game of hide the salami, claiming first dibs
as he boisterously did so.

     Before Sam knew what was happening, he found his newly
herified self roughly manhandle to that girlishly appointed
new brass bed of his.  Hamstrung by four of his best buds,
Sam, who was struggling away to beat the band, looked up and
into the lecherous and leering eyes of his foul mouthed boot
camp drill instructor, who had seemingly appeared out of
nowhere, only to straddle Sam's thoroughly feminized
physique.

     Knowing fully well that that newly installed vagina of
his was about to be unceremoniously penetrated as the
opening gambit in a gang bang that he - as a she - was to
figure prominently in, Sam masochistically allowed his eyes
to drift downwards, flowing incredulously over the sheen of
his DI's sweat moistened body, only to be rendered further
horrified as his eyes beheld his gunnery sergeant's erect
and blood gorged shaft.

     Penises, Sam held, while functional and a damn nice
thing to have hanging down there in between one's legs,
where nevertheless the ugliest and grossest component in all
of human anatomy.  Trouble is: there are many degrees of
ugliness and Sam's nightmare portrayed his gunnery
sergeant's swollen member as not only the epitome of genital
ugliness, but as being the hugest of the huge.  The damn
thing looked to a frantically disbelieving Sam to be as big
as the business end of a Louisville Slugger.

     Trouble was, a distraught and manically squirming Sam
was profoundly aware, that the business end of his gunnery
sergeant's center-tapped, baseball bat sized impregnation
rod was clearly targeted on the severely constricted
entrance foyer of that new little birthing canal of his.

     With the encouraging, boisterous cadence of, "Go
Gunney!  Go!" urging his drill sergeant on, Sam braced
herself for the inevitable as he felt his DI shift position
above him as a prelude to the flagrant act of unsolicited
vaginal violation that would shortly follow.

     Just then, as Sam intuitively felt his gunnery
sergeant's muscles tighten as a precursor to the horrendous
act of craven idolatry the horny-assed bastard was about to
foster upon his magically feminized subordinate, Dame Fate
step in and saved Sam from having to endure the horrific
scenario that was being playing out in the dastardly and
pervasive nightmare she was having a single, solitary moment
longer.

     Sitting bolt upright in her sweat soaked bed, Sam
feverishly clamored to separate false from true.  Though it
was a short lived perception on her part, lasting no longer
than the briefness of a troubled, gut wrenching shudder, Sam
actually entertained the dehumanizing belief that she had
been about to have become the unwitting victim of a gang
rape.

     Never before had she ever experienced a dream that had
seemed so vivid - so real - as to be almost tangible -
almost malleable.  Her id, the impish little component that,
along with the ego and superego comprised that male attuned 
psyche of hers and in so doing, exercised jurisdiction over
such matters as dreams and nightmares and such, had really
gone and outdone itself.  Though Sam had, within a second or
so of her startled awakening, come to the stark realization
that it had been nothing more than a extremely bad dream
that had troubled her sleep, Sam felt as if she could still
feel her drill sergeant's vulgar and looming presence in
between those sweat drench long and ever so lovely legs of
hers.

     The dream had served as a rude awakening for Sam. 
Never before had she felt so vulnerable.  So scared.  So
troubled.

     She needed comforting and she needed it bad.

     Remembering what Grace had told her, about how she
would be there for Sam - anytime - day or night, Sam, who
was having a hell of a hard time even functioning, gingerly
climbed off of her sweat soaked sheets and began the short
trek that would take her though the bathroom their shared
and into the adjoining bedroom in hopes of availing herself
of Grace's offer of compassionate counseling and girlish
camaraderie.

     "Grace!", Sam meekly intoned as she stood there, naked
as a jay bird, seductively silhouetted in the doorjamb of
her mentor's bedroom.  "Grace!  Grace!", she imploringly
repeated, her voiced couched slightly louder with each
successive attempt.

     Just when Same was ready to give up the ghost and
return to her room, Grace, in a voice that clearly denoted
the fact that she wasn't fully awake, mumbled, "Sam.  Is
that you?"

     "Yes...", Sam returned tentatively.

     "What's up?", Grace countered, sounding a whole hell
of lot more lucid than she had a brief moment before.

     With some hesitancy, Sam, in a clearly troubled voice,
explained that she had had a bad dream that, in its' turn,
had triggered a bad case of the night sweats, and because of
that, her sheets were a bit soaked in places.

     "Well,", Grace thoughtfully began, "since I don't know
where Granny keeps her spare bedding... and since we don't
want to take the chance of waking her should we try to hunt
some up for you... tell you what, Sam: why don't you just
bunk in here with me for the rest of the night.

     "Granted it might be a little cramped.  But I suspect
that if we were to snuggle up real close to one another,
we'll be able to manage it just fine.

     Though the idea appealed to her, Sam was noticeable
reluctant to agree to Grace's proposal out of hand.  Such
intimacy, Sam feared, could have disastrous consequences. 
Though she had always managed to restrain herself in a
gentlemanly like manner all throughout their past
associations, prolonged intimate contact with the woman that
was the object of Sam's infatuations could well be her
undoing.

     Basically, Sam didn't trust herself.  She knew that
she was hopelessly in love-lust with Grace.  She also knew
that it was becoming harder and harder for her to restrain
herself from putting a move on Grace.

     As the man she used to be, Sam, upon offering an
off-handed comment concerning his appraisal of a given
woman's sex appeal when engaged in a casual conversation
with a male friend or associate, had often been heard to
quip, "Now, there's a woman who really gets my juices
flowing!".  With Grace, that comment was no longer a matter
of semantics.  More times than not, when in Grace's
presence, that new vagina of hers was awash in its' own
secretions; so much so that Sam found it necessary to change
into a new pair panties several times throughout the course
of the days she had spent as a woman.

     What Sam didn't know, was that she was having the same
effect on Grace that Grace was having on her.  Like Sam,
Grace's vagina was leaking love-juices like a sieve on damn
near a pesky and perpetual bases.

     To late, Grace came to the sad realization that she
had made Sam the offer to share her bed with her without
taking the time necessary to thoroughly think the matter
through.  Knowing that it would be a hard row to hoe for her
to lay that close to Sam and not take advantage of the
situation, Grace, aware that she was more or less stuck, in
that she could not rescind the offer in a gracefully manner,
did the only thing she could do under the circumstances.

     In other words, backed in a corner like she was, Grace
made her offer again.  And in doing so, Grace, aware of the
perplexing predicament she was placing herself in, took away
any counter-proposals that Sam might come up with; there by,
making it damn near impossible for Sam to refuse her
invitation to join her.

     Acting much like an elder sister might under such
heart-wrenching circumstances, Grace tenderly bundled Sam
into her bed.  As she did so, Grace realized that Sam was
trembling uncontrollable.

     "That dream of yours really got to you, didn't it?"

     "Yes...", Sam tentatively replied, as she snuggled
into the consoling embrace that Grace compassionately
enveloped her quivering charge within.

     "Want to talk about it?

     "I mean, it might help some if you did..."

     Sam, though it took a little more urging on Grace's
part, did just that.  Without going into any great detail,
Sam gave Grace a fairly good recounting of the nightmare she
had just experienced.

     "That was a dozy, Sam!  And I can certainly understand
how it caused you to break out into a cold sweat!

     "I mean to tell you, Sam!  Each and every time I have
had a similar dream to the one you just had, damn if I
didn't break out into a cold sweat too!"

     "You've had similar dreams?", Sam meekly inquired of
Grace.

     "I most certainly have!"

     "Do you have them often?"

     "I did at first.  Now though,", Grace continued
thoughtfully, "I only have one about every other month or
so.

     "However, when I do have one, they still give me a bad
case of the heebie-jeebies!."

     "You mean, there's a good chance that I'm going to
keep having them?"

     "'Fraid so, Sam!  I wish I could tell you otherwise,
but I can't!  You know, as in they sort of go with the
territory of you and your being a girl now.

     "Though there has only been a handful of us who have
undergone Granny's rather unique sexual re-assignment
treatment, to the best of my knowledge, each and every one
of us has had to endure the trauma caused by such
nightmares.", Grace offered, as she began to gently and
compassionately stoke Sam's luxurious tresses as a means to
comfort her charge's rather frazzled mental state.

     "Grace.", Sam meekly intoned.

     "Your dreams...", she hesitated, "...are they anything
even remotely like the one I just had?"

     "Pretty much.

     "Hey!", Grace said cheerfully.  Then, aware that
misery does indeed love company, Grace figured that it might
prove therapeutic were Sam to hear a recounting of one of
her own nightmares and so, proceeded on to suggest, "Tell
you what, Sam!  Since it's pretty much a given that neither
one of us is anywhere close to being ready to go back to
sleep, why don't I entertain you by filling you in on the
juicy one I had the night before we ran you up to Washington
to testify against that arrogant sleaze-ball Tamborn."

     Receiving Sam's permission to do just that, Grace,
adopting a rather ribald approach to her storytelling,
began.

     "The dream started with the male me that I use to be
before I met Granny and ended up looking like I do now
placing the Seal's version of a Kilroy was here magnetic
calling card on the hull of Los Angeles Class attack
submarine that was moored to one of the wharfs up at the
Bangor Submarine Base.  Having done that, I swam back to my
sled; chased off a couple of inquisitive and playful seal
pups; and navigated back to a submerged older Sturgeon Class
boat that was awaiting the return of me and a couple of my
Seal Team buddies that had also made the incursion run that
night.

     "You see, Sam, back when I doing that sort of stuff,
the Navy like to used us Seals to test the security of their
precious submarine bases.  You know, just to keep those
sewer-pipe swabbies on their toes.

     "So anyhow, I get back the sub; stow my sled; take off
my Jet Fins and climb down into the Sturgeon's escape trunk. 
Several minuets later, after the escape trunk has been
purged of seawater, I crack the lower hatch and climb down
into the boat's forward torpedo room were the rest of my
team is shooting the shit with the other three divers who
have beaten me back, meaning: I've got to buy a round of
beer for the whole friggin' team the next time we're all out
getting shit-faced.

     "Sam.", Grace intoned.  "Do you remember the Bond film
that began with Sean Connery wearing this dive suit that had
a rubber ducky attached to its' hood?

     "Better yet!", Grace briskly continued, in effect,
keeping Sam from answering her previous question.  "Do you
remember the flick True Lies?  You know, that had Arnold
Schwarzengger pretty much duplicating what Sean Connery did
when portraying James Bond years earlier!"

     "Yes, I remember", Sam managed meekly.  "Correct me if
I'm wrong, but weren't both wearing tuxedos under their dive
suit.  However, if I remember correctly, Connery - as Bond -
was wearing a wet suit which wouldn't have worked, where as
Arnold was wearing what looked to be a Viking Dry Suit,
which would have."

     "You caught that little inaccuracy, did you?", a
delightfully surprised Grace Clark returned brightly.  "Know
your dive gear, do you?"

     "A little.", Sam offered.

     "Well anyhow,", Grace said, returning to her story,
"There I was.  Dressed in all my gear, while the rest of the
guys who had been out for swim that night were already in
the process of shedding theirs.

     "Okay!  So I take off my mask, rebreather, weight belt
and the rest of the paraphernalia I've got on in preparation
to clamor out of the dry suit I'm wearing.

     "Got the picture, Sam?"

     Sam said she did and so, Grace continued.

     "Alright!  I unzip and begin to climb out of my dry
suit only to find that I'm not wearing the insulating,
Michelin Man like jumpsuit underneath.  You know, like all
of my fellow teammates were wearing.

     "Me!  I'm wearing one of those outlandishly and super
sexy, not to mention, down right erotic black satin French
maid outfits!  You know, complete with one of those white
crinoline under-skirt do-jiggers peaking how from underneath
the hem of extremely abbreviated skirt portion of the
outfit!  You know, looking like I do now!  You know, in this
balls to the walls beautiful, new and improved, built like a
brick shithouse body of mine!

     "Would you believe Sam, that when I stepped out of my
dry suit, that dream  of mine had me decked out in a pair of
sky high, stiletto heeled, dick teaser specials and a pair
of fishnet stockings!  You know, just to add insult to
injury!

     "Okay!  So all my teammates go bug-eyed and
slack-jawed when they behold me - resplendent as a gorgeous
and highly assessable woman in their midst.

     "Then one of them, though I'm not sure which, sings
out with a line right out of the movie Deliverance;
suggesting as he did so that I had a very pretty mouth and
that it would look a whole hell of a lot prettier with his
dick crammed up inside it!

     "With that said, the dream shifts.  You know, as in it
jumps ahead a little and I'm down on my knees, gleefully
sucking on this foul mouthed so-in-so's cock while another
son of a bitchin' friend of mine is on his knees, butt
fucking me to the chorus of cheers and jeers of all of my
former teammates, who are crassly standing around, ogling
the shit out of what's going on, while they while away the
time until they get their chance to have at me!"

     "That's a terrible, terrible dream, Grace!", Sam
emphatically interjected.  "Far, far worse than the one I
just had was!

     "You're darn tootin' it was!", Grace readily concurred
as she unconsciously took the hand that she had been
employing to stroke Sam's hair and, doing what comes
naturally, slipped it subtly beneath her bedmate's arm in
such a way as to be able to begin to gently fondle and
caress one of those new ample endowments of Sam's.

     "And do you know what the worst part of it was, Sam?"

     "The blowjob business...", Sam, who was so focused on
what Grace was telling her that she remained totally
oblivious to Grace's erotic ministrations, hazarded a guess.

     "Yeah...", Grace concurred.  "The blowjob business...

     "But it wasn't just the blowjob business!  It was the
fact that the dream portrayed me as a willing - No! - let's
make that eager participant in everything that went on in
that sub's torpedo room!

     "I mean to tell you, Sam!  That dream had me acting
like some sort of nymphed-out slut!

     "You name it!  And - God help me! - I did it!

     "I took those old Seal teammates of mine on one - two
- even three at a time!

     "I mean, you want to talk about cold sweats!

     "Hell, Sam!  I'd be willing to bet you my next pay
check that the cold sweat that you just had wouldn't even
come close to holding a candle to the one I awoke to that
night!"

     "I mean to tell you!  I climbed out of a bed that was
so sopping, wringing wet that it wasn't funny!

     "Well... in retrospect, I have to admit that it was
pretty funny, even though I didn't think so at the time!

     "Let me tell you, that dream sure as hell did a number
on this old mind of mine!

     "I mean, given what that dream of mine had me doing, I
was worried that I might actually harbor some latent
homosexual tendencies!"

     "I could see how it would.", Sam, who was becoming
more aroused with each and every passing moment, cooing
concurred, as she snuggle even closer to Grace's fetchingly
formed physique.

     "Let me tell you, Sam!  That damn dream of mine caused
me no end of soul-searching! ", Grace freely admitted, as
her index and middle fingers lackadaisically traced a whorl
pattern about the super sensitized areola surrounding Sam's
fully distended nipple.

     "And what, may I ask, was the result of all that
soul-searching of yours, Grace?

     "I mean, given the opportunity, do you really think
that you'd like to behave like some brazen hussy, getting it
on with a lot of guys?"

     "No!", Grace was emphatic.  "Never!

     "I mean, though that nightmare of mine threw me for a
loop for a couple of days, after one hell of a lot of
introspective soul-searching, I realized that that was
exactly what it was!  A nightmare!  Nothing more!  Nothing
less!

     "In other words, Sam: guys don't do anything for me! 
Girls do!  You know, even though I happen to be one myself
now!"

     "Oh!", Sam, who was so horny that her vagina was awash
in its' own satin secretions, teasingly chuckled.  "So, by
your own omissions, I take it that you're a self avowed
lesbian, Grace?"

     "Yeah!  I guess I am at that...", Grace replied
thoughtfully.

     "So, now that the cat's out of the bag about you and
your being a lesbian, Grace", Sam continued playfully, "tell
me: is there any woman in particular who tickles your
fancy?"

     In that instant, it dawned on Grace.  She had
overstepped the bounds of proper decorum.  She had
transgressed.  She had innocently and inadvertently taken
liberties with Sam's body that blatantly breached
established protocols.

     In a damn near instantaneous, knee jerk reaction,
Grace yanked her offending hand backwards.

     However, as quick as Grace was, Sam was even quicker. 
Before Grace's hand had passed below the upper portion of
her companion's emasculated arm, Sam had reached out and,
grabbing Grace's arm by the wrist, arrested its' withdrawal.

     "Sam!", Grace, her voice pained, frantically protested
as she violently twisted about on the bed to face her
charge.  "I'm sorry!  I'm so, so sorry!

     "Please, Sam!  I don't know what got into me!

     "I mean, I didn't even know I was doing what I was
doing until just a second ago!  And as soon as I did, I
immediately stopped!"

     "Please, Sam!  Tell me you can find in your heart to
forgive me!  And I promise, I'll never do it again!"

     "Grace!", Sam snapped, as she drew mentor's hand
forward and placed it once again upon her aroused nipple. 
"The choice is simple!  I can either file a sexual
harassment suite against you, or you can get back to doing
what you were doing!"

     "Sam, I...  I...  I...", Grace stammered, unsure as to
just what in the hell was going on.

     "Grace!", Sam's retort was abruptly and sternly
delivered.  "Would you just shut up and kiss me!"

     A rather bewildered, though impassioned Grace did as
directed.  An eager and energetic Sam met her halfway. 
Tenderly their lips tentatively met.  A second later, long
bridled passions sallied forth as reservations and
restraints were eagerly cast aside.  Lips parted, where upon
a confusion of tongue thrusts confounded their efforts.

     Giggling, both withdrew.

     "It seems we have a problem, Sam!", Grace, first to
point out the obvious.

     "Yes!", Sam, amidst an unabashed string of chuckles,
gleefully admitted.  "We most certainly do!

     "It seems,", she continued on to state the problem as
she saw it, "we still both want to play the part of the
man!"

     "My sentiments exactly!", Grace concurred.

     "So what are we going to do about this little problem
of ours, Grace?  Take turns?"

     "Yeah!  That's exactly what we'll do, Sam!  We'll take
turns!  And guess what!  I have dibs on playing the part of
the man first!"

     And with that said, Grace planted an impassioned
lip-lock on Sam's luscious lips that clearly informed Sam
that Grace wasn't about to be deterred from ravishing her up
one side and down the other.

     It was all new ground for Sam and she wasn't at all
sure she liked being the recipient of a French Kiss instead
of the instigator of the same.  It felt odd!  It felt icky!. 
 It felt - stimulating! It felt - invigorating!  It felt -
wonderful!  And Grace's kiss was only the precursor to the
erotic delights that she would deftly foster upon her
charge.

     Sam thought she had died and gone to heaven when
Grace's lips and manfully talented tongue, having teasingly
and tenderly worked their way tortuously down along the run
her gracefully re-sculptured neck, targeted first one and
then the other of those overtly super-sensitized and
enchantingly enhanced nipple surmounted areolas of hers,
sucking and swirling away to entice and entreat her in ways
Sam never thought possible.

     A second front was opened as Grace began to expertly
caress Sam inner thighs, drawing slowly and teasing nearer
and nearer to those new multiple lips folds of Sam's
womanhood.  Within in seconds, Sam was riving under Grace's
tender administrations.  Moments later, Sam began to
helplessly whimper and moan as Grace's middle finger passed
within the love-juice lubricated sanctuary of her newly
installed vaginal lips.  Her stomach, on its' own accord,
undulated.  Then, as Grace's finger proceed to be drawn
upwards, her body shimmed and then bucked, as one sexual
shiver after another charge with reckless abandon upwards
along the run of her spine.  Imploring the Almighty on High,
Sam entered sexual Nirvana as Grace's middle finger
enticingly twirled about the epicenter of that elusive nub
of her clitoral protrusion.

     Jolt after jolt of pure, unadulterated sexual pleasure
wildly gallivanted within her.  Each and every little nuance
of Grace's flicking finger ratcheted her higher and higher. 
Soaring within the swirling vortex of unimaginable carnal
and craven pleasures, Sam gasp.  She cried.  She screamed.

     Sexually exasperated and feeling as if she could
endure no more, Sam found herself proven wrong as Grace, via
a series of nips, sucks and endearing kisses that traversed
Sam's taught, trim and simply scrumptious abdomen, shifted
position, so as re-target her oral ministrations.

     Sam was rendered flabbergasted.  As fantastic as
Grace's finger had felt dickering around with that new clit
of hers, the chaotic jolts of carnal gratification that
Grace's tongue engendered were so brazenly compelling, so
utterly astonishing, so erotic stimulating, that Sam found
the pleasure to be beyond excruciating.

     As Sam's primordial lust for orgasmic release gained
in both momentum and focus, billowing and churning back in
upon itself in spasmodic increments that defied Sam's
ability to categorize, much less comprehend, she became one
with her new found femininity.  Sexually torqued beyond
believability, Sam transcended the inhibitions of her male
libido and, riding on the maniacally careening crest of her
unfettered passions, embraced what she had become, as the
blessed relief of orgasm after orgasm after multifaceted
orgasm gushed and surged within her.

     Several minutes later, though her body was still being
visited by some delightful and very engaging orgasmic
after-shocks, Sam reached a stage in her recuperative
efforts were she felt capable of returning the favor:
titty-tweak for titty-tweak, tongue-swirl for tongue-swirl. 
Allowing her staunchly male attuned libido free rein, Sam
eagerly pounced upon her mentor.  Grace, who, out of
necessity, was an old hand at the self-serving art form of
female masturbation, was astonished.  Having assumed that
she was mentally prepared for Sam's skilled ministrations,
Grace soon became frantically aware that her self-targeted
erotic manipulations couldn't even begin to hold a candle to
those that Sam fostered upon her.

     Like Sam, Grace moaned and whimpered.  She screamed. 
She shrieked.  She cried.  She gasped.  Her body shimmied. 
It lustfully bucked.  Repeated, clawing her pillow to her as
she did so, Grace beseeched the Almighty on High, cravenly
savoring each and every nuance of how Sam was not only
meeting, but far surpassing those foreign, yet oh so
familiar carnal needs of hers.

     Becoming the honor recipient of Sam's altruistic act
of cunnilingus exceeded Grace's expectations.  The moment
that  Sam went don on her for some tongue in grove work,
Grace knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she had made
the correct choice in choosing to become a member of the
fairer sex.  While it was true that womanhood had become a
rather ponderous and pugnacious cross for her to bear, Grace
became intrinsically appreciative of the fact that when it
came to the wanton enjoyment of sexual pleasures, being a
woman suited her to a tee.

     Grace also realized the truth of the matter.  While
her love-making techniques fell some where in between the
high side of pretty darn good and the lower fringes of
pretty darn great, Sam's were so fan-friggin'-tastic that
they were nothing less than phenomenal.  In one of her
fleeting, lucid moments of introspective thought, Grace
deeply regretted the fact that she hadn't availed herself of
Sam's services before.

     All those long, tedious months sequestered in various
Justice Department safe houses with Dan waisted.  Had Grace
been able to get past her revulsions revolving around her
being able to engage in a mutually satisfying heterosexual
relationship with a man, Grace realized, she could have been
enjoying such erotic pleasures.  As icky and repugnant as it
would have been for her to endure at first, Grace knew that
if Sam - as Dan - had the power to make her feel the way she
was feeling at that moment, having his penis shoved up
inside of her vagina would have been a small price for her
to have paid as a form of recompense.

     Then, spurred on by her charge's ever so talented
tongue and madly careening on the rising crescendo of her
own erotically torqued emotions, Grace, with a tortured,
"Oooo... Sam!", entered the realm of unadulterated physical
rapture, as one tsunami-like orgasm after another gushed and
surged furiously within her.

     A few minutes later, having found the wherewithal
within herself to do so, Grace meekly asserted, "That was
wonderful, Sam!  Absolutely wonderful!

     "I mean, to tell you, Sam!  A self-induced hand-job
can't even begin to compare what you just went and did to
me!

     "I loved it!  I absolutely loved it!", Grace impishly
proclaimed as she deftly reached over and began to gently
caress the inner portion of Sam's upper thigh.

     Sheepishly, Sam, aware that she was about to be
treated to another round of Grace's tender love making,
admitted with a delicate whimper that she had loved it as
well.

     Grace adroitly demonstrated the fact that she was not
only a quick learner but also, bound and determine to give
as good as she had received.  Sam, when it once again became
her turn to address Grace's carnal cravings, opted for some
deft-handed variations that clearly demonstrated the fact
that she still was the reigning champion and that Grace had
some real catching up to do in the manful art form of
lesbian love making. 

     A third session followed and then, as physically spent
as the two of them were, they fell asleep warped in one
anothers comforting and compassionate embrace.


* * *


     The next morning, at breakfast, without saying how she
knew, Granny made mention of the fact that the sofa in Sam's
bedroom folded out to make a double bed and that if the two
of them would like to use it for the duration of their stay,
she'd lay out a fresh set of bedding for it.

     Later, as a gleefully Grace talked a rather giddy Sam
through the step by step procedure necessary to arrange the
former Dan Faber's golden tresses into a flattering and
fairly easy to manage French Braid, a somewhat perplexed Sam
broached the subject that had been plaguing her mind.

     "How did she know?"

     "You mean, Granny?  You know, about us?  And about
what the two of us did last night?"

     "Yes!"

     "Do you think our screams may have given us away, Sam?

     "I mean, if you will recall, Sam: the two of us were
pretty boisterous and we did raise a pretty good ruckus last
night."

     "True!  But didn't you tell me that the Army Engineers
who built this place for Granny did a damn good job of
soundproofing it, Grace?"

     "Yeah, I did at that.", Grace reply was thoughtfully
aired, as she bent over and gentle planted an endearing kiss
on the nape of Sam's newly exposed neck.  "And our doors
were closed at that..."

     "And,", Sam, endeavoring to make another point,
"unless I'm way off base here, when we came down stairs this
morning, though I was having a hell of a hard time keeping
my hands off of you, I don't think we behaved any
differently then we had before."

     "I tend to agree, Sam!

     "So, what I'd like to know is: what tipped Granny off,
Grace?"

     "Maybe it was that shit-eating grin that was on your
face this morning, Sam!

     "I mean, take it form me!  You were grinning like a
Cheshire cat!"

     "And I'm to take it that you weren't?"

     "Touche!", Grace cheerfully scoffed.  "You sure as
hell got me that time, Sam!"


* * *


     Given that they had a lot of things to talk over,
Grace opted to take a break from their normal routine. 
Granny, fully aware of what had occurred in the dead of the
night, made herself scarce all throughout the rest of the
day and most of the evening.

     Retiring both early and eagerly, Grace and Sam spent
another delightful prelude to a blissful night of sleep
exploring and expanding their new found intimacy.  Upon
waking, Grace dutifully informed that new lesbian lover-girl
of hers that, right after breakfast, the two of them would
start into Phase II of Sam's acclimation process.  When
asked what Phase II of that acclimation process consisted
of, Grace replied that she deemed that it was high time for
Sam to start getting out and about.  To that end, Grace,
dressing herself in a pair of well worn jeans, a denim work
shirt and a pair of rugged hiking boots and directing that
Sam do likewise, continued on to inform her charge that the
two of them would begin Phase II by taking a few short hikes
within the designated boundaries of the Dolly Sod's rather
unique wilderness area.

     Upon being asked as to just how the two of them would
get to where they were going, Grace informed a fairly
inquisitive Sam that the there was a rust eaten CJ7 ragtop
garaged in a shed on the propriety that looked to be on its'
last legs, but wasn't, due to the fact that it was kept
religiously maintained by some plain cloths attired Army
motor pool people who dropped by on a regular bases to see
to the jeep's upkeep. 

     Before leaving the house, Grace handed Sam the keys to
the CJ7 and a fanny pack; informing her as she did so that
the pack contained the normal shit one would expect to find
contained in one a day hiker might wear, plus a 9mm
semi-automatic Glock and a few spare clips in the off chance
that the two of them might run into some unexpected trouble. 
Climbing into the jeep, Grace also told Sam that, though it
was highly unlikely for anything untoward to occur, should
they require more fire power than their Glocks could
provide, there were a pair of Uzis strategically secured
under the jeep's front seats along with a few extra high
volume clips.

     Fifteen minutes later, Sam, following Grace's casually
delivered instructions, pulled the CJ into a small,
bulldozed off, trail-head designated parking area.  Getting
out, the two of them strapped on their innocent looking
fanny packs, crossed the dirt road they had been traveling
down a moment before, and with an endearing, lustful kiss
planted squarely on those luscious lips of Sam's, Grace took
the lead, and, choosing the left fork, began to lazily lead
Sam along a looping, self-guiding nature trail.  Ten minutes
or so later, the two of them stood enchanted, as they gazed
out across the totally unexpected, expansive mountain bog.

     "Kind of nifty, isn't it?", Grace asked, referring to
the bog as she did so.

     "Yeah!  It sure is!", Sam concurred.  "And I never
would have thought you would find something as unusual as
such a large bog like this located all the way up here on
this ridge!"

     "That's the Dolly Sod's for you, Sam!  And for my
money, it's one of the most unusual places I've ever seen!"

     "Yeah!  I can see how it would be."

     Before heading back to Granny's place, the two of them
hit a couple other of the Dolly Sod's self-guiding nature
trails.  The last of which was more of a rock-scramble than
an actual trail, but the vista at trail's end was well worth
the effort.  As they casually made their way back to the
jeep, Sam and Grace chanced upon a group of four college
aged male hikers who were heading the other way.  After
exchanging trail pleasantries with the foursome, Grace
continued on to informed the rambunctious lads to be on the
lookout for a fairly good sized timber rattler that was just
off the trail sunning itself on one of the numerous
limestone outcrops.  Having done so, Sam and Grace parted
company with the boys and proceeded on down the trail that
wound its way beneath the canopy of grotesquely gnarled and
misshapen wind sculpture scrub pines, en route back to the
overlook's trail-head parking area and their innocent
looking CJ7.

     As the two of them passed beyond the range of the
boys' hearing, Grace, employing a very conspiratorial tone
of voice, sought to indulge her curiosity as she began, "So,
Sam!  Tell me!  How'd it feel being ogled?  You know, like
up one side and down the other?"

     "Creepy!  Really creepy!", Sam, with a cold shiver to
punctuate the point she was making, abruptly admitted,
before continuing on to add, "But, in a way, Grace, I have
to confess that I also felt a tad bit flattered..."

     "Well get use to it, kiddo!  Because, from here on
out... what with that sexy new  body of yours, you'd best
believe you'll be turning heads left and right!"


* * *


     The next morning, having informed Granny as to their
plans for the day the night before, the two were up at the
crack of dawn, showered, dressed and, with the driving
chores falling once again to Sam, headed south in the jeep. 
After a leisurely stop at a greasy spoon for a hardy
breakfast, garnished well with the ogling and appreciative
appraisals of their fellow dinners, the two of them were
back on the road again.  Passing the scenic outcrop of the
Seneca Rocks on their left, they proceed further south and,
following the appropriated signs, drew up in the Seneca
Caverns upper parking lot with plenty of time to spare
before the first scheduled tour of the day got underway.

     After a guide escorted tour of the caverns, Grace and
Sam, having browsed around the gift shop for a few minutes
before leaving, returned to the rust eaten and deceptively
road-ready CJ and started back up the road again.  Stopping
for lunch at restaurant who's veranda granted them a
breathtaking view of the massive and picturesque Seneca
Rocks that dominated the eastern ridgeline and just across
the road from a well placed rock climbing school, the two of
them grabbed a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, French
fries and the damn near obligatory soft drinks.  In the
store below, on Grace's urging, they both purchased a couple
of tee-shirts apiece and an assortment of flavored hard
candy sticks that Grace had assured Sam were Granny's
favorites.  A stop at the Seneca Rocks Visitors Center
followed that and then it was back to Granny's palatial
mountain retreat and a much looked forward to afternoon love
making session.

     Knowing how hard it had been for her to feel
comfortable braving the world the first few times as a full
fledged female herself, the next morning, right after
another one of Granny's splendidly prepared breakfasts,
Grace up the ante by suggesting that she and Sam drive up to
Petersburg and browse around the town a bit.  It took a
little arm twisting and a few well placed threats thrown in
for good measure on Grace's part to convince Sam that it was
in her best interest to go along with the proposed outing,
but Grace finally managed to overcome Sam's anxiety laden
nay-saying.

     All throughout the drive, as she had on previous
occasions, Grace grilled Sam on various points of the bogus
history that she had so painstakingly created for her
charge; trying, in every way imaginable, to trip Sam up. 
Sam was good and getting better and better all the time. 
Plus, Sam was both resourceful and creative.  Each time
Grace called Sam on an erroneous assertion, damn if Sam
didn't gloss over it; nonchalantly saying, in so many words,
that she must have misunderstood the question, generally
supplying the correct answer in the process of doing so.

     Sam, Grace had to admit, was becoming quit the little
actress.  Once Sam got past all her aversions and
reservations about operating out in the public-eye as the
beautiful young woman that she had become, Grace knew that
all it would take was a flash of those alluring baby blues
of hers and she'd have men eating right out of the palm of
her hand.

     Arriving in the Potomac Valley town of Petersburg, the
two of them spent most of the morning checking out some of
the interesting little shops that they chanced upon and
ended up grabbing a quick lunch at the local Mickey D's. 
Afterwards, on their way out of town, on Grace's insistence,
Sam pulled the CJ into a Walmart parking lot.  In the store,
Grace made directly for the cosmetic department, where she
proceed on to surreptitiously give Sam a crash course on the
uses of the various items and paraphernalia that lined the
department's shelves.  Following that, Grace headed off for
the book and periodical aisles, where she promptly selected
about a half a dozen romance novels and several of the more
trendy women's fashion and make-up magazines; implying as
she did so, that until further notice, Sam was to consider
them her required reading.

     Understandably, Sam wasn't all that thrilled with the
prospect of having to delve into the meat of the material. 
However, as she informed Grace, she wasn't the least little
bit adverse to feasting her eyes on the all attractive women
who graced the multitude of advertisements contained within
the periodicals.

     That afternoon, Sam and Grace took full advantage of
the unseasonable warm, simply fantastic, spring day by
interspersing some nude sun bathing with frequent and
refreshing dips in the luxurious waters of Granny's deck
mounted hot tube.  Later, as they headed off to their
respective bedrooms in order to get dressed for dinner,
Grace informed Sam that they would do something a little
different that evening.  Much to Sam's chagrin, Grace
informed her that they would both get gussied up by donning
slinky cocktail dresses.  Sam, as was to be expected,
endeavored to talk Grace out of her proposal, but, also as
expect, she failed miserably in her efforts.

     Grace was adamant and would not be swayed one iota by
Sam's impassioned entreatments.  Quite possible, as Grace
was quick to point out, there would occur situations in
Sam's future where some sort of dress or skirted ensemble
would be deemed as the appropriate attire required of those
women in attendance.  To that end, Grace said she would be
remiss in her duties were she not to prepare Sam for such an
eventuality.

     Though she gave it her best shot to dissuade her
mentor, Sam had to admit that Grace's logic was
unimpeachable.  That being the case, though she fumed and
fussed all throughout the ignominious ordeal of getting
dressed, Sam, upon getting a gander of herself in their
bathroom's full length mirror, had to admit that while the
scarlet satin sheath dress that Grace had trust her up in
made her look like some sort of high class hooker getting
ready to attend a Washington bash on the arm of some over
paid high level bureaucrat, she sarcastically added that
damn if she didn't look good enough to eat.  To wit, Grace
jokingly teased, that she had full intentions of doing just
that later that evening.

     Sam, though she had lost the war over wearing a dress,
had, to some degree, managed to win an engagement that dealt
with the side issue of footware.  Grace, who had selected a
pair of lofty four inch heels for herself, suggested that
Sam try to see if she could manage to get around in a pair
of two inch heels.  Realizing as soon as she had made the
suggestion that it wasn't going to fly, Grace backed off
and, in an act of appeasement, presented Sam with a pair of
pumps fitted out with a easily manageable, chunky, one inch
heels.

     Ironically, the next morning, Grace reentered the
bedroom they now shared from her morning shower only to find
Sam - nude as the day she was born - awkwardly trying to
navigate about the room in the very metallic blue stiletto
heeled pumps that Grace had worn the night before.

     "What gives, Sam?

     "I mean, wasn't it you who told me only yesterday
afternoon that it would be a cold day in hell before you
would ever wear a pair of shoes with heels as high as
those?"

     "Yeah!", Sam sheepishly replied.  "I guess I did at
that..."

     "So why the change of heart, kiddo?"

     "Well,", Sam began with some reluctance conveyed in
her throaty intonations, "you looked so good in 'em, I just
got to wondering how I might look wearing them..."

     "So what's your verdict?"

     "Not to shabby... you, know, if I do say so myself.

     "I mean, I really like the way they make my legs look,
but, as you can plainly see for yourself, Grace, I'm not
getting around in them very well at all.

     "I mean, I'm as unsteady as all get-out!"

     "It's like they say, Sam!  Practice makes perfect! 
And, I agree!  They really do make your legs look terrific!

     "So, tell you what we're going to do, Sam!  In order
to help you get use to wearing heels - Starting today! - why
don't we  start you off with a fairly easy to manage pair of
two inch heels?  Then, once you get the hang of them, you
simply trade up to a pair of pumps with three inch heels and
before you know it!  Guess what!  Those four inches that you
find so damn intimidating and hard to get around in now,
will be a piece of cake!"


* * *


     Two days after that, Grace had Sam pack an overnight
bag and, with the driving duties once again falling to Sam,
the pair of them casually drove up to West Virginia's scenic
Blackwater Falls State Park.  Having checked into the park's
hotel, the two of them, upon entering their room, tested out
the queen sized bed's mattress by eagerly engaged in a
spontaneous, mutually satisfying, interlude of the
lesbianized version of the much lauded and orgasmic
resplendent pastime of uninhibited Afternoon Delight. 
Afterwards, the two of them climbed back into their jeans,
t-shirts and hiking boots and drove over to Blackwater Falls
upper trail-head parking lot.

     The falls, which were still flush with the spring
runoff, were truly a magnificent sight to see and Sam
extolled Grace to take lots and lots of pictures, with the
implication being: she wanted a complete set of duplicates. 
Grace replied that a set of duplicates probably wouldn't be
necessary.  Perplexed and just a wee bit irritated and
put-off by Grace's off-handed remark about not furnishing
her with a second set of the photos, a hurt and thoroughly
disgruntled Sam tersely demanded an explanation.

     "What in the hell is the big deal about making me a
duplicate set of pictures, Grace?", Sam snapped in a huff.

     "I mean, if you're worried about who's going to pay
for 'em, Grace, don't!  Because, I will!

     "In fact, I'll pay for both sets!  You, know, out of
whatever pittance the Justice Department has decided to
provide me with..."

     "Sam!  Sam!", Grace beseeched.  "I think you
misunderstood me!"

     "I did?"

     "Yes!  You most certainly did!", Grace was emphatic as
she reached out and roughly drew Sam about to face her.

     "Look, Sam!  The reason I said what I did about your
not needing another set of the pictures is because, if
things work out the way I hope and pray they will, you won't
need them!  You see, Sam, I'll be damned if I'm going let
you walk out of my life now that I found you!

     "Grace...", a hopefully mistrusting and emotionally
distraught Sam weakly managed, "Are you saying what I think
you're saying?"

     "If you think that I'm saying that I love you and that
my life wouldn't be complete without you, then I am saying
exactly what you think I'm saying, Sam!  If not, I can only
hope that I haven't just gone and ruined everything and beg
your forgiveness if I have!"

     "Grace,", Sam sought clarification, "did you just say
that you loved me?"

     "Yes!  Damn it!  I love you!  More than I ever thought
possible!

     "I love you so much that it hurts!

     "And not only do I love you!  But, I need you!  And I
want the two of us to spend the rest of our lives together!"

     As the flush of heart felt relief flooded through her,
a tearfully exuberant Sam replied, "Good!  I so very happy
to hear you say that, Grace, because - God help me! - I love
you too!"

     "You do?", Grace, needing Sam's reassurance, returned
hopefully.

     "Of course I do!

     "Truth be told, Grace: I fell in love with you so long
ago it isn't funny!"

     "You did?"

     "Hell, yes!"

     "And you aren't put-off by the fact that we're both
women, Sam?"

     "No!  Though I can't for the life of me figure out
why, I most certainly am not!

     "I mean, while I know that you used to be a man,
Grace, I don't thing of you as one!  I mean, though it
thoroughly astounds me to be saying this, when I look at
you, all I see is the woman I'm in love with!

     "I mean,", Sam stammered, "while I have to admit that
there are times when I still would like to be the man I use
to be... you know, especially so when the two of us are
making love... as crazy as this is going to sound, Grace...
knowing everything I do now... I wouldn't change back even
if I could!"

     "I take it that you're starting to take a shine to
being a woman, Sam?"

     "Yes!  Yes, I guess, in some respects, I am at that! 
But, that's not what I'm getting at, Grace!

     "Look!  I know this might not come out the way I want
it to come out, Grace!  But the truth of that matter is: if
I have to be a woman to have your love, so be it!  I'll be
the best damn woman there ever was!"

     A few minutes later, as the exuberant couple began to
climb the conglomeration of stairs and inclined pathways
that would deliver them back to the upper lot where their CJ
was parked, an extremely giddy Sam asked a most interesting
question.

     "Grace."

     "Yes..."

     "If I remember correctly, didn't Granny tell us that
she was some sort of shaman?"

     "Yeah...", Grace replied with a sense of guarded
hesitation clearly conveyed in her voice.

     "Well, isn't a shaman equivalent to being a priest or
priestess or something similar?"

     "Yeah, I guess so."

     "Well, while I know it is in no way legally binding,
couldn't we have Granny marry us?  You know, if, that is,
you would consent to marrying me!"

     "Sam!", Grace gleefully exclaimed.  "That's an
absolutely wonderful idea!  An just what do you mean with
that nonsense  of yours about me and my consenting to
marrying you?

     "I mean, it goes without saying that I want to marry
you!"

     "You do?"

     "Of course I do, you ninny!  I love you!  So, it more
or less goes without saying that I want nothing more than to
marry you!"

     Several minutes later, as, hand in hand they began to
climb the last flight of steps leading to the parking lot,
Sam quizzically sought clarification.

     "Grace, tell me something."

     "Sure, kiddo.  What do you want to know?"

     "In this marriage of ours, which one of us do you see
as fulfilling the role of the husband and which the wife?"

     "It don't make a rat's ass to me, Sam!  If you want to
function as the husband, that's just hunky-dory with me!  If
you think you might like to play the part of the obedient
little wife, that's okay too!

     "Or, if you'd rather we trade off, you can be the
husband on the even numbered days and the wife on the odd
numbered.  Or, we can exchange roles on a weekly or even
monthly bases.

     "I don't care as long as we're together as a
couple..."

     Climbing into the CJ, Sam put another question to
Grace as she fumbled around trying to locate her seatbelt.

     "Grace."

     "Yes."

     "Technically speaking, I guess we both now classify as
lesbians, right?"

     "Yeah, I guess we do at that.", Grace concurred, not
sure as to where her compatriot was going with this rather
ambiguous line of inquiry of hers.

     "So that makes us dykes, right?  You know, given the
fact that though these bodies of ours belie the fact, we
tend to think of ourselves as men.

     "Yeah, so...", Grace tentatively agreed as she
prompted Sam to continue.

     "So, I'm confused about something and was wondering if
you might be able to set me straight."

     "I'll give it my best shot, Sam."

     "Are all lesbians considered dykes or is it just the
ones who try to act manly?  And if it's only the ones who
try to act manly who are referred to as dykes, what are the
other ones called?"

     "Hmmm....", Grace began thoughtfully.  "You know
something, Sam!  I'm not really sure..."

     As they drove out of the parking lot, Grace suggested
that they continue out of the park and hunt up a liquor
story so that they could buy a bottle of champagne in order
to celebrate their betrothal.  Sam, liking the idea, did
just that.

     Back at the hotel, on Grace's instance, they both got
dressed in skirted ensembles that had Sam decked out in a
leg showcasing black leather mini-skirt, coffee brown
pantyhose, a flattering and eye-riveting bronze hued silk
blouse and a pair of black, two inch tapered heels.  Grace,
for her part, selected a black leather skirt that was styled
similar to that which Sam was wearing, save that it was just
a smidgen or so shorter, a pair of suntan pantyhose, a long
sleeved white lycra-cotton turtleneck pullover and her
trademark stiletto heeled pumps.  Makeup and perfume
followed and then the two of them were off for the hotel's
restaurant and what proved to be an extremely well prepared
and thoroughly satisfying meal.

     Even though the restaurant wasn't the least little bit
crowded, Grace could tell that Sam felt as conspicuous as
all get-out dressed the way she was.  However, as
conspicuous as Sam felt, Grace also knew that Sam wasn't
about to allow anything to intrude on her idyllic savoring
of afternoon's most monumental events.

     "Sam.", Grace intoned, as she used her fork to sliced
off the first wedge of the cherry cheesecake she had ordered
as a desert.  "You're a certified diver, right?"

     "Yes.", Sam, prematurely swallowing a mouthful of
sinfully delicious German Chocolate Cake in order to do so,
struggled to reply.  "I have both military and civilian
certifications.  However, I haven't been diving for a couple
of years now.  So, I figure I might be a tad bit rusty.  You
know, and no where near the standards that you Seal's set
for yourselves..."

     "Let me let you in on a little secret, Sam.  I'm not
up to those standards either.

     "You know, as in the mind's willing, where as, the
body's weak.

     "I mean, don't get me wrong!  I mean, I'm still in
good shape!  You know, for a girl!  It's just that this new
body of mine isn't capable of doing the sort of gung ho shit
that my old body was capable of doing!"

     "Tell me about it!", Sam, putting in her own two
cents, knowingly quipped.

     "So how come the question, Grace?  Why did you want to
know if I was a certified diver?"

     "Well,", Grace began, "I was just sitting here
thinking about where we should go for our honeymoon and I
thought that if you were up for some diving, Bonaire would
be the perfect place for the two of us to go and spend a
couple of weeks kicking back and enjoying ourselves."

     "Are you serious?"

     "I most certainly am, Sam!

     "You see, though Justice has no record of her doing
so, my boss, on my recommendation, purchased an efficiency
apartment in a fairly well established diver-friendly resort
last year on - Shall we say. - the QT, to use as an out of
country safe house of sorts.

     "If you're amiable, as soon as we get back to
Granny's, I'll jump on the computer and make all the
arrangements.

     "Sounds great!  Trouble is, I don't have any
equipment."

     "Tell me what you want, Sam, and I'll move heaven and
earth to get it for you."

     "No shit?"

     "No shit."

     "Well, for starters, let's go with a top of the line
Scubapro air delivery system and, if it's not to much
trouble, I'd like both the primary and safe second stages to
be equipped with air flow adjustment knobs.  You know, just
in case we run into a lot of surge.  Now, as to computers, I
would really liked something similar to the Sea Quest's
Solution that I'm familiar with, but if that's not possible,
I can go with almost anyone that's out there.  However, I
would like a compass incorporated into the console, along
with the mandatory submersible pressure gauge.

     "I'd like a USD Impulse snorkel, a fabric weight belt
fitted with a Tenka styled depth-compensating quick-release
buckle, Henderson boots and a pair of Scubapro Jet Fins.

     "Wait a second!  Maybe I ought to go with a pair of
Scubapro Sea Wings over the Jet Fins!  I mean, while Jet
Fins are - for my money - the best fins out there, I'm not
sure if these new feminine legs of mine will be able to
handle them!

     "What do you think, Grace?  Jet fins or Sea Wings?"

     "Why don't I just get you a pair of both.  That way,
you can see what suits you best."

     "Alright!  Let's...

     "Now, as far as what BC (Buoyancy Compensator) I ought
to go with, I am at a totally loss as to know which one!

     "I mean, now that I'm a woman, I know that my torso is
a tab bit shorter than it use to be.  Meaning, I'm going to
need a BC that is designed to conform to a women's body."

     At that point, Grace chimed in, "I had the same exact
problem, Sam!"

     "You did?"

     "I most certainly did!  None of the BCs that I used as
a man would work for me once I became a woman.

     I mean to tell you, Sam!  It frustrated me to no end
trying to find a BC that I liked!  For a while there it
seemed like every single one I tried sat right on top of my
weight belt, in effect, locking it in, making it so that I
couldn't release it should the need arise!"

     "So, what did you do?"

     "After a lot of trial and error, I finally went with
USD's Elan!  It's got a pretty nifty cross-your-heart
strapping system and it fits me perfectly!"

     "Alright,", Sam returned, "on your recommendation, why
don't I go with an Elan..."


* * *


     Later, once the two of them were back in their room,
snuggling and gleefully sipping champagne from those little
plastic cups that come individual wrapped for sanitary
reasons, the two of them got down to the serious business of
attending to one anothers carnal needs in earnest.

     Up before the crack of dawn the next morning with the
express hope of being able to photograph some of the deer
that foraged within the park, the two of them hurriedly
dressed and went out for a brisk morning hike.  Having
caught sight of several does and a couple of bucks, the pair
of them return to their room; fooled around for about an
hour; showered; dressed; packed up and, after breakfasting
in the hotel's restaurant; checked out and leisurely headed
back down the road to Granny's.

     As expected, Granny was ecstatic to hear how her two
hard-headed adopted 'daughters' had finally come to their
senses and had spilled the beans about how they truly loved
one another and wanted in the worst way imaginable to spend
their lives together.  She was also extremely flattered and
somewhat taken aback when Sam and Grace continued on to
asked her if she would do them the honor of marrying them.

     Two days later, in a simple sunrise ceremony conducted
out on the generous deck of the former Amazonian shaman's
palatial mountain abode, with Sam and Grace wearing nothing
more than a pair of high heels and their well proportioned
birthday suits, after an exchange of vows, Granny, acting as
an agent of the Almighty And Eternal Spirit, pronounced the
couple heart-bound soulmates.

     Ironically, that evening, Mr. Murphy's persnickety Law
stepped in and preempted planned events.  Though Grace
hadn't been expected it to occur for another day or so, that
night, right after another one of Granny's fantastic
dinners, damn if Grace didn't get hit with her monthly flow. 
However, though she did, while she wasn't about to allow Sam
to earn the dubious honor of being inducted into the Legion
of the Red Wings by going down on her, Grace wasn't about to
let a little thing like her period prevent her from
preforming the selfless act of cunnilingus on that new
bride/bridegroom of hers.

     Three days later, after profusely thanking Granny for
all she had done for them, and with promises to visit as
often as circumstances would allow, Sam and Grace bid Granny
a fond good-bye and headed for the elevator shaft that would
take them down to the appropriate limestone ensconced tram
station.  After another mind-boggling ride through one
surrealistic cavern chamber after another, the tram car
stopped at what Sam presumed to be yet another elevator
station.  Getting out of the gleaming, stainless steel tram
car, the pair of them entered the elevator and began to
descend.  As they did so, Grace, reached over to the control
panel and switched off the cab's intense white light and
turned on a red one.  Then, after mentioning the fact that
while the red light wouldn't condition their eyes to the
complete absence of light of totally cave darkness, it would
help dilute their pupils to a point that would aid them in
enhancing their eyesight in limited light conditions. 
Having said that, Grace continued on to cautioned Sam to try
to refrain from talking and to make as little noise as
humanly possible until directed by to her mentor and newly
wedded life-partner to do otherwise.

     The doors of the elevator opened with an almost
inaudible hiss and Grace, with a slight tug, drew Sam into a
small, dank room that, like the elevator, was dimly
illuminate by the diffused, hellish red hue of several
craftily hidden lighting fixtures.  Motioning for Sam to
occupy one of the two available seats on the wall mounted
bench that was contained within the rock hewed out room,
Grace sat down beside her.  Once seated, a very intrigued
Sam watched as Grace reached over to her right and after a
few hand gropes, managed to locate a small wall mounted
control panel.  Suddenly, in response to something Grace
must have done, a strange, elongated, ultraviolet engendered
blush-purple squiggle-like outline, populated by what
appeared to be randomly placed green and red low intensity
LEDs, blossomed midway up the opposite wall.

     Suddenly, one of the two red LEDs seemed to flicker
and become green as a green one to its' immediate left
appeared to go from green to red.  A minute later, the other
red LED did the same thing, save that where the former one
seemed to be moving leftwards, this one, Sam noted, moved
one increment to the right.

     Just then, Sam felt Grace's lips draw up alongside of
her right ear and heard her almost inaudible whisper, "The
red lights signify tour groups.  The one on the left has
just rounded the bend and passed from the cave portion of
the tour and into the larger main cavern room.  The other
group has all but finished the tour and is now proceeding
out of the cave.

     "When the first group begins to retrace their path,",
Grace must have done something for an amber LED lit up, "we
will wait for them to pass this point and simply fall in
with them.  You know, as if we're bringing up the rear."

     And that's just what Sam and Grace did.  Once the tour
group had passed, Grace, with Sam in tow, exited the small
chamber they had been occupying via a spring loaded doorway. 
Making sure the false rock faced door was securely closed
behind them, the two of them carefully descending a short
flight of corrugated metal stairs, the very same stairs that
the tour guides dutifully informed their respective tour
groups led to a portion of the cavern that was no longer on
the tour due to some extremely slick and therefore, very
treacherous portions of the cavern.  Quickly, with Grace
urging Sam to pick up both her feet and the pace, the two of
them caught up to the group that was itself tactfully being
encouraged by their tour guide to stay to the right of the
pathway as they exited the cavern in order to make room for
another tour group that was in the process of advancing into
it along the very same ramp-like and watercourse hugging
pathway.

     Working their way around a family of five that had
tarried behind the rest of the tour group in order to take
snapshots of a small hibernating bat that tenaciously hung
from a fairly low portion of the cave's arched ceiling, Sam,
acting on Grace's hastily spoken admonishment, located the
sunglasses that hung about her neck and dutifully put them
on.  A minute later, Sam was glad she had taken Grace's
admonishment to heart.  The morning sun was intense.  So
intense, that Sam actually had to raise her hand in order to
help shield her eyes as she accompanied Grace out into the
parking lot of West Virginia's well visited Smokehole
Caverns.

     Handing Sam a set of keys, Grace pointed to a forest
green Ford Explorer with Ohio tags, saying as she did so,
"There!  Our chariot awaits!"

     Passing through the town of Petersburg, with Grace
playing navigator, Sam drove north to Cumberland Maryland
where they checked into a moderately priced motel.  There,
the two of them spent the remainder of the afternoon and
most of their evening heatedly engaged in some delightful
and reciprocal tongue in grove work.  The next day, after
breakfast at a local greasy spoon, Grace had Sam drive the
two of them down to the old Western Maryland Railroad
Station where she proceeded on to purchased two tickets for
the daily scenic rail excursion to the Frostbrug terminus.

     Arriving back in the City of Cumberland after a most
enjoyable scenic train ride, they climbed back into the
Explorer and spent the rest of the afternoon and several
hours of the evening driving up to Pittsburgh.  Checking
into a hotel that was just a hop, skip and a jump from
Pittsburgh's International Airport, the two grabbed a late
dinner and returned to their room for a bout of love-making
ere they fell asleep wrapped ever so serenely in the
comforting embrace of one another's emasculated arms.

     The next morning, having to settle for a quick cup of
coffee and a couple of day old doughnuts to tied them over,
the two of them drove over to the airport and managed,
without a lot of the normal who-struck-john that normally
goes hand in hand with airplane travel, to board a 727 and
were soon airborne, on their way to Miami and a change of
planes.  After a six hour lay-over, that in due course of
things became a seven and then eight hour lay-over, the two
boarded their overseas flight.  Once airborne, the pilot
informed his passengers that there had been a change in his
flight plan and that the plane would be landing in Arubia
first before proceeding on to Bonaire.

     As their plane taxed to the terminal in Arubia, Sam
took note of the fact that there was another plane - just
like theirs - being service on the tarmac just outside the
terminal.  Oddly enough, their pilot's voice came over the
speakers and informed his passengers that they all had to
disembark and proceed through customs.  Sam and Grace,
unsure as to just what in the hell was going on, did as
directed.  Fifteen minutes later, having to pass through a
second customs check, preformed by the very same uniformed
officers that had processed the whole group only a few short
moments before, Sam and Grace, along with their fellow
passengers, were hustled out of the Arubia terminal and
directed to board the other plane that Sam had seen sitting
outside the terminal.  Upon boarding and being welcomed by
the very same flight attendants that had been with them on
the flight down, Sam and Grace exchanged befuddled shrugs as
they began to speculate as to why they had had to change
planes in the first place.  Then, to add insult to injury,
the very same flight crew that had ferried them from Miami
to Arubia entered the cabin and after exchanging a few words
with the cabin attendants, moved forward to occupy the
flight deck.   Spending about five minutes longer sitting
on the runway's tarmac in Arubia than in the actual forty
mile flight over to the Island of Bonaire, Sam and Grace,
having to once again pass through yet another custom's
check, engaged a taxi and so, arrived at their resort
somewhere around midnight.

     The next morning, after an excruciatingly long and
extremely tedious pre-dive briefing, followed by the
resort's obligatory in-water weight check, Sam and Grace
settle in to thoroughly enjoy their well deserved and long
anticipated honeymoon.


                                                  POSTSCRIPT


     Fourteen months and a few days later, a cab-over
tractor, pulling a road soiled trailer that had but a month
before proclaimed itself as being part of the J. B. Hunt
fleet, but now bore the almost blasphemous, huge, three
letter trademark of the Guaranteed Overnight Delivery
trucking outfit, was progressing south on Interstate 70 just
a few miles north of the Naples Florida exits.  Contained
with the innocent looking trailer was the very same
specialized passenger compartment where in one Mr. Daniel
Faber had been sequestered during the next to last leg of
his interstate odyssey.

     Hanging up the handset of the wired intercom system,
Special Agent Mathew Maldean addressed the man sitting
across from him, "Alright, Tamborn!  You and I are about to
part company, so listen up!

     "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into a truck stop. 
When the guys up front give us green light, I'll open the
hatch so that you drop to the pavement below.  Keep your
head down, orient yourself towards the cab and move to the
right of the truck.  There'll be a dark blue Chevy Tahoe
pulled up close alongside of us with its' right rear
passenger door open.  Get in.  Okay?"

     When the time came, Jason Tamborn followed Agent
Maldean's instructions to the letter.  Quickly and
nervously, fearing the sound of gunshots, Tamborn climbed
into the Tahoe's rear seat only to receive the curtly
delivered command to close the door behind him.  He did so,
the Tahoe got underway.

     "Well, well...", the driver's distinctly feminine
voice began, "if it isn't Mr. Jason - The Scumbag - Tamborn. 
Tell me, old buddy, old pal!  How's it hanging?"

     A confused, anxious and highly agitated Tamborn felt
compelled to ask, "Do the two of us know each other?"

     "Yeah, we do...  Sort of...  But don't worry, I one of
the good guys and me and my partner here are going to take
real good care of you."

     "Yes,", another female voice concurred with the first,
"we most certainly are."

     Opting to use the Tammiani Trail, US Route 41, instead
of Alligator Alley, Sam headed east.  Passing through the
town of Homestead, she merged onto US 1 south and began to
pass through the eastern most fringe of the Florida
Everglades as she proceed south towards the Florida Keys. 
Arriving in Key Largo, they passed Diver's Outlet on the
right and continued on down Rt 1 a little ways, only to make
a left into the camp ground access road of John Pennekamp
Coral Reef State Park.

     Backing into a canopied over space between a large
Southwind RV and a mid-sized silver Airstream trailer, Sam
cautioned the gutter mouthed and abrasively insulting
Tamborn to stay put until her partner unlocked and ran a
security check on the Airstream.  With a wave from the
Airstream's doorway, Grace's gave Sam the all clear, where
upon, Sam informed Tamborn that he was to get out of the
Tahoe and move expeditiously to the Airstream, saying as she
did so that she would be right behind him, covering his rear
so to speak.

     As mundane as the Airstream looked from the outside,
it was anything but on the inside, prompting a disgruntled
Tamborn to quip, "What the hell is this supposed to be? 
Some sort of botanical garden on wheels?"

     "Oddly enough Mr. Tamborn,", Grace conspiratorially
offered by way of reply, "that's exactly what it is.

     "Fact is: this... as you have just call it, botanical
garden on wheels was built specifically for you.  So, it
seems to me that you should feel somewhat flattered."

     "Well, I don't!", Tamborn returned flippantly.  "It's
to damn hot and muggy in here for my tastes and if the
Justice Department thinks I'm going to stay in this high
tech hell hole of theirs for even a day, they've got another
think coming!  Cause, I just ain't going to do it!  You two
are just going to have to get on the horn and inform
whomever in the hell you have to inform that Jason Tamborn
wants - No!  Make that demands! - other accommodations!"

     "Alright, Tamborn.  We'll do just that.", Grace lied. 
"But, while I'm across the way making the call, why don't
you partake of the tasty little tonic that my partner has
just gone to all the trouble of preparing for you.  Trust
me!  After a couple sips you'll up and forget all about the
heat and humidly in here."

     Sam stepped forward and handed a parched mouth Tamborn
a tumbler of Granny's frogifying concoction and the stupid
arrogant bastard, upon taking a preliminary tentative sip,
raised the glass to his lips and downed its' contents in one
swift gurgling guzzle.  A few minutes later, as he felt his
body begin to tingle and spasmodically undulate, Jason
Tamborn knew that he had been somehow duped.  The two
bodacious bimbos into who's care he had been placed, had
slipped him a mickey.  Trouble was, as he soon came to
realize, they hadn't poisoned him as he at first assumed
they had.  Looking to a hand that was taking on a sicken
bluish tinge and was in the first stages of developing some
sort of loose skin like webbing between its' fingers,
Tamborn came to the stark realization that indeed there were 
some things in life far worse then death.

     As a clearly panicked and disbelieving Tamborn 
demanded  an explanation.  Sam, by way of
response, held up a jar with several live flies trapped
inside and, as she impishly intoned, "Look yummy, don't
they?", proceeded on to remove its' lid.

     About fifteen minutes later, Sam said, "Tell you what,
Grace!  I'll corner Tamborn.  You attend to putting the
other two brutes into that pretty nifty little pond
enclosure they've installed back there in the other room. 
Then, since we've got the whole day ahead of us, if, that
is, you're up for it, why don't I put a call into Captian
Slate's and see if they have any openings on their boats so
you and I can get in a couple of dives this afternoon.

     "I mean, since we're going to be here for next several
days so that Granny's little amazon wonder boys can work
their magic on that egotistical son of bitch Tamborn, we
might as well get in as many dives as we can."

     "Sounds fine by me, Sam!  I mean, I for one sure
wouldn't mind doing another dive on either the Duane or the
Bibb while we're here.", Grace off-handedly replied, as she
carefully hefted a big indigo hued frog out of its' cabinet
mounted vivarium.  "And if all of Atlantis' boats are booked
this afternoon, we can always give Ocean Divers a holler."

     Three days later, having prepared their RV for road
travel, Sam and Grace restored Jason Tamborn's humanity. 
Needless to say, Tamborn wasn't the least little bit
thrilled over the business about having to live out the rest
of her life as a stacked and packed member in good standing
of the fairer sex.  However, when Grace commented that they
could always restore her to froghood if she so chose, a
extremely disgruntled and fit to be tied female Jason
Tamborn quit her complaining.

     Relocating to the Southwind, Grace bundled the
befuddled and extremely tuckered out Tamborn into the RV's
shower stall as her soulmate made the final preparations for
getting underway.  Leaving the Airstream and Tahoe for
others to attend to, Sam gingerly maneuvered the Southwind
out of the camp grounds proper and, after a quick stop at
the ranger's office to acknowledge the fact that they were
checking out, she pulled out of John Pennekamp Coral Reef
State Park and headed north on RT 1.

     As expected, after eating all four of the peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches that Grace had hastily prepared
for her, a very sleepy Ms. Tamborn gratefully allowed Grace
to put her to bed in the RV's rear bedroom compartment.

     Four and a half weeks later, a stretch limo pulled up
in front of the infamous Watergate Complex in Washington
DC..  "Alright, Tyra.", Grace Clark sternly began.  "Here's
where you get out.  You'll find your apartment fully stocked
with pretty much everything you're going to need for the
next month or so and you have the eight hundred number in
case of emergency.  Don't hesitate to use it.

     "First thing Monday morning, you're to call that local
number we gave you.  You're to ask for Ms. Tori Gutherage. 
She'll handle the rest.  All you have to do is to do what
she tells you to do and you'll be fine.

     "Remember, she doesn't know anything at all about you
and your having once been a man.  So please!  Do us all a
favor!  Watch what you say!  Remember, Tyra!  Loose lips can
get you admitted to a psychiatric ward!  Remember, Tori
Gutherage thinks she's hiring you as a favor for a
congressman.  Don't disappoint her.  Understand?"

     The former Jason Tamborn said that she did and, so
saying, began to extricate herself from the limo's interior. 
As she did so, Sam couldn't restrain herself from getting in
a last dig before parting company with the obnoxious person
who she, in a former life, had once shared a drink with.

     "Tyra!", Sam said coyly, as she reached out and firmly
placed a restraining hand on the woman's laced, opera gloved
ensconced forearm.  "I can only say that I sincerely hope
you enjoy being a high class hooker!  Excuse me!  I'm sorry,
Tyra.  What I meant to say was: female escort!

     "After all, for my money, you've always been a first
class cocksucker!  Now, you get to demonstrate just how good
a cocksucker you can be, girl!"

     With that said, Sam released her hold on Tyra and
Tyra, feeling more than a little put out by Sam's parting
remarks, quickly exited the vehicle.  Then, as the limo
pulled away, Tyra, as unsteady as all get-out in the
gleaming, black patent leather, five inch, stiletto heeled
sock-it-me boots that Sam and Grace had demanded she wear
that day as part of that abbreviated, body showcasing
ensemble that they had so scandalously decked her out in,
turned and, exercising all the care and caution she could
muster, began to gingerly make her way into the Watergate's
lobby and from there, to the elevator that granted her
access to that new, boudoir equipped apartment of hers. 

     "Am I ever glad that that's over!", Sam remarked as
the limousine they were riding in pulled away from the curb
and re-entered the hectic, damn near helter-skelter traffic
flow that is the hallmark of midday Washington.

     "Me too!", Grace readily concurred.

     "Tell me something, Grace!  Was I to hard on Tyra?"

     "For my money, Sam, you weren't hard enough on her!"

     Five months later, while the two of them were eating
breakfast in the country kitchen of the rustic cabin they
had recently purchased near the sleepy little township of
Front Royal Virginia, Grace, who had been perusing the paper
as she munched away on a margarine dunked corn muffin,
exclaimed, "Well, what'da you know!

     "Sam!  You're not going to believe this, but guess
who's getting married!"

     "Who?"

     "The Bitch!"

     "You're kidding!  Tyra's getting married?"

     "She sure the hell is!"

     "To who?"

     "Senator Crutchmire!"

     "Correct me if I wrong, but isn't Crutchmire one of
the of the guys...", Sam began.

     "...that we believe to be behind the conspiracy to
take out those Supreme Court Justices...", Grace, finishing
the sentence Sam had so quizzically begun.

     "And the answer to your question is: yes!  Our boss
believes him to be one of the chief movers and shakers who
have been trying to grab control of the reigns of
government!"

     "And our Tyra is going to marry him?"

     "That's what it say here in this article!"

     "When?"

     "Today!

     "As ludicrous as it sounds, the two of them are
getting married this afternoon at, of all places, the
National Cathedral!

     "Would you believe that it say here that the President
and the First Lady will be in attendance!  Plus, as crazy
and asinine as this is going to sound, some of the very same
Supreme Court Justices that the bastard had planned to have
snuffed out will be there as well!"

     Six weeks after that, Lara Bigalow called her two
special witness liaison officers into her office.

     "Grace.  Sam.", Lara began, as she started to
aimlessly rearrange a few of the little nicknacks that
graced her desk. "The two of you keep going on and on about
this dream vacation of yours and how you'd both like to
spend a week or two on a live-aboard, diving the numerous
wrecks of Truk Lagoon.  Correct?"

     With their curiosities peaked, both Sam and Grace
acknowledged the fact that - yes - they really would like to
dive the remnants of the Japanese merchant fleet that
littered the bottom of the famous lagoon.

     "Well...", Lara continued, "I think the two of you
should take that vacation now.  I think once we're finished
here, the two of you should go home; pack whatever you need
for an extended stay in Truk and catch a flight out to
Hawaii this evening."

     "What gives, Lara?", Grace felt compelled to ask.

     "Yeah, how come you're so eager to get the two of us
out of Washington?", Sam, putting in her own two cents
worth, energetically inquired.

     "Something happened very early this morning that leads
me to believe that it might prove prudent for the two of you
to be, shall we say, incommunicado for the near to immediate
further."

     "What - exactly - happened early this morning, Lara?",
Grace wasn't about to go anywhere unless she got to the
bottom of just what in the hell was going on.

     "Tyra Crutchmire pulled a Lorena Bobbitt on that new
husband of hers!

     "She didn't!", both Sam and Grace exclaimed in unison.

     "She most certainly did.", Lara was emphatic.

     "Though it's a fairly well kept secret, known to a
sparse few of the upper echelon of the inside the beltway
crowd, Senator Crutchmire has what one might call a Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality when it comes to women.  In
the beginning, he's a real sweetie pie.  You know, as in
he's a great big cuddle bear kind of guy, who wines and
dines the ladies with an almost irresistible boyish charm. 
Then, once he feels secure in his relationship with a woman,
he apparently becomes a real sadist."

     "Tyra must not have been aware of that little foible
in the Senator's personality when she consented to marrying
him and I didn't think it my place to inform her.  Or, maybe
she did know and thought that, knowing what she knew about
some about some of the Senator's more unscrupulous
activities, activities she, as Tamborn, had had a hand in
carrying out, she had some leverage and could therefore,
turn the bastard into her trained pet lapdog.

     "Whatever...

     "So anyhow, since this is all nothing more than
conjecture on my part,", Lara continued with her
explanation, "somewhere along the line, Nathan Crutchmire
must have reverted to form and tried some of his
sadomasochistic shit on our Tyra, only to find that while he
might be a sadist, Tyra wasn't about to turn the other
cheek, so to speak, and so become a masochist.

     "So,", Sam sarcastically interjected, "what it all
boils down to is: she had enough; found a knife and took up
amateur surgery as a hobby!"

     "That's about the size of it!", Lara concurred.  "Save
that Tyra did Lorena Bobbitt one better!  She didn't just
cut off her husband's pecker, she went whole hog!  Balls and
all!"

     Mentally cringing, once again Sam and Grace exclaimed
almost in unison, "She didn't!"

     "Oh but she did.  And then, having turned the Senator
into a modern day eunuch, she somehow scooped up his
genitalia and tossed into a blender and shredded the shit
out of it so that it could be sown back on."

     "You mean he didn't bleed to death?", a thoroughly
intrigued Grace felt compelled to ask.

     "No.  As crazy as this is going to sound, would you
believe that Tyra called for an ambulance before she
actually went and did the deed.  And then, as I understand
it, once she hacked of her husband manhood, she cauterized
the wound with a Bunsen Burner."

     "Now there's one vengeful bitch for you, if ever there
was one!", Sam declared.

     "What's she been charge with?  Attempted murder or
aggravated assault?", Grace, in an effort to get the
discussion back on track, tactfully inquired.

     "The Maryland States Attorney Office hasn't made, or
at least, hasn't announced their decision as yet.", Lara
replied.

     "As soon as they do, I'll make sure to let you guys
know.  Alright?"

     "Has she said anything about... you know, us?  And
about what we did to her?", it was Grace's turn to once
again ask a question.

     "To the best of my knowledge, no.  And, if Tyra's
smart, she won't.

     "If she does, she'll find herself in a looney bin so
fast it won't be funny.

     "The best thing she can do under the circumstances, is
to keep her trap shut and let her lawyer handle it.

     "Truth is: Tyra could get off scot-free."

     "She could?", Sam felt compelled to ask.  "How come?"

     "Well, though the press has yet to report this, you
know, because as far as they're concerned Crutchmire is one
of the anointed and therefore, can do no wrong, Tyra has
massive bruising covering over sixty percent of her body. 
She also has numerous, what look to be cigarette burns, on
her breast, inner thighs and pubic areas.  Her lip's cut and
the team of doctors who examined her, believe she may have a
serious concussion.

     "And then there's the tapes..."

     "Lara!", Grace aggressively cut in.  "Tapes!  What 
Tapes?

     "Are you saying that Crutchmire was foolish enough to
tape these sadomasochistic little whatever you want to call
'em of his?"

     "Those and more..."

     "Lara!", it was Sam's turn once again.  "Come on!  How
about belaying the coy, cutesy crap of yours and just tell
us what you're dying to tell us!"

     "Alright, Samantha.  I'll do just that."

     "It seems that Senator Crutchmire is one of the most
egotistical and arrogant SOBs that there ever was!

     "In other words, he didn't just tape those sadistic
sexual romps of his.  He taped everything!"

     "Lara!  Are you saying,", Grace quickly cut in, "that
that so and so actually taped those clandestine meetings of
his that dealt with the conspiracy to take out the more
conservative members of the Supreme Court?"

     "Yes."

     "And the Maryland State Police actually got their
hands on them?"

     "Yes!  And as soon as they realized what they had,
damn if they didn't called in the FBI."

     "Holy shit!", Sam exclaimed as Grace continued on to
say, "You mean to tell me that Tyra may have succeeded in
doing what we've been trying to do for the last five years
or so?"

     "Looks like it!", Lara Bigalow beamed as a great big
shit-eating grim spread across her face.

     "Shit's really going to hit the fan now!", Sam
emphatically stated.

     "It will if I have anything to do with it!, Lara was
quick to add. 

     Always the inquisitive one, Grace ask, "Lara!  How did
the State Police find the tapes in the first place?"

     Coyly, Lara responded, "Would you believe that a
former amazonian frog, who now happens to work right here at
Justice, just happened to mention it to a prosecutor friend
of hers in the Maryland States Attorney's Office, who, in
turn, told a State Police buddy of hers just where to look."

     Grace wasn't about to let her boss off the hook so
easily, "And just how did that former amazonian frog find
about Crutchmire's cache of tapes in the first place, Lara?"

     Feigning a sense of hurt, Lara, who was a first rate
actress in her own right, countered, "You surprise me,
Grace!  You, if anybody, should know that we girls like our
little secrets!"

     "Now, unless the two of you want me to find something
for you to do, I suggest you take my advice and get the hell
out of my office!

     "Oh!  And before I forget, when the two of you get to
Dulles, call me!  By then, my secretary should have
completed making all the arrangements for your stay in
Truk!"

     "And just what - Pray tell! - will you be doing while
we're off having the time of our lives, Lara?", Sam
teasingly inquired.

     By way of reply, Lara Bigalow said, "I was thinking
that since every good Washington scandal needs some well
placed leaks, you know, in order to keep the public interest
piqued and the story on the front burner, so to speak, I
might just stick around.  You know, just to ensure that it
doesn't end up getting buried.

     "Oh!  Bye the bye!  Do either of you know how I might
go about surreptitiously contacting Matt Drudge?"
 




***********************************************************

A few after thoughts:

     In most TG stories, an individual undergoes a sexual
reassignment due to one of two reasons.  The
tanssexuallization is either forced upon said individual for
some nefarious reason or another, or the person desires to
become a member of the opposite sex and so eagerly elects to
undergo the change.  While I know it isn't original, I
wanted to do something a little different in this story.  I
wanted to create a premise where the main character finds
that he must reluctantly agree to a sexual makeover.

     The second idea I wished to incorporate into a story
was a two-stage sexual reassignment process.

     I also set out to write a short story.

     Hey!  What can I say!  Two out of three ain't bad!


                    Deane Christopher

                    e-mail: DEANECHRIS@aol.com
---------------------------------------------
Copyright 1999, 2000 by Deanne Christopher
All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1999, 2000 by Deane Christopher. All rights reserved.

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