The Witness Protection Plan With a TG Twist by Deane Christop


Published on Oct 25, 1999




by Deane Christopher Copyrighted 1999

"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."


"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.



"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.




"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?"


"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.



"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.



"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.


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 <croak, croak> 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!"


"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!"



"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.


"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?"


"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. 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


Rate this story

Liked this story?

Nifty is entirely volunteer-run and relies on people like you to keep the site running. Please support the Nifty Archive and keep this content available to all!

Donate to The Nifty Archive

© 1992, 2024 Nifty Archive. All rights reserved

The Archive

About NiftyLinks❤️Donate