What is it with Oncologists? How can they be such optimists? I was already in stage 4 and the biopsies that had been done had confirmed the diagnosis.
I'd already come to accept my oncoming demise; I didn't have a whole lot of choice. It was, from my own research (thank you, Google!) already far too late for chemo or radiation treatments to make any difference in my prognosis yet he still offered them, telling me I needed to fight the tumors and keep up hope.
Yeah, hope. But... hope for what?
Yes, I'd been depressed for a long time. And, no, I'd long ago refused to take "happy pills" so that I'd be happy with a completely fucked-up world.
I saw the idea of holding out hope as so much bullshit. I'd had enough. There wasn't enough holding me to this world and, in some ways, I was almost hoping there wasn't a next world.
I'd managed, given the strained nature of my marriage, to keep the news from my wife. I managed to avoid showing the discomfort of the cancer to my family and co-workers. This was something I'd keep to myself until the last possible moment. Hopefully I'd expire before going into a hospice.
Of course I wasn't exactly sane, either, but then twenty-four years of a marriage where we'd never do more than placate each other can grind one down quickly enough. When I realized I didn't have enough time to worry about my wife filing a divorce (and it becoming final before my exit) I realized I had a lot more freedom to try things I'd come to feel cheated out of in my marriage.
Yes, I'm a real prick, all right? But I've never claimed to be perfect, either, or an example of morality. So I decided to step out on my wife. It wasn't like I had to worry about the consequences, right? I'd be dead before my wife could get the divorce decree finalized, so there was, for me, no financial impact. I didn't have to worry about STDs killing me, for instance, and, given the lack of sexual enthusiasm my wife showed, I wouldn't be vectoring it to her, would I?
So the threat of STDs finally didn't faze me. I'd be dead before I could ever worry about HIV.
My plan centered on going out for drives at night and visit hookers on the street.
Yes, I paid for sex. It wasn't like I could get it for free, you know. I'm 47 and nothing impressive to look at. I'd lost some weight with the cancer-- in fact, it was the weight loss that got my PCP to run some tests-- so I was a bit thinner than usual. At least my equipment still worked.
I first spent a week or so getting blow jobs from different hookers. I'd never had one before and, well, I was very surprised. Skill levels varied, too, and I gave the most talented I experienced repeat business... and extra money.
Of course I could mistake enthusiasm for talent but, really, attitude can be more flattering than just tongue and lip service.
Camille, the most talented at blow jobs, was who I asked for further advice from. It was strange that she'd be willing to talk to me, but, for a young woman in her mid 20s she seemed very kind. She helped guide me to Caryn who tutored me in having anal sex with her for the first time in my life. I also got into vaginal sex with them at other times and even some two-on-one blowjobs. Wow.
For penetrative sex I always wore a rubber, mostly to ensure that I didn't spread anything to them. For anal sex I did learn a lot about preparation to minimize discomfort and maximize pleasure for both partners. It turned out to be as enjoyable for Caryn as it was for me and I felt good knowing how .
In all of this there was some regret that I'd taken so long and wasted so much of my life up to this point. I got to feeling very close to Camille and Caryn.
Paying for sex does increase some expectations-- like seeing enthusiasm in one's partner-- and both of these women were good at helping me feel good about having sex with them. There were times when it was a threesome, too, and I got to play out some of my other fantasies of being with two women.
This kind of cut into my time with my wife, of course, but I was actually glad to be out of the house. I didn't need to hear my interests in sex labeled as "perverse".
Yes, I'm a real prick. My wife didn't know that I was going to be a very dead prick, of course, but then neither did Camille or Caryn. If my wife kept her mouth shut and let me go my own way she'd be happy enough with the money from my life insurance and the like.
There was some comfort in making sure that my departure wouldn't make a big mess for my family.
What first upset the applecart and exposed my extramarital activities was that I was having sex with rank amateurs rather than "regular" professionals. Both Camille and Caryn, I learned much later, were college students, and doing a little bit of business on the side for extra money.
I believe what happened to me was caused by a "turf" issue: Some people "in the business" don't like amateurs taking any of the business away in their own "territory", so while I was in my car on top of Camille stroking away she and I got nicked by some bullets during a drive-by shooting. Some pimp must really have been pissed off.
We got hauled into an ER in the back of an ambulance. The condom kind of confirmed what we had been doing so I think the crew in the rig (and the staff at the ER) must've found the situation more than mildly amusing. I did overhear some joking about a "dick almost in distress" which didn't raise my spirits or anything else.
The police interviews before and after the procedures to dig out the bullets were not a lot of fun, either. We'd never seen (or heard) our attackers having been distracted at the time.
I was laying on my hospital bed with one IV running plasma into me the next day when my wife arrived at the hospital. As I expected it didn't take long for her to start preaching at me about the sanctity of marriage and how I'd violated our marriage vows.
What a psychotic frigid bitch!
My comments that she should've had some interest in keeping me happy rather than merely not unhappy landed on deaf ears. What she believed to be right and proper somehow did not include sexual expressions of love.
She especially ignored my efforts to remind her that both enthusiasm and activity is part of an exchange for the whole exclusivity part of the marriage contract-- and that, in my opinion, she'd already broken our vows.
It didn't take long for her to announce that she'd take me to the cleaners in the divorce. Additionally she told me she intended to make sure I wouldn't be able to afford to see a hooker or get sex from anyone for the rest of my life.
Sounds controlling, doesn't it?
When she brought up the phrase "rest of your life", though, I almost laughed my ass off at her.
Why almost? Well, it hurt. My ass, that is.
It can be taken as read that she wasn't amused by this. At all.
So, when she finally cooled off enough to ask why I was laughing so hard, I told her.
At first I didn't think she believed that I wouldn't live long enough to suffer from her righteous wrath. Telling her that it was true shut her up.
She stared at me. I then mentioned the one doctor's office she'd never gone with me to (but she knew about from the checks I wrote for the co-pay) was an oncologist. Telling her I had cancer garnered me a look of utter disbelief.
Given that I'd had an arm punctured and that they'd had to dig a slug out of my butt, I was not particularly patient.
"Hon, I'll be dead before a divorce can be final. I mean it. Just leave me alone so I can die, stay out of my way and you get everything anyway. Life insurance, the pension, the 401K, the works. 100 percent."
She still didn't look happy, so certain I was lying to her, which is odd. I had never lied to her directly; the most I'd ever done was avoid answering direct questions... kind of like how she deflected my questions. I'd learned how to avoid telling a lie from her, after all: She'd taught me it was better to not answer a question than to lie.
Jennifer looked even more unhappy still once a woman walked in and, even though not in scrubs, asked me how I was doing. I looked over and recognized Caryn. "Caryn, Jennifer. Jennifer, Caryn. How's Camille doing?"
"She's hurting, though not as bad as you are. She'll be limping for a while, though."
My wife stared at Caryn. I could see "the stare" she'd been using on me for years aimed at my recently active sexual partner. Sure, she didn't know Caryn was one of my hookers but knew Camille's name already from the Police report and, with my question, connected her to both me and Camille.
Caryn's nod to Jennifer was wary and I could tell that she was expecting a blow up. I could see the steam pressure building up... and then we were all interrupted.
The resident physician walked in with a chart, flanked by a nurse with an IV bag. My wife and Caryn had to back off a bit with these people coming in and allowed them to get to me.
The nurse started to hang the IV bag as the doctor told me that I'd likely be sent home the next day after I'd had a course of antibiotics.
That's when Jennifer stuck her foot in it. "He tells me he has cancer, doctor."
He looked over at her, surprised but trying not to confirm or deny my medical status. I looked around. Caryn's face, though, went white.
"Doctor," my wife added, in an effort to dominate the discussion, "What can you tell me about it?" She tried to sound sweet but I knew she had an edge to it, expecting to discover a lie.
"Nothing, ma'am. I'm not allowed. HIPPA."
I smiled. "Actually, doctor, you can talk to both of them."
He nodded to me. "Ma'am, he's got advanced bone marrow cancer, hence his weight loss. He's also on some pain meds already and, from what I've seen here, I'd estimate that he should already be in a hospice."
I almost wished I could live long enough to savor the looks that ran across Jennifer's face. Irritation, anger and, most surprising to me, grief. I'd come to believe that she didn't care enough.
Caryn's face went straight to grief. I didn't realize that she saw me as anything more than a steady customer.
When I was left alone with these two women I saw something I expected to disbelieve for the rest of my days: Jennifer hugging Caryn as my "hooker" sobbed on my wife's shoulder.
Jennifer said to me, as she led Caryn out, "Well... I guess that changes everything, doesn't it?"
I nodded. "Like I said before, hon, I didn't change my beneficiary or will. You still get everything."
For the first time in my experience, Jennifer looked shocked. "I didn't want to lose you..."
"Wasn't my choice. As it is," I waved at Caryn, "I wanted to have something for me in my life. This wasn't done to hurt you... or her. I just wanted to experiment before it was all over. Life is too short to only look to the future, and I'd put off too much living."
Jennifer has never apologized to me before. I would never have expected or wanted her to, either, since it seemed like something she had to reserve to herself, just for her own self-respect. Hearing her say "I'm sorry, hon. I always thought we'd have time." before she left had me in tears.
There were changes happening under the surface. I didn't know about them at the time, nor did any of the hospital staff.
I'd been getting a saline IV to give the levaquin something to piggy-back on but, as I later learned, there was something else hidden in the saline.
Despite the antibiotic in my IV, there were indications of a gradual increase in my body temperature. I usually asked the PCTs what my BP and temps were since I've always been curious. Finding out that my temps were going up didn't faze me much since I wasn't worried about dying suddenly.
Because of the injury I had to sleep on my side that night. Sleeping on my side is no problem to me, that was my "normal" position, usually turned away from Jennifer.
My wife and Caryn stopped by again, together, before visiting hours had ended. They seemed a lot more comfortable with each other-- almost chummy.
I was surprised. This was weird. Given my past with Jennifer this was almost unnatural.
Getting a kiss from both of them was a bigger surprise; my wife didn't even flinch when Caryn dove in. Jennifer, though, tried to outdo her which caused a particular portion of my cardiovascular system to respond, indicating that it was in surprisingly good condition.
The next morning, though...
I was hot, sweaty, thirsty and irritable. My sheets were wet where I'd sweat into them and my stupid patient gown was sticking to me. I was so thirsty I went through two litres of water in a matter of minutes. I peed, too, and it was pretty nasty. That morning, even though feeling uncomfortable, I felt strong and steady enough to use the bathroom despite the dressing on my butt...
The dressing on my butt fell off as I wiped myself. The stench was pretty powerful despite my wastes being covered by the water.
My right arm seemed fine and I used it to pull myself up without a second thought... and the nurse who finally came in after I pushed the button arrived to see me looking over the tiniest bullet scar in my arm. My IV cath was also lying loose, though that wasn't much of a problem, there being no reason after the bag had emptied into me the night before.
The look she gave me-- she'd changed the wound dressings on both sites less than 12 hours before-- was telling. She couldn't explain it but was shocked yet not surprised. She went over my skin and told me that the bullet hole in my butt had closed up too. She cleared the tape holding the IV line against my skin and told me she'd be back with a doctor.
I stood, quite steady on my feet, and told her "I'm hot, I'm sticky... I don't have any holes in me now, I need to feel clean. Can I use the shower?"
She shook her head. "Not until we've gotten the doctor in the loop!"
I found out there were a bunch of us in the same shape on this med-surg floor; the resident was over-whelmed. Other doctors were called in but it seemed this wasn't an isolated situation.
Being told that I had to have a nurse observe me as I took a shower was not going to make me feel comfortable. It also turned out I wouldn't be one of the first since there were too few nurses to go around, too. So I waited. I also got breakfast... and told them I was still ravenous. I wasn't the only one, of course. Camille was also having the same kind of issue and I was sitting in her room waiting for my turn.
We didn't get to hear the screams but saw her room-mate come back from the big bathroom down the hall flanked by nurses and with a doctor. We didn't recognize her.
Camille's room-mate was a 75 year-old woman who'd had her gall bladder removed; seeing a 14 year old girl walk back in, eyes wide, was startling. She turned to Camille and told her "It's great! Look at me! I'm young again!"
This time it was our mouths hanging open.
I listened as she was moved to her bed and overheard them discuss the diagnostic tests they needed to do as they went over her vital signs.
Camille was next. I went to talk to Mary, her room-mate, while Cammy was away. I got told about how she'd shed a lot of weight and shrank into a teen-age body. She showed me a lot more skin than I would have expected as she pointed to the places where she used to have surgical scars and to a spot on her hip where an old tattoo had just peeled right off. She also made over how nice it was to have firm breasts again. This was almost too much for me and so I excused myself.
Well, I wasn't gonna walk straight out into the hall with an erection. I had to sit on Cammy's side of the curtain for several minutes so my erection could go down. Just for comfort I quickly made my way back to my room to await my turn.
It took a while and by the time my turn arrived there was enough preparation; I signed a waiver and allowed them to video record the process and run other tests.
I didn't gain weight, I didn't lose much, either. My teeth weren't anything to write home about and so the majority of them had to be spit out when they came loose; I was told to spit 'em into a cup, held out for me. These folks knew what to watch for. I didn't have much hair but my beard just washed away, along with my chest and pubic hair.
I came out of the shower a young teen-age boy. I was still ravenously hungry but I was comfortable for the first time in years. Returning to my hospital room I found Camille, Caryn and Jennifer waiting for me. I also smelled food and tore into the lunch that was waiting for me.
Camille was more recognizable than Mary had been since the age-shift didn't change her that much.
Lunch wasn't enough so I asked for more food. It seemed I was the most hungry person on the floor so there wasn't as much interest in dealing with me as an "exception".
That's when the shit hit the fan as the hospital got locked down. Our next visitors were wearing things like space suits. At least I was getting more to eat...
We were, all of us in the hospital, placed into isolation. Jennifer was moved into my room, since we were married. A lot of the staff got locked in, too, so the hallways were full of beds until we got evacuated.
We were evacuated by being placed into some kind of baggies and brought to buses which drove us out of town in the midst of a military convoy.
I found out that we were all brought to a bomb shelter and placed in isolation together there. This wasn't going to be fun. I still shared a room with Jennifer and Camille and Caryn volunteered to share with us. The other four bunks were occupied by lab and pharmacy techs.
The doctors and nurses brought with us helped maintain the level of isolation-- worrying about contagion, of course-- but nothing happened to the unchanged people in that week's exposure to the rest of us.
We got sent home after a week of isolation and got no kind of apology from the CDC or other governmental organizations. Apparently, of all of the people affected by this outbreak we were the only ones moved due to an overzealous commander of an adjacent Army base.
During that time, of course, we went through test after test and, for me, I learned that all signs of my cancer were gone. This was both a blessing and a curse to me, given my marital situation.
So it was looking like Jennifer could make me suffer through a divorce... but I learned that Caryn had seduced her the first night before my changeover. It was a bit of a shock to realize that my wife had gone along with having sex with a woman and -- more startling yet -- had liked it.
The fact that nobody was eager to have sex while there were cameras in every room kept something special about this new syndrome secret. In hindsight I wondered why no one was ordered to have sex with a changee to check to see is it was a sexually transmitted disease.
Given the prudes in charge of the United States, it wasn't really much of a probability, anyway.
Returning home was anticlimactic... until Jennifer and I fucked each other's brains out for the first time in months. We had, all told, a wonderful time.
The next morning, I was showering with Jennifer and she complained about the water being too hot, so, once I turned it down, she started to shed weight.
It looked like this syndrome was contagious after all.
I told her to calm down and that it looked like what happened to me, except that she was losing a lot of mass.
It came off in layers, like an onion, washing away in the cold water, her teeth being spit out like mine had been (and like mine, re-growing within a matter of minutes). From a weight of 280 pounds, Jennifer left the shower weighing in at 108. Her squeak of happiness at seeing herself as a teen-ager again was a pleasant sound to my ears. I also looked forward to not hearing her ask if an item of clothing made her look fat.
The phone's ringing greeted us as we returned from the bath and Jennifer reached it first, answered it and turned to me with big eyes. "That's very good, Caryn, but I'm surprised. I just went through the whole change thing too, and I feel wonderfully light and energetic... and horny. If you and Camille hurry over here I'll let you suck it out of me..."
Jennifer's body shivered with goose-bumps all over her arms just before hanging up the phone, smiling. She turned back me, smiled again, said "Wait here" and ran from the room. When she got back she and climbed on the bed, laid on her back and waved me over. "Now that I'm not so big that we can do this comfortably, I want you to put something in me for Caryn to suck back out..."
We stopped talking and started moaning in very short order. We didn't finish before Camille and Caryn showed up, showing me that Jennifer had run to unlock the door. Caryn dove for Jennifer's full pussy right away which, surprisingly to me, restored me to full erection. Camille got onto the bed on her hands and knees and looked over her shoulder to me and wiggled her butt.
An invitation like that was, well, both unmistakable and irresistible.
Returning to work had been an adventure for both of us, as had getting our driver license pictures re-taken. Both Camille and Caryn were able to return to school but spent a lot of time with us.
Perhaps the biggest surprise was that Jennifer made no move towards a divorce and none of my questions about her anger on finding me having sex outside of marriage got answered.
The best part of all was that it felt good to do things to please her-- as she did for me-- instead of merely trying to cut down on each other's anger.
Admittedly, Jennifer's comfort with Caryn and Camille did trigger some issues with her church friends but, by this time, Jennifer was happy being sexually active.
It was easy for me to learn that sex wasn't "bad"; when a boy masturbates to orgasm that kind of undoes a lot of the conditioning we were given. Reaching orgasm so easily had seemed to free Jennifer from the idea that having sex was something awful to be tolerated but not enjoyed.
Well, at least that was something she told me. Willingly, for a change.
No one was really prepared for the shit to hit the fan, of course. It all happened about six months after I'd come down with this syndrome that the powers that be called the "youth bug".
It was in late spring when, well, everything really changed. It was strange how much of an uproar it caused out in the big wide world but it seemed, well, a shock, but shouldn't have been impossible to deal with.
We didn't have much warning except for a change in Jennifer starting four days days before this sudden shift as her appetite went up, right through the roof. I didn't have the same reaction so we just went along with it.
On the particular morning in question I awoke feeling shaky when getting up to wash and... went through yet another change. This time I shed some weight and what was left was re-distributed.
It was obvious by now that a desire for a cold shower had a lot to do with the youth bug making changes but I'd figured there's be no real reason for another change. We'd settled into a "comfort zone" despite the heightened drives from living in teen-aged bodies.
So there was no expectation of any new shifts. Complacency was common.
I was wrong. The world was wrong. The youth bug did more than just give us younger bodies. We'd all gotten quite relaxed over the first six months of this "infection". So the youth bug had extra surprises for us.
Big surprises.
So I was in the shower and needed to turn down the water temperature to full cold to feel comfortable. The last time this had happened I'd lost weight and got younger, so there was some worry that I'd get older again and that this whole last six months of youth would have to be paid for.
Instead, I lost some more weight and what was left got more than a little bit rearranged. Once I was able to turn up the temperature of the shower I could look at myself and saw myself as a woman.
Not just any woman, strangely enough. Stepping out of the shower, I saw Jennifer's face and body looking back at me from the mirror. I was shocked to see her face on me even if I could see the woman I'd become still had my eye color.
My wife Jennifer was shocked on seeing me; I wasn't what she expected to see on stumbling into the bathroom. She was even more shaky than I'd been, especially with the weight she'd gained, and I helped her into the shower stall. The application of cold water allowed me to see her body change shape and grow a penis.
My penis. I knew what it looked like.
I barely recognized the teen-age boy that stood there once the change had run its course despite it being the body I'd just lost.
I didn't realize that my standing naked in front of the masculine body teeming with male hormones that Jennifer was now inhabiting was, well, an invitation.
Looking back I suspect that the shift-- and I've felt it too when I've switched from female form back to male-- includes a heavy dose of testosterone, a penis and an interest in putting it to use.
Jennifer's erection had popped up almost instantly and I had little choice as she took me right on the floor of the bathroom.
Well, I also learned what these nipples felt like, too, especially once they got hard.
It was my turn to be the woman this time. I understood more about mind-set and libido so, until I "got into the groove", I was slow to warm up, slow to heat up, slow to orgasm... but I caught on and made the jump past light-speed and came.
The shoe was on the other foot.
No, that's not right.
The cock was on the other person, now. Jennifer fucked our brains out. I have no idea why I was half expecting it to feel like an anal experience; it was, well, strange the way it felt, but it still felt good.
We showered again, together, and we fucked again.
It was strange but I enjoyed it and looked forward to more.
Jennifer had been happy enough with the changes we went through; she'd become bisexual with my two lovers that had started out as my amateur hookers. While I got my fill of sexual contact it was like my emotional commitments got both wider and deeper with all three even though, as we settled down, I'd seldom been with more than one woman at a time.
Jennifer, though, learned a lot about the pressures having a male body and ended up straying, herself. It took a lot for the three of us to keep her satisfied and I think she did finally realize how much I'd had to learn to curb my sexual appetite.
It was a good thing that the youth bug had spread and that many people had had to go through this kind of change; our workplaces had to adjust. This didn't happen overnight, of course.
Jennifer really did seem to like having a dick. She certainly liked to use it often enough.
My masculine programming did not completely disappear with this sex-change; I was still nauseated by the idea of providing fellatio. As male or female, though, I had never had a problem providing cunnilingus.
I learned about receiving cunnilingus, though.
Going down on Camille and Caryn was no problem. Getting pounded by Jennifer while doing so was, admittedly, a lot of fun.
I'd spent three months accepting that I'd be a woman for the rest of my life when poof...
We swapped body shapes again. This time I binged on food.
Getting my dick back was wonderful. This time it was me getting to use it.
All right, so I had a chance to compare, as had Jennifer.
Now I was surprised, given the multiple orgasms I could have as a woman, that Jennifer would prefer to have a dick.
Caryn told me that it had to do with her desire to be in control; Jennifer had, for the most part, a more masculine outlook than even I'd ever had as a man.
Camille, though, had been with me when I'd gone through the next change, getting my dick back. She got it from me in the shower after the change.
How was I to know? No one really understood the rules, yet.
So, three months later, Camille had my dick and I shrank to wear Camille's body.
Being a small black woman was a real change for me.
And, yeah, it was confusing at work. I suspect going to her engineering classes as a male was different for her.
The worst time I had, though, was on a business trip to some forgettable place in Texas. The cops weren't friendly, of course, being pulled over by some trooper for DWB. That, though, wasn't the kicker: getting kidnaped in the hotel parking lot, gang-raped and then knifed before being left for dead wasn't something I wanted to remember.
A little bit more background is needed to understand why I'm alive to tell this story. By all rights I should be dead.
At first the youth bug was something people didn't really fear; it seemed like a wonderful gift. The CDC and WHO got real uptight about this and warned about the infection path, not that many people gave a damn. That was before the first "switch".
After that first switch we learned a lot and the "youth bug" got a new name: "transgender syndrome".
So we're called tiggers these days. First, for "TGers", referring to the transgender switch and secondly for the amount of energy we tend to show (we get pretty bouncey).
What was learned in the first six months is that we are also notoriously hard to kill.
Whatever is being done by those nanotech robots is close to magic; I didn't feel much pain from the event and the body played dead. The gang rape? Well, these tiny fucking robots running through our bodies seem to make sure we enjoy sex. A lot. I suspect that, had the attempt to kill me not been tried, I might have developed a liking for gang bangs. As it was, the murder attempt must have cut back on how good my memory of the rape could be re-played.
Facts remained but the sensations were harder to recall.
Going to the police once I'd recovered enough from the injuries was more entertaining than when I'd been pulled over.
Crawling out of the drainage ditch where my body was dumped must have startled the first driver to see me. Given that I was fully healed from the ordeal didn't help convince that first person willing to stop and help me.
That fucking drainage ditch full of tepid water probably made my recovery a lot faster than it otherwise would have, too. I was out of it after the stabbing and so I woke up in a bath of warm water, surrounded by weeds.
No one will ever convince me that Southern Baptists are as morally upright as they claim given the caresses eyes and hands made. Being in the body of an attractive black female made it harder to get heard until I used the phrase "I'm a tigger. You don't want to fuck with me."
Up until that point the cops had laughed when I told them who I was... and almost got fucked some more by the cops before I made that announcement. It's amazing how quickly they all backed away from me and started treating me like a human being again.
If this is what it takes to get respect I didn't want to be a non tigger in this locality. This also brought it back to me that racism was still alive and kicking.
There is justice, you know. The cops were useless in trying to track down those who'd bagged and raped me, but the nano-bots took care of it.
When the timetable called for the next shift and I got my dick back, I knew that twelve rednecks down in Texas changed into identical small black women.
I called down to the cops and asked them about my rapists.
I have to admit there was a delicious irony in this episode. Two of them were cops for another town.
The real trouble came when they were put into a woman's prison.
Tiggers who don't get to fuck are apparently very dangerous.
If this fucking syndrome had a user's manual it might have saved a lot of lives when the prison blew up with the next body shift.
Jennifer was glad to be the man again, three more months down the pike. We'd discussed this with Caryn and Camille and they were comfortable if Jennifer and I would do most of the shifting back and forth.
Knowing that my wife liked to be the one with the dick was not always comforting. I'd gotten pretty comfortable being female so I didn't approach getting my dick back with as much glee as Jennifer did.
Having my brains fucked out at least once a day was actually comforting. Jennifer seemed to be able to take care of all three of us quite well...
Until our oldest son came to visit. Caryn left with him. He'd lost almost 8 years of apparent age after they'd fucked each other's brains out.
Caryn was certain that Chris' fiance Jane would see things the "right way" once they all got it together.
I was still a woman and clung to Camille. With only the three of us, threesomes were the rule, not the exception.
Jennifer brought home a co-worker, Tina. Tina was an older woman, fairly heavy, and, after looking us over, told my wife: "If I can look like that, yes, I'll join the harem."
Tina as a teen-ager, turned out to be thin and willowy. She also tasted good.
When I got my dick back, after giving it back to Jennifer, I got to fuck Tina, too.
I'll admit I'm not as aggressive when I'm a male as my wife is, but...
That first fuck after the switch is the one that selects who will get the dick at the next change. Hopefully, the woman is open to the change. I've read a lot of bad news about losing a male form.
Once that first fuck is out of the way, though, I can have sex with any woman without imperiling my masculinity. With Camille and Tina it keeps them from getting strung out but I can also pass this syndrome to other women.
I know that Jennifer has conferred this "gift" on those of her co-workers that asked for it. It's impossible to feel this is a burden given the rewards.
And I even got to pass it along to interested female co-workers. Actually, when I'm a woman I can still pass it to female co-workers, as long as they can cope with 69ing with me.
It took some time before we learned that fertility is still possible for us when Camille got her period after almost a year and a half as a woman.
Jennifer had the dick that impregnated Camille. We learned that the shape we wore didn't change any of our genes, so Camille's beautiful baby girl resembled Jennifer more than me.
It was a good thing that Camille had help from Tina (and whichever of either Jennifer or I was female) since the baby had quite an appetite.
We'd realized what happened with Camille early on so we knew to rotate the male phase through Tina, Jennifer and I. Once the baby was weaned we worked out a rota that would give us all a chance to avoid pregnancy.
Looking back, it's strange.
First, I'd been pretty wimpy as a man. It had taken the news of my impending death for me to throw cautions to the wind and concentrate on enjoying something before I could die. I'd done my damndest to prepare for my exit.
When I'd been stabbed "to death" I'd not fought much since I hadn't gotten much of a hold on the idea of staying alive. Dying had seemed easy to accept, given my prior expectation of an exit.
I'd not completely fought off the idea of dying for several years, making it easy to accept the loss of my masculinity when I switched to being a woman.
It had been so easy to cede a lot of authority to Jennifer when I was younger, of course, but the worm had turned... a little late, perhaps, and not all the way, but my eyes had been opened when I knew I was dying.
When you know you're going to die you stop having long term plans. All of a sudden a lot of procrastination can vanish like it never was.
Now it looks like we can have very long life-times.
It also looks like it's hard for us to die, too.
Yet grasping for a life wasn't easy for me. Jennifer, Tina and Camille had all been pretty comfortable with life even before the tigger bug and had adapted quite readily.
I guess I was a bit slow on the uptake.
The "normal" folks are afraid of us, now. Whoever had engineered these nanomarvels placed all kinds of little things to discourage having us killed.
It took a while but, after the first shift, a movement to toss tigger teachers out of schools with "normal" students gathered momentum and soon there was more than a little bit of segregation. Schools reserved for "normals" were very well cared for; tigger students were bused to the poorer schools.
There were a lot of events that triggered some despondency but none of my "wives" seemed sensitive to them. The had so many less problems living in the moment than I did that I envied them.
Then I learned to live again.
Some things I don't pay much attention to. I was in Camille's form again and had stayed that way without really noticing.
Getting pregnant was a surprise.
Giving birth to my son was a larger surprise. Tina had done the honors this time.
Now I know.
Now I could exit the darkness.
Now I could live.
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Author: Jack C Lipton Title: Exit Strategy Part: Universe: tigger Summary: Truth and Consequences Keywords: MF MF+ tg preg ir gb nc Revision: $Revision: 1.5 $ Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CupaSoup/www/ Mailing List: FAQ: RCS: $Id: exitStrategy.x,v 1.5 2005/08/25 23:36:20 jcl Exp $