Joseph woke up screaming for the second morning in a row. His sheets were drenched in sweat. His heart was pounding, and for a moment, he really thought he was going to be sick. He looked around wildly, but Gus was already up and gone.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God," he moaned, as he frantically reached between his legs, desperate for confirmation that it had all been a terrible dream.

When he felt his genitals inside the tuck safely snugged up against his body, he flopped back down on the bed in relief, riding out the panic attack, trying to stop hyperventilating.

God, it had seemed so real.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You just gonna lie there all morning? Or do you want to get out of this place sometime today?"

Officer Talbot stood outside the cell, hand on his hip, looking impatient.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I'm coming. Is my wife here?"

"I don't know, perv. And I don't care. My job's just to get you over to the infirmary for your medical clearance. So let's get a move on."

"I have to see the doctor before I can leave?"

Talbot rolled his eyes. "What did I just say?"

"Okay. I just didn't know."

"Well, now you do. So make it snappy. I got a schedule to keep."

Joseph scrambled out of bed and quickly slipped into a skirt and blouse. He combed his hair and picked up a makeup brush, simply out of habit.

"Oh, don't even think about it, Homecoming Queen," Talbot snapped. "I'm not waiting around while you make yourself beautiful."

Joseph dropped the brush, as if he'd been scalded. What the hell was he thinking? Of course, he wasn't going to wear makeup when he'd be seeing Madeleine today. It scared him that his morning beauty ritual had become so deeply ingrained that he felt incomplete without it.

Get a grip , he told himself. You're almost out of here. And then you can work on forgetting all the shit that Gus has drilled into your head.

Joseph slipped into his heels and followed Talbot to the infirmary. Once there, the guard signed him over to the officer at the desk, and Joseph took a seat to wait for the doctor. He crossed his fingers that someone other than Dr. Smith would be on duty. Whenever he thought of his last visit with her, he still blushed with shame. And it was bound to be even more embarrassing now that he was dressing as a woman.

Of course with Joseph's luck, Dr. Smith was the one who appeared in the doorway. If she felt any surprise at seeing him in a skirt, she didn't show it.

"Joanne," she said. "You can come on back now."

He sighed softly to himself and got up to follow her to the exam area. She ushered him into a cubicle and pulled the curtain closed behind them.

"I'll need you to get undressed and put on the gown." She gestured to a paper robe laid out on the exam table. "And this time, I will need you to disrobe completely. No arguments about it. I need to give you a complete physical for my report, and that includes examining your genitalia."

"Okay," he said.

Now that Gus had annulled their marriage, there was no reason not to take off the tuck. Except, of course, that he just wasn't used to going without it anymore.

Dr. Smith seemed a little taken aback by his easy compliance after he'd resisted so stubbornly before. But she quickly regained her composure. "Well, good then," she said. "I appreciate the cooperation. Let me give you some privacy. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She swished through the curtain and disappeared. Joseph undressed, hesitating a little, out of habit, before working the tuck down his legs and taking it off. He quickly pulled on the gown in case anyone walked in on him the way they had the last time. He got up on the table to wait and tried not to think about how weird it felt to have his genitals just hanging out there.

He was relieved when Dr. Smith soon returned. The less time he spent alone with his worries and self-doubt the better.

"Good," the doctor said when she saw he was ready. "Let's get started."

She put him through the same humiliating ordeal as the last time--with the stirrups and the breast exam and the speculum in his pussy. Only this time Joseph's embarrassment was compounded by an examination of his genitals that seemed excessively thorough. His face turned hot as she lifted and handled and probed his dick and balls for what felt like forever.

Like most men, Joseph always had the terrible fear that he would react to having his genitals touched during a physical exam and throw a boner right in the doctor's face. But today, there was nothing, not a hint of response. The delicate play of the doctor's small hands on his privates had no power to arouse him. He remembered, instead, Carlos' square, capable hands, how they had ranged over his body, learning him, possessing him. He knew in that instant that he had been spoiled for women forever. There would be no going back now.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be any damage done," she finally pronounced, as she let his penis go and released his ankles from the stirrups. "But keeping your genitals constrained like that isn't something I'd advise for the long term."

"I understand. I'm not planning to keep doing it after I get out of here."

She looked pleased. "Good. I'm glad to hear that you're exploring other options. I've done a little research too, and I'd like to share what I've found with you. Why don't you go ahead and get dressed, and then come to my office?"

Joseph frowned, rather confused. But there was no point in getting on the wrong side of the prison administration at this late juncture.

"Sure, okay," he said. "Whatever you say."

"Good," she said. "Just stop by when you're finished here. My office is right down the hall."

He nodded and waited for her to leave. Then he got up from the table, took off the paper robe and dressed again. It was only as he was straightening his skirt and sliding into his heels that he realized he'd just automatically put the tuck back on. Of course, it wasn't necessary, not any longer. Gus was making all his unreasonable demands of some other poor unfortunate now. But habit was habit. And somehow going without it left Joseph feeling naked.

The realization jarred him. How was he ever going to have a normal life at this rate?

He gritted his teeth, pushed that thought aside, and went down the hall to the doctor's office. Inside, she was seated at her desk, filling out a form, probably Joseph's release papers. She looked up when she sensed a presence and smiled at him.

"Please. Come in, Joanne." She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk.

Joseph took a seat.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

He tried to sneak a peak at the paper she had in front of her, but he wasn't any good at reading upside down.

"Oh, yes, everything is fine, Joanne," the doctor assured him. "You're in perfect health. Your vagina is much improved. I'm happy to see you've been using the lubricant I gave you and doing the exercises I recommended."

Joseph blushed violently. Had she missed the class on bedside manner in medical school or what?

He fought down his irritation and asked simply, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, Joanne, I've been doing a lot of thinking about your situation lately."

"My situation?" Joseph said, uneasily.

She nodded. "And I have to tell you that it just breaks my heart." She sighed sadly. "But the good news is that medical science can do wonders these days. It can put things right that nature got wrong. Help people like you."

"People like me?"

"You know. Men who feel they're really women trapped in the wrong body."

"Oh," Joseph said, coloring deeply again.

Once more, the doctor seemed not to notice his rather obvious embarrassment. She leaned in, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"When I look at you, Joanne, I see a beautiful woman just waiting to be set free. I mean, you already carry yourself like a woman. You have such a feminine grace about you. Such delicacy. On the inside, you already are a woman. So now, the outside just needs to catch up."

Joseph sat there, his hands balled into fists, horrified.

"Actually, you're more feminine than a lot of women I know." The doctor smiled. "So I just want to encourage you to pursue your dream, Joanne. Trying to hide your male genitalia is no way to live. Not when there are other alternatives. Alternatives that would allow you to become a real woman. To experience female sexual pleasure. Even to become a wife, not just in practice, but under the law, if that's what you want."

Joseph didn't know how he was supposed to respond. Did everyone in this prison think he should get his dick cut off?

"I've taken the liberty of researching hospitals where they perform gender reassignment surgery." She handed him a folded piece of paper. "Here's a list of the ones in our area."

Joseph felt like he was going to be sick.

"I don't--"

Dr. Smith held up her hand. "There's no need to thank me. I'm happy to help. I can only imagine how difficult it is to go through life in a male body when you're so clearly not a man in spirit. I hope you'll be able to realize your dream of womanhood very soon. And I wish you all the best, Joanne. I really do."

"Uh--" His head was spinning. "Yeah," he muttered.

There was no way he was going to thank her, not for this, not even to protect his fragile right to freedom.

She smiled pleasantly and held out her hand. He shook it, although it would have given him more satisfaction to slap her.

"Take care, Joanne."

He nodded and fled. He hurried along the corridors as fast as he could go, trying to put some distance between himself and the doctor's monstrous suggestion. But it pounded inside his skull anyway. You're more feminine than a lot of women I know. Then there were Gus' words from the day before. Get yourself a pretty pink pussy to go with those gorgeous tits I gave you. Joseph's head throbbed, and his stomach lurched.

God, why did they have to keep torturing him?

When he got back to his cell, he found Talbot waiting for him. For once, he was glad the officer hated his guts. He wouldn't notice or care if Joseph seemed distraught. He certainly wouldn't ask any questions.

"Hey, Miss America," Talbot said. "Got something for you."

He tossed Joseph a brown paper parcel, and Joseph's heart started to pound. It looked just like the package he'd received from the warden. Joseph had the sudden, terrible fear that he would be summoned for one last command performance.

"What is this?" he asked, with trepidation, holding the package as gingerly as if it were a bomb.

"Your street clothes, dipshit." Talbot rolled his eyes. "Or were you planning to wear your pretty dress when your family comes to pick you up."

"No. I-- This is good. Thanks."

Talbot scowled. "It's standard procedure, perv. Not some special favor. So don't thank me. Better get your ass in gear. You're due to be processed out in twenty minutes. Unless, of course, you like it here so much you want to stay a little longer--"

Joseph shook his head wildly. "No! No. I'll be dressed. I want to go."

Talbot laughed as he walked away. "I'm sure you do."

Joseph sank down onto the edge of his bunk and opened the package. Inside he found his old clothes--a pair of khaki chinos, a blue oxford shirt, white cotton undershirt and briefs, leather belt, socks, loafers--lying in the brown paper like a time capsule, harking back to his life before prison. It was amazing how much a person's perceptions could alter in nine months. Joseph had worn clothes like this all his life--the preppy uniform of upper class white men everywhere. But now it all seemed so alien, so wrong.

He sighed heavily and tried to push away these unwelcome thoughts. After all, he had learned that a person could get used to almost anything if he really had to. He would just have to learn to like these clothes again.

He toed off his heels, stripped off his skirt and blouse, undid his garters, and slid his stockings and panties down his legs. He reached beneath his mattress and groped for the little prize he had hidden there, an elastic bandage he'd faked a sprained ankle to acquire. He unsnapped his bra and took it off, even though it felt unnatural to go without it. He'd worn a bra every day he'd been married to Gus. He'd even developed an appreciation for the luxurious fabrics and the pretty trimmings. But now-- Well, lingerie was an artifact of his prison experience, something he had to leave behind if he wanted to readjust to life on the outside.

Joseph took the bandage and bound his chest tightly, making it as flat as possible. It left his sensitive breasts aching, but he had no other choice. He'd spent countless hours in the prison library looking for some freakish ailment that involved extreme swelling in the chest, but he'd found nothing that would explain his condition. The only other option was to try to hide his breasts. The good news was that he rather doubted Madeleine would want to be intimate with him, so there was little danger of discovery.

Finally, this left only the tuck to deal with, the last stumbling block on his way to freedom. Joseph sat there, trying to work up the courage to take it off for good. But the same unease he'd felt when he'd undressed for the medical exam quickly returned. After nine long months, wearing the tuck had become more than just something he did to mollify his husband. It had become the natural order of things. Going without it felt like breaking every taboo known to mankind.

But Talbot was due back soon, and Joseph needed to be dressed when he returned. He took a deep breath, let it out, and skimmed the tuck down his legs. He took his dick in his hand and looked at it, really stared, for the first time in his life. Why had he never noticed before what an odd thing a penis was? It seemed almost foreign now, as if it didn't actually belong to his body.

That thought filled him with alarm. What kind of man regarded his own dick as a freakish, alien appendage?

He shook his head to clear away the thoughts and quickly dressed. It felt supremely odd to pull on pants again. He hadn't worn anything but a skirt in months. As he zipped his chinos and buttoned his cotton shirt, it amazed him that he'd never before realized how plain men's clothes were, how ugly. He didn't know how anyone was supposed to feel attractive in an outfit like this.

It didn't help matters that his old clothes really didn't fit him anymore. The shirt was cut to emphasize the broadness of his shoulders, but on his softer body, it just made him look oddly proportioned. The trousers were too large for his dainty waist, but too tight for his womanly hips and rounded buttocks. They made him look big-butted, rather than curvaceous, which he hotly resented. Nobody watched his figure more carefully than Joseph did.

He tried to adjust to the different cut of the clothes, tried to tell himself that he looked fine. But the truth was that he felt totally out of place in his body now, the curves and swells in all the wrong places. He had grown used to being flat and sleek between his legs, and it struck him as almost obscene to have his cock and balls dangling there, making a soft bulge behind his zipper, his genitals so obviously on display.

At the same time, the flatness of his chest grieved him more than he ever could have imagined. If he stopped taking the hormones, this was what he would look like all the time. The idea made him want to cry. Joseph had come to accept his breasts as part of who he was. They gave him a sense of wholeness. He realized that keeping them when he got out of prison would exile him to the fringes of society. But getting rid of them would make him feel mutilated, like a cancer patient forced to undergo a mastectomy.

He had no idea how he was supposed to resolve this conflict.

Joseph let out a heavy sigh. He couldn't dwell on it now. He had to face Madeleine. He had to put on the performance of his life, to pretend like none of this harrowing prison ordeal had ever happened. He had to convince her that he was still the man she had once loved. Because if she believed it, then maybe Joseph would someday believe it too.

He practiced smiling in the mirror, putting on the face he would greet Madeleine with, trying to look casually glad. But somehow, there was a desperation in his eyes that he just couldn't tamp down. He kept getting distracted by how different he looked in his man costume. He missed the silky touch of long hair against his shoulders, the way it framed his face and softened his features. Of course, he wasn't wearing makeup, either. And the combination of bare skin and short hair gave his face a harsh quality that he found unnerving and unfamiliar.

But this was his life now. He was Joseph Carlton again, free person, his own man. He blinked at himself in the mirror. And sighed.

It was funny how much it depressed him.

Joseph was silent the whole way to the administrative wing where he would be processed out, marching docilely in front of Talbot, his heart pounding a little harder with every step. It surprised him that he could feel an aching sense of regret alongside the urgent, burning desire for freedom. Perhaps if he weren't leaving Carlos behind, he would feel nothing but anticipation and relief. But he was leaving him, for good. He was forbidden to visit or even to write--a clean break, as Carlos had put it. It was impossible not to mourn the loss.

Joseph balled his hands into fists as he trudged along, trying to ignore the creep-crawly feeling it gave him with Talbot glaring at his back. He tried very hard not to think about Carlos, but he just couldn't help it. A futile longing welled up in him. It was impossible to wrap his mind around the brutal fact that he would never again touch Carlos, kiss him, taste him, savor the feeling of Carlos inside him.

That last thought brought the warmth of a blush to his cheeks, but it was as much from happiness as embarrassment. He'd already admitted to himself that he'd never again be content in a relationship with a woman. If he'd never had sex with a man, never been penetrated, he would never have known any different. He would have gone on with women as he always had. But these things had happened to him. There was no pretending otherwise.

Looking back now, he could see that the pledge he'd made to Madeleine all those months ago could not have been more painfully naïve. You could never promise anyone not to be changed by your experience. After everything that had happened to him in prison, after being Gus' wife and Carlos' lover, Joseph could no more have returned to his old life the same person than he could have defied the laws of physics.

In fact, he found himself imagining what it would be like if he were going home with Carlos rather than Madeleine. It was so easy to picture the life they would make together, supporting each other as they readjusted to the outside world, sharing their feelings and fears, sharing a bed, sharing their bodies. If only, if only pounded vainly in the back of Joseph's head, a bass line of regret.

Then there were images of his life, as he imagined it, with Madeleine. He could see them sitting at the breakfast table together, over the matching dishes and one of her perfectly turned omelets, a modern-day Normal Rockwell scene, except not. Not. Because spoiling this pretty picture would be an endless, choking silence. The awkwardness of veritable strangers trying to be polite. Joseph would make some inane compliment about her cooking just to have something, anything to say. Madeleine wouldn't quite know where to look. Certainly not at him.

There had always been a space between them. Before, Joseph had mistakenly thought it was the usual degree of difference between men and women. But now, he could see it was something else entirely, something more serious, a fatal flaw.

"All right," Talbot said. "In here." He pointed to a door that led into the main processing area.

Joseph stepped inside, a little uneasily. He had not been to this part of the prison since the day he'd first arrived, and it brought back a flood of memories, of a different Joseph Carlton. He felt both compassion and contempt for that clueless idiot who had thought he would simply mark time for nine months and then get on with his life. He was at least wiser for his experience, if not richer.

Guards pointed him to a line. That was one thing about prison. There were always lines--even, it appeared, on the way out. There were papers too, large piles of them, as if it were actually red tape holding the whole place together rather than bricks and mortar. When it was finally Joseph's turn, a fat, indolent guard explained the procedures in a monotone and pointed out the places on the forms to initial and where he actually needed to sign.

"Wait over there for someone to come get you." He flicked his fingers toward a holding area, as if actually lifting his arm and pointing would have exhausted him completely.

Joseph went where he had been told. Prison had taught him the lesson of obedience, if nothing else. He milled around with the other cons waiting to be released. He kept his eyes lowered to avoid attracting comments, but none of them seemed to recognize him in his man disguise.

After a while, he started to shift his weight anxiously from foot to foot and then to outright fidget. It had never occurred to him that Madeleine might not show. He had never stopped to think what he might do in that case. But now, he was really starting to worry. What if she didn't come? Of course, he realized he could never have a life with her again. She had moved on, and he-- Well, he had moved on too, in his own way.

But that didn't mean he didn't need her. On the outside, no one told you where to stand, what to do, when to eat, when you could take a shit, how to live. It might only have been a matter of months, but he had lost the knack for figuring out those things for himself. He was depending on Madeleine, not as a wife, but as a halfway house back to reality.

As he twisted around and checked the room, he noticed a sleek dark head bent over the table where inmates got their release forms. Joseph's heart skipped beats. But it couldn't be. He knew it couldn't. He watched as the man signed his paperwork, stood up, and turned around. And then Joseph's heart threatened to stop altogether. Because it was.

The fat beaurocrat pointed Carlos to the same place he'd sent Joseph. Carlos smiled, a little sheepishly, and joined him.

"But-- What-- How--" Joseph stuttered.

"I only found out late last night," Carlos said, apologetically. "Or I would have told you."

"What happened?"

"They finally filed their papers and made their motions. Or whatever the hell they had to do to get me out of here. I mean, it's only been six months since that bastard confessed."

"What bastard? Confessed. You mean to--"

"I didn't kill nobody, querido. You never asked me. Never acted like you thought I was that kind of person-- But I just wanted you to know--"

It had never even occurred to Joseph to ask Carlos why he was in prison. Everything he'd ever needed to know about him had been evident in his warm brown eyes, his kind touch, his gentle voice.

"Even after the man came forward and said he done it, they didn't want to let me out," Carlos said. "Hell, I probably would have been here for life, like they sentenced me, except that old white woman that claimed she saw me shoot that kid didn't have enough sense to keep her mouth shut. Some reporter asked her what she thought about somebody else confessing to the killing, and she said what did they expect? All us Spics look alike to her." Carlos snorted, humorlessly. "It was spread all over the papers. People got fired up about it and then things started to happen. And last night, they told me-- You know, that I was finally getting out."

Joseph couldn't find his voice, couldn't respond. His throat hurt, and it felt like someone's fist was wrapped around his heart, squeezing hard. Even with everything that had happened to him in prison, there had always been a thought in the back of his head that he had deserved it in some measure. After all, he was guilty. He had broken the law. But Carlos-- God. Carlos.

He thought of every time they'd been together in the shower and he'd found fresh bruises marring Carlos' beautiful cafe au lait skin, the occasional black eye, the times when Carlos would flinch away from his touch when Joseph went to shave him, sore from whatever god-awful thing Ray had done to him the night before. And the whole time this torture fest was going on--the whole time--Carlos had been innocent. Innocent.

"Oh, Carlos. Carlos." He put his hand on Carlos' head and stroked his hair, the only comfort he could offer.

Carlos lowered his gaze, bravely, so Joseph wouldn't have to see the pain in his eyes.

"It's okay, querido," he said, softly.

"No, it's not," Joseph told him. "It's not okay that you were in here all this time when you didn't do anything. That you were--" He couldn't bring himself to say raped, even though if was true, for Carlos, for himself. "That all this happened-- When you didn't deserve any of it--"

Carlos clutched Joseph's arm, his grip steely. "You didn't deserve it either, querido. I don't want you thinking you did."

"But I actually committed my crime."

"That doesn't mean you had this coming, that you deserved Gus. 'Cause you didn't. Nobody ever could."

Joseph looked down at the floor and nodded. Maybe someday he would believe it.

"At least I'm out now," Carlos said.

Joseph nodded. "Yeah. I'm so glad. God." He squeezed Carlos' shoulder and wished it could be more. But there were too many eyes, as usual.

Carlos touched Joseph's face, lightly, briefly. "I'm so glad I got to know you, Joseph. I won't ever forget you."

Joseph stared at him. "What are you-- No, Carlos. Come on. We can still--"

"No. We can't." Carlos' voice was firm. "And I think-- I think you're wife is here."

Joseph glanced over his shoulder. Madeleine was standing just inside the doorway, craning her neck, looking for him, taking in the surroundings with an expression of disbelief and disgust. Joseph felt his stomach clench when he saw she wasn't alone.

"Who is that, querido?" Carlos asked.

"Gillespie. My old boss. The bastard who's fucking her."

"Oh. Jesus. I'm so sorry, Joseph."

"No. I mean, I knew how it was going to be. She made it clear."

"That doesn't mean you have to like it."

He shook his head. "It's not like that anymore. With me and her. I don't feel-- Carlos, you have to know-- You're all I--"

"No. Don't. Please." Carlos took a step back from him.

"But why?" Joseph asked. "We're both free now. We could--"

"No. Stop it. I don't want--" He took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "You've got a chance. Don't you see that? To put all this--" He waved his hand. "This shit behind you. And I care about you too much to get in the way."

"But I--"

"No. I mean it, Joseph. Go back to your wife. Make it work out if you can. Be good to yourself. You deserve that." He glanced over Joseph's shoulder, toward Madeleine. "Look, she sees you now. She's trying to get your attention. You'd better go."

"Carlos--"

"Goodbye, Joseph."

Carlos turned and slipped away before Joseph could say anything, before he could reach out for him. Joseph quickly lost sight of him in the crowd. He took a deep breath and let it out. There was only one thing left to do.

He plastered a false smile on his face and went to greet his wife. She wore a high-collared dress, and her hair was pulled back severely from her face. She looked more like a schoolmarm than he remembered.

"Madeleine," he said, as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

She stiffened at his touch. "Joseph."

"Carlton," Gillespie said.

Joseph had to push down a wave of hatred. "I wasn't expecting to see you," he said, the understatement of the millennium.

"You really didn't expect me to come to this-- place by myself, did you?" Madeleine asked, sharply.

Her eyes glittered. She was angry with him. Already. They hadn't even had a conversation yet. Joseph could feel the pressure building in his temples. He was on his way to one hell of a headache.

"No. Of course not," he said. "And I appreciate that you came. Really. I know it's not pleasant for you to be here. So why don't we go? I'll see if I can find whoever is supposed to walk me out."

Madeleine regarded him with a prim, displeased expression.

Gillespie cleared his throat. "Actually, Carlton, there's something we need to discuss first."

Joseph glared at him. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait--"

"It can't," Gillespie said. "Let's just step over here where we can speak more privately."

Joseph watched with barely suppressed rage as Gillespie took Madeleine proprietarily by the elbow and steered her over to a quiet corner of the room. He followed reluctantly. Maybe he wouldn't have stayed married to Madeleine even if Gillespie weren't in the picture, but he still didn't appreciate having his nose rubbed in the fact that he was a cuckolded husband.

"Okay," he said, impatiently. "So what is it?"

Madeleine stared at him, and Joseph was taken aback. She was looking at him with pure disgust, unmitigated loathing.

"How could you?" she asked, tears trembling in her eyes, her body shaking.

"What?" he asked, in genuine surprise.

"Oh, Carlton, don't. Please," Gillespie said. "Don't compound your-- conduct with lies."

"I don't know what the hell you mean," Joseph said, indignantly.

"Did you enjoy it, Joseph? Huh? Was it better than having sex with me?" she asked, her voice rising, half hysterically.

He froze, his mouth open, unable to form words for several long seconds. All he could do was glare accusingly at Gillespie.

When the power of speech did return, he said to Madeleine, "He's put ideas in your head."

"Wrong!" she said. "You're always trying to blame someone else for what you do wrong, Joseph. This isn't about Larry. He's only trying to look out for me. To make sure I don't get taken advantage of by a--"

"What?" Joseph asked, angrily.

She pressed her lips together in an ugly expression. "Faggot."

Joseph recoiled as if he'd actually been struck, and his heart started to race. But what could she know? How? It just wasn't possible.

"Whatever you think, there's an explanation," he said, in his calmest voice. "Let's just go home and talk about it--"

"An explanation?" She stared at him with outraged astonishment. "What kind of explanation is there for this?"

She pulled a stack of papers out of her purse and thrust them at him, pages that had been printed off the Internet, video screen grabs. Joseph was horrified to see they were all of him.

"Well, Joseph?" Madeleine said, tears streaking down her face. "You're so big on talking things out. What exactly do you have to say about this?"

Despite everything he had survived in prison, this was the worst moment of his life, to be standing there, holding in his hands photographic evidence of his worst shame--in front of Madeleine, who should never have had to know about such things, in front of Gillespie, who should never be given the satisfaction.

It was like a photo essay of his time in prison. There were pictures of everything. The cavity search that first day, Joseph naked, bent over in a humiliating pose, holding his cheeks apart, his expression strained and humiliated, the officer's face bored as he probed Joseph's anus, the other newly arrived inmates snickering in the background. That first attack in the shower, Joseph sucking Smitty off, his nose practically buried in the man's pubic hair as he deep-throated him, Haynes and the tattooed Nazi staring on, stroking their erect cocks, obviously waiting their turn. Pictures of Joseph sitting beside Gus at breakfast that first morning after he'd been deflowered, his face garish in the makeup he hadn't yet learned to apply properly.

Of course, there were a million images of Gus fucking him, Joseph's face screwed up in an imitation of orgasmic delight in each one. There was a whole gallery of shower scenes, with close-ups of his breasts, Joseph soaping them, rinsing them, rubbing lotion into them, every shot making it seem as if Joseph were caressing himself lasciviously. There were pictures of him in skirts, high heels, bras and panties, garters, stockings, see-through blouses, drag of every sort, all of it slutty. They had even captured shots from his medical checkup, the doctor examining his breasts, the speculum in his wide-splayed pussy. Most painfully, there were images of him and Carlos, shaving each other, touching, kissing, Carlos blowing him, Carlos fucking him, Joseph's face contorted in genuine ecstasy.

Joseph's breathing grew more and more shallow and panicked as he leafed through the pages, but when he noticed the URL along the bottom edge of the paper, he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. The pictures all came from a site called "PrisonWhore.com."

"Everyone's seen it. All the people we know." Madeleine wrung her hands. "They followed it like some kind of freak soap opera. Waiting to see what perverted thing you'd do next."

"You don't know what it's like in here," Joseph said. "You don't know what happens to people. What you have to do just to survive."

She snatched the pages back and held up a shot of Joseph riding Gus' dick, his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his mouth open as if calling out in climax.

"Yeah, you sure look like you're suffering," she said, with a sneer.

Joseph's face turned hot. "I had to do that!" he insisted. "He made me. I was forced."

"Like hell you were," she said. "How long, Joseph? Were you sneaking around with men while we were married? All those nights you said you were working late, is this what you were doing? Getting fucked by some sleazy faggot?"

He stared at her, too stunned by the accusation to deny it.

"Well, was it?" she shouted.

"No." He flushed a deeper shade of red. "God. Of course not. Jesus, Madeleine. I was--" He lowered his voice. "Raped in here. I don't expect you to still feel the same way about me, but you could at least show some compassion."

"Don't you dare say rape. Don't you dare use that word. That's for women who get attacked by men. Not for sissies with boob implants who get off on taking it up the ass."

Joseph shrank back. He'd never heard her talk like that. Never imagined she would, to him, or anyone. The shock of it kept him from telling her that they weren't breast implants, that it hadn't been his choice, but a terrible trick Gus had played on him, changing him, without his knowledge or permission.

"What did you do?" she asked, scornfully. "Bind them?"

"Please, Madeleine."

"You shouldn't be so bashful, Joseph. You know what you always used to say to me. If you've got a nice figure, you should show it off."

Her face was red. Her jaw was set. She seemed to be teetering on the brink of an all-out meltdown.

He took a step back. "I should have asked you to come. I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" she screamed. "I want to see them!"

Before he could dodge, she lunged at him, her fingers clawing, ripping his shirt open. Her fury made her strong. Joseph couldn't fight her off. Of course, Gillespie was no help. There were many other people in the room, but they were all caught up in their own personal dramas. The guards, of course, were busy with their useless forms. Nobody noticed what Madeleine was doing. Nobody came to pull her off him.

She found the end of the bandage and grabbed it, her grip like steel. She yanked with all her strength. Joseph whirled around crazily, like a top, until the material pulled free, and he nearly fell. He was mortified to feel his exposed breasts bouncing and swaying, the cool draft in the room causing his nipples to harden.

Madeleine stared at his chest in horror. "Oh, God. I think I'm going to be sick."

Gillespie put his arm around her. "Darling."

"I'm sorry. So sorry, Larry," she whispered to him. "I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to--"

He hugged her, and she pressed her face against his shoulder.

"My poor darling," he said. "This has all been too much for you. Would you like to go wait in the car while I finish up here?"

She nodded, and he kissed the top of her head.

"You go on then. I'll be right there."

"Don't take too long," she said, her voice as small as a child's. "Please."

He shook his head. "No, no, I won't. I promise."

Madeleine nodded, seemingly reassured by this. She hurried for the exit, without another glance at Joseph.

Gillespie watched her retreating figure. When she was gone, he dropped his calm, serious demeanor and smiled mockingly at Joseph.

"So, Carlton, I see you've learned a thing or two about consequences," he said, with a quirk of his lips.

Joseph turned red with shame and wrapped his arms around his chest to give himself some measure of protection from the man's intrusive gaze.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. It's nothing I haven't seen before," Gillespie said. "Me and the rest of the world."

Joseph looked down at the floor. "What do you want?"

"To gloat?" Gillespie laughed. "You never had a clue how much I hated you, did you? God, you were so smug, with your Harvard education and your family connections and your good looks and your perfect wife." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "But now I have everything, and you have nothing. The firm admired the way I handled your disgraceful theft so much they made me partner. The partnership you would have had if you hadn't been so incredibly stupid. So while you were bending over for every horny lowlife in here, I was sitting in the corner office. Living it up at the country club. Going home every night and fucking your oh-so willing wife. How does that feel, hmm, Carlton? Who's the clown now?"

Joseph couldn't answer, too stunned. There had been times back in the old days when he had felt Gillispie's envy of him, but he had never guessed the full depth of the man's hatred. It left him speechless.

"You know, your situation has inspired me to altruism. I joined the Citizen's Prison Advisory Board, even before you were sentenced. I had this idea about how to make this place safer. Install video cameras and let volunteers review the tape for any abuses. Even helped raised money for the equipment."

Joseph stared at him, his whole body clenched with dread.

Gillespie smiled in a reptilian way. "I guess sending the video feed over the Internet wasn't such a good idea, though. You know hackers can steal just about anything. I mean, hypothetically speaking, someone could have paid some college kid to get that video of you and put it up on a porn site. Plus, send the URL to all your friends. From an untraceable e-mail address, of course. No problem."

Joseph clutched his stomach. He really thought he might be sick. "Why?" he gasped. "Why?"

"You were always so superior. Always making jokes. Making other guys feel like they couldn't measure up, like they were failures, like they weren't really men." Gillespie glared at him. "Someone may have had all he could take of you. May have waited for just the right moment. And then you handed it to him on a silver platter, being idiot enough to embezzle and then get caught red-handed. You made it too easy. All he had to do was pull a few strings and sit back and watch. Seeing you with your snooty face buried in some scumbag's crotch, bent over like a whore, taking it up the ass like a faggot-- that was the absolute high point of this guy's life. He'd waited for it for years." Gillespie winked at him. "Hypothetically speaking, that is."

Joseph's eyes were hot with tears, but he wouldn't give Gillespie the satisfaction. He'd already had way too much of that at Joseph's expense.

"Well, it's been interesting seeing you, Carlton. I guess I don't really need to tell you to stay away from Madeleine. With the freak show you've turned into, there's no way she'll ever want to see you again. But then, it seems you're more interested in dick these days anyway. So I guess it kind of works out in the end."

"Fuck you!" Joseph spat at him.

Gillespie snorted. "No, I'd say it's definitely you who are fucked, Carlton."

Joseph colored angrily. Gillespie laughed with glee. He started to walk away, took a few steps and then turned back.

"Hey, you know, I think you might have run into someone I know in here, an inmate I met through the Advisory Board. Smitty Phelps?"

Joseph felt all the blood drain out of his face. What was this guy? Some kind of Machiavellian revenge freak?

Gillespie smiled evilly. "I told him to look you up. Show you what prison life was all about. But I guess you found you own-- er, friend, shall we say?-- to break you in."

"You bastard. You fucking bastard!" Joseph shook with a combination of shock and rage.

Gillespie smirked in a self-satisfied way. "Goodbye, Carlton. I'd say keep in touch, but we both know I wouldn't mean it."

He laughed and ambled off, even his walk radiating arrogance.

"She's frigid!" Joseph screamed after him. "You'll never get your cock sucked again!"

This had the unfortunate effect of attracting the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Joseph frantically clutched at his tattered shirt and pulled the fabric closed. He somehow managed to get it buttoned again, covering his breasts from the roomful of gawking eyes. One of the prison administrators motioned for him, giving him an odd look. Joseph kept his head down, to avoid meeting anyone's gaze, and stumbled through the rest of processing feeling numb and shell-shocked. He signed yet more papers, received the rest of his personal belongings, and then there was only one thing left, the moment itself.

Sergeant Murphy appeared at his side to walk him out.

"You ready, Carlton?" he asked.

Joseph honestly didn't know the answer to that question. But he nodded, in a daze, torn by competing impulses of wild hope and terrible fear.

Murphy led him down a long corridor to a magnetically sealed door. He pulled out a card key, swiped it, and then typed in a numerical code. The door buzzed loudly, and Joseph stopped breathing for a moment. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Officer Murphy pulled the door open wide so Joseph could pass. He took a step forward and had to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness of the day, as if his body had forgotten the trick of being outside.

"Good luck to you," Murphy said.

Joseph could only nod. He took one faltering step toward freedom, his heart pounding in his chest, almost as if he expected someone to try to stop him. But, of course, no one did. He had earned the right to walk away from this hell, paid for it with his mouth and ass, his ruined marriage and lost dignity. He took another step and another. He could never have imagined how exhilarating it would be simply to take a breath of fresh air and know he was a free man.

"Hey, Carlton," Murphy called out to him.

He looked back over his shoulder.

"You ever decide to take action about the-- uh, situation in here, you give me a call."

Joseph knew in his heart that he would never take Sergeant Murphy up on his offer. He just wanted to run away from this place as fast as his legs could take him and never, ever look back again. But it did hearten him to know that there were still some decent people left in the world.

"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it."

Murphy nodded. "Take care of yourself."

The sergeant turned to go back inside. The door banged closed behind him, and the noise made Joseph practically leap out of his skin. He had the sudden, wild fear that someone would try to make him go back, and he hunkered down, an animal-like survival impulse, ready to fight to the death for his liberty.

But no one came. No one seemed to care about him one way or the other. He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out. He had to keep reminding himself that he was on the other side of the door now.

He walked the few hundred feet to the outer gate, his legs heavy, his knees weak. The guard unlocked the padlock and removed the heavy chain. He swung the gate open, and Joseph stumbled through it, back out into the world. He drifted down the road, out of sight of the guards, and stopped. It was all so overwhelming--the pure heat of the sun, the innocent chirping of birds, the reassuring roar of passing cars.

Joseph closed his eyes and let his head fall back, taking a moment to really enjoy it, to let it all sink in. He couldn't be sure how long he stood there, lost in the sheer, ordinary wonder of real life. He only wished it could have gone on longer. When he did come back to his senses, all his practical worries came rushing back, too. The painful urgency of his situation made his stomach seize and clench. Okay, so he was free. Now what?

He had no idea how to answer that question.

As he looked around to get his bearings, he became suddenly aware of his body, and that made him painfully self-conscious. He was just so-- so out there. His breasts were pressed tightly against his men's shirt, which had never been designed to accommodate them. They were so painfully obvious, without even a bra to constrain them, bouncing and swaying whenever he moved, his nipples clearly outlined against the fabric. It made him feel terribly vulnerable. At the same time, he was all too aware of the bulge in his pants, also obvious, the soft weight of his cock and balls resting against his thigh.

He had been able to handle the bizarre duality of his altered body in prison. It was, after all, a freakish, parallel universe, and a half-man-half-woman had a place there, was almost ordinary. But where did a person with dick and breasts belong in the real world? How was he supposed to navigate that impossible contradiction?

He sighed heavily.

You can't think about that now, he told himself. First things first.

And the first thing was figuring out how he to get back to town now that Madeleine had abandoned him. Joseph had some money, not really enough, but at least he wasn't flat broke. He glanced around, looking for some idea, some sign. Across the street, a little up the road, there was a bus stop. A man was sitting on the bench, waiting, watching Joseph. Joseph's heart began to beat faster when he realized it was Carlos.

There was no conscious decision on his part, only an instinctive reaction. His feet just started to move, propelled by unconscious need, until he was standing in front of Carlos.

"Joseph?" Carlos' eyes were dark with concern. "Are you okay? Where's your wife? Did something happen?"

Joseph could only nod, suddenly exhausted. The scene with Madeleine and Gillespie had taken a lot out of him. He sank down onto the bench beside Carlos. Carlos put his arm around him, and Joseph let his head fall onto Carlos' shoulder.

"It's over," he said, in a ragged voice. "Everything. My old life-- I can't go back to it. Ever."

Carlos held him tighter. "But why, querido?"

"Madeleine-- She found out about everything. The breasts--" He hesitated. "The sex. Dressing up. All of it."

"But how? How could she know? Don't tell me some scumbag called her and told her."

Joseph shook his head. "Worse than that. There were-- She had pictures."

"Oh, God. But how is that possible?"

"You know there are cameras everywhere inside?'

Carlos nodded.

"I found out the video goes to some activist group. It's supposed to be this big prison reform. Like if a bunch of do-gooders can see what's going on in there you'll somehow be safer."

Joseph laughed bitterly. Carlos squeezed his shoulder to comfort him.

"Somebody hacked into the video feed and put it up on a sex site. It shows everything--" Joseph swallowed hard. "Everything that happened to me. And whoever did it sent the link to all the people I know. Everybody-- They've all seen it."

"Ah, querido, I'm so sorry."

"And the URL--" Joseph's throat constricted. "It's PrisonWhore.com."

Joseph didn't even realize he was crying until Carlos gently brushed the tears away.

"You're not a whore, Joseph. You did what you had to do to survive. That's all. And if people can't understand that-- well, fuck them then."

Joseph leaned closer, soaking in the solace of Carlos' embrace.

"She said terrible things to me," he whispered. "My wife."

"I know it hurts, querido, but you can't listen to her. She doesn't know what it's like on the inside. She has no idea."

"She had-- There were pictures of us, Carlos. From when we made love. I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry."

"Ssh. It's not your fault, baby."

"But it was private. It was ours. And it was--" His voice got quiet. "Beautiful. But those pictures-- They made it seem so dirty."

"Baby, those pictures-- They can't take anything away from us. We know the truth. That's all that matters."

Joseph buried his face against Carlos' shoulder. "You're so good to me, Carlos. Thank you."

Carlos kissed the top of his head. "You're so easy to be good to, baby." Carlos frowned. "I just wonder--"

"What?"

"Who would put those pictures up on the Internet? What kind of vicious bastard would do a thing like that?"

"Gillespie," Joseph said, painfully. "He-- He taunted me about it. Without actually admitting anything I might be able to use against him. Carlos, I really think--" Joseph shuddered.

"What, baby?"

"I'm pretty sure Gillespie had a hand in the stuff that happened to me in prison. I think he had it in mind from the very beginning, when he first found out about the money I took."

Carlos went still. "You mean he set you up?"

Joseph nodded. "That first time Smitty and those other assholes cornered me in the shower-- Gillespie arranged it."

Carlos tightened his hold on Joseph. "He told you that?"

"Implied it. And you know what's so ironic, Carlos? It didn't even go down the way he planned. But he still got what he wanted." Joseph couldn't help the tremor that went through his body. "I got turned out."

"Oh, baby. Baby. That's-- Oh, God. I'm sorry." Carlos hugged him closer. "What are you going to do now?"

Joseph shook his head sadly. "I don't know. I don't even know who I am anymore, Carlos."

"Ah, querido. You're still you. Things are just really confusing right now. That's all."

"I don't even know if I'm a man or a woman," Joseph confessed, shamefully.

Carlos cupped his face and stroked his cheek. "Baby, those drugs Gus gave you may have changed your body, but they didn't change you."

"He said I make a better woman than man." Joseph hesitated. "And sometimes when I think about how easily I fell into being his wife, howgood I was at it, I'm not so sure he was wrong."

"No, baby. No. You had to do all that--"

"But I didn't have to get so carried away with it," Joseph argued, hotly.

He flashed back to what Madeleine had said, and he felt a stab of shame. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could have found some other way to get by. God. Could there possibly have been some twisted part of him that secretly enjoyed being Gus' plaything? The idea tortured him.

"Even now, I can't seem to-- " Joseph swallowed hard. "It just doesn't feel right to go back to the way things were before. Gus said I should just go ahead and get my dick cut off and have the doctor give me a pussy instead. And maybe I should."

Carlos' eyes flashed with anger. "Gus is an asshole. A bitter, envious asshole who's going to die in that shitty place and wants to make you as hopeless as he is. He'd say anything to hurt you, to try to ruin your second chance, because he hates you. Because you're out here and he's in there, for the rest of his miserable life."

"It's not just Gus. Dr. Smith gave me a list of surgeons who do sex changes." Joseph laughed bitterly. "She said I'm more feminine than a lot of women she knows."

"She's clueless, querido. She could have put two and two together, and figured out what Gus was doing to you. But she didn't. 'Cause she can't see the way things really are. So don't listen to anything she has to say."

Joseph lowered his eyes. "But I do kind of-- I mean, it's nice to feel pretty. And men's clothes are so-- Uninspiring. And the truth is that I did enjoy-- I mean, not every time. But when it was good--you know, with the right person--" His voice dropped. "With you. It was very, very good. And I, well-- I liked it. I liked getting fucked. So maybe that means I would be better off as a woman."

"Baby, dressing up like a woman doesn't make you one. And you can still be a man and like getting fucked. Don't let Gus and Gillespie and guys like that screw with your head. There's a whole lot more to manhood than being on top when you have sex."

Joseph sighed. "You're right. I know you're right." He shook his head. "It's just weird, Carlos. At this point, I feel more comfortable with my breasts than my dick. I don't know what that means about me."

Carlos touched his face. "Hey. It means you've had to live the last nine months with someone who totally disrespected your manhood."

"You think that's all it is?"

Carlos smiled at him. "Yeah. And I think the right person could help you remember real quick just how good it is to have a dick."

Joseph blushed, but he liked the idea. If Carlos was volunteering for the job, he liked it very much.

"But-- Do you think it's strange-- I mean, I know I didn't want them, but now-- And it's not like I've made a decision or anything, but--" His voice grew quiet. "I like my breasts. I like the way they make me feel."

Carlos' eyes sparkled with humor. "Why would that be strange?" He undid the top button of Joseph's shirt and slid his hand inside. "I love your breasts." He gently thumbed Joseph's nipple. "I love the way they make me feel."

Joseph moaned with pleasure and leaned into Carlos' touch.

"And I love you, Joseph," Carlos whispered in his ear. "No matter what you decide to do."

Joseph had to blink back the tears. "I really do want to keep them," he admitted. "When I think about not having them, I just-- I feel mutilated."

"I understand," Carlos told him.

"But if I keep my breasts, it's going to make things more complicated. I don't know where-- It's going to be a lot harder to find a place where I fit in."

"I don't know what kind of people you're used to, querido, but not everybody is all black and white about things. There are people who'll understand this." He cupped Joseph's breast. "Trust me. There are places where you can be yourself, where you won't be alone."

"I just don't know where those places are."

Carlos smiled. "I do."

The bus pulled up to the stoplight at the far corner.

Carlos got to his feet. "This is us, baby."

Joseph reached for his arm. "I don't have anywhere to go, Carlos."

Carlos smiled and leaned down to him. "Of course you do."

He took Joseph's face in his hands and kissed him deeply. When he pulled back, Joseph searched Carlos' expression and found what he was hoping for, a look, like a closed door that had suddenly opened. It was okay now. He could finally say what he felt.

"I love you, Carlos. So much."

"Ah, querido, querido."

Carlos caressed Joseph's face lovingly, but he looked vaguely troubled. No doubt still worried that he was somehow cheating Joseph out of a chance at a "normal" life.

Joseph put his hand on Carlos' arm. "Don't you see? You are my chance. The only one I want."

Carlos' eyes sparkled. "Oh, God." He pulled Joseph to him and hugged him hard. "I'll make you happy, querido. I promise."

Joseph returned his embrace. "I know you will. And I promise you the same thing."

Carlos released him and held out his hand. "Come on, mi amor. Let's go home."

Joseph clasped his hand and squeezed it affectionately. Their entwined fingers were like a symbol, promising a future Joseph could never have imagined nine months ago. But now, he wouldn't have traded it for anything. It wasn't going to be easy. It certainly wasn't going to be conventional. But it was what he desired, with his whole heart.

He walked hand-in-hand with Carlos to catch the bus. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt that everything was going to be just fine.

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