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Message-ID: <50266asstr$1106496603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} GenderChanger  (MF FF MM anal ScFi tg)
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Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2005 11:10:03 -0500
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GenderChanger
by Carlos Malenkov (writing as Kien Reti)
Word Count: 3749
Copyright (c) 2004 by Carlos Malenkov
Posting and archiving rights granted to ASSM. All other rights reserved.




He pressed the blinking red button on the cube.

A luminous three-dimensional display popped up in mid-air. There were
blocks of text in easy-to-read glowing green letters, and what looked
like a side panel of multi-colored push-buttons. This had to be some
kind of fancy hologram.


    Mark XXIV GenderChanger [tm]

    Choose an Option:
    [1] PARTIAL CHANGE (genitalia only, secondary sex characteristics
        unaffected)
    [2] COMPLETE CHANGE (down to the cellular level, and inclusive of
        chromosomes and germ plasm) *
    [3] ADVANCED MODALITIES
    [4] HELP SCREEN (option currently selected)

  * WARNING: Gender change /male-to-female/ renders user
    subject to menstruation, pregnancy, and associated
    inconveniences and medical risks.
    Refer to publication 2Y8246-03.


    Usage instructions (simplified):
    [1] Select change mode (PARTIAL or COMPLETE).
    [2] Select RANGE/FOCUS . *
    [3] TIMER SCREEN will appear.
        Set timer for duration of change (30 minutes - 100 years).
    [4] Press (red flashing) EXECUTE button.

  * NOTE: The default {0/0} (0 meters range / 0 degrees deflection)
    setting operates on an effective radius of 0.4 meter.


    Features:
    [1] Baseline gender of target(s) autodetected.
    [2] Autorevert to baseline gender at expiration of timer setting.
    [3] Changes may be manually reversed by repeat operation of
        GenderChanger [tm].

  * ADVISORY: Use of this device is restricted to authorized personnel.


    Patents pending.



It had to be a hoax. An exceptionally clever hoax, but still a hoax.

Orville Morrison was pulling the midnight-to-eight shift, assigned to
monitoring the main instrument console in the control room. His job was to
log any unusual happenings, and if necessary, contact the watch officer
on the intercom. Just before dawn he'd heard a shrieking whistle, then
a loud pop just on the other side of the vault-like door to the linear
accelerator chamber. He pulled open the access hatch to check, and there
was this small shiny object sitting on the floor. It was a 1" silver-metal
cube with a blinking red button protruding from its top surface.

Rumor had it that artifacts occasionally winked into existence in
nuclear bombardment chambers at energies exceeding 100 billion electron
volts. Apparently, random combinations of powerful magnetic fields and
gamma ray bursts from high-energy particle collisions could tear a hole
in the space-time fabric -- and this sometimes sucked various "objects"
out of alternate universes or sidewise dimensions. The net effect was
that Things From Elsewhere mysteriously materialized. Some wit had dubbed
it the Reverse Bermuda Triangle Effect.

Morrison was an involuntary test subject. He had been demobilized and
shipped back from Saigon after spouting off to his commanding officer
in a drunken outburst that there was no way in hell the "police action"
in Viet Nam could be won. It was LBJ's fucking war, Morrison had said,
and he could damn well figure out a way to clean up the mess he'd
created. Hastily bounced from the combat theater and threatened with
brig time and a dishonorable discharge if he didn't cooperate, Morrison
had been assigned to the U.S. Army reservation surrounding the Jarvis
Rivermore labs as a technician-observer. This meant that, for all his
Army Corps of Engineering training and experience, he was nothing but
an expendable guinea pig. For all practical purposes, a prisoner.

Damn it! He'd done the full ROTC bit and come out of school with a
second looey's commission. Had helped bulldoze roads through the jungle
to keep supplies flowing to Ranger outposts and their alleged allies,
the ARVN support troops. Had done a tour of duty and put his ass on the
line for his country. But the friggin' Cong were still winning the war,
and they'd keep right on winning the way things were going. Only a fool
or a rear-echelon officer or a politician would think otherwise. Yeah,
sure, and only a fool would speak his mind to a superior officer in this
enlightened year of Our Lord, 1966. And Lord help us all.

The mystery cube was a GenderChanger, huh? Morrison had heard the
stories about Christine Jorgenson, the weirdo who had gone gallivanting
off to Sweden for a sex-change operation. Had his dong sliced off and
an artificial pussy excavated between his legs. If the guy was a freak
before the surgery, he was a double-damned freak afterwards. As if you
could really change your sex.

Well, even if this was a hoax, he was curious. And he had little to lose.
He'd already been cashiered out of the army under threat of court
martial and blackmailed into being a closely-guarded lab rat. And he'd
just now smuggled this gender-gadget out of the Institute lab and into
his room. That was probably enough to earn him a twenty-year sentence
at a very unpleasant place surrounded by guard towers and barbed wire.
Fuck it. What did he owe the army assholes running this place, anyway?
Nothing.

Morrison pressed [2] COMPLETE CHANGE, then set ONE HOUR on the timer
screen. He took a deep breath, then punched the EXECUTE button. There
was a momentary beep and the display vanished. So, _that_ was it? It
really _was_ a hoax. Ha, ha, very funny.

All at once his skin began itching fiercely all over and he felt a
powerful urge to urinate. Damn, he wasn't sure he could hold it in long
enough to get to the bathroom down the hall. He sighed with relief as
he unzipped his fly. _There was something missing down there._ Something
very important.

HIS DICK WAS GONE! What the fuck was going on???

He had gender-changed himself, that was what was goin on. Default
RANGE/FOCUS setting of {0/0} had affected his own body! He was well and
truly fucked.

Damn. He was starting to wet himself. But how? Hot urine was trickling
down the insides of his thighs. He tore open his pants and ripped down
his underwear. THERE WAS A FUCKING HOLE BETWEEN HIS LEGS!

Emptying his bladder was an enormous relief. Or maybe _her_ bladder.
Orville Morrison was a woman, or seemed to have the body of a woman
anyhow. Sitting down to piss (or _pee_, as the girls would say), was
something he (she!) wasn't used to. And there was a whole lot else
(s)he wasn't used to, either.

Breasts! They weren't all that big, as female breasts go, but they
protruded and they were soft. The nipples were pretty sensitive, too.
And below the waist the hips flared out. And that ass! It had become
rounded, maybe even pear-shaped. Morrison had always been partial to
women with padded, pear-shaped asses, and now (s)he _was sitting on one_.

Someone was banging on the bathroom door. "You gonna be done pretty soon,
Orv?"

Damn. It was his roommate, Carlos. They shared this one bathroom, along
with the two other guys down the hall.

"Wait -- " Damn. His (her) voice was breaking. It seemed to have slipped
into a higher register. Shit! Every part of him (her) must have gone
female.

"Wait!" Morrison croaked it out of the back of the throat to make it
sound more masculine. "I've got the shits. Got 'em bad. It could be a
while. Probably a good long while. Use the upstairs bathroom, would you?"

"Fuck you, man. If I piss my pants, you get to buy me a new pair.
Asshole." There was the sound of retreating footsteps.

Forty minutes had gone by since Morrison had pressed the damn blinking
button. Wait out the rest of the hour locked in the bathroom and hope
everything went back to normal. No sweat. But meanwhile . . .

Hey, might as well do a little, well, exploring. Morrison reached a hand
down below, down there. . . . There was a little nubbin right there,
right about where it ought to be, right at the top of the slit. Ah, yes,
that was the clit. And it felt good. Rubbing it felt real nice. And the
hole was starting to, well, get wet. Might just stick a finger in there
and see how that goes. Interesting sensation.

Itching. His skin itched all over. What was that? The hole was closing
up and his dick was starting to grow back. What a relief! And yep,
by his watch the hour was just about up. He was turning back into a man.


So, what now? He had this fantastic magic cube that could change a
man into a woman, and presumably vice versa, but of what use was it
to him? Just having it in his possession would probably get him in a
mess of trouble. Even doing the "right thing" and giving it up to his
supervisor likely wouldn't help. Just his knowledge of its existence
put him in jeopardy. People who knew things they weren't supposed to
know had a habit of disappearing. Permanently.

Escape! He had to get out of this place. In four days he was due for his
next "furlough" off the military reservation, accompanied by a guard,
of course. Fuck that. He wasn't about to let them strip-search him and
maybe find the cube secreted in a body cavity. And he wasn't going to
try and hide it in his quarters, which were methodically searched at
unpredictable intervals. So what did that leave? Walking out of the base
right under the noses of the guards . . . as a woman.

The female soldiers had a barracks of their own. Later that night Morrison
got into the storage room of that barracks by removing a screen from a
back window using just a screwdriver. Piss-poor security.

The faint beam from his penlight showed a row of locker doors. Now,
it was a matter of finding a uniform that would more or less fit him
and maybe getting some cash and ID.


Early the following morning, Sgt. Naomi DuPlessis showed her
identification to the sentry at the gate. He waved her through, staring
appreciatively at her well-proportioned ass as she walked away. Nicely
pear-shaped it was.

The leather purse had $24 and change in it. Enough to buy
Morrison/DuPlessis a bus ticket to San Durango and a sandwich, but that
was about it.

"Can you help me? I've been having severe abdominal cramps, and . . . "

"I'm sorry, Miss, but if you don't have an appointment -- "

At that, the woman burst into tears, and if there was one thing that
could melt the heart of old Doc Keldysh, family practitioner, it was a
crying woman. A very attractive crying woman.

"Let me show you where it hurts." She was unbuttoning her blouse. The
good doctor barely had time to notice that it was an army uniform blouse
with sergeant's chevrons on the sleeves before his attention was riveted
by the bare breast peeking out. Such a nicely formed mammary it was, too.

"Now, look here, ma'am," the doctor said. "I couldn't possibly -- "

Then she was on him, smothering his trembling lips with burning kisses
and groping between his legs. He collapsed onto the floor with her on
top of him. He was lost.

Getting fucked wasn't all that big a deal, Morrison decided, glancing at
the gray-haired old man snoring on the vinyl sofa in the waiting room.
Well, playtime's over. Time to acquire some resources.

The doc's wallet held $473, some business cards, and a small address book.
That should be more than enough to get to the east coast.

Time to change back into a man; it was safer to travel that way.
Morrison had by now gotten quite adept at using the cube.


Orelia Morrison heard the cries of pain on the other side of the wall.
The man was beating his wife again. It was painful to listen to,
especially since Orelia, formerly Orville, had gained an in-depth
appreciation of the kind of shit a woman had to put up with at the
hands of an abuser. A few months back, she had been given a ride by a
trucker, then overpowered and raped repeatedly in a motel room later that
night. Said trucker had subsequently fallen asleep, which had allowed
his victim to exact an interesting sort of revenge. Said trucker woke up
the next morning, bound hand and foot, with semen seeping from vagina
and anus. Said trucker would would later turn out to be pregnant with
triplets, and the subject of lurid stories in the supermarket tabloids.

That asshole next door had beaten his wife for the last time. From the
sound of drunken snoring, apparently the exertion of wife beating had
exhausted him and he was out like a light. All right, now to set things
to rights. After selecting COMPLETE CHANGE, 1-5/180 RANGE/FOCUS, and
10 YEARS on the menu, Orelia aimed the cube at the wall and pressed the
EXECUTE button. For the next decade, the man would be learning very some
hard lessons about life. And from personal experience, Orelia knew that
there was nothing like being penetrated to teach a man that he wasn't
the lord of creation.


The visiting room at the State Penitentiary is a depressing place.
A reinforced wire barrier separates inmates from free citizens.

"So, you say you're from some victims' rights group? Why should I give
a flying fuck? Unless, maybe, you could get me out of this shithole,
huh? An' yeah, there'd be something in it for you too, honey. I know
how to show a woman a good time, you betcha, I do."

"Now, Mr. Smith, what we're looking for from you is some expression of
remorse, a statement that you're sorry you assaulted all those women,
and . . . "

"Yer barkin' up the wrong tree, slut. Less'n maybe you want I should do
for _your_ pretty ass, too. And I'm tellin' you I won't be sorry after,
an' neither will you. C'mere and gimme a kiss-kiss, ya FUCKIN' CUNT!"

"My word! I happen to be a respectable lady, and you should really show
proper respect. I assure you that you'll find ample cause to regret your
uncouth behavior. You see, I happen to have a magic cube that will teach
you manners and assist in your rehabilitation."

"Magic cube, my ass!"

His ass, indeed. By judicious experimentation, Orville/Orelia had
discovered a periodic-repeat setting in the ADVANCED options menu.
Inmate Smith would awaken in the early hours of the following morning
to discover _herself_ inhabiting a voluptuous female body. The other
occupants of the cell would no doubt find that very interesting, not to
mention entertaining.

Smith would learn what it felt like to be a victim. Involuntarily
shapeshifting into a voluptuous woman between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and
3:00 a.m., only to revert to one's original male body for the remaining
22 hours of the day might be a traumatic experience for anyone. For
a convicted serial rapist in a maximum security penal institution,
it would be a survival test. A survival test that would repeat every
single night for the next ten years.


Over the years, Morrison had come up with some very entertaining uses
for the cube. He had, for his own amusement, set out to answer the
age-old question of whether sex was better for a man or a woman. In the
Orelia body/identity, she had taken both male and female lovers. Most
male lovers, she had found, were essentially clumsy oafs who hadn't the
faintest notion of how to pleasure a partner. Female lovers were usually
more sensitive and knowledgeable, and, on balance, lesbian love was a
more sensual experience. Morrison came to the tentative conclusion that
when sex was good, really good, that a female body had the physical
capacity to enjoy it more than a male one. But when sex was bad, the
woman suffered while the man got at least physical release from it.

Once, just once, Orelia had taken on two men at the same time. Double
penetration turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. It
required carefully choreographed positioning of assorted limbs and
organs and orifices. And it turned out that having cocks up both pussy
and ass simultaneously was a kaleidoscope of awkward thrashing around,
vaginal-rectal fullness, now-pleasurable, now-irritating friction,
intermittent pain, fleeting moments of near-ecstasy, inconvenient
distractions, conflicting emotions, and sensory overload. It was a fruit
salad of clashing sounds and smells, sensations, and secretions. It was
also quite messy to clean up after. Dealing with the emotional baggage
of two easily-bruised male egos was no picnic either.

One of Morrison's most fulfilling liaisons was with a man. What was
unusual about it was that he remained in the original Orville-vintage
male body for the entire six-year duration of the relationship. It was
a straightforward homosexual affair -- nothing fancy -- but smoking-hot
sensual all the same. It was purely and simply about ass-fucking, with
each of them alternating as top and bottom, as the mood happened to
take them. There was something profoundly moving about sharing same-sex
flesh with a lover, and after the first few weeks together it was totally
immaterial who did the inserting and who was inserted into. It just went
to show, Orville mused, that if two people were in tune with each other,
then the physical details didn't much matter.

Then there was the time he fell hard for Chastity Chastaine. She was a
department store heiress, a moderately successful actress, and the proud
owner of a beautifully-developed body, with a mind to match. Orville,
it turned out, was a smash hit as a companion and dinner partner,
but couldn't quite satisfy her physically. Orelia had somewhat better
luck. Chastity never did catch on that she was cheating on her lover
with the selfsame lover, and so it wasn't really cheating at all.



Over the years Morrison had revealed his secret to only one person.
Corliss Marlowe was a former field operative for the National Security
Bureau. In the aftermath of a political shakeup, she had been forcibly
retired under "adverse circumstances," so she shared Orville's bitterness
about anything concerned with government agencies. Corliss was
intelligent, empathetic, and she knew how to keep her lips zipped. She
also had a nicely-contoured body. In the natural course of events, they
became lovers.

After several months, the passion had pretty much burned itself out,
but by that time the two of them were completely at ease with one
another. They were best friends and confidantes. It seemed a shame
to give up the closeness that only physical intimacy brings to a
relationship. Corliss was the one who proposed that they both change
gender and continue as a male-female couple.

As usual, having a lover's penis deep in her pussy (and betimes her ass)
brought Orelia a sense of completion and inner peace. But Corliss
remained restless.

They tried it as female-female lovers, then as male-male. Each had its
own peculiar attractions. Once, when Orville and a male Corliss had
finished mutual ass play (ah, the delights of sodomy), they just sat
and looked into each other other's eyes for hours, not saying a word.
It was as if they were Siamese twins, sharing both body and soul.

Of course, it couldn't last. They were too much alike. The arguments
became more frequent and, at times, nearly violent. One morning, Corliss
was gone. There was no note.



As the years passed, Morrison spent more and more time as Orelia. Being
a woman provided a broader perspective on things, and the physical and
hormonal makeup of the female body gave the mind a far greater depth of
emotion, of _feeling_, of capacity for connecting with fellow humans
of either sex. Women were more complex creatures than men in all the
important ways.



It was hard to believe that almost five decades had gone by. Morrison
was a senior citizen with a full-grown daughter. When she nursed from
Orelia's breasts for the first time, only the name Athena would do,
in memory of the original Athena who had sprung from the brow of the
Greek deity Zeus. Orville/Orelia was both father and mother to the child.

It's not all that difficult to self-impregnate with your own genetic
material when you can provide the seed, the egg and the womb. Orville
had masturbated into a paper cup, then moments later Orelia used a turkey
baster to inseminate herself. Nine months later, Athena happened.

And now it appeared that it was all in jeopardy. All of it. Human
civilization, and humankind, might have only scant hours to live. The
SKANK ultimatum was about to expire, and then the missiles would fly.

Who could have predicted that Somalia would team up with Kazakhstan,
Afghanistan, and North Korea in a deadly outlaw alliance given to
nuclear blackmail? Who could have known that SKANK-sponsored terrorist
acts would tip the balance toward total war? Who could have forecast
the proliferation of unstoppable delivery systems for mini-nukes?

Morrison felt a sense of destiny. Perhaps this was why he had been fated
to discover the GenderChanger. Perhaps he had been intended to save the
world. Perhaps . . .

Modern nuclear devices were all fourth-generation "smart" weapons. That
meant that their triggering mechanisms were biometrically keyed, and
only a small group of "authorized" individuals could activate them. The
biometric safeguard depended solely on genetic identification. The DNA
of the triggermen had to match the sequence that had been scanned into
the computer chips controlling the detonators of the bombs.

Had to match! If an "authorized" individual had his gender changed, then
the DNA sequence would no longer match. The 48th chromosome determines
biological sex, and, if that flipped over, _there could be no match_. It
was the only thing that might yet rescue humanity from fiery annihilation.

He set the RANGE/FOCUS of the GenderChanger to 500,000,000 meters / 360
degrees. This should take in every person on earth, and in the orbiting
space stations and on the moon base as well. Every human being alive
would undergo an involuntary sex change. In the span of a couple of
minutes, males would become females, and vice-versa. It would cause
major disruption, and possibly chaos and anarchy for a good while,
but the human race would survive.

How long should the change last? If only a few weeks or months, then
humankind would revert to its old habits of destruction and war. All
right, then. He set the timer to its maximum, 100 years. Every man,
woman, and child would live out their life span as a member of the
opposite sex. It should be quite interesting.


Morrison smiled grimly, then pressed the EXECUTE button.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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