Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Note: "Futa" is short for Futanari, which is explained heirin.  If you
aren't familiar with the term, don't bother looking it up, just read, it's
better that way.
   Hiroshimaru (Trans, Futa, Herm, Ds, Pros, FemD, Anal...)
   I stood humbly by the examination chair, until Toshisan came in.  He
silently helped me out of my robe, onto the seat, and my feet into the
sturrups.  He looked me over, glasses low on his nose.  His fingers were
bare, dry between my legs.  Spreading my lips, he lifted my Chinko with his
thumb.
   He nodded, once, and picked up a jar.  Filled with the thick paste, he
rubbed it onto his fingers, and touched me again.  Warm, and slick, he
pushed the skin back, pinched out my Kintama, and my hips jerked, slipped
out of his thumb, and finger.  I could feel pressure, getting harder with
each heartbeat.
   He pushed his glasses up with his clean hand, sat down, and leaned in
close for the treatment.  He coated my hard poku jin, rubbing it in until
it dissapeared.  Then he stood up, his pants open, and leaned in, between
my legs.  I could feel him push in, fill me, two of mine, or bigger.
   As always, he got only a few strokes before he pushed all the way, his
hairless crotch against me, grunted with his face tight.  His lids
wrincled, a ^ in the top of his nose, cheeks tight against the bones, lips
gone, bitten between his teeth.  He gasped for breath, opened his eyes,
going soft in me.
   Fixing up his pants, he left, but I was still horny, so I reached down
to touch myself.  Still slick with medicine, I pulled at my Chinko with two
fingers, and my thumb, spread my lips, and fucked two fingers in.  I
burned, gasped as fast as I could, my chichi felt like they'd pop right off
my chest, and I fell into bliss, twitching against my hands.
   I caught my breath, whiped my hand on my leg, and took a shower.  No
changes yet, but they were comming every day, making me more whole.
   Gaijin (Mh Futa)
   I was finally here, and it was incredable.  The pictures, and movies,
and cartoons don't do it justice, the dome of lights, neon rain, loglow
that seemed to move with you.  They are, of course, stationary, but you're
surrounded, all four kinds of script, and English letters I could actually
read, a Pepsi sign, with it's Ying Yang circle in red, and blue.  That
helped, something familiar, recognisable.
   Noone told me how strange it would be, unfamiliar, alien.  Turning back
from the balcony, I flicked off my cigarette, and returned to the hotel
room.  Nightime, I was a little jet lagged, the constant light of the city,
low background hum, and lack of sky wasn't helping.  I put on some clothes,
and headed up the elevator to the roof.  There was a taxi, so I got in, and
told him to climb higher as he pulled out into the street.
   I guess I was pretty used to that, the layered city, like back home,
except for the light forced into every possible surface, every window,
wall, even the bottom of the next layer so you couldn't see the city, just
what you could buy here.  If it was night, maybe I could see some stars,
Fuji, looking down over it.  Even the Cab had ads, moving shapes, and
colors, cute eyecatching creatures, holding, enjoying, and displaying their
products.
   I shook my head, looked out the window, down to the pavement, the only
surface without a price on it.  The glow floated down, reflected up in a
mistlike rainbow, but at least I could think.  I blinked, what did I want?
"Driver," he turned to his mirror, "Is prostitution still legal here?"
   "No," his eyes unsquinted, switched to the road, made a turn, and came
back to me, "It was never."
   "But you had the houses," I'd heard, what was the word?  "Taboo clubs."
   "Yes," he rolled his eyes again, "Up." His head inclined, were we where
going, and his top-knot nearly brushed the back of his seat.  Nearly, it
was carefully tied, like it grew there, not a hair out of place, and I
understood, he was traditional.
   There's two kind of Japanese, those who cling to the old ways, Shinto,
honor, the Samurai, Shogun, and ultimately Emperor.  Sure, now they voted
for him, instead of bloody coups, but it was very much a throwback to the
days when a significant part of the population cut people in half for a
living.  That's why they're so polite.
   He swore, not in English, turned away from the sidewalk, a look of shame
on his face, his narrow eyes, brows pointed down.  I looked, a bunch of
girls, laughing, playing, teasing each other.  One pulled at a shirt, and I
caught a flash of nudity, a small curve of breast pop out as we drove past.
They weren't Traditional, had their hair died, blue, green, pink, permed
into curls, kinks, and waves, cut at strange angles, and standing out, like
spikes.
   Their makeup clashed, with their hair, clothes, it had to be
intentional. A group of girls couldn't have gotten all of it wrong, so
perfectly, precicely wrong by accident.  Fuscha, cobalt, electric colors,
in eclectic patterns, seeming a part of the light, the kalidescope of
color, the urban equivalent of twilight.  It was camoflage, I noticed, as
they dissapeared, and I turned back to the driver.
   The "car" was different too.  Though it has the three red diamonds I'm
familiar with, it looks like a long egg, with wheels on the sides, and
forks on the ends like a motorcycle.  The back door opened, and I sat down
behind the driver, and a bullet proof looking partition between us.  I
wondered if I was sitting on an ejection seat.
   "Here," he nodded formaly, eyes down in the mirror.  I payed a little
extra, transferring the Joulles from my breifcase to the back of his seat
with a nice tip for putting up with me.  Getting out, I saw him mutter
something, couldn't hear it, but it looked like "Gaijin" one of the few
Japanese words I know.  Foriegner, outsider, interloper, invader.  Looking
up, I could see stars, clouds moving across them, so I was fairly sure it
wasn't just a projection.  A real sky, I took a deep breath, and sighed.
   I was still surrounded by the neon background radiation, but at least I
could see something natural.  Looking around, I all of a sudden realised
what kind of place he left me, speeding off with a rising turbine whine.  I
still couldn't read most of it, but the pictures made it obvious enough.
   SeXXX, girls girls girls, nude women with pixelated blurrs or redacted
black lines over the worst of it.  And guys forcing their blacked out
little fuckers into their censored pussies.  It was like Las Vegas of sex,
Times Square of cute naked girls, Asians, or pictures of them, some moving,
shooting the hip to swing the hem of a plaid skirt.
   The menue was amasing, tantalising, I just had to pick something out.  I
pulled at my beard, wandering, shopping for what was just right.  It being
Japan, it was weird, some things not human with the little girls, tentacled
monsters, and overgrone brutes with blanks thicker than the girl's waist.
   Girls came out, bright, cheerfull, calling in stilted English.  It was
all so "Miso Horni," it actually turned me off a little.  Yeah, they're
cute, but the cliche' only made me think of the wrong things, how many men
had they been with?
   And men, and cute slanty eyed creatures I had to check for breasts on.
Some had ears, sticking out of their hair, pointed folds, like a cat, or
puppy, or bunny.  They had to be fake, but I looked away, when I thought I
saw one twitch.  A girl came out, in uniform, petting a dog, a real dog, a
real red spike of a dick hanging out the bottom.
   Feeling a little sick, I actually came to the end of the area, the sex
bizarre, normal products appearing, like the streets of Blade Runner. 
Maybe that's not what I wanted, I decided, then turned, and stopped.
   There, that was it, her the one I was looking for.  Not posing all sexy,
but modestly dressed, pretty, young, and innocent looking, slit eyes, like
she was squinting with her close lipped smile, just a face, but all I
needed.
   She was on a door, a decal, or cartoon frame so close to
photo-realistic, at first she looked like a reflection.  Below that were
the weird Japanese heiroglyphics, but English letters were faded into the
side, down the door, the same shade of pink, but with shadows.
   "Futanari", it said, "What the fuck are Futanari?" The door didn't ding,
or make a sound, I found myself in a foyeur, and a man came out, took my
jacket, unobtrusively patted me down, searched me.  He had a short straight
blade, or something sticking out of his belt, no a baton, with a hook
pointing up from the handle.
   At first, I took him for traditional, until I realised his topknot was
different, an artistic interpretation, with a spray of red hair, or
extentions, and light green bangs.  His side burns tapered to points by his
jaw, he had a pencil mustache, and spike goatee.  He was a caracature of a
traditional, making fun of their conservatism.
   He also moved like he was deadly, the sure powerfull grace of a martial
artist.  When he searched me, it was like, I don't know, a fight where I
never layed a punch.  He directed me, silently, hand to my back, the other
near his strange iron weapon.  He led me to a door, of sorts, one of those
stange Japanese ones, like a screen door, but with white translucent paper
for the pannels.
   It slid open to reveal a small room, all four walls the sliding panels
around a tiny table, or desk with a black laquered finish, like a Ninja
sword.  On it was a picture frame, turned away from me, propped up on two
swing out legs.  Comming around, I could see the blue glow on the paper
walls, it was a screen, without a keyboard.  The doorman typed on the
table's surface, and it reacted, passing him through the code-word prompt
with a string of asterisks faster than I could count them.
   Running his fingertip around, like a mouse, he tapped, and a face
appeared on the screen.  Japanese, and feminine, it lacked any notable
characteristics, obviously artificial.  I expected her to speak, but
instead, the doorman rolled something behind me.  Not really a chair, it
looked like the botton half of those tree things the Massage Therapists sit
you on.  I'd seen them aroung the malls, and people on them, so I figured
out how to crouch over it, calves supporting me on the padded rests.
   It took me a little while to figure out the interface, my silent
chaperone dissapeared, not even the wooden click of a panel closing behind
me.  I figured out that this was a facial profile software, like cops use.
I tapped the table, found the pointer, and moved it around.  I could drag
parts of her face, and the other side changed to compensate, mirror match
my changes.
   I made the eyes closer together, pulled out the corners, into almost
blind slits, pinched the nose, and pulled it out, long sharp.  "Floating"
over her hair, a spectrum came up beside her, and I used my other hand to
select a color, turning the wheel slightly, and moving out to a nice
natural red.  I'd never seen an oriental with red hair, but she nice nice,
hot, so I kept it.  I pretty much played with the image, at first making
rediculous faces, then finally the serious business of making her look
exactly like I want.
   Now she looked so real, like a photo, and she smiled.  My heart sank as
she pulled back, grew tiny, but I could see her body, naked.  My cock
stirred, though her nudidty was the same featureless synthetic blah as her
face was before.  She had no titties, or even nipples, her crotch was bare,
with no definition, like flesh tone panties.  It was still dead sexy, so I
worked on her some more.
   Pulling at her chest, it ballooned out, on each side, breasts that I
pulled out huge, bigger than her head, until they obscured her face.  I
pinched them back down, tiny circles without any shadow under them, then
turned her to the side.  They were perfect balls, or one, cut in half, and
placed flat on her chest.  I pulled them out in front, not making them
larger, but stretching them to cones, and a shadow appeared under them.
   Next, I made her hips narrower, gave her a nice round bubble butt, and
pulled her hair longer.  It draped straight back, hanging over her
shoudlers like a sheet.  Next, I clicked on a dress Icon, and clothes
appeared.  Nine outfits, like paper dolls, I just ckicked on them, and she
appeared clothed.  I laughed at her in leather, so cute, yet in the
skintight black outfit, like a schoolgirl dominatrix.  More peices of
fetish type clothing appeared, but I skipped back, and picked a real
schoolgirl uniform.
   That was more like it, I hardened, and reached into my pants to adjust
myself.  I made it green, to match her hair like christmas.  Now, I
couldn't wait to unwrap her, so I tapped [DONE], or the symbol with that
under it, and she dissapeared.  "No," the back button was gone, but several
girls appeared.  Real girls, they moved, and blinked, nine faces like the
Brady Bunch.  They all looked a lot like the girl I made, only with small
differences.
   I could flip through pages of them, getting less, and less like her, so
I flipped back, studied all of them, and picked the prettiest.  Her hair
was black, but she smiled, and the screen went blank.  A door opened, but
noone was inside, just a long hall, paneled in those paper doors.  I got
up, walked down it, and saw one of them was open.  Inside was a room, a
bedroom, all done up in pink, and pastels, a girl's room with plush
animals, a Hello Kitty lamp.
   The other end of the hall opened, and she came out, bowing slightly at
the waist.  Her hair was red now, and longer, matching her green skirted
uniform lovely, like Sailor Moon.  I stepped into the bedroom, and she
closed the door behind her.  It clacked, locked, and I wondered if the
paper was bulletproof?  Hard to believe with the light shining through it.
She smiled, eyes wide enough to see they were green when she looked up at
me.
   Her fat pouty lip pulled up, sucked in as she held it with her perfect
white teeth.  She reached out, looked down to help me with my clothes.  She
looked up when she saw my freed penis, and smiled, her tiny hands gripping
it lightly.
   She held on as I backed up, sat down, on her bed.  She pulled it
skillfully until I gently took her head, and brough it down to me.  Her
mouth opened, wide to take my big American cock.  I bet she never saw one
so big as I closed my eyes, felt her work it, slowly, gently, but
skillfully.
   Damn, but that little girl could suck a cock, I stopped her before she
got me off.  Her white blouse already unbuttoned, I spread it open, reached
in to feel she wasn't wearing a bra, didn't need one with her cute little
cone titties.  Her nipples hardened, like peas in my fingers, so I pinched
them, turned them with my thumbs, and fingers.
   "Oh!" she made a sound, the first I'd heard since comming here, and said
something in her language.  She had the cutest voice, but I let her go, put
a finger to her perfect red lips, and another to mine.
   "Shhhh," she smiled, and slipped her lips over my finger, "Don't talk."
It wasn't lipstick, she didn't have any makeup, that rubbed off, anyway,
but her lips were lurid red, like blood, or a soft warm fruit.  She had
green over her eyes, but either they were tattoos, or the color of her
lids. Even her eyelashes were red.
   I reached out to her, kissed her, fucked my tongue in her mouth, and
felt down her body.  Her waist was perfect, no swell of hips, perfect
bubble butt under the skirt as I pulled it down.  Her panties were white,
with pink lace trim, and as I pulled them down, I saw she had no hair under
them.  She had a thick, soft meaty mound, though, split on the bottom.  I
pulled her foreward, kissed the soft mass of her crotch, smelled the warm
musk of her sex.
   I touched her, soft lips as thick as my fingers, and I slipped one in.
Feeling back, I gasped, felt a cherry against the tip.  Incredable!  Her
bulge changed, moved in front of me, her clit coming out.  It wasn't a
little one, like I like, so they don't get in the way.  It got bigger, and
I pulled back, bigger right before my eyes.  I seemed to fall out of her,
stiffening, the fold thickening, pulling her lips open.
   "The fuck?!" it swung out, up, nearly hit me on the chin.  I stepped
back, hardon dropping soft even as her's grew to a weird, disgusting dick.
My god, it was bigger than mine!  I grabbed my clothes, tried to open the
door, claw through the plastic which just wouldn't break.  She reached
around me, and it came open.  I ran away, trying to get dressed, tripping
on my pants, and finding the floor of the hall well padded.
   Looking back, to see if she chased me, she peeked out, thick puffly lips
turned down, a tear rolling down from the corner of her slit eyes.  Shaking
myself, I pulled my pants up, and left.  I wondered if I could ever bring
myself to try another Asian chick, maybe I'd have better luck in Bankoq.
   It wasn't until I got in the cab, a different one with a less
traditional driver, that I realised I'd left my cell case in there, with
all my money.
   Hiroshimaru (Ht Herm, Pros)
   I wiped my eyes, sniffed, checked my makeup.  Noone was searching me, so
I logged off, pulled on a robe, and went down to the club.  Men all over,
and some women, even a foreign one, her eyes followed me as I walked by.  I
went to the bar, and got some food, hungry.  Glancing over, she was still
watching me, not staring, but she'd crossed her legs the other way,
   I took the plate, and sticks over to her.  She was beautifull, porceline
white all over, the way makeup couldn't do, and her hair was light rosy
red, like pink, but a natural color.  She looked up at me, one eye was
blue, the other was green.  Her eyes had slightly oriental shape, corners
that looked Korean, or maybe Mongolian, and a deep fold in each lid under
the gracefull arch of her brows.
   "Hello," I bowed, and set down my food, "Would you like some company?"
   "Hei," she nodded, or bowed, the short greeting nod, "Yes, please sit
down."
   She smiled, perfect full lips, deep red.  I couldn't be sure it was
makeup, and not the color of her skin, like the flush of her high round
cheeks.  She might have had it staiined, or even tattoed, like some of the
others, but didn't look like a prostitute.  "I am Genevive," her hand was
long, and thin, but not bony, soft, and smooth.
   "Hiroshimaru." I bowed.
   She laughed, "Why do they call you that?"
   "It means 'around Hiroshima'," she nodded, understanding Japanese, "But
I'm from Nagasake'."
   "I was told it means Radiation Mutant." she corrected, gently.
   "Hei," I lowered my eyes, "That's why they call me that."
   "Can you dance for me?" she let go of my hand, which let me know she had
been holding it all this time.  I stood up, bending, turning away from her
to let the silky robe slide over my bottom.  I twisted my hips, turning on
my feet to her, and let my robe fold open a little, flash a bit of chest.
   She looked at me, again, not staring, but interested, no expression on
her face.  I let it fall open more, put my foot up between her legs.  The
smooth fabric slashed across my thigh, parting to the sides.  "You can
touch, me" I told her, "If you like."
   She picked up my sticks, a peice of food, and my heart sank.  You
couldn't hear my stomach over the music, but she held it up to me.  I let
the belt slip free as I bent to eat it.  One of the Futaneta, some long
rice with a butterfly of sashimi, and a fold of pink ginger, it was formed
in the shape of a Manko, a "Pussy", but with a large spear of pepper squash
shaped like a Chinko.
   I licked it before I ate it, twisting sexilly while I chewed, and
swallowed.  Her eyes were between my legs, so I spread them, turned back,
and forth to give her a good look.  Her slim hand came up, and I took it.
"Would you like to get a private room?" People were staring, including
security.
   "Yes," her hand was warm, "I would." She stood, so tall.  The ceiling
was three meters in the club, so she had to be close to two.  I looked
down, at her bare feet, taller than anyone I'd ever met.  She held on to my
hand, let me lead her back to the main room, where I dialed up an empty
one. Going through the door that slid aside for us, I led her to the one
that was open.
   A simple room, fairly traditional, except it had no Shinto Shrine, the
"Candles" had already lit.  I backed toward the pallate up on the platform
in the back.  She stopped, door closed, and locked behind her, you couldn't
cut your way out with a naganata.  Her buttoned robe came open, baring her
chest, and fell lightly to the floor.  She was gorgeous.
   Unbeleivably thin, she didn't look strong enough to hold herself up. 
Her hips were wide, but no bone stuck out.  Her waist curved in, like a
bottle, no lines in front, not even a navel.  She was completely smooth,
all the way up to her perfect round breasts.  Her nipples looked large, but
the same milky white of her skin, I could only see them by the shadows from
the tiny flames of the lights.
   My mouth hung open as she bent to kiss me.  My knees went weak, I fell
back to sit on the futon.  My eyes fell shut, I almost drifted off to a
dream as her tongue went into my mouth.  I could taste her mouth, not like
any flavor I could compare it to.  Not sour, or salty, or any other taste I
know.  She stood up, smiled, and stepped out of her skirt.
   Her hips were almost a shallow triangle from a soft round ridge on her
tummy.  It split at the bottom, spread between her thighs, and her mammae
peeked out, like an eye.  I saw it had a piss hole, through it, like a
Kintama, a man's.  The bare bulge in front flattened, squeezed, and her
Chinko grew down out of her.
   "You are," I blinked, "Androgynous?"
   "Futanari," she smiled, nodded.  Yes, it said that out front, but not
really.  I mean, that was hentai, mangas, and cartoons, not real, right? 
It stared me in the face, though, curving foreward until it almost pointed
up.  Her lips bulged around it, open enough to see her pink hole, the
shadows darkening it to red.  No hair, not even pores I could see.
   "Can I?" I reached up, and she rolled her hips foreward without a word.
I touched it, ran the shaft between my thumb, and finger.  The skin pulled
back from the head, a crease down the bottom, but not split like mine. 
Tiny, smaller than my nose, it got wider until I couldn't touch my thumb
around it, against her belly.
   I let go, petted down her soft, smooth lips.  The bulge at the bottom of
her chinko was between them, pushing them out, the warm soft flesh of her
Manko wrapped around the tip of my finger.  She bent her knees, pushing
mine apart, resting on the soft matress, laying me back.
   She bent foreward, running her Chinko down my little stub, between my
lips.  The tiny head easily pressed in me, spreading me open, burying her
in me.  Too thick at the bottom, I closed hy eyes, reached to her hips,
felt for the bones with my thumb, but I couldn't find them.
   She bent foreward, rolling out of me, the curve of her chinko never
moving, but getting shorter, thinner in me.  My hands went up her body,
felt the softest roundest breasts I'd ever touched, the firm Chikubi, tips
like pebbles, or porceline beads.  I always thought I was heterosexual,
neither man, or woman, with either, I was too different to be gay.  I never
dreamed, only fantasised that I could be with someone like me.
   Only she was more, better, like I wished I was, could become.  I drifted
away, breathlessly feeling her in me, spreading throughout me, changing me
inside, making me like her.  I fell asleep, wrapped in her arms, crying
with joy, and love.
   Genevive (Hm, FemD, Anal, Trans)
   The reader genophages took hir, and she passed out.  I withdrew, gave
them time to process, and examined hir.  What I would call early stage, hir
hypophallus was obviously a virilised clitorus.  Soft, I felt the
structure, not enough lenth to penetrate far, shorter than my thumb.
   I activated my salivary glands, woke my taste buds with triggering
hormones.  No ejaculate, hir hyperclit was still dry, but she did
lubricate. Holding the thick folds back, I tasted hir, closed my eyes,
contracted my conciousness.  Dihydrotestosterone, lots of it, too much, and
some sort of carrier lotion, parrafin sucrol, topical.  I produced R. 
Esterol, tasted it, dehydrolysed the testosterone, and polymerizing them
into Virone(c).
   It soaked in quickly, softening, and expanding the flesh.  My
genophages, sensing the marker pheremones in my mouth returned with hir
Karyotype.  Xy46, male, but I found a damaged allelle right where I
expected it, int the SR of hir y.  Hard to see how much of hir virilisation
was Congenital under all the fumbling with topical steroids.
   My system cannibalised it, broke down what was usefull, and I turned
back to hir.  Hir clitorus was swollen, not erect, but warm, and puffy with
blood.  I touched hir chest, producing more Estrogynes, and wetting hir
with my tongue, and lips.  Hir breasts responded, flushing with blood to
soak it up, swelling out hir tiny dark hard nipples, the pulse visible in
them.
   I got up, stretched, cycled out fluid with it's waste and a delicious
series of pops down my spine.  There was a computor, shut down, and
biometric keyed.  I picked up my coat, pulled out my credit chit.  They
recognised that, so I plugged it in the appropriate port.  The computer
woke up, switched in a flash from hir desktop, a 3d hentai Futanari on the
background, to the main site.
   The same one I'd found this club through, it automaticly deducted
charges, balancing my account.  It also offered other services, and I
brought up Genetic Modification.  "Dr." Toshi San Watanabe', if he had
anything like an official liscence, he would be working legitamitely,
instead of running a sex house.  I clicked his contact button, and waited
for him to answer.
   Not much information, lots of pictures, him with his experiments,
clothed.  Why didn't he like to show his hands?  He was always gloved,
often with them behind him, in a pocket, or otherwise obscured.  They
looked large, hard, and strong, but his posture looked like shame in them.
Maybe they were padded.
   "Nan desu ka!" He appeared, angry on the screen, but then his face
changed when he saw me.  "I mean," he smiled, fake, "What can I do for
you?"
   "I just wanted to express my satisfaction," I bowed formaly, "With
your,"..."servant with whom I was just familliar." He looked aside, past me
to Hiro' passed out on the bed.
   "Ah!" he grinned dripping incencere charm, "One of my best!"
   "I understand s/he has a debt?" I changed the subject, "And in
graditutude, I would like to pay it for hir."
   "Yes, Maam," his arms moved out of view, "You see it's a very exp..."
His eyes moved aside, on his screen, and he stopped.  "Well, she's one of
my best girls."
   "I wonder," I stood up, and folded my coat across my naked front, "if we
could discuss this in person?"
   "Of course," his eyes opened enough to see the whites, "I'll send some
one right away." I retracted my priapus, and pulled on my skirt.  By the
time my boots were on, the panel door slid open, and two guards were there.
I couldn't help but notice that though masculine, they had bulging chests,
and swords.
   I followed one, while the other followed me, down stairs to a back hall,
painted brick, and an office with a normal door, which swung out.  Painted
steel, it had a massive lock.  Toshi was inside, standing up, still having
to look up at me.  I got a good look at his bald pate, in front of the
top-knot.
   "I'm not here to ask," I looked down on him, my best control posture,
and voice.
   "What's this?" He got angry, "Industrial Espionage!" He'd done some
homework through my Corperate account.
   I laughed, stepped foreward to emphasise the height difference.  "You
don't do genetic work here.  She pleased me, and I want her."
   "Well," he smiled, and rubbed his gloves together, "I had to do
extensive work on her."
   Go on, try to gouge me.  "You've seen my account?" He nodded, "You know
that I can't get one of those without enough income to buy a small
skyscraper." I knew for a fact he couldn't afford one.  "I assure you money
is no object."
   He gave in, visibly deflating.  I'd pulled the Caste card, I was higher
than him, and he knew it.  Even being an outsider didn't outweigh that. 
"And besides," I pulled the belt on my coat, "I can sweeten the deal." His
smiling face fell down my body, and he flushed right across the top of his
head.
   He's not attractive, and I didn't need sex to save money, but I was
curious.  I wanted to know what he'd done to himself, and this was the
quickest way to find out.  I stayed dominant, forcing my priapus down his
gibbering throat, and he loved it.  I stripped him, roughly, pulled off his
gloves, and sniffed them.  Soaked in his sweat, and DHT dissolved in it, I
noticed his hands were hairy, shaved, but still stubbly.
   Like my father, the only time he didn't wear gloves is when he's
mollesting one of his girls with topical hormones.  A different recepie,
this hypervirilised his hands, made him bald, and probably oversexed him
acutely.  Hard the whole time, I didn't touch his little penis, smaller
than mine, hairy, and mishapen.  I bent him over his desk, fucked him,
pulled out, and slapped him with the dirty condom.  I didn't want anything
from him, and he would get nothing from me.
   I got on his computer, while he went off, wimpering, holding his ass so
he didn't dribble all over the floor.  "Fucking pervert," I payed off her
debt, transferring the funds without even having to change screens. 
Unlocking the door, I went out, and the guards stopped me.
   "Where is Toshisan?" They asked, hands near their handles.
   "Probably on the shitter," the glanced back behind me, "Or in the
shower."
   They didn't see me move until I had both swords in my hands, drawing
them crossed, and stepping back, defensively.  Heavy, but well ballanced,
they jumped, stepped back into stances, but unarmed, didn't attack.  "Take
me back to My girl," I demanded, "Hiroshimaru."
   I turned the swords in my hands, held them out handles first, backs of
the blades curving along my forearms.  I escorted them back to the room,
closed the door, and bent over hir...
   Hiroshimaru (Ht Futa, Herm)
   "Hiro'," her soft hand shook me, gently.
   "Hei," I opened my eyes, saw she was dressed.
   "Come on," she held clothes for me, took my hand, "Lets go." She pulled
me up, and I was shocked at how strong she was.  I put on the skirt, and
blouse, and robe, and we talked.  "I can't leave," I pulled on toed socks.
   "I payed your debt," she watched, unmoving, no expression on her face.
   "Domo," I blinked, "Arigato." The cost of my treatments, "But my
transfomation."
   "I'll handle that," she smiled, "Come on." I stepped into some sandals,
and she led me out by the hand.  She took me back to the waiting room,
unescorted, and a man stood up, took his arms from around two women.  They
giggled, and ran off, pulling their clothes over their bouncing breasts. 
"Come on," she waved, and he tucked a Wakisashi in his belt.  A shirisaya,
plain wood without any tsuba, it was ment to store blades, or ship them,
not for combat.  Painted matte black, it had cloth wrapped tight around the
handle.
   He looked at me, pulled his glasses up over his eyes.  They were black,
all black, not even shiny, and two black gems were implaned in his temples.
He smiled, American, or western, with deep skin, not dark, but somehow he
looked Nigiro.
   "I am Hiroshimaru," I bowed.
   "Kevin," he nodded, formaly.  At the weapon check, he picked up a wooden
Bokken, or practice Katana.  "Musashi style?" I always liked martial arts,
just never got to do them.  Sure, I learned to fight, on the streets, but
had no formal training.
   "Iaijutsu," his Japanese was good, with a Kyoto accent, "and street
Gundo."
   "But the bokken?" I was confused, "how do you do Iaido Battojutsu
without the saya?"
   He smiled, "Misdirection."
   Outside for the first time in months, the street stink of the deep city
made me gag, and cough.  Looking around, I thought I, and Genevive were the
only ones who wheren't armed, and this far down, that was dangerous.
   Someone said something, Japanese, but a street dialect so primitave I
only caught "Nigi-Ronin." Kevin turned, shouted back, sword out, but held
backward, and upside down instead of out at the ready.  "Go home, Gaijin,"
gangsters came out, arms bare to show their tattoos, weapons in their
hands. "You ain't no Black Ronin."
   He smiled, stepped foreward, bent, kneeled, and sat, wooden sword once
again tucked in his belt.  This time, it was on the left, Dai Sho with his
short real sword.
   'Black Ronin', I remembered the name from the news when I was growing
up, the legend, who helped wipe out the Yakuza in Kyoto.  Genevive already
stepped back, hands on my shoulders, and I looked back.
   She has long feet, and her heels were off the ground, making her even
taller.  The gangsters got to Kevin, surrounded him.  The leader, the one
who taunted him poked him with the end of his staff.  Or, he tried to, the
wood nearly touched his shoulder, then there was a blur.  A circle, a dome
of motion he dissaapeared in, and all three gangsters jumped back.  One
fell, the leader, his legs kicking over him, and he landed, hitting his
head.
   I didn't blink, I just missed it, it was so fast.  The staff, just a
stick, really, hit the pavement behind us, and the other two ran, putting
away their weapons.  Standing from his move, a fluid slash all around him
that hit all three of them, he hit the back of the wooden blade with his
fist, and spun it back into his belt, on the right side.
   He pulled out his real sword, in a blur, and showed it to the gangester.
"This," he unwrapped the handle, unpainted wood, and showed him the
calligraphy on it, "Is not a replica." It slipped back in it's plain black
Saya, without looking, or holding the mouth, like I'd seen the martial
artists, Iaidoka do.
   In our language, society, he was saying either he was Nigironin, or he'd
earned the sword.  It was implied through combat. "I'm never gonna live
that down," he said to me.  No, looking up, to Genevive.
   "Sorry, Keith," she rubbed her face with her hand, "I did what I could."
   "I thought you were Kevin?" I wondered.
   "Useta be Keith," he looked down, "Keith Kevin Knight," he held out his
hand, "3K for short, but people still call me Black Ronin round here."
   "But you not black," a little dark, maybe, but his hair was brown also.
   "Not no more," he smiled up at Genevive, "My old face was a little high
profile." He pulled something out of his coat, a gun, illegal here, and
pointed it at the defeated gangster.  He fell back, arms up, tears falling
from his eyes.  The forbidden weapon puffed, sprayed him across the white
striped shirt.
   A black stain appeared on it, creased by the wrincles, and a little
warped.  It looked like the silloette of a horse's head, with a base on the
bottom of it like a statute.  A silver slash on the side, his sword
standing out at the ready.  Not a gun, a sprayer, automaticly painted the
symbol, or logo like a paintbomb.
   "You're it," he kicked him brutally in the head, knocking him out.  We
walked, behind, and to the sides of him to a car, parked un-damaged on the
side of the street.  One of those new Misubishi, a "Tengu" like Takae's. 
The canopies opened, and they got in, Genevive behind Nigironin.  She held
out her hand, pulled me in to sit on her lap, and closed the curved window
over us.  We took off, fast, but still on the ground.
   She talked to me, told me what I was, what was wrong with me.
   "The Male chromosome," she told me, "the Y is dominant, shuts down the
female X, but that gene on your's is broken."
   "So I really was supposed to be a man?"
   "Not really," she came around to face me, "The faulty Y is in your
mitochondria," huh?  "So it came from your mother.  She must have carried
it, but dormant enough to be fertile, and have you."
   "And my brother," I added.
   "Yes," she nodded against my hair, "Either he got her X, or your Y, but
either way, he got a working Y from your father." I think I understood,
enough, so I didn't say anything.  "This," she touched me, not my privates,
but the lumpy bulge above it, "Should have been your testes, but they
didn't develop, and only partially decended, fused into a smear on your
pubis." That was the ugliest part, mishapen, so I was happy to have hair to
cover it.
   Her hands were all over me, feeling my chest, opening my blouse, cupping
my breasts.  The window went black, so I couldn't see out, so I closed my
eyes.  She was out, curling under me, between my legs.  Her hands slipped
up my legs, lifting my skirt, me to pull it back.  She entered me, filled
me, hands warm, tingling on my Opai.  I didn't pass out this time, just
floated, flew on her wave of rapture.
   She did Masu o Kaku to me, Shiko Shikosuru, pulling my Chinko, petting
it, rubbing it, and it felt better than sex ever had before.  I felt my
rush, different, more intense than ever before, and a strange twitch deep
inside me.  Something came out, like Shomben, Urine, but thick, like
Ichata, Seshi, semen, cum.  She let go, held it up to me, Ikakusai, I
tasted it, strange, not like a man, but nothing like anything that comes
from a woman.
   I sucked it from her fingers, swallowed it, enjoyed the taste, My
Flavor. Iku I Ku, I cummed!  Just like I always knew I should.  She dressed
me, fixed my clothes as well as she could, and the curved ceiling went
clear again.  I could see the sky, blue, clouds for the first time in
years. "Were are we going?" leaving the city.
   "I have land," she whispered in my ear, "Down on Shikoku, were I can...
work on you." I could hear her breath, feel it on my ear.  She didn't move,
but pulled out of me, getting shorter, thinner, pulling back into her body.
I could feel it drag back, between my ass.  The thousand nipples popped out
again, on my shoulders, arms, back, such a strange feeling.
   We went down, across the tops of buildings, and street levels, between
the taller ones to the ground, the edge of the city.  The engines got loud,
and we went faster down the long straight road.  Nigironin nodded, at the
screen I couldn't see in front of him, and leaned back.  The front wheel
lifted, and the whole car tilted.  I caught my breath, heart beating out of
control as we took off into the air.
   I never flew before.  Cast out of family, I took a boat up to Tokyo
harbor.  It was increadible, exitingly frightening, held tight in
Genevive's arms.  She lay back, the seat dropping flat under us.  Hands on
my shoulders, she turned me, undressed me, untying my skirt, pulling my
blouse back from my shoulders.  I didn't know I could get it up again so
quick, but hir coat was open, spread under her.  She lifted me, pulled down
her skirt, and kicked it off.
   She didn't harden, peek out, just a fold between her lips, pressed
together.  She touched mine, ran her thumb under my hardness.  It felt
longer, harder, thicker.  I looked down, astonished, it had grown!  I
didn't recognise it, the shape had changed slightly as well.  It never
changed so rapidly, would have taken a month to grow that much before.  She
spread her legs, guided me, received me, accepted me into her.
   I'd always imagined this before, fantasised about fucking someone. 
Especially while oral sex, pushing in, and out of their lips, but never had
enough to penetrate a woman.  That had changed, still not enough to stroke,
I pulled back just a little, and popped out, but she guided me back in. 
Moving her hand, she pressed my back, my hair into the soft ridge on her
front.
   So tall, her Oppai were in my face, my cheeks pressed between them.  I
licked her chest, and she didn't taste salty, just feminine in a way I
can't describe, never tasted anywhere else.  Her hands went up my body,
rippling over my tummy, and ribs, wrapping around my chest, touching and
pleasing the tips.  I could feel her, squeezing me, pulling me in, waves
like undertow, milking it out of me.  "Iku," I could feel it flowing out,
"I Ku!" completely unlike Urine.
   I went soft right away, even before the pleasure stopped, rolling over
me like warm surf.  I sighed, ran my hand between the middle of her chest,
felt her heart thump through it.  I don't know how long we flew, I don't
think I fell asleep, but after a while, we started flying down.  She made
love to me again, in me, then we got dressed, and put the seat up, sitting
in her lap again.  Looking out the front, I saw water, hills, mountains,
beautifull green getting closer, higher under us.
   A stripe of black, straight foreward, a runway comming in so fast, and
the engines made this weird sound, straining.  We slowed down in the air,
tilting up, dropping diagonally, then touched, leveled out, and slowed to a
stop.  I got out first, before the engines even wound down, and stretched.
My back popped, like it never had before, sending shivers up it as the wave
rolled down.  I rubbed my arms until the pimples went away, though it was
warm.
   Yamikae
   "Kuni Chiwa" The woman behind the desk looks up, and hits a button on
her comuter, "How can I help you?"
   "Uh," I'm not used to Englisi, "I was referred here by my doctor." I
think I said that right.  I look around, again unsure.  It certainly didn't
look like any clinic I've seen before.  Instead of medicly sterile walls,
and furniture, it was a warm room, almost sensual in the selection of
furnishings.  Pictures around the office waiting room showed girls like me,
but with western eyes, wide, in surprise, or other excitement.
   It was all so tastefull, no nudity, nor even unnatural bulges, but
somehow, I could tell they were like me.  "Well," she looks up from papers,
"I might be able to set something up with Her." The last word was stressed
strangely, not by pitch, or even volume, but I could feel the importance of
it in her tone.  She held up a clip board to me, a pen chained to it by a
string of metal beads.
   I sat down, and filled out what I could, not recognising all the words,
and symbols.  My name, birth date, and place, financial provider had a box
for "Private Pay", so I checked that off.  I flipped the sheet over, the
same, only in Kanji, and sighed.
   A woman came out, in a white single breasted coat which hung down almost
to her knees.  She was so tall, she ducked her head under the door, covered
in pink curls.  I look back down at my work, another page to finish, but a
gracefull hand takes it gently.
   "Yamikae," she looks up from the board, freeze me with her eyes.  One
green, the other blue, I stop, eyes open at their beauty.  I search them,
but find nothing I can recognise in them.  "Hello," she reaches down to
take my hand, "I'm Genevive." Her smile is so cryptic, beautifull, but you
can't tell what she's feeling behind it, "Come into my office."
   I followed her, through the inner door, and down a short hall.  There
was only one other door, at the end, plain, white, and solid.  It opened in
her gracefull hand, and green light flooded out, so bright.  She
dissapeared, and I followed.  It was like a greenhouse, full of plants, the
peaked roof made entirely of glass to let the sunshine in.  The smells
almost overpowered me, so fresh, and natural, an environment impossible to
find in the center of Tokyo, even so high that you could see the blue of
the sky.
   "Now," she said behind some leaves, "What can I do for you?" Peeking
through the green, I saw her, hair clashing beautifully in the verdant hue.
Here in the center, I couldn't tell how large the room was, that there was
walls around this jungle of plants.  She lay back, bonelessly draping over
some roots that looked like they were grown to that shape, to support her
as their only purpose.
   "I was told that," I tried to put my words in her Englisi, she sounded
Americon, if I got the accent right, "You make Futanari here."
   She laughed, a lovely sound, "Futanari are born, mostly female, we just
fix them here."
   "Can you fix me?" I had to lower my eyes, her's were too intense,
probing.  I know I could have no secrets from her.
   "Let's see what we have here?" She stood up, temporarilly suspending her
weight to float to her feet.  She towered over me.  Taking my hand, she
lifted it to her perfect mouth, as if to kiss it.  Instead, her pink round
tongue came out, licked the back of my hand, between my fingers, the palm,
and she closed her eyes.
   Now, they looked normal, like slits, a slight fold still showing in the
lids.  "Hmm," they opened, looked down at me, and reached for my clothes.
Gaze locked to mine, I stood, enthralled as she quicly undid my blouse,
pulled it back, unhooked my bra, arms around me.  Her hands slipped around
me, fingertips between my ribs, palms slipping around to cup my chest. 
"Satisfied with these?" I nodded up to her, modest, I don't want huge ones,
to weigh me down, get in the way like the westerners'.
   "Are you sure this is what you want?" Her thumbs had found my nipples,
like points, no dark rings of skin around them.  I nod again, speechless,
and my skin prickles up my back.  It's not cold in here, in fact, it's hot,
and muggy.  "Why don't you tell me about it?" She leans over, head almost
level with mine to slip my skirt down with my underpants.
   "I, uh," she touches me, "I grew up Traditional upper class," Hiroshima
society.  Her hands were warm, soft, touching every part of me, or on the
outside.  I swallowed, "I thought I was..." I searched for the word, not
knowing the English one, there is none officially in Japanese.
   "A lesbian?" her palm rested on my little hair, cupping the mound under
it like she had my chest.
   "Hei," I nodded, "Yes." that was it, "But I was attracted to boys also."
I could feel my blossom bloom, heat up, and fill with blood, the petals
parting, nectar starting to pool in it.
   A finger traced in, not entering me, but feeling the top, in the corner
between the pedals.  "Hmm," she muttered, "Clitoral Megaly." I had been
with enough men, and women to know what was different.  I had a Klitu, with
a little hole in the top, to pee out of, but no folds, or hood around it,
though my parents sayed they didnt have the Sensei cut it off, like a
boy's. "Endo-spadias" her finger tip had slipped down, over my opening.
   I could feel she had no nails as her finger slipped in, wetly.  I was
starting to feel hot, almost uncomfortable, and light headed.  I swayed,
felt her arm around me, lowering me to something soft, green.  I closed my
eyes, heard her mutter clinicly while she felt inside me.  In English, I
didn't bother translating, just listened to her voice, beautifull, pushing
me down to a place I never knew was inside me.
   Dark, warm, safe, I was sensation, every hair sensitive, the slight gust
of breeze as she moved, withdrew her hand from inside me.  It took a while
to climb back out, open my eyes, see her holding something up to her face,
talking into it.  A phone, I finally recognised, though it looked like a
chunk of wood.  "...and Hiroshimaru." She set it down on a root, shaped to
cradle it, wirelessly.  I looked down, blushed.  She was talking about me,
a fallout freak.
   Holding out her hand, she helped me up with remarcable strength.  "Feel
okay?" I shook my head, to clear it, then nodded.  "Good," she led me
through the leaves, to a door, different from the one we came in through,
"Let's pick you out a body," she smiled down on me.
   The next room was more recognizable.  Draped in lavender fabric, it made
the room seem close, but not confining, warm, and cozy.  All of the
furniture was padded, comfortable looking.  She stood next to a lounge,
seperate from the others, and her hand waved over it, wordlessly.  I
stretched out, naked, and it was comfortable, like a thick Futon with a
down duvet, but nothing covered me.
   I pulled my arms over me as another door opened, girls came in, dressed
like prostitutes.  All of a sudden, I felt so naked, in public, the
revealing clothes so taboo, I was all of a sudden overwhelmed with concern
for my honor.  I looked away, upward, the only way away from all the
people, looking at my shamefull nudity.  The ceiling was shiny, smooth,
reflective like a pool of dark water hanging over the room.
   I saw myself, huddled modestly on the lounge.  "See anything you like?"
I looked away, never satisfied with my reflection, my body, what it had,
and what was missing.  Looking back to the whores, they were stripping, not
sexilly, but quickly, efficiently, with a lot of economy of movement, they
stood naked around me.
   "To have sex with?" that's not what I came here for.
   "No," she giggled almost humanly, "Silly, to look like!"
   I looked at them, now standing naked, in poses that allowed me to see
them best, turning, and stopping to show something.  I realised some of
the, the ones that looked like they had no skin features where actually
furry.  Not like body hair, but a solid layer of close short fibers, like a
carpet.
   I looked away from them, that was a little to weird.  "You're not
looking for someone to copy," Genevive whispered in my ear, "Mix, and
match, decide what you want." I wondered how much I could afford, I only
had a few hundred thousand Heptojoulles saved up.
   "What will this cost?" I wondered.
   "Let me worry about that," I turned to see her sincere smile, "What's
important is you look outside the way you feel inside." I tried to do as
she said, break the girls down by features, recognise something from inside
of me, when I see it.
   I pointed, sliently at one's hips.  "She" was perfectly feminine, but as
I moved my hands apart to show how wide, I saw she had man parts, hairless,
but there was no femininity between hir legs, it dangled, and swung as she
turned hir hips to face me.
   I looked away, pointed out some breasts, the curve of another's back,
from the side, I couldn't stop, seeing beauty everywhere, a nice pair of
eyes, oriental, but large, and wide, like Genevive's.  "No," I turned,
pointed at them, "Like your's."
   "Of course," she blinked at me, "Color?" I looked back, and forth at
her's, then around the room.  Red, gold, pink, jade blue/green, none of
them were natural colors, but looked natural, purple, violet, lavender
matching the walls of the room.
   "I always imagined purplish eyes," I remembered, "or highlights when the
light hit them right."
   "Amythist," she nodded, held up a goblet from a side table.  It was
black glass, like obsidian, but she held it up to the light.  It shone
through a little, but purple, like the blacklight at a clubs.  "Ware."
   "Yes!" I pointed, "Like that!"
   She set it down, "Now, that's available, but it does have some optical
side-effects." I shook my head, not understanding, "The color is actually
from a filter, which will change your color sensitivity."
   "I'll go color-blind?" I guessed.
   "Not exactly," she shook her head, "While some lose a little Red-green
differentiation, it's ment to improve your Ultraviolet sensitivity."
   "I'll be able to see in UV?" I realised.
   "Yes," she nodded, "and if nothing goes wrong, you shouldn't even lose
any red sensitivity." She waved the "girls" closer.  Some had been actually
wearing Kogal style uniforms, but changed to pervert the original intent.
   ",but you didn't come here for cosmetic changes." They all stood, legs
apart, hips forward to display their genitals.  I'd been avoiding even
looking at them, except the one I accidently saw.  My family was very
traditional, still are, which is why we don't talk any more.  I'm dead to
them, and I had to get over the taboos they raised me with.
   The newhalf, or girlsan with the nice hips was gone, and all of them
looked female down there.  None of them had hair, the furry ones didn't
change thickness, color, or texture from their face to their crotch.  These
were the most different, most have female lips, and a sheath up between
them.  Their folds opened, revealing bare pink flesh, while thin pointed
penises slid up out of their furry skins.
   The furless ones changed shape as well, most of them externaly female
with large bulges in front, some of them wrincled like scrotums.  Their
lips parted, pushed open by something growing out.  My mouth fell open,
eyes wide as they get at the variety of shapes in front of me.  It wasn't a
sexual joy, or lustfull, but a release.  I hadn't even realised, but my
whole life I'd lived with male, and female, the only options.  I'd secretly
wished for a third, but now realised how endless the possibilities were.
   I closed my eyes, not to shut it out, but remember what I always felt.
"May I?" I reached out, and heard all of them say Hei, or yes.  I touched
them, again, not eroticly, but genderly, or some other word I don't know in
either language.  None of them felt quite right, but none of them where as
wrong as me.  "I'm not sure," I felt around blindly, "This," a rounded
triangular shaft, tapered up, "But not this end," the tip was all wrong,
split, like an upsidown y, or a Klitoru.
   "We can work on that," I opened my eyes to see hir shooing the others
away with hir hands.  "It takes the longest to develop anyway," she turned
to me, "unless you get a tail."
   "No," I shook my head, I want to still be able to pass for human, maybe
older?  "I don't want the fur, or any of those weird legs, either." The
door was pulled closed, but not before I saw it led to stairs, down.  "I
don't know how much I can afford," I bet the eyes were extra.
   "I told you not to worry about cost," she smiled, and unbuttoned her
long white doctor's coat.  "The clinic is not for profit, and the other
business," she nodded hir head toward the door down, "Covers most of the
costs."
   "It is not free?" I didn't beleive.
   "The cost for you isn't payed in money." she shook her head.  Before I
could ask, she answered, "Time."
   I tried to cover myself with my arms again, all of a sudden aware that I
was still naked.  She set down hir coat, and was naked underneath.  I
stared, eyes moving over hir, stunned by what I saw.  "And if you hadn't
noticed," she smiled, "We don't have any equipment here."
   I just stared, speechless.  She looked boneless, flawless, hairless
except the flare of pink curls draped gracefully aroung hir face, the
gracefull pink arches over her eyes, and spray of lashes, all pink.
   Not a single straight line, or hard edge, just soft curves flowing into,
and through each other.  Not a crease, or line in her porceline smooth
skin. Except one, a double wrincle between hir legs, a fold that thickened,
bulged, and seemed to drop from hir.
   It curved foreward, almost upward again, and the skin pulled tight.  The
end opened, like an eye, and a perfect head peered out, teardrop pupil
pointed down.  I blinked, guessing s/he was a Futanari, but having no idea
how perfect s/he would be.  "Hei," I nodded, "like that." Just what I
always imagined, felt, but could not touch, known was inside me, wanting so
badly to bring it out.
   "You can only get this from me," she sank closer, knee resting on the
lounge beside me, hands slipping up my sides carressing me.  They felt wet,
not clammy, but slippery, and I could feel my skin warm where she touched
me, even after her hands had moved away.  It spread out over me, making me
sweat, my hairs prickle.  Then something between my legs, a thick drop
pressed between my lips, slick.  The small head going straight for my
opening, entering me, filling me.
   I closed my eyes, waiting for hir to start fucking me, but she didn't.
She held it in, pushed in a little deeper, and I felt it throb, pulse
inside me, the fluid pumping in, relaxing the door in the end of me, not
numbing it, then more sensation than I'd felt in my whole body, radiating
out from where she was inside me.  I couldn't move, breathe, feel my skin,
or where my arms, and legs were, just the warmth, building to heat in my
body.
   I woke up to green light in my eyes, took a deep breath, natural smells,
nature you could taste in the air.  I was lying back, naked in the spongy
roots of a tree, brightly lit leaves above me, covering the glass ceiling.
Standing up, I stretched, felt wonderfull, like the afterglow of an orgasm,
and my spine popped.  I checked myself out, turning, and feeling around,
but couldn't find any difference.
   Stepping out, I saw there were lights on, like small suns, and the sky
was dark through the roof.  I found the door, or one of them, and looked in
to the Lavender draped room.  It was empty, dark, but I left the door open
to look at myself in the ceiling mirror.  It made the room look taller, and
I had to look up, so I layed out on the lounge.
   No, same old me.  I tried not to look at myself too much, expecially my
body, naked, but saw enough over the last 20 years, or so to see there was
no change at all.  How long was I asleep?  How long does it take?
   "Go ahead," Genevive stood in the door, white coat buttoned closed over
hir body, bare feet on the carpet.  "The changes won't start for a couple
days, depending how fast your body adapts."
   "How long did I sleep?" I wondered.
   "A couple of hours," she shrugged, "The body has to shut down, and start
back up."
   "I died?" I felt a shock of terror.
   "No," she laughed, lightly, and sincerely, "Your metabolism just had to
re-set." She walked over to a cabinet, or double door in the wall.  "here."
The insides of the doors were mirrored, and the back, and the lights came
up around us.  "You never looked at yourself before?"
   "No," I kept my head down, eyes away from my reflection.
   "Well look now," she said, and gently lifted my head, guided me over to
the three mirrors.  She posed me, lifting my arms, spreading my legs,
turning my hips.  "You have beauty," her hand slid up my spine from my flat
behind, "you just can't see it because it doesn't match what you want to
see."
   "I like my face," I looked up at myself.  Other people said I looked too
boylike, the hard angles of my jaw, like corners where it came to my neck.
My flat cheeks, high straight cheekbones, long sharp nose, and nostril
slits.  They couldn't like it, understand it, but it was my face, me, what
I look like.
   "I won't touch it," she promised, "I need to tell you what you are," hir
perfect face appeared next to mine, behind me.  It spoke, whispered in my
ear, "for you to understand what you can become."
   "What can I become?" I marveled.
   She smiled, a little harshly, "They call it 'Congenital Adrenal
Hyperplasia'," she corrected, "Your glands, above your kidneys produced
androgens, Aldosterone, which virilised you before you were born."
   "Okay?" all of this was unfamiliar.  "You are a Mericon?" it was good
that she was doing this, to repair some of the damage if the Bomb was
responsible.
   "I was born in Me'hiko," someplace I never heard of, "But yes, I am
American."
   "Any way," she changed the subject, "The first thing I did was replace
your damaged Y."
   "With what?" when?  When I was unconcious?
   "When we had sex," she answered my unspoken question first, "I gave you
a serum, a solution of Genophages, and nutrients for them."
   "What?" I suddenly realised why this "clinic" had no equipment.
   "Genophages, you know what spermatozoa are?" she asked.
   "Sperms?" little fish that men shoot into you to make a baby, or the yin
half of the yang.
   "Yes," she nodded, "well, I changed them, mine to enter any cell, or
organelle, and replace selected chromosomes with mine."
   "Your Genes?" I hoped I didn't understand that right, what's an
organell?
   "Special genes my body makes, yes."
   "How do you make sperms, you're a woman."
   "Not quite," her rosy curls shook with hir head, "Like you, I was born
an intersex, but for different reasons." I was starting to realise how many
different kinds of different there could be.  "You have ovaries, not testes
to make genophages."
   Japan is a culture of extremes, honor, and dishonor, Master, and
student, Male, and female.  Because of being raised by it, I just wasn't
able to think of more possibilities, barely was able to conceive a third. I
always imagined somewhere in between, a grey, neither the white of
masculinity, or the black of femininity.  Remembering yesterday, seeing all
those possibilities.  "I am still unsure of what I want."
   "You know," she put hir hand to my chest, between my breasts, over my
heart, "your body knows," I could feel it beat in me, against her palm. 
"I'll just help it tell you." She was right, of course, I could feel what
was right, I just never saw it.
   "I don't know what it looks like!" I realised out loud.
   "Right," she ran hir hand down my chest, and tummy, "So we'll take it
slow."
   "How long?" I wondered.
   "That's up to you," she got up, turned at the door to the green, "and
your body."
   I turned back to the mirrors, looked at myself, concentrating on the
flaws I'd always avoided.  I tried to see them gone, what should replace
them, and felt with my hands when they were unsure.  My breasts were so
sensitive, where she touched me.
   I took my hands away, and saw them, the print from Her hand red between,
hot with blood.  I ran my hands down to my hips, or lack of them.  My sides
just went down, straight to my legs, my waist was a cylinder, with no
taper. I wanted hips, and broader shoulders to match.  That would give me a
waist you could see.  I could almost see myself, the new me looking back
from the future, the way I would be.
   The door opened, and a man came up.  No, the one with the triangle
Chinko, like Genesensai, or mine would be.  "Hiroshimaru," he stood up from
his short formal bow.  My head dropped, shoulders came up in shame.  "No,"
he took my arms, "My name, that's what they call Me." He stressed the last,
and embraced me.  My cheek pressed into his breast, or one of them, and it
almost didn't feel strange.
   After my whole life with the humans, the Japanese, I finally found my
people.
   Loli-san (Mf Loli, Moll, Pros, Pica)
   "Get Away!" the lady at the door slapped her hands out to me, "You are
to young!" My Brother talked to her, and I just clasped my hands, lowered
my eyes.  "All right," she lifted the fuzzy pink rope, and we went in.  The
music was loud, overpowering, and too fast to follow.  Girls danced around
the tables, seats, couches, and booths, in various stages of dress, all
becoming less dressed.
   The men were all seated, smiling lips, and eyes, watching the girls puff
their chests in their hands, pouting, pulling a breast up to kiss, lick, or
nibble a nipple.  I kept my eyes down, but looked through the corners.  I
am not a good little girl, but I act it very well.  They like me that way,
'innocent', quiet.
   "Greetings," I looked up enough to see a man, a pimp, white suit, and
rainbow spray of neon hair instead of a top-knot, it glowed, changed color,
flashed, and blinked in a meaningless pattern.  I bowed stiffly at the
hips, eyes up, wide like in the cartoons.  Straightening, I chewed my lip
cutely, let it pop out, red.
   "How old are you?" He took my hand, walked behind me.
   "Nineteen," I whispered loud enough to be heard over the music, but only
by him.  My 'Brother' was gone, or Ex-Brother, since I had come here to
change allegience.  He basicly just dropped me off, and stayed long enough
to make sure I was all right.
   "Really?" his hand rubbed my bottom, one side, then the other.  My skirt
bunched between my legs, his fingers curled up, pressing me.
   "Hei," I nodded away from him, "My identity is registered."
   His hands gripped my shoulders, "What can I do for you?"
   I turned, and he felt down my flat chest.  "I don't want to be a girl
any more." Looking around, I could see all of the girls were modified.  "My
Ishahimo," Dr.  Pimp, "Said you could help me." No woman had breast like
the ones here, bigger than their heads, nipples bigger than their eyes.
   "Come with me," he led me to his office.  A Dr.  Office, he sat on a
rolling chair.  "Undress," he turned on a machine, and I obeyed.  My Kimono
untied, and I set down my Aikiochi knife.  He scanned my eyes, rubbed his
spikey beard.  My face showed up on his screen.  There were letters, and
characters, but I couldn't read them.
   "You have official adolescence supression," he noticed, "I can't reverse
that."
   He slid some glasses on his nose, the screen mirrored on his lenses,
even though he was turned to me.  He took my hand, "Ai!" something sharp
stuck me in the arm, and he held me, let blood spurt into a tiny clear jar.
His gloved finger pressed a peice of cloth to my arm, and he pulled it out.
   I held it on while he stuck the blood in the machine.  It didn't make a
sound, but lights came on.  I blinked, switched which leg was holding me
up. "You have the 'Eternal Cherry Blossom'." he noted, covered his smile
with a nice cloth mask.  Completely white, it was embroidered with script,
like brush strokes in stitches.
   Finally looking at me, he was clinical, not lustfull.  "What do you
want?" His eyes twitched around, like he was dreaming with them open.  He
crossed them, and I zoomed in on his glasses, his eyes came back to focus
on my face.
   "Eih, Breasts," I blinked, "We can stop when I want?"
   "Of course," his mask moved with his jaw, "Do you want anything else?"
   "Perhaps," I drew out the words, thinking.
   "Do you have money?" he reached back, blindly, and pulled out something,
right next to where he put my blood.
   "No," I barely payed off my debt, but left honorably.
   "I can put you to work here," he wrapped his arm around me, "Hold
still." I looked back from his face, and saw the needle in his hand.  He
twisted his fingers, and the needle got shorter.  I clenched my eyes,
"Nnnyi," tried not to twist in his arm.
   He let me go, looking in my face when I opened my eyes, they were
reflected in his glasses, though he was way back.  "You better lay down."
He pointed at a bed, or couch, and I layed down on it.  I tried not to
shiver, but a thousand nipples popped out on my arms.  "Close your eyes,"
he blinked slow at me, a strange pattern showing on his glasses.
   It was still swirling in my lids, and I felt his hand, pulling back
mine, the shallow prick, barely into my nipple, then it was gone.  "There,"
it swelled, felt warm, almost hot.  I didn't resist him pulling back my
other hand, the gloved tips pressing down the center of that side of my
chest.  The sharp pinch, gone in a heartbeat, then the spreading heat.
   "There," He got up, pants open, and got on with me.  He pulled at my
sides, and I arched my back, spreading my legs around his knee.  He rolled
them back, somehow, and I felt him drag down my belly.  I looked, and he
had a white plastic film over him.  Smooth, almost slick, he tapered
slightly to a very small head.  I felt it slip down between my lips, press
into me, perse open my unbreakable hymen.
   He just stabbed in, twitched in me, and pulled out a few secconds later.
"Go out," he stood up, "and get to work," and did up his pants.
   "Hei," I grabbed my robe in my bow, and pulled it on on my way out.  The
club was hot, full of breath, and sweat.  My chest felt hot, on fire, and a
man grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past.  "Hey, gerl," he grinned up at
me, light Anglo eyes full of lust.  I guessed he wanted shy, hesitant, so I
crossed my legs, stepping across toward him, and put my free hand on my
hip.
   "Was yo naim?" my Englisi is bad, but they seem to like it.
   He grinned, "Earl," put a hand around my hip.  I felt like I had a
fever, my cheeks, and ears felt so hot, and I was sweating.  He pulled me
over onto his lap, sticking me in my leg.  His hand snaked down around it,
flat, slipping between the folds of my Kimono.
   I shifted in his lap, pushing my leg over it, squeezed it between the
bottoms of my legs.  His other arm just holds me, like a daughter, and I
wondered if he had one.  How old was she, and how much did her 'dadi' love
her?  Maybe he just let her have freinds sleep over, watched them change,
or accidently walked in on them in the bathroom.  Maybe he had a step
daughter.  Did he like to fuck her, or just feel her up, like this?  I'd
played all those fantasies, for all those men before.
   I could feel his breath on my hair, from his nose.  His littlest finger
slipped slowly down the bare smooth bulge between my legs.  He turned his
hand, ran two fingers up my lips.  He rubbed them, petted them, breath
harder, shallower by my ear.  A finger slipped between, into my fold.  It
pressed down the little valley to the cave at the end, felt the tight
barrier, pulled across it.  He didn't even enter me, just wet his pants,
and gave me a credit slip.
   I took it up to the bar, belting my robe tight.  "Who let you in here?"
   "Our boss," I handed over the money to him.
   "You're new," he pulled out his scanning gun, and flashed my eyes.  I
blinked, and he registered the electronic ticket.  "You work fast." He must
have just put my file in the system.
   Not hungry, or thirsty, I walked the floor, and tried to get to know the
layout.  I didn't make it far when I picked up another customer.  A half
breed, his eyes were wide, but had deep curving corners.
   He waved me across the booth, no sign of the table.  Girls where feeding
foreigners, mostly, or being eaten off of, with sticks.  He looked like a
guard, a hooked baton collapsed in his belt.  "Hiroshimaru," he lowered his
eyes, and raised his topknot, the slightest bow.
   "Lolita," I guessed he worked here.  "I just transferred my debt here."
he had a weird accent, "Where you from?"
   "Nagasake'," he grinned, self conciously.  Right, 'Hiroshimaru',
fall-out familly.
   "I'm from here," I admitted, "Middle class, but my family sold me." A
girl, tragic, I know, but reality.  "I was young, so they gave me medicine
to stay young."
   "How old are you?" he asked.
   "Nineteen," in the feminine sense.
   His eyes opened, caught a red light from behind me, or something.  "I
would not have thought you were eleven yet," he used the neuter number.
   "I was nine, when I started." I didn't lower my eyes, avoid his.
"Hiroshimaru?" his eyes looked back up to mine, "Why do they call you
that?"
   "I was a mutant," he admitted.
   "Were?" he used the past tense.
   He smiled, "My boss fixed me."
   I shook my head, "What kind of mutant?" I wondered.
   "Sexual," he stood up, "Intersex, half/half."
   "Oh," I wondered.
   "Would you like to come with me?" he offered his hand.
   "Where?" I wondered.
   "To meet my boss," he smiled, "Genevive sensei."
   "Genevive?" strange name.
   "Yes," he smiled, "It means Inheireted Life."
   "Oh." I followed him right out.  The club didn't even recognise me as an
employee, completely, security didn't try to stop me leaving.  We got in a
car, terrifyingly fast, I could only see the back of his head, and his
seat, in front of me.  We climbed the streets, passing layers, and coming
up under another.  We must have been high because there were no klingers,
suspended under the reinforced ceiling to the next level.
   We pulled into a building, parked, and got out.  The car pulled in it's
wheels, from the nose, tail, and sides, sank to the pavement.  I followed
him through the garage, to an elivator, and went up what felt like several
floors.  The doors opened, and it was like being outside, the city I mean,
all the pictures I've seen of the country, green plants, and yellow light
from above.
   "Gene'san?" Hiroshimaru called, and She came out.  Not human, more like
one of those cartoon people, enormous eyes, pink hair that looked like it
was a natural color.  She stepped out of trees, real actual wood, with
rough skin, and leaves.  She seemed almost a child of them, as tall, and
gracefull.
   "I found her down in Chichipalace," he bowed to her, "She's Lolicon."
   "I see," her voice sounded like music, song.  I blinked, tried to open
my eyes more, wake up.  My chest burned, like it was on fire, the dead air
catching in my throat, and I fell back, asleep.
   I woke up to green, shining through my eyelids, blinked them open.  My
chest felt better, cool, softer and my nipples tingled.  Nude, I couldn't
even see my Kimono.  I never knew live wood was this soft, I sat up, rubbed
my eyes.  I saw motion, green on green, waving, rippling, then pink as
Gene'san came out.  Strange, Gene' San, male suffix for a woman, but
nothing was normal here.
   "How do you feel?" she asked, "Are you hungry?  Thirsty?"
   "Yes," my tummy tightened.  She reached out, petted a plant, stroked
under a green draped branch, and held out her hand to me.  She held nuts,
her other hand a fruit.  It was round, large as my hands could hold, and
had a pursed end, like a closed flower.  I ate the nuts, and she showed me
how to drink from the bulb.
   It was so creamy, sweet, tasted of a hundred flavors, tea, and rose, and
chocolate, and those pomigranit fruits they import from overseas. 
Bitter/sweet, then slightly sour, the flavors changed in my mouth, and I
swallowed.  I drank it dry, shrunken around the flesh, and She took it,
smoothed back some woody mass on the floor, then dirt, real dirt, not dust.
Covering it back over, she stood up, helped me up with a long strong hand.
   "You are not satisfied with yourself?" she asked.  Her Japanese is
perfect, sounds local, but higher born, though she is Gaijin.
   "No," I shook my head, "I want to grow up."
   "Into a man, or woman?" She asked.
   "Male?" I looked at her, "I can be a man?"
   "It takes a while," she nodded, like a Westerner, "But you can be
anything, Man, Woman, Boy, Girl, or any combination."
   "I can?" this was so strange, but nothing looked normal, familliar.  I
realised it was better, never noticing how horrible my world was without
being permitted to see anything better.  Even as a child, we lived in
squalor, hard, and filthy, and wretched.  My father struggled to pull us
out of it, and finally sold me out to do it.  I hoped my brothers, my real
ones have it better.
   She spread her robe, or buttoned coat.  "Yes," I just don't know the
right words for what she looked like underneath.  Long, and curved, and
sculpted into perfection.  Her lips parted, and a long, thin tapered penis
fell out, hardened, curved up to point straight out.  "Anything you want."
   "I don't know what I want," I realised, "Yet."
   She stepped up, took my face in her hands, and bent to kiss me.  Her
tongue gently slipped in, tasted sweet, and sour, making my mouth water. 
She pulled my spit out with her tongue, not sucking it out, but lapping it
inside her mouth.  She pulled back, her robe/coat belted over her.
   She took me to this guy's room.  Anglo, with some normal features, not
very masculine at all.  He was drawing, on a wooden tablet across his lap.
"Hei," he said, then in Englisi, "Can I help you?" I sat down, and Genevive
said behind me, "S'hi dozen no what s'he wonz."
   Her English accent wasn't American, and hard to follow.  She left, the
door swinging closed behind her.  "Ecchisan," he introduced himself, "Could
you tell me what you want if I showed it to you?"
   "Eih," I shrugged.
   "Take this off," he clicked lead out of his stylus, and turned so I
could see the paper.  He had a writer's hands, black glitter at the bottom
from brushing the page.  I couldn't remember seeing actual paper before, I
must have, when I was much younger.  He looked me over, thoughtfully, not
clinicly, or passonately.  He sketched out my face, in gacefull sweeps, and
slashes with his pencil.
   "I want tits," I used the Amerikano word, "Not to big." He swung his
pencil off to one side, where my arm should be.
   "Like this?" he pulled an arc, and set a point on the edge of it, "or
this?" two more lines, curved the same way on the other side, bulging out
on the bottom, but hanging in on top.
   "Those," the last, he flipped his stylus to erase the two out of place
breasts, and sketched an almost perfect pair between them.
   He glanced up, drew in my ribs, perfectly, the way they look, my baby
fat belly.  He stuck out his stylus, poked my knees open, looking up under
his brow, and sketched around the inside of my hips.  He left the middle
clear, blank, undrawn, and drew on my legs.  I looked at the void, tried to
imagine what I wanted to see there.
   I could be a boy, a man, or some combination, like Her, Genevive Sensei.
"What would you like?" he looked up at me, "For Gender?"
   "I don't know, " glanced around, at sketches lying around the room. 
"Let's pick something out," he said, "Do you know what Futanari is?" His
Japanese had a Merikon accent, Kalifornea.
   "I heard of it," I nodded, "It's like both genders in one?" He picked a
book, like the one he was sketching in, but all filled out.  It had studies
in it, a bewildering array of non-human sex parts.
   "Hermaphrodite," he nodded, "Androgynous."
   "Hei," that looked interesting, "So I can fuck, and be fucked." He
looked up, a little surprised.  I don't have a potty mouth, so people are
often surprised when I use respectless words.  But I spent ten years, just
over half my life as a child prostitute.  I know what the real world is,
even if I don't look like it.
   I always wondered what it would be like, to be inside someone else, feel
yourself, a part of me I never had pushing in, deeper, to the bottom of
them.  I couldn't imagine it.  "Could I have a penis," I decided, "A small
one?"
   "Like this?" he sketched it in, standing out from the side view I didn't
nocice him drawing.  He sketched my hand under it, flat on the front of my
thigh, the same size as my smallest finger.
   "Hei!" like a little boy, which I never saw with my own eyes before.  It
was exiting, sexy the way he sketched it in, between my lips from the
front. On the other side from the side view, he put in a part turned
picture, legs spread a little, from the crotch out.  I barely noticed him
sketching around it.  "Perfection." It was so cute, and I could almost look
down, and imagine it, sticking out of me.  Hard, ready to stick into
someone.
   I smiled, and he tore it off.  "Take this to Gene'san," he held it up. I
closed the door behind me, and found my way back to the outside room. 
Looking up from the wall, I could see the ceiling, slanting high, blue,
like the sky.
   It was in panels, with metal holding them up, then something moved on
it. No, behind it, way up high, something was flying.  Green leaves
reflected down, and I saw the sky, for the first time, the real light of
day.  I'd heard of it, but had only seen the lights designed to give you
the same amounts of light, so you don't get sick.  And the lights of
advertisement.  There was no writing, just the real blue I'd seen in so
many pictures.
   "Gene'san?" I called, suddenly feeling naked, and exposed.  The air made
me light headed again.  She came out, leaves parting to reveal her naked
beauty.  All female, her him part was not sticking out, and she looked like
a normal, if prefectly sculpted woman.
   "Yes?" she stopped, and I caught my breath.  That helped, just not
breathing to much of it.  I just held up the pictures, on the page, the
strange texture of paper against my fingers.  "Oh?" she took it, looked it
over.  "I think we can do this."
   She let go of the bottom of the sheet, and took my hand.  Leading me off
into the plants, my life ended, and a new one began.
   Pedra (Tt, Futa, Shem)
   "¿Beunos noches?" I looked up from the magazine I was reading, the pages
were backwards, as far as I could tell, or upside-down.
   "Si," I smiled, "¿Cómo está?" 'She' was buena, beautiful, not at all
like the pictures back in Perdida.  She didn't look Latin any more, though
she still had those strange colors.
   "Do I know you?" S/he switched to Englese.
   "No," Evryone speaks it, even over here, In Japan, "But you are still
legend around Latin Amerjica." S/he smiled, "Espescial y around the Partio,
Transsexuales."
   "How can I help you?" even en Englese, she had a Latin Accent, Mejico,
Vera Cruz.
   "I am a follower of your father's," 'Padras', I said, Male mother.
   "Can I see?" she unbuttoned her double breasted coat, pulling the belt
untied.  I untucked my shirt, pulled it off, and undid my pants.  "His
techniques live on," I told her, topical estrogens, and showed her.
   She sat on hir heels, coat open around hir legs to look between my legs.
Born male, but extremely feminised, I was mastrubated from birth with
Hormonas.  My Juevas never fell, and my sacho softened, became like lips.
   She touched me, and I saw she had no nails.  Feeling between my folds, I
have no opening, just flat muscle under the loose, but smooth skin.  I
stiffened, standing out, the hood peeling back from my tip.  I felt it
spread open.  "Hypospadias," she wispered to hirself.
   Very short, atrophied to nearly a clitorus, s/he looked up.  My parts
went numb down there, but somehow warm.  I could feel the hormonas seeping
into me, from hir hand, though s/he put nothing on them.
   "Lay down," s/he pushed me gently back, crawled gracefully over me. 
S/he kissed me, first time I been hard in over a year, the hardest it's
ever been.  Hir tongue pushed the tip open, and I think I felt something
seep in, down my urine hole.
   It was flood, but moved on it's own, spreading numbness, then sensation
after it.  I could feel it crawl up my belly, splitting, finding my Juevas,
and making them burn like hot coales.  They squeezed, pumped hot fluid that
ran down, through my hair, out into hir mouth.
   S/he smiled around me, swallowed, and let go, to lick at the corner of
hir mouth.  Then, s/he kissed me, moving up hir body, feeding me with hir
tongue.  I could feel something between us, curling up my bottom.
   She lifted hir hips, left her creamy tangy spicy flavor in my mouth, and
laying it across my belly.  Long, thin, and tapered, like a tamale', it
opened to show a little Niñito head, tiny, like mine, but with the Urina
hole closed in the end, like a normal boy's.
   She slipped hir hips up, closer, between my titillias.  I opened my
mouth, slipped my tongue out over my teeth, rolled it around hir Penisita
as it slipped down my tongue.  It got thicker, the tight little head
gagging me, and I pulled back.
   It was leaking, no, in a steady stream, except thick, and creamy, like
Sperma.  "Drink," she whispered gently, and I swallowed.  Warm, and tastey,
like thick horchata more came as fast as I could drink it.
   She pulled out, and slowly lowered my head to the ground.  I couldn't
open my eyes, then I fell asleep, dreaming of hir.  S/he talked to me,
asked me about my home, in the Andean pass between was was once Equador,
and Columbia.
   Now sovreign, it was taken by an army, mercenaries bought with old drug
money.  My father, he was not proud of me, but was willing to let me spend
my part of the inheiretance to make my self happy.  He loved me, even if he
couldn't understand me.
   I told hir about mi padra, the one who found me, and taught me about
sex, and helped me become Pedra.  Padre cut me off, but Seniorito had
money, and kept me, and changed me.
   I woke up in hir arms, hir hand, massaging Hormonas into my soft folds.
"Si," I didn't have to ask, "I can sweat them." I didn't even get turned
on, my Penisita swelled, but soft, warm with blood.  It felt almost like
she was pushing hir nailess fingers into me.
   Not my Ojota, asshole, but over it, in the folds of my scrotum.  There
was a little hole there, like a belly hole, but I could feel hir fingertip
stretch it.  I closed my eyes again, felt hir fixing me, and fell back
asleep...
  
Hiroshimaru (Futa)