The Diary Patient 0

This is another "The Diary" story.

Maria smiled as she opened the shop, noticing the diary on the counter from the window. She hurried inside, anxious to see if another story awaited. When she opened the diary, and noticed it was full, she smiled. Grabbing a cup of coffee, she went into the reading room, grabbed a seat, and began to read.

Dear Diary,

Am I supposed to start this way? I guess. It doesn't matter much I suppose; so, why not! I am not good with women. Seriously! I am very good with women as friends. I have lots of friends who are girls. I do not have a girlfriend. In fact, I have never had a girlfriend. The 40-year-old virgin was my life story, except mine doesn't have a happy ending. Heck, I'd settle for a happy ending, if I knew where to get one.

I'm your normal geek. I am exceptionally good with computers. I am not good with athletics. I read a lot. I am 6'3", 270, and 45-years-old. I have three degrees in Computer Science, including a PhD. I have 19 software patents in my name. And I have been a part of two successful start-ups. I wouldn't need to work another day, except that I love working with computer. Computers make sense to me. I see code differently. When code is perfect, I "hear" it as a harmony, and I "see" it as a painting, vibrantly with color. Bad code is neither harmonious nor colorful. It is a cacophonous blend, ranging from putrid green yuck to dark maleficent gray-tones.

As much as I get computer code, I do not get women. They are my best friends. Nearly my entire team is female. They are collaborative, and I work exceptionally well with them. They make my work enjoyable, not competitive. But, they are only interested in me as a friend. I am the dreaded "nice guy."

I was at this quirky bookstore in downtown San Francisco today when I spotted this diary. I felt compelled to buy it and write in it. I guess this is a good start.

If nothing else, I will have a good story tomorrow. My sister and her hubby are throwing another party. I am invited. I am the Master of Disaster at parties. It always happens. So, it will at least give me something to write about.

 

Dear Diary,

OK, that was the weirdest party ever. I was there about 3pm. It was a pool party and BBQ. I am not going swimming. But, I had BBQ flown in from Franklin's BBQ in Austin, and I wasn't going to miss their brisket.

I like hanging out. My sister always knows the prettiest girls. Most of them work for her. And seeing them in their bikinis is good for the soul.

I had hung at the party until evening, and I was getting ready to leave when "she" walked it. She dominated the party without controlling it. Everyone noticed her. Everyone wanted to speak to her. She gave my sister and her hubby a bottle of wine, kissed and hugged them both, and otherwise made the rounds at the party. I noticed her because of her dress. It was this gorgeous red wrap that showed her every curve, and it was obvious fit for her. I'm sure I'd seen the dress in a magazine, and it belonged to one of the top named designers.

How did I know? My favorite show is Project Runway. Seriously! I love the show. They design clothes. I design software. And when we have both done our jobs, the result is something beautiful. I get them. I've been watching the show since it first came on, and I have gotten an education in fashion. I subscribe to Glamour, Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan, and In Style. Before you question my sanity, I have 2 software patents that were inspired by fashion designs. I'm not going to tell you which ones. Not sure if I could lose my patent due to prior art. Best I not say any more.

Anyhow, I digress, "she" was stunning. I know she was wearing Jimmy Choo's. What made me stop was her handbag. She was carrying a Chanel "Diamond Forever". There are only 13 of them, and it was in her hand. But she had such amazing grace, that it seems as natural for her as something that she could have purchased from Walmart. I'm still replaying the images I have of her in my head.

 

Dear Diary,

Sister and hubby invited me to a private dinner party tonight. Turns out that "she" is the daughter of a French fashion designer, and her mother was an Italian supermodel. She speaks 5 languages. She consults as an advisor to the top fashion houses of the world. And, she specifically asked my sister to invite me. My sister told me, and I quote, "He had great tastes in fashion." How the hell did she notice that I noticed? I would have bet that I had slipped out of the party without her even glancing my way. But, seems I am going to meet her. "She" is named Francesca Marie.

I arrived early, but Francesca was already there. She "dressed down" today considering she was only wearing a Marc Jacobs dress, Manolo Blahnik pumps, with a Hermes Birkin handbag. This woman had money. I had no idea how my sister really knew her, or even came to meet her, but they were obviously friends. We were introduced, and the wine started. The fruits and cheeses were excellent. Northern California has excellent options for those. And others arrived within about 15 minutes.

I hugged my glass, and got absolutely wasted. I am a cheap drunk. Seriously! A single beer is something I feel. So when I finished 3 large glasses of wine before dinner, I was loopy. Somehow, I managed to neither embarrass myself nor my sister and her hubby. I was, if I dare say it, engaging as a drunk. I talked about art and antiquities, my travel passions, and otherwise listened in intently.

 

Dear Diary,

I am in an alternate universe. No way has this happened! In no normal universe does a dozen pink long stem roses show up on my door, with a note from Francesca telling me that she will pick me up Friday night at 7pm. She tells me to wear a suit and tie. I don't own a suit and tie. Under the note is a business card for a tailor in San Francisco, and a notation that an appointment has been made for me at 10am tomorrow.

 

Dear Diary,

I barely slept. When I finally got to sleep, I woke up to knocking on my door. Men were waiting for to take me by limo into town. The men were not there for me, but to collect every piece of clothing, shoes, and other attire that I owned. All of it. Sadly, while I know about women's fashions, my own fashions are pitiful. My shirts are mostly those I collect from the technology conventions that I speak at several times per year. I own a single button-down shirt and a single tie, which I can never find. My shoes are my brown deck shoes and a pair of black dress shoes that are stuffed under my bed. I have a watch, which I think I got for Christmas when I went to college. My entire collection of clothes fit into 2 large boxes. The t-shirts were loaded into garbage bags, and it took 3 of them.

Emilio is the tailor and fashion advisor. He is wonderful. His whole staff is great. I am sold. I arrived at 10am, and I did not leave until 6pm. Emilio is a techie, and I was measured by the latest in laser fitting technology. He used visualization software to show me in my new clothes. I had a manicure, pedicure, facial and hair styling while we talked. I purchased skin and hair products specially formulated to my needs and preferences. I was presented options for everything, and I loved having options. In the end, I spent just over $100,000. Honestly, it was the best $100,000 I'd ever spent. Or, ever tried to spend. Turns out that Francesca had already covered it. She had also put $25,000 per month for the next year on account, and I would be expected to come back for regular fashion updates. WOW! I like powerful women.

 

Dear Diary,

OK, life is good. I may not have slept the night before, but I slept like a baby last night. Let me say this, the skin care products are amazing. And I slept in my Tommy John underwear. That stuff is better than any pajamas I've ever worn. Seriously! I am sold just on the underwear. Most of the clothes will not be in before Thursday. But, I have enough of the essentials to allow me to go to work. And work was interesting, I was actually turning heads at work. I wasn't me. It was the fact that the shabby guy was finally dressing nicely. But, I still turned heads.

 

Dear Diary,

WOW! Thursday came quick. I haven't written in a couple of day, but not because nothing occurred. I was just busy. All the clothes arrived today, and Emilio's staff was there to arrange my closet for me. It was going to take a while; so, I left them with the key to lock up when they finished. I had a courier deliver $500 as a tip for the guys doing the work. I appreciated all they did. Besides, they are young guys. They obviously are just starting out. They are still ripped athletes. They had well-toned arms and abs you could see through their shirts. And they had obviously been working just to prepare for me. When I met them, they already had that working man smell. It wasn't bad. In fact, it was pleasant.

Anyhow, when I got back, the closet was organized. No, it was rebuilt. Stunning work actually. There was a guide to my closet, and a full set of guides to the proper care of my new clothes.

 

Dear Diary,

I just finished up my annual physical. I can tell Francesca when I see her tonight that I have a clean bill of health. I actually lost weight. I knew I was feeling better. My skin is doing well. I notice that I have lost body hair. I asked my doctor about it. My doctor is a female, and she told me that it was the new skin care products I was using. I was startled she knew about them. When I asked, her said that Francesca had actually sent samples of them in advanced. She told her that they were advanced formulations, and they were purposefully formulated to remove hair. I guess Francesca doesn't like hairy men. Doesn't bother me.

Something else that didn't bother me was my prostate exam. I generally hated that part. But when she stuck her finger inside of me and touched my prostate, it felt really good. She seemed to wiggle it a little more than normal, and I just about lost it and moaned. Seriously! I got a hard on from my doctor giving me a prostate exam. So when the doctor went to exam my penis and testicles, I was rock hard. But my doctor is professional, and she didn't even flinch. Besides, it is not like I am Mr. Porn Cock. I am 4". My lack of endowment probably leads to my chronic virginity as well, but that is another story.

When she was done, I felt good about my day, and I was looking forward to my upcoming date.

 

Dear Diary,

I hate writing this, but I am in love. Francesca is a techie. She pulled up in a Tesla. We talked about Star Wars and Star Trek. She has a comic book collection, and goes every year to Comic Con. She's into cosplay, and promised to show me some of her outfits. She is also a foodie. I watch Top Chef, and one of the chefs from the current season was cooking for us in Francesca's house in downtown. I recognized him. Even though the current shows are only through the 2nd episode, he is a top contender. He's the best looking chef if nothing else. I wanted to ask him how he ultimately did, but I am sure he cannot say. Besides, that would spoil the fun.

The meal was excellent, and we settled in with a bottle of wine. I'd had a glass, just a single glass, with dinner. But, if I drank more, I'd get drunk fast. I told her, "Francesca, are you trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?" She giggled and said, "Maybe!" Then, I passed out.

I woke up in her guest bedroom. I am still fully clothed. Well mostly. I am down to just underwear, but I am not naked. The smell of coffee and fresh breads calls me to the kitchen. "Good morning, Sunshine!" Francesca greets me. "You were serious when you said you were a cheap drunk." She giggled, handing me a cup of coffee. "And don't worry, I had Michael put you in the guest room. I wouldn't take advantage of you when you are unconscious. Besides, when I do take advantage of you, I want you to be fully aware." She said with a wink.

I didn't know who Michael was until he joined us in the kitchen. He is huge. He is 6'8" and all muscle. He's Francesca's bodyguard, driver, and general assistant. Stephanie joined us later, and she is Francesca's personal aide. She keeps her calendar, and otherwise handles all her business arrangements. Francesca had a lot to do, and she asked Michael to make sure I got home safely. She gave me a nice kiss, in front of Michael and Stephanie, and told me that she wanted to see me again.

 

Dear Diary,

Francesca called. She wants to see me again tonight. I barely got back, when she called. Michael is going to pick me up at 8pm, and I should pack a bag with a change of clothes.

 

Dear Diary,

Well, that was interesting, and a little frightening. Michael picked me up. We stopped by the doctor's office. There was a package waiting for me, which Francesca told Michael to have me pick up. The package was a small cooler, and it contained blood and fluid sample. YAY! What a weird way to start a trip. But, I did it, and Michael took me to the airport. Francesca has a private plane. Actually, she has 3. We were flying the small jet, because it was just the four of us.

When we took off and leveled off, Michael and Stephanie settled in to do their work. Francesca wasted no time getting me drunk. She straddled me in the chair, and told me that I was about to join the Mile High club. I blushed, if blushed is a precise enough word to describe the range of colors I flashed.

Holy Shit! She was serious. She dropped to her knees, unzipped my pants, and pulled out my small cock. As she did, Michael had pulled out his cock. It was 10", veined, and rock hard. He was stroking it as he watched us. Stephanie was pushed back in her chair, dressed raised, rubbing her wet pussy. I could see her glistening. I should have been embarrassed. I should have been scared. But when she wrapped her lips around my cock, I didn't care. This was my first blowjob, and damn she was good.

As we cruised at 36,000 feet, my small cock was hard. I hadn't masturbated in over 20-years. I'd given up. It was too frustrating to masturbate, and not have a chance with a real woman. I had also found it hard to get hard. I was only 21-years-old, still in college, when my erectile dysfunction set in. At the time, medications were not what they are, but I had already resigned myself to my fate. But as my cock throbbed in Francesca's warm mouth, I was about to experience my first orgasm in over 20-years, and my first orgasm from someone ever!

I suddenly bucked my hips, as I did, the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. I exploded in her mouth as she gave me a look of horror. OH MY GOD! I just came in this beautiful woman's mouth. I did it without warning. Holy Fuck! She was probably going to have Michael throw me out of the plane.

She pushed back from me, swallowing my cum, and quickly took her seat. She looked me in the eyes, "Jason, enjoy!" That's when I felt the prick in my neck, and remembered that Michael was behind me. As I faded to the floor, I noted that it was Stephanie with the needle, not Michael.

 

Dear Diary,

I woke up, restrained in my bed, and unable to speak. There are tubes coming out of me, and I am surrounded by medical equipment. I cannot feel anything. I am floating in my own body. In and of itself, this is scary and very weird. But, this is stranger.

I woke up to see the diary beside me on a tray stand. I could see it, but not move to get it. This is the strange part. I started to think, and my thoughts, started to appear in the diary. How fucking weird.

And then, the diary started talking to me. You cannot read it. You'll have to believe me. All that part of the conversation was erased, by the diary. But, I can record the basics.

The diary told me everything was going to be fine. I was going to be happy. And yes, part of that happiness would be a lot more sex in my life. Francesca was behind my current condition, but she did it for my happiness. She also thinks that I can help others. As soon as I read all that, I relaxed. The agony of the restraints diminished, and I had a lot of peace about my situation.

 

Dear Diary,

Turns out I was immobilized for my own protection. The last several days, doctors and nurses have been coming to see me. They are checking me. I can see them poking and prodding me. But, I still cannot feel anything. I think about smiling. I try to smile. I hope I am successful. I think I am, because they are smiling back at me. I can hear them, but I am unable to respond except by moving my eyes.

 

Dear Diary,

Francesca came in today. She had a syringe in hand. She spoke to me as she injected something into my last IV line. The last couple of days my equipment was systematically reduced, and I have just 1 IV line left.

As she pushed the medication into the line, Francesca spoke to me.

"I have just given you a medication that will release your immobilization in 30 minutes. It will be restored suddenly. Be prepared. It is going to feel weird." She said.

I tried to nod. She continued.

"As weird as that is going to feel, it will dwarf some weirder sensations. Here is the truth. My company works on anti-aging treatments for women. We'd found a new treatment that had promise as a hair remover, wrinkle reducer, and skin treatment. You were the first male we'd tried it on, and the results were intriguing." She said. I just sat there listening, but my eyes were obviously responding because Francesca smiled and continued.

"They learned that the treatment opened seemed to unlock your DNA. You were suddenly more susceptible to further treatments. Everything was going fine, when the lab discovered you had leukemia. My fucking you was a pity fuck. I didn't want you to die a virgin. And, as I told you, my family are doctors. There was a chance, a small chance that we could save you. So after the fuck, Stephanie tranquilized you to allow us to treat you."

I nodded. Francesco looking startled. I was already coming around. I could feeling tingling in my body, and I had moved slightly. It had clearly not be even 5 minutes, let alone 30.

"When you got here to the lab, we began an extensive treatment process only to learn you also had pancreatic cancer. We debated even waking you up to tell you the truth. But, we had a treatment that had worked in the lab with promise, and we tried it. We'd never used both treatments with the same person. Then, the miracle happened."

I looked startled. Miracle? What miracle?

"Yes, from your eyes, I can tell you that you are 100% healed, both your leukemia and your pancreatic cancer. What's more, your treatment is revolutionary. In the 14 months that you were healing ... " She paused to allow me to absorb that I had been under for over 1 year. "In that time, we have cured childhood leukemia. It is done! You are a hero to the world."

Seriously? I mumbled and garbled the words. My voice sounding very strange. And, I could tell that I had lost significant weight during my hospitalization because my body felt lighter.

"There is another group you have helped, and to whom you are a hero." She said.

I was slowly starting to twitch parts of my body.

"There are people who are born to the wrong body. Medically, they are called transgendered. Male-to-female women have to undergo surgery to gain a constructed vagina. Female-to-male men have to undergo chest surgeries, and constructing a penis was beyond medical science."

"Was?" I asked, in a squeaky voice. She smiled.

"Yes, was. Now, those people can follow a treatment based on your discovery. They can become fully female or fully male, along with a substantial reversal of age."

"WOW!" My speech was working, except for the tone. Everything was good.

"More than WOW! Your illness and subsequent treatment is going to save children from horrible death. Your treatment is going to help transgendered people live the life they want, and probably save many lives from suicide. And, once we figure out the aging component, we will extend life." She said. "But ..."

"But what?" I said, as my head started to loosen up.

"But, you are not the same. You changed. You also lost age. You are about 18-20 now, as an estimate. And ..."

"And? Come on, tell me the truth." I was struggling to see myself.

"You are now female." As she said it, my head and neck loosened, and I looked down at the body of a 18-year-old hottie, complete with C-cup breasts and a trim blonde bush. I grabbed myself, my pussy and my breast, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I started to cry.

"It's OK. We are working to change you back!" Francesca said as she comforted me.

"No! You don't need to. This is what I want. Part of the reason I was a virgin was because I was into transsexual girls. But, I did not discover my attraction to them until my mid-30s. I felt I was too ugly to attract a girl, and too ugly to dress up. But, I dreamed of being a transsexual, and becoming a real woman. Now, I wake up, and it is true!"

"Seriously?!"

"Yes, seriously!" I said as I wiped the tear from my eye.

We spent the rest of the day talking. Well, talking as we shopped. I had nothing to wear, and no experience wearing it. So, my big sister Francesca took me shopping.

 

Dear Diary,

It has been a week since I woke up, and the world for me is different. Much, much better. I took the SAT. With my intelligence and underlying age, it was easy. I had many offers from top-notch schools, but I have opted for Computer Science at Stanford. How cool!

I have 6 months until the school year starts, and I intend to enjoy it. Francesca is encouraging me. It also doesn't hurt that I am now one of the two richest people on the planet. Francesca patented the medications, and she split the profit with me. She is the face of the company. I am just known as Patient 0. No one, aside from Francesca, Michael, Stephanie, and a few medical folks, know my face. Since everyone else is well-compensated, I have protection.

I just wanted to say THANKS! Diary. I am glad you came along. You can go help others now.

Besides, Michael's younger brother, Jeffrey is coming out of the shower. He is as hunky as his older brother, and he has stamina. But, I seem to still wear the poor guy out. ***giggle*** He's lucky!

Well, actually, I am lucky. He loves to fuck me in the morning, and I love the feeling of his rock hard cock fucking me in the morning. I make him shower so that he smells nice, and then we shower together afterwards to get clean. But, that is a story for another time. Thanks!

Maria finished the story, and a new book, Patient 0: Origins of Patient 0 appeared on the shelf. The diary resetting itself. Maria smiled as she continued masturbating. Jeffrey sounded really hunky, but Michael was the one she wished would come into the store.

As she thought that, the doorbell rang. She pulled up her panties and down her dress. "Hi, can I help you?" She said. "My name is Maria, and this is my bookstore."

"Hi Maria, my name is Michael, and a good friend of mine recommended that I drop by this place."

"Mmm, did she?"

"How did you know my friend was female?" Michael asked.

"Well, I'll leave it to Julie ... or if you prefer ... Patient 0, to explain that to you."

Michael looked startled, and Maria just looked at him with a wicked smile as she led him back to the reading room. She reminded herself to send a Thank You note. WOW! He really is gorgeous, she thought to herself.

What do you think? Email me at tsjuliemonroe@yahoo.com

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