Date: Mon, 25 Oct 1999 16:32:17 EDT
From: DEANECHRIS@aol.com
Subject: The Witness Protection Plan With a TG Twist by Deane Christop

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THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM WITH A TG TWIST

by Deane Christopher          Copyrighted 1999

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	"I have no further questions for the witness, your honor.", the
attorney who was leading Jason Tamborn's defense team said in a off-handed
manner; knowing with a certainty that though he had tried every ploy he
knew during the course of his lengthy cross-examination, he had been unable
to impeach Daniel Faber's testimony.

	The judge, with a cursory glance to his wristwatch as he did so,
perfunctorily inquired, "Does the prosecution wish to re-direct?"

	"No, your honor.  The prosecution does not."

	"Very well then, the witness is excused."

	Heartened by the fact that his long awaited testimony was now
behind him, a much relieved Daniel Faber stepped out of the witness box and
began his passage out of the courtroom.  As he did so, no less than four
burly and alert FBI agents along with an extremely attractive
twenty-something year old woman rose from the aisle seats they had been
occupying and formed a protective cordon about him.  Passing out of the
courtroom and into one of the magnificently marbled hallway of Washington's
Federal Court Building, two other agents, both carrying concealed, yet
easily assessable Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns, took up their
assigned positions, with one preceding the entourage to act as pointman and
the other, taking up the rearguard position.

	Briskly, Faber and his armed entourage made their way along the
hallway and, upon turning a corner, ducked into a small, sparsely appointed
holding room who's security was being expertly maintained by no less than
another four heavily armed FBI agents.

	"Well, I'm glad that's finally over.", Daniel wearily offered
comment as he entered the room and proceed to take a seat at the conference
table which fairly dominated the room's interior.

	"I guess you are, Mr. Faber.  I guess you are.", Justice's Liaison
Officer Grace Clark concurred, knowing fully well that in one manner of
speaking or another, it would never be over for the unfortunate Mr. Daniel
Faber.  It would only be different.

	"So now what, Grace?", Dan, who was on a first name bases with
Justice's Ms. Clark, felt the need to asked.  "Do you guys turn me over to
the whomever in the hell it is who will be handling my being processed into
the Federal Witness Protection Program or what?"

	"No, Dan.", with regret clearly evident in her voice, Grace Clark
reluctantly replied.  "Sorry to say that until we are directed otherwise,
you are to remain under FBI protection for the near to foreseeable future."

	"How come?", a disgruntled Dan Faber demanded, as the hallway door
opened to admit Paul Shucks, head Federal Prosecutor for the government's
case against Jason Tamborn.

	"Tell you what, Dan.", Grace Clark pleasantly returned.  "I'm going
to let Mr. Shucks here answer that question for you."

	Paul Shucks, having caught the gist of what was going on as he
maneuvered his massive body around the close confines of the room in order
to take a seat directly across the table from Dan, took up the cudgel,
saying as he did so, "First, we wait for a conviction.  Which, thanks to
your testimony Mr. Faber, I do believe we will most assuredly secure.
Then, as sad as I am to have to tell you this, especially so after what
you've up and done for us in the government's case against that arrogant
son of a bitch Tamborn, we going to have to put you back in cold storage
for just a little while longer."

	"And why's that, Mr. Shucks?", Dan Faber despondently inquired.

	"Because of the appeals process, Mr. Faber.  While I know that
you're getting ency and that you'd like nothing better than to get on with
your life, I'm sorry to say that we are going to have to keep you on ice
for awhile longer on the off chance that something unforeseen happens,
necessitating the need for us to call on you to testify again.

	"However, be advised that once Tamborn's appeals process has run
its' course and that cretin is safely behind bars, as I assure you he will
be, Mr. Faber, rest assured that you have my personal guarantee that the
Justice Department will move Heaven and Earth to show you just how much it
appreciates all the cooperation you've afford us."

	Thinking, 'Yeah!  Right!', a noticeable disturbed Dan Faber
replied, "Pray tell!  Just how long do think Tamborn's appeals process
might take before everything is all said and done, Mr. Shucks?"

	"Anywhere from six months to... shall we say... three years at the
outside.", Paul Shucks promptly returned.  "However, Mr. Faber, though I
don't want to get your hopes up, there's a pretty good chance that
Tamborn's lawyers, aware that your testimony has - in effect - nailed their
client's ass to the wall, might be able to persuade their client to wise up
and reconsider the extremely generous plea bargain we offered Tamborn at
the outset.  And should he do so, Mr. Faber, you, my friend, will be off
the hook.

	Encouraged by Mr. Shucks' news, Dan Faber's attitude underwent a
remarkable uplift as he eagerly prompted, "Did I hear you correctly,
Mr. Shucks?  Are you saying that if Tamborn cuts a deal with you, I'm off
the hook?  And I get to get my life back?"

	With a degree of reluctance clearly conveyed in his voice, Shucks
continued on to clarify the matter, "I'm afraid it's not that simple,
Mr. Faber.

	"As you well know," Shucks continued, "Jason Tamborn is only the
linchpin in the despicable plot that was to have brought about the
assassination of several of the Supreme Courts more conservative members.
If, the people who solicited his rather unique brand of services are who
and what we believe them to be, I think it's safe to say that they are not
going to allow your duplicity in the matter go unpunished.

	"Make no never mind about this, Mr. Faber!  The people that we
believe Jason Tamborn can finger for us are very, very powerful people.  So
powerful in fact that, were anyone of them to place a personal call to the
President of the United States, no matter what he was engaged in at the
time, the president would feel obligated to excuse himself from whatever he
was doing and take the call.

	"Believe me, Mr. Faber, these people, who must, out of necessity,
remain nameless for the time being, have an agenda.  You, coming to us the
way you did, threw a monkey wrench into but one of the means by which they
were hoping to put that agenda of their's on the fast track.

	"Be warned, Mr. Faber: they will neither forgive nor forget your
involvement in the matter..."


* * *


	That evening, at an FBI safehouse located in the vicinity of
Lenoardstown Maryland, atop the fossil laden chalk deposits that form much
of the western shoreline of the Chesapeake Bay from Chesapeake City
southward, the female FBI agent whose task was to screen the incoming calls
that were discretely routed through several NSA facilities, alerted Grace
Clark to the fact that Mr. Shucks over at Justice wished to talk to her.
Excusing herself form the inconsequential conversation she was engaged in
with a mildly despondent Dan Faber, Grace, saying she'd be back in a
moment, went to take the call.  A minute or so later, with a great big
shit-eatin' grin spreading happily across her face, Grace Clark waltzed
back into the room and giddily informed Dan that Jason Tamborn had
reluctantly accepted Justice's plea bargain offer; adding in an
afterthought, that as soon as Shucks and his legal team got threw
thoroughly debriefing Tamborn and had secured his John Hancock on a
affidavit attesting to the facts he was even then in the process of giving
them, they would call her so that she in turn could start the ball rolling
with respect to getting Dan enrolled into the Federal Witness Protection
Program.

	Somewhere around half past three the next morning, Grace Clark
roused Dan from sleep and curtly informed him that she had just been given
the green light from one of Shuck's deputies and for him to get dressed so
that they could get crakin' and get on the move, A.S.A.P.!  Shortly
thereafter, Dan, dressed in a worn pair of jeans, scuffed linemen boots,
blue denim workshirt and a navy windbreaker, having exchanged good-byes
with Grace Clark, was hustled, under the cover of darkness, into the back
of a one of the three nondescript white panel vans whose rear and side
windows were so darkly tinted that they appeared to be almost black.

	And so began Dan Faber's six day interstate odyssey traveling the
highways and byways of America in a concerted effort to thoroughly
bamboozle anyone's attempt to ascertain his whereabouts.  Traveling in a
wide assortment of vehicles Dan was kept constantly on the move.

	Then, just when he thought he was on the verge of going bonkers,
Dan was informed, via an intercom system that allowed him two way
communication with the undercover FBI agent who was riding shotgun up in
the nondescript looking eighteen wheeler's cab, to get ready to make yet
another transfer.  Having received and dutifully repeated the precise
instructions that had been relayed to him, Dan opened the trailers rather
nifty trapdoor and dropped to the tarmac below.  Using a hunched over duck
waddle, Dan moved out from underneath the trailer and as quickly as his
road weary body would allow, climbed somewhat awkwardly into the right
front seat of a dilapidated, rust eaten, red Ford panel-sided van.

	"Buckle up so I can get this show on the road, Dan.", a very
familiar female voice curtly instructed.

	Caught completed off guard, Dan, who was having a difficult time
trying to locate the restraining strap, pleasantly exclaimed, "Grace!  My,
my!  I must say that this is an unexpected surprise!

	"When we parted company damn near a week ago, I never - Ever! -
expected to see you again!"

	"That's the idea, Dan!", Grace returned, as she put the van in
drive and began to maneuver it out of the sparsely populated truck stop.
"You are quite correct!  By all rights, I should be out of the loop at this
juncture!  And that - in a nut shell - is exactly why I'm handling the
chauffeuring duties for this particular leg of your journey and not the
FBI.

	"As far as everyone except my immediate superior over at Justice is
concerned, I'm off enjoying a well deserved month long vacation in Maui.

	"Hey!", Dan, upon realizing that there was no escort vehicle of any
sort accompanying them, registered an objection. "What gives, Grace?  How
come we don't have anyone chaperoning us?"

	"In order to make this disappearing act of yours work Dan, the
fewer people who know where I'm taking you, the better.

	"If you say so...", Dan's reply was laced with a hint of
skepticism.

	"Please!  Try and relax, Dan.  Trust me!  I know what I'm doing and
I assure you, everything will be A-okay.

	"In just a few short days from now, nobody - And I do mean nobody,
Dan! - save for myself and the person we are on our way to see will be able
to recognize you."

	"Oh!", Dan said.  "So, I take it you're taking me to see a plastic
surgeon."

	"Normally, were you not the media celebrity that you've unwittingly
become, we might be doing just that.

	"However Dan, while a plastic surgeon can produce some remarkable
results, using one in your particular case would be a little to risky.  Now
a days, anyone with a PC and one of the upper echelon ident programs could
replicate any cosmetic changes that a plastic surgeon might render.
Eventually, an exhaustive and time consuming search of various data bases
would route the new and surgically improved you out and then, you'd be shit
out of luck."

	"So, if you're not taking me to see a plastic surgeon - Pray tell!
- who then are you taking me to see, Grace?"

	Opting to ignore Dan's question for the time being, Grace replied
by asking a question of her own.

	"Dan!  Tell me something!  Given the unenviable choice of either
being killed or living the rest of your life as a woman, which would you
chose?"

	"Huh!", Dan wasn't sure he had heard Grace's question correctly.

	Knowing that what she was proposing would be a bitter pill for her
companion to swallow, Grace Clark prefaced the restating of her question by
continuing on to say, "It's like this, Dan!  You can of course elect to go
the plastic surgeon route.  However, should you do so, given the high
powered movers and shakers who are behind the people who Tamborn ratted
out, make no never mind about this!  They will spare no expense hunting you
down!  And when they eventually find you - Which, of course, they no doubt
will! - they won't just have you killed, Dan!  Oh, no!  Believe me!  They
will take perverse pleasure in making an example out you by having you
tortured and then, after they've extracted whatever revenge they deem
fitting for betraying their agenda, as a warning to others, they'll leave
you to die a most miserable and excruciating death.

	"Or, you can take that silly macho/male ego crap of yours and stuff
it where the sun don't shine and let me take you to the one person I know
who can pretty much ensure that no one will ever be able to track you down!

	"And that - Dan! - brings us back to the question that I put to you
before.  Do you want to go the normal route and there by risk the high
probability of your being eventually tracked down, tortured and most likely
killed or, would you prefer the admittedly wacked-out, wild-assed
alternative I'm offering you, with that wacky and wild-assed alternative of
mine being: undergoing a drastic and comprehensive sexual re-assignment so
that you can safely live out the rest of your life as am anatomically
correct and fully functional female member of society?"

	"Grace!", Dan , though he did so with a degree of apprehension
clearly conveyed in his voice, chuckled as he continued on with his
comments.  "That's the silliest damn thing I've ever heard!

	"I mean, you're not seriously suggesting that somebody has come up
with a way to actually change a man into a woman!"

	"Oh, but I am, Dan!  As crazy and absurd as it sounds, that's
exactly what I am suggesting!

	"You see, Dan, several years ago, driving along this very same road
that we're driving along now, as hard as this might be for you to believe,
my boss over at Justice put the very same question to me."

	"Am I to take it that you trying to tell me that you use to be a
man, Grace?"

	"Yes, Dan.  That's correct.  As hard as it might be for you to
believe, I use to be a guy."

	"So what you're telling me is: you actually let somebody hack off
your male gentiles and fit you out with a reasonable facsimile of a woman's
cunt!"

	"No, Dan.", Grace replied flatly.  "That's not what I'm saying at
all.

	"You seem to have missed the point."

	"I have, have I?"

	"Yes, Dan!", Grace was emphatic.  "You most certainly have!

	"You see, Dan!  I don't just look like a woman!  I am a woman!  At
least in a purely physically sense I'm a woman!

	"I mean, I'm guy!  Who is now a girl!  Who menstruates!  You know,
like roughly every twenty eight days or there abouts!  Whether I want to or
not!

	"Furthermore, if some son of a bitch were to slip me a mickey and
proceed on to have his way with me - Perish the thought! - I could even end
up pregnant!

	"Hell, Dan!  Would you believe that as a woman, I even suffer form
sever bouts of PMS every now and again!"

	"You're not shittin' me, are you?", Dan incredulously heard himself
inquire.

	"No, Dan!  I'm not..."

	As a thoroughly flabbergasted Dan Faber sat there attentively
listening, Grace Clark methodical told him how she, as a male and former
chief petty officer in the much lauded United States Navy Seals, had ended
up becoming a very attractive member of the fairer sex.  Having been a
Marine Corps sniper who had been surreptitiously assigned to several CIA
Black Ops himself, Dan, though he was eager to do so, couldn't find fault
with either the technical or military aspects of Grace's incredible story.

	Ironically, Grace's story was damn near a carbon copy of his own.
Grace, during her gung ho days as a Seal Team member and top-notched
demolition and small arms expert, was approached by a mid-level career
officer from the Justice Department who, upon appealing to Grace's sense of
patriotism, continued on enlist his help as an undercover operative.
Shortly there after, on trumped up charges of conduct unbecoming, Grace
received a dishonorable discharge from the Navy.  Several months after
that, as the male Grace sat in a barroom a couple blocks east of the Naval
Base in Norfolk Virginia sipping suds and loudly bemoaning the cruel hand
that fate had unjustly dealt him, first contact was made.  A man, who would
play an analogous role with Grace to that which Jason Tamborn had with Dan,
sat down on the next bar stool and struck up a casual conversation.

	The guy was good.  Like Tamborn, Grace's recruiter had the
appropriate jargon down pat.  Had he been talking to anyone else but Grace,
he might have thoroughly convinced them that he had been both an ex-navy
man himself and a former commercial diver as well.  Grace knew better and,
under other circumstances, would not have hesitated one iota on calling the
guy on the line of bullshit he was spewing.

	However, even though the arrogant blowhard had thoroughly pissed
the Ex-Navy Seal off, Grace accepted the guy's offered to buddy up with him
for a long weekend of diving a few of the many wrecks located off of the
Outer Banks of North Carolina, chief among those, the U352 of Hitler's
vaunted Kriegsmarine.  Other diving weekends followed and then, following
pretty much the same formalized approach that Tamborn had employed with
Dan, Grace's recruiter inquired as to whether or not Grace would be
interested in something that, while illegal, was right up his alley and
would set him up for a life of affluent leisure.

	Two weeks later, while he and that new diving buddy of his were
doing some nitrox-diving off the New Jersey coast, Grace was appraised as
to what would be required of him.  Some influential friends of this so
called new bosom buddy of Grace's were in the market for some high tech
pyrotechnic devices that could, as Grace was lead to believe, take out a
Lear Jet's stabilizing system at a pre-planned altitude or hole a fairly
good sized yacht, so as to ensure that it would promptly sink, taking all
aboard down to Davy Jones Locker with it.

	Though he tried on several occasions to learn the identities of his
dive buddy's influential friends, Grace never managed to obtain them.
However, Paul Shucks and his team of Federal prosecutors were somewhat more
persuasive.  Once appraised of all the charges and prison time he was
facing if he didn't cooperate, Grace's recruiter, adopting the no honor
among thieves credo, squealed like that proverbial pig that everybody and
his brother is always talking about; fingering more than a half a dozen
high power movers and shakers in the business world as he did so.

	Trouble was, the government's case never went to court.  As so
often happens in such high profile cases involving certain elite members of
our society, the primary witness against them died of what the Federal
coroner would deem as 'suspicious causes'.

	Fearing a vendetta that would result in the untimely death of a
patriotic Ex-Navy Seal, Lara Bigalow, Grace's former liaison officer and
current boss at Justice, stepped in and, without authorization, usurped the
normal handling of the Federal witness protection process and made Grace
the very same offer that Grace had, in turn, made Dan.

	"Believe me, Dan!  My initial reaction to this girl shit business
was much the same as yours!  Like you, I couldn't believe what I was
hearing!  For some inexplicable reason or another, I just figured that Lara
was merely pulling my leg."

	"However, since I was at a loss to come up with any alternatives on
my own, as skeptical as I was, I took Lara up on what I wrongly assumed to
be her ludicrous offer and there by, to my ever lovin' amazement, became
the woman I am today..."

	"You're shitting me!  Right?"

	"No, Dan.  I'm not.

	"I use to be a man!  I am now a woman!  At least,", Grace
endeavored to qualify herself, "I'm a woman in a purely physical sense."

	"What do you mean?  Physical sense?", Dan - confused - sought
clarification.

	"Mentally, I'm still the same old horny assed bastard I use to be,
Dan."

	"No shit?", Dan, taken aback by Grace's statement, exclaimed.

	"No shit!", Grace, with a smirk, concurred.

	"And believe me, Dan!  That little fly in the ointment makes
getting used to functioning as a woman a real pain in the ass at times."

	"I can see how it would."

	"You don't know the half of it, Dan!

	"However, if you take me up on my offer, guess what!  You will!"


* * *


	Dan took a lot more convincing.  Grace was patient and that helped.
Reluctantly, though he still didn't think it possible, Dan finally gave up
the ghost and so, informed Grace that her prior assertion was indeed
correct.  Becoming a woman was indeed a far cry better than taking the
chance of ending up dead.

	"So, you're going to go for it, Dan?"

	"Sure...  Why the hell not!  Since the alternative isn't all that
appealing, I might as well take the plunge and find out how the other half
lives."

	"That's the spirit, Dan!", Grace, with an unexpected gusto,
brightly countered.

	"Is it painful?"

	"Is what painful, Dan?"

	"The change"

	"No...", Grace tactfully offered.  "The change isn't in any way,
shape or form painful.  However,", her voice conveyed a sense of
introspective thoughtfulness, "I found it to be somewhat disconcerting."

	"Disconcerting!  How so?"

	"That's kind of hard to describe, Dan...

	"Tell you what though!  While I can't even begin to put into words
what the makeover process feels like, I can tell you that it'll be a hell
of a lot easier for you if you don't try to fight it.

	"In others words, Dan, you need to just sort of go with the flow.
If you know what I mean..."

	As an almost mandible sense of brooding silence began to permeated
the van's interior, Dan, in an effort to get his mind off of his feckless
contemplation of what he was letting himself in for, asked an off-the-wall
question.

	"Grace!  Just where in hell are we?

	"I mean, I know by the road signs and licenses plates that we've
been passing for the last hour or so that we're in West By God Virginia!
But just where in West By God Virginia are we?"

	"Let me think, Dan...

	"Okay!  Unless I miss my guess here, I do believe that once we
reach the crest of this ridge that we've been climbing for the last several
minutes or so and begin our descent down the other side, given how bright
the moon is tonight, we should be begin to catch glimpses of the
spectacular craggy outcrops of West Virginia's scenic Seneca Rocks through
breaks in the tree line directly ahead of us."

	"Oh!  So where - Pray tell! - are we heading from here, Grace?"

	"You ever hear of the Dolly Sods, Dan?

	"No.  Don't think so."

	"Well, for what it's worth, Dan, the Dolly Sods is a remote,
plateau wilderness area that is located somewhat north of here.  When we
get to the intersection at bottom of the hill, I'll be making a left.  From
there, we'll be following the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac
northward towards Smoke Hole Caverns.  Then, just a few miles shy of the
caverns, I'll be making another left, where upon, we'll be sort of doubling
back on ourselves as we begin climbing the very ridge that we're in the
process of crossing over now."

	Grace, in a concerted effort on her part to keep Dan distracted
from contemplating what he had let himself in for, continued on to tell him
about how the army had employed the Dolly Sods as an infantry training area
during the days of World War Two.  People, she proceeded on to informed
him, were still coming across unexploded munitions from time to time.
Then, in response to Dan's half hearted inquiry concerning the type of
munitions that were generally turned up by hikers and campers who visited
the unique flora and fauna of the Dolly Sods, Grace responded by saying
that to her best recollection, she thought that they were rifle grenades of
the type that could be fitted to the mussel of the M1 Garand and generally
fired with the butt of the rife braced against the ground mortar style.

	The climb up from the road skirting the rock strewn Potomac was
tortuously slow.  It was one switchback after another and the badly rutted,
single lane dirt road with its' sharp turns, nonexistent shoulders and
fairly steep gradient forced Grace to exercise a modicum of caution.
Reaching the plateau proper, Grace, made a left onto another dirt and
gravel road and proceed slowly along it.

	Ten minutes after that, having stopped and directed Dan to unlock
and then re-lock the entrance gate, Grace gingerly maneuvered the van down
a private lane so rutted with pot holes that it was damn near impassable
for a two wheel drive vehicle like the van they were in to navigate it
successfully.  Somehow, gaining Dan's admiration for her off-road driving
skills in the process, Grace managed the feat without any major mishap.
Five minutes after that, Grace had the van backed into what to the
untrained observer would take to be an extremely dilapidated and weather
worn barn.  Turning on the battery of craftily concealed exhaust fans and
opening the van's hood, Grace hefted one of the scads of CO2 fire
extinguishers that seemed to be stockpiled within structure and promptly
urged Dan to do likewise.

	When asked why he should do so, Grace, freely admitting that it was
probably a foolish act of overkill on her part, informed him of her intent
to use the CO2 extinguishers to cool the van's engine block and there by
reduce and telltale heat signature of their vehicle.  Dan, realizing that
it was his life that was on the line, complied without further comment.

	With roughly thirty spent fire extinguishers resting somewhat
haphazardly against the opposite wall, Grace turned off the exhaust fans
and, locating what at first glance appeared to be an unusable handcart,
wheeled it over to the van's rear double doors.  Asking Dan to assist her,
the two of them moved several ungainly cardboard boxes out of the van's
interior and onto the cart.

	"What's in the boxes?", Dan nervously inquired.

	"Basically, I guess you call them care packages, Dan.

	"Though I do so infrequently, every time I pay Granny Clampett a
visit, I bring her some special things that I think she might enjoy having.

	"Granny Clampett!" Dan's exclamation clear registered both his
surprise and disbelief.

	"Okay!  As you have may have already summarized for yourself Dan,
Granny Clampett's not her real name.  But that's how everybody who knows of
her existence refers to her!  And so - I think it prudent for me to point
out - that's how you should refer to her as well.  Alright?"

	Dan said he would as Grace on her part, closed and locked the vans
rear doors.  With that done, Grace continued on to ask Dan to assist her in
covering it with a large plastic tarp.

	Having done so, Grace, with Dan in tow, wheeled the cart to the
bogus barn's rearmost wall, where upon she promptly placed her right thumb
on one knothole and move her right eye within an inch of another one.

	In short order a disembodied, electronically manufactured voice
stated, "Thumb print and retinal scan verification completed.  Agent Clark,
please enter the lift and complete prescribed voice recognition sequence."

	At that, a portion of the wall before them split down the middle
and the two door halves slid towards their respective walls.  Grace, with
cart in tow and employing a flick of her head to urge Dan to follow suit,
entered the burnished metal confines of a small circular room.

	Stepping to the center of the glistening metallic floor, Grace,
knowing what was expected of her, began.  "Grace Clark.  Witness Liaison
Officer with the United States Justice Department.  Passcode ID: Alpha
Ventura Niner Six.  Authorization Code: Parsec Fifty Two dash Zero Five
One."

	"Authorization Code confirmed.  Please state access level."

	"Access Level Two.", Grace dutifully supplied.

	Confirming Dan suspicions, Grace offered comment, "The silo
functions as the cover for an elevator shaft."

	"Kind of neat and if I do say so myself.  Very James Bondish!", Dan
responded.

	"It is, isn't it?"

	"Yeah, it sure hell is!

	"Grace, just what in the hell is this place?"

	"Beats me!  My authorization code only allows me access to Level
Two's warren of tram accessed passageways!

	"I mean, for all I know Dan, there could be a whole shitload of
other levels down here, each one designated for who knows what!"

	The doors opened in front of them and Grace, pushing the cart in
front of her, exited the elevator cab and prompted a noticeable intimidated
and much bemused Dan Faber to do likewise as she cheerily encouraged, "Come
on kiddo!  Time's a wasting!  Your girlhood awaits!"

	As a very discombobulated Dan stepped gingerly, if not fearfully,
out and onto a brilliantly lit metal platform that was itself contained
within a skillfully hewed out limestone ensconced tunnel-like alcove, he
belatedly came to the realization that he was in some sort of ingeniously
contrived, high-tech monorail station.  Grace, keenly aware that her charge
was having a hard time coming to grips with all that he was experiencing,
wheeled the handcart onto the rear deck portion of the open-aired tram car
and proceeded to secure it, via some nifty, cam-like locking devices that
were provided for the purpose of doing just that.

	"Come on, Dan!  You've lollygagged long enough!  Get your ass in
gear and hop into this car so we can get this show on the road!", Grace
good naturally chided, as she teasingly took her right hand and used it to
invitingly pat the seat cushion next to her.

	Though he did so awkwardly, Dan nevertheless did as he was
directed.  Once her charge had seated himself, Grace, using what looked to
be a simple telephone key pad, punched in the designation code for Granny
Clampett's lodgings and with a whooshing sound of pneumatic brakes being
released, the tram car dutifully responded by smoothly accelerating out of
the station and into the disquieting maw of a eerily and dimly lit tunnel.

	All of a sudden, the walls, ceiling and floor of the tunnel feel
away, plunging a startled Dan into a moment of sheer and utter terror as
the small tram car he and Grace were riding in seemed to effortless glide
through a void of green tinged blackness that was in turn, populated by
what Dan initially took to be the most grotesque and monstrous forms
imaginable.

	Then, as the otherworldly void was in its' turn, replaced by the
panic abating confines of the limestone walls of yet another man-made
tunnel, Dan belated came to the realization of what had just occurred.

	"Grace!", Dan, in relief, exclaimed gleefully.  "Did we just pass
through a cavern?

	"I mean, those were stalagmites and stalactites I just saw go
whizzing past, weren't they?

	"They sure as hell were, Dan!

	"The whole ridge is honeycombed with 'em!", Grace said, confirming
Dan's assertion, even as the car they were riding in began to transverse
another cavern room that was a good three times larger then the previous
one they had passed through.

	"Wow!  This is fantastic!  Why didn't you tell me?"

	"I wanted it to be a surprise, Dan!"

	"Oh!  It was a surprise alright!

	"I mean, there's a good chance that I'm going to need to excuse
myself when we get to this Granny Clampett's of yours so that I can change
into a fresh pair of boxer shorts!  You know, because I do believe that I
may have just shit myself!"

	"Sorry, Dan!  No can do!"

	"How come?"

	"No boxer shorts!"

	"That's okay!  A pair of jockeys will suffice..."

	"Sorry, Dan!  No jockeys either!

	"However,", Grace, thoroughly enjoying the moment, gleefully
teased, "once you've completed your sexual reassignment, I can offer you
any number of panties.  Skimpy!  Sexy!  Satin ones!  The kind of panties
that'll have that male mind of yours creaming in your jeans..."

	"Grace!", Dan's harshly delivered complaint echoed, in a
Doppler-like fashion, off the walls of the voluminous cavern chamber they
were at the time rocketing across.

	Then, as they passed out of the cavern they had been traversing and
into another man-made tunnel segment, Dan, in a tone that clearly conveyed
a raw sense of hurt, beseechingly intoned, "Come on, Grace!  Cut me some
slack here!  Alright?

	"I mean, this girl shit is really starting to get to me!  So much
so, that I'm beginning to have some serious second thoughts about going
through with it!

	"So please, Grace!  Do me a favor!  Ease up on me!"

	"Sorry, Dan!  You're right!  I was wrong!  I promise!  From here on
out, I'll watch my Ps & Qs so it won't happen again!

	Right on the heels of her apology, Grace's intonations took on an
urgency as she changed course in mid stream by continuing on to say, "Dan!
When we come out of this tunnel, look down and to the right!"

	"An just what am I looking for, Grace?"

	"A monorail track, running about five feet above the cavern floor
and perpendicular to the one we're on."

	Dan saw it and the cave it disappeared into.

	"Are there others?"

	"Yes.", Grace replied. "There's a whole slew of them. But, you
really need to know where to look in order to see them."

	"So, I take it that there really are other levels down here."

	"Yes."

	"Have you ever seen another tram car?"

	"No.", Grace casually admitted.  "But I think that I've heard one a
time or two."

	"Do you mean that metallic clicking sound that I keep hearing from
time to time?"

	"No.  That sound comes from the relays controlling the lights."

	"Oh!", realization dawned on Dan.  "That's right!  I remember now!
When it comes to cave and cavern systems, lights aren't exactly
environmentally friendly!  They tend to promote moss and lichen growth if
left on for any length of time.

	"See!  Contrary to what Beth - that's the young lady I took to see
Luray Caverns a year or so ago - claimed, I was listening to what our
spunky little tour guide said.  And I definitely heard the part of her
canned spiel that specifically dealt with lights, lichen and all that other
razzamatazz that has to deal with the preservation of cave and cavern
systems."

	"My, my!", Grace said with a chuckle.  "Have I been wrong all these
years?"

	"Wrong about what?", Dan, unknowingly, bit.  Hook, line and sinker!

	"About you jar-heads!

	"About how it takes a hundred and forty one of you to come up to
the level of gross ignorance!"

	"Well...", Dan began as he frantically groped for a fitting retort.
"Coming from an ex-squid and a snake-eater to boot, who - I should point
out! - looks damn good in skirts, I think I'll take that as a compliment!"

	A few minutes later, as Grace went about the task of removing the
cart from the tram car, she broached another matter that she hoped would
help ally some of Dan's fears and reservations.

	"Dan."

	"Yes."

	"To protect and preserve your anonymity, I'm going to introduce you
to Granny as Sam.  Alright?"

	"Sure.  But is that really necessary?  You know, what with all the
media coverage I've been receiving here of late, Grace.

	"I mean, if she's watched any TV at all, she's bound to recognize
me."

	"Believe me, Dan.  Granny won't recognize you."

	"How come?  I mean, are you telling me that this Granny Clampett of
yours doesn't watch TV?"

	"No, Dan!  Granny watches a lot of TV!

	"Fact is, living alone out here in the boondocks like she does, you
might say that Granny's an avid TV addict.

	"And you're seriously suggesting that she still won't recognize
me?"

	"Trust me Dan, Granny won't know you from Adam."

	"How come?"

	"Because Dan, Granny's TV feed is on a fiber optic cable that is
routed through a NSA facility that automatically filters out anything that
even remotely resembles a news program."

	"Oh!  Lucky woman!"

* * *

	"Granny.  This is my friend, Sam.", Grace, handling the
introductions, began.  "And I brought Sam to see you so that he might
receive some of your special treatment."

	"Please to meet me you, Sam.", Granny Clampett said in her highly
accented English.  "Please, come in."

	"Grace, while Sam and I get better acquainted, could I impose on
you to attend to preparing the arboretum's lily pond for us?"

	Grace, saying that she'd be more than happy to comply with the
diminutive South American Indian woman's request, reassuringly informed Dan
that she was leaving him in good hands and having done so, politely excused
herself.

	Leading Dan into a comfortable, rustically appointed living room of
a rather large, glass fronted A-frame that extended outwards from the
craggy hillside, Granny bid him take a seat at the small table that granted
its' occupant a magnificent vista of the next ridge over and the Potomac
River Valley below.

	"The view is breath taking, is not Sam?", the woman known as Granny
Clampett commented as she, upon seating herself, took a crystal decanter
and from it, poured a small amount of some pungently smelling liquid into
an 8 oz. juice glass.

	"Yes.  It most certain is.", Dan concurred.

	Without mincing words, the elderly South American woman got right
to the point.  Choosing her words with great care, Granny proceeded on to
ask the all important and, to her mind, obligatory question, "So Sam, am I
correct in assuming that my Gracy has brought you here so that you too can
become one of my girls?"

	"Yes.", Dan, though he did so reluctantly, replied.

	"You do realize that once done, the change you seek cannot be
undone?"

	"Yes.  Grace has implied as much."

	"Well then Sam, if you are indeed resolved to take this change upon
yourself, please, pick up the glass and partake of the elixir I have placed
before you.

	Dan, though he did so with a great sense of dread and foreboding,
reluctantly did as directed.

	Placing the empty glass back on the table, Dan felt the need to
ask, "How long?"

	"Long and not so long.", Granny ambiguously replied.

	Standing, Granny encouraged Dan to do likewise, saying as she did
so, "Come, Sam!  Before the change is upon you, we need to relocated to the
arboretum."

	Taking Dan by the arm, Granny escorted him back towards the
A-frame's kitchen area, where upon she turned down a side hallway, passed
through first one and then a second hermetically sealed doorway and from
there, out into the oppressive confines of a large glassed-in, geodesic
bio-sphere, housing the flora and fauna of what Dan correctly assumed to be
clearly reminiscent of the Amazon Rain Forest.

	"Welcome to my home away form home, Sam.", Granny Clampett proudly
announced.

	"I apologize for the heat and humidity and I assure you that you
will quickly become acclimated to it."

	Thinking that there was no way in hell that he would ever become
even remotely acclimated to the sphere's oppressive heat and humidity, Dan,
who was sweating away to the beat the band, didn't think it would be
prudent for him to point out the fallacy in Granny's prior assertion.
Sometimes, as he learned through the school of hard knocks, discretion was
indeed the better part of valor.

	Just as Dan was taking the seat that Granny had so graciously
offered him, Grace entered the glass-in enclosure carrying a Plexiglas
transport cage in each of her hands.  As she passed by, Dan took note of
the fact that each transport cage contained a rather hefty sized frog of
the most unusually indigo coloration.  Moving to the lily pond's octagon
shaped retaining wall, Grace placed one Plexiglas container on lip of the
near side and, having done so, proceeded around to the far side of the pond
where she dutifully placed the other.  As she did so, Dan took note of the
fact that two other frog occupied transport units already resided at the
other two cardinal points of the walled in pool.

	A somewhat perplexed and overtly curious Dan was just about to
inquire as to what purpose the frogs served with respect to the
feminization he assumed he was about to undergo, when Granny Clampett
intruded on his thoughts by asking a question of her own, "Tell me, Sam.
Does if feel as hot and humid now as it did at first?"

	"No.", A clearly mystified Dan distractedly replied.  "As odd as it
sounds, I'm not even perspiring anymore."

	"Good!", Granny Clampett stated flatly.  "The change has begun.
Your skin should begin to feel prickly."

	"It does!", Dan admitted.  "I've got goose bumps running all up and
down my arms and legs!"

	"That's to be expected, Sam.", Granny said compassionately, as a
series of involuntary shivers began to wrack Dan's body.

	Grace, who had joined Dan on the wrought iron settee in an effort
on her part to lend what comfort and solace she could by the mere fact of
her nearness, felt prompted to confirm a prior assertion of hers. "Sam!",
Grace began, remembering to use the bogus name she had given Dan.  "You
aren't feeling any pain are you?"

	"No!", Dan, employing a great deal of effort on his part, managed a
gurgling and noticeably strained reply.  "No pain!  Just extreme amounts of
discomfort!"

	Then, for some inexplicable reason or another, Dan glanced down at
his hands and was horrified to see that his skin had taken on a sickening
bluish tint.  Further examination only served to compound his distress.
His nails, he noticed, were damn near nonexistent and the loose portion of
skin that resided in between each of his fingers had grown outward, so as
to form a fleshy web extending back from the terminus points of each of his
fingers' first knuckle joint.

	"Please!", Dan managed to croak, his formerly rich baritone
resounding now as a deep, groveling bass.  "What's happening?", his neck,
having become slightly more elastic than it had been but a moment or so
before, bulged outward as he took his next breath.  "What have you done to
me?  You're not turning me into a girl are you?"

	"No, Sam.", Granny Clampett sadly confided.  "The elixir you took
is turning you into frog.  The frogs there,", she continued, motioning with
her hand towards the lily pond and the four Plexiglas containers that
rested upon the lip of its' encircling enclosure, "will, over the course of
the next three days or there abouts, complete the process of turning you
into a female.

	"After that is accomplished, I will take the necessary steps that
will return you to a human form, save that human form will be that of a
female."

	"That's absurd <crock>!", Dan, employing the fleeting vestiges of a
formerly human-like larynx, vehemently countered.

	"Sam.", Granny Clampett, aware that Dan was well on the way to
loosing his ability to speak, endeavored to explain the situation.

	"I come from a very remote region of the Amazon Rain Forest, as do
those frogs over there.  As you might guess, their subspecies is an
extremely rare and unusual one.

	"Would you believe Sam, all of them begin life as male tadpoles
that evolve into adolescent male frogs, much as grouper fish all begin life
as females.  However, unlike the grouper fish, who undergoes a
transsexualization during the normal aging process, as these frogs pass
from their adolescent stage and into full adulthood, some as yet
unexplained hierarchy is established in which the more dominated members of
their subspecies remain male and the more submissive members become
female."

	"That is why those big fellows over there have been kept separated,
Sam.

	"Had I placed them all in the pond together, within a day or so,
one or more of them would have undergone gender re-assignment.

	"Long ago, the shamans of my people learned of the frogs' secret
and so, after much trail and error, devised the elixir of which you just
partook.

	"You see Sam, the tribal clan from which I come is most unusual one
due to the fact that it is governed over by a matriarchal council of eight
women.  Four of those woman comprising the council of elders are naturally
born women.  Four are men who have distinguished themselves as both fathers
and hunters and so, are selected to be honored with the gift of womanhood
and the extended, rejuvenated life that is bestowed along with that
cherished gift.

	"I myself was born a man and as a man, I have fathered many
children.  Upon becoming a shaman to my people, I, as I knew I would,
underwent the Frog Passage and so became a woman.  As a woman,", Granny
continued with a sense of pride clearly conveyed in her voice, "I bore even
more children to add to the prosperity of my people."

	Just then, a pesky housefly, unaware of the fate that would shortly
befall it, lifted off of Grace's left shoulder and flitted in the haphazard
manner of flies, in front of Dan's oddly contorted, bug-eyed and
progressively bluing face.  As it did so, newly imprinted primal instincts
kicked in and so, doomed the fly.  Without even being aware of what he was
doing, in the flickering of an instant, Dan's mouth ratcheted opened and a
tongue that was longer than long shot, slingshot-like, from its' innards;
catching the bothersome fly in mid-flight.  Like a snapshot, the tongue and
fly were whisked back inside his newly distended lips and with a gulp
denoted by an elastic expansion and subsequent contraction of that bulbous
new neck of his, Dan sent the insect-like morsel down his gullet, en route
to his stomach, which like his tongue, was well on the way to becoming that
of a unique subspecies of Amazonian amphibian.

	Dan's transmogrification into a frog progressed quickly from that
point.  Fifteen minutes after the incident with the luckless fly, Grace was
busy digging her frogified charge out from underneath the pile of clothes
he had been wearing.  Taking a great deal of care not to do him any bodily
harm, Grace conveyed the former Dan Faber to the lily pond and promptly
released him into its' awaiting waters.  Moving in a clockwise manner,
Grace, as directed by Granny Clampett, proceed on to introduce the other
four frogs into the pond.


* * *


	Two days later, during one of their damn near hourly inspections,
Granny pronounced that Sam and another one of frogs had been duly
intimidated by their brethren and so, had begun the process of changing
into functional females.  When asked how she knew that by a most
inquisitive Grace, Granny responded by pointing out the two frogs who had
taken on a slightly lighter bluish coloration than that of their pond
mates; adding as she did so that the two she had indicated would, over the
course of next twenty four hours or so, progressively become both lighter
hued and somewhat smaller in stature.

	Concerned for Dan's welfare, prompted Grace to ask Granny about
that particular subspecies of frogs' normal gestation cycle and was
promptly informed by the diminutive Amazonian that there was nothing to
worry about in that regard, due to the fact that gestation would lag the
transsexualization process by a good week to ten days or more.  However,
Granny continued on to tell Grace that should gestation occur, her
unfortunate charge would be locked into being a female frog for the rest of
his unnatural life.

	That evening, after Grace cleared away the dinner dishes and began
the self-assumed chore of washing them, Granny began the task of preparing
the potent that would restore Dan to human form.

	"So Grace, what color hair do you think we should make Sam's hair?"

	"Well...", Grace began thoughtfully, "since he seems to have a
preference for blondes, why not make him one?"

	"Alright.  We can do that.", Granny replied as she reached for the
appropriate vial containing the ingredient that would alter Dan's genetic
code in such a way as to turn him into a blonde.

	"Eyes?"

	"Green."

	"Complexion?"

	"How about a golden bronze, Granny?"

	"You mean something in the order of a perpetual tan, Grace?"

	"Yeah!  That's the spirit!  Since he likes looking at all those
gorgeous honeys on Baywatch, why not turn him into a reasonable facsimile
of one!"

	"And, I assume you want me to fit him out with a body to match?",
Granny returned in a tone that clearly conveyed a sense of mock
disapproval.

	"You've got that straight, Granny!  After what Sam has done for
this country, he deserves the best!

	"So...", Grace continued impishly, "I think you should pull out all
the stops and do whatever you have to do to turn him into the girl of his
dreams!"


* * *


	The next morning, Grace woke; dressed and promptly joined Granny in
the arboretum.

	"Which one is Sam, Granny?", Grace inquired, having taken note of
the fact that two of the five frogs boasted a rich, sky blue coloration
instead of the indigo hued of their pond mates.

	"That one.", Granny replied, indicating the one on the pool's far
side.

	"How can you tell?"

	"The eyes!

	"Look closely, Grace.  You can see intelligence lurking in that
one's eyes."

	Grace did as direct, but had to confess, "I'm glad you can tell the
difference Granny, because I for one, can't!"

	"Please bring be so kind as to bring Sam over here for me, Grace."

	Grace did as requested.  Where upon, Granny, cautioning Grace to
hold the Frog-San steady, used an eyedropper to squirt the restoration
elixir into the amphibian's mouth.

	 "Set her down, Grace.  The change will begin almost immediately."

	Grace complied.

	Freed from the gentle restraints of Grace's fingers, Dan hooped.
Stopped.  And began to shake and shimmy, growing slightly, but noticeably
larger with each convulsion of her frog body.  Upon reaching the size of a
springer spaniel, Dan's body began the transmogrification process in
earnest.  Her skin continued to lighted, progressively shedding its' bluish
tint and frog-like constitution.  With each and every passing second, her
forefeet became more finger-like than frog-like appendages as they, along
with her hind feet, began to lose their webbing.  The hint of nipple
surmounted breast bulges appeared along Dan's undercarriage, followed
shortly by the expansive growth of golden body hair on the rear and upper
portion of Dan's frog to human transmogrifying head.  Her forelegs became
more armish.  Her head less frogish.  Then, more girlish.

	Grace, though she had undergone the very same transformation during
the ordeal of her own transcendency from man to woman, was rendered
flabbergasted.  It amazed her to no end to see the former Dan Faber
progressively change from frog into a ravishingly sexy, twenty-something
appearing human female.

	With the change on the cusp of completion, Dan, in a Herculean
effort on her part, clamored, in a very un-ladylike manner, shakily to
those slightly higher arched and dainty reconstituted feet hers.  Unaware
that she was doing so at first, Dan reached up with both of the sublimely
dexterous and enchantingly long nailed hands of hers and proceeded to
crassly knead those sensually and amply proportioned new mammary glands of
hers a time or two.  Having done so for a moment or two, Dan, who was still
operating within the surrealistic fog of her all to recent humanization,
took her right hand and manfully thrust it down there in between those new
supple, long and ever so lovely legs of hers; vulgarly and energetically
groping the living shit out of her reconfigured loins in the process.

	Acting to prevent a self-inflicted, premature loss of her charge's
newly imposed virginity, Grace, upon clearing her throat to garnish Dan's
attention, intruded in upon the moment by asking, "Sam!"  Her voice
cracking like a whip, "Are you okay?"

	Much like the proverbial kid caught with his hand thrust deep
inside a cookie jar, Dan was caught with her hand crassly crammed up inside
that new little honey pot of hers.  Turning carefully about, so as to face
Grace, the rosy blush of red faced embarrassment flushed those new high
arching cheeks of hers.

	Taking an extra moment or so to run a cursory self-evaluation, Dan
replied with a voice that fairly gushed with sensual overtones, "Yeah...  I
think so..."

	"Good!", Grace cheerfully declared.  "Then let me be the first to
welcome you to your new life as a woman, Sam!  Or, should I now say,
Samantha?"

	"Samantha!", Dan sounded out the name in an effort to critique it.

	"Is that to be my new name?"

	"It is if you would like it to be.", Grace returned.  "If not, I
have a couple of others that you can chose from..."

	Just then, Granny rose from where she had remained seated on lily
pond's retaining wall and by doing so, clearly co-opted the proceedings.
Stepping passed Grace, Granny took Sam's hands in hers and proceeded on to
conduct a thorough appraisal of her handiwork.

	Pronouncing her work done, Granny, suggesting that a shower,
followed by a good hardy breakfast was in order, continued on to ask
Samantha if she would like to avail herself of a full length mirror.  Sam
replied that while she would really like to get a view of her new self in a
mirror, Granny's suggestion of a shower and food were what she really
wanted at the moment.

	Placing Sam in Grace's care, Granny, informed the two stunning
young ladies that she would first attend to separating the frogs so as to
prevent any additional losses of her precious males.  Then, once she had
rounded them up and placed them back in their separate terrariums, she
would head for her kitchen and there, see to fixing breakfast for the three
of them.

	"So,", Grace began as she ran a steading arm about Sam's femininely
constricted waist in order to lend her charge some much needed support,
"What'ya think?"

	"About the frog business or about my now being a girl?", Samantha
curtly replied with that sultry and sexy new voice of hers as the two of
them began to gingerly make their way out of the hot and muggy confines of
the frosted glass paneled enclosed geodesic bio-sphere that served as
Granny's self-proclaimed home away from home.

	"Well, since it's fresh on your mind, why don't you start with the
frog business.  Then, after you have some time to come to terms with this
new and, from my vantage point, pleasantly proportioned body of yours, you
can give me your impressions on what it feels like to be a man trapped in a
woman's body..."

	"Alright!  I'll do just that...

	"While the change was - As you have said yourself, Grace. - rather
disconcerting.  All in all, being a frog wasn't all that bad.

	"I mean, while it took some getting use to at first and I have to
admit that some of the stuff I ate was down right disgusting, it all sort
of seemed natural at the time."

	"Yeah, having gone through the same rite of passage myself, I know
exactly what you mean, Samantha.

	"Tell me!  Could you feel it when you began to change into a female
frog?"

	"No.  Not really!

	"I mean, I was dealing with some really strange sensations as a
frog.  So, I didn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary.  I can tell
you one thing, Grace!  Those other frogs intimidated the hell out of me!"

	"I know.  They intimidated me as well, Sam.  An that, in a nut
shell, is why you and I are members of the opposite sex now!"


* * *


	Passing through Granny's kitchen en route to the guest room's
bathroom facilities, Grace picked up two high energy, fruit filled
nutri-bars.  Unwrapping the first of the two, Grace, using a business like
tone that clearly conveyed the fact that noncompliance was not an option,
instructed Sam to eat it.  Sam did and was immediately handed another and
told, in the same no nonsense fashion as before, to eat that one as well.

	Pausing briefly, Sam got an eyeful of her new curvacious physique
and then, with Grace's continued help, stepped a tab bit awkwardly into the
shower stall.  As she busied herself with the heavenly task of ridding
herself of the pond's slimy feeling and olfactory affronting residue, Grace
stood by, directing her charge's efforts from just outside the shower
enclosure's frosted glass partitions.

	"Holy shit!". Sam emphatically exclaimed; prompting a concerned
Grace to ask, "Are you alright in there, Sam?"

	"Yes!  Yes!  I'm fine!  It's just...", Sam , at a loss as to how
best explain herself, let her statement dangle - unfinished.

	"It's just what, Sam?", Grace, perplexed, prompted.

	"It's this new body of mine, Grace!

	"I mean, while I always knew a woman's body was a whole hell of a
lot more sensitive than a man's, I had no idea that it was this damn
sensitive!

	"I mean, damn if I don't have erogenous zones all over the friggin'
place now!"

	"Yeah,", Grace sheepishly agreed as her simmering sense of
horniness finally got the best of her and she began to teasingly knead her
own right breast with her left hand, while concurrently, employing the
middle finger of her right hand, tantalizingly traced a path upward along
the material shrouding the swath of her own vaginal lip-folds.  "They are
kind of nifty, aren't they?"

	A few minutes later, as Grace helped a noticeable tuckered out Sam
towel off, Granny put in a brief appearance in which she chided the two of
them to stop lollygagging and hurry up; informing the two of them as she
did so, them that their breakfast was awaiting them on the table.  Shortly
thereafter, dressed in a nondescript grey sweatsuit that Grace had laid out
for her, Sam dug into a more than generous pile of pancakes that Granny had
prepared for her.  As she did so, Grace, who was steadily working on
polishing off a plate of pancakes of her own, casually went over her and
Sam's itinerary for the next several days.

	After breakfast, acting on Granny's explicit instructions, Grace
escorted her charge to one of the spacious A-frame's guest bedrooms, where
upon Sam doffed the sweatsuit and crawled into bed for some much needed
recuperative sleep.

	That evening, after a splendid steak dinner, Grace, saying that she
was sorry that she was putting Sam on the spot like she was, informed the
former Marine Corps sniper that she really needed to pick a new name for
herself, so that Grace, in her turn, could do whatever she needed to do to
start the ball rolling on establishing Sam in her new identity.  After some
hemming and hawing and a few bouts of rampant indecision, Sam went with the
name Samantha Ann Walthers.  Saying that the name suited Sam to a tee,
Grace scooted her charge off to bed and then, using a computer terminal
that was installed by some of NSA's senior techno-geeks, made the
appropriate entries that would complete the transaction of making
Ms. Samantha Ann Walthers a viable person, complete with a verifiable
history that would stand up even under the closest scrutiny that could be
brought to bear upon it.

	Though it had taken one hell of a lot of cajoling on her part,
Grace's tenacity won out.  Sam, though it rankled the living shit out of
her, after a lot of who-struck-john and some bombastic counter proposals,
gave up the ghost and finally donned the slinky nylon-lycra stirrup leggins
and satin sleep shirt that Grace had dogmatically demanded she put on upon
waking up the next morning.  Breakfast followed and then Grace, beginning
with a broad brush overview, got down to the business of acquainting Sam
with the highlights of the bogus life that Grace had ingeniously and
laboriously created for the new Ms. Walthers.  Having done that, school
began in earnest for Samantha, as Grace, in a very no nonsense fashion of a
strict and demanding task master, began to quiz her on the material she had
just imparted.

	After a mid-morning break for coffee and one of Granny's fresh
baked apple turnovers, Grace, aware that Sam needed time to assimilate all
they had gone over that morning before proceeding on to impart anymore
historical data, opted to relocate to Sam's bedroom.  There, with Sam
reluctantly seated at the rustically crafted vanity, Grace, knowing fully
well that the area she was about to enter into would severely assault Sam's
male ego, selected a bottle pale pink nail gloss and proceeded to talk Sam
through the feminine art form of applying nail polish to those long and
deliciously tapered new nails of hers.

	Makeup and lipstick followed and, though there was room for a
considerable amount of improvement, Grace offered her pupil a compliment;
saying as she did so, that Sam had faired a whole hell of a lot better in
her first attempts then Grace had in hers.

	After a break for lunch with Granny, Grace, having made mention of
the how extraordinary a day it was, suggested that she and Sam take full
advantage of it by spending a good bit of the afternoon catching some rays
out on the deck and there by, get a early jump on acquiring their summer
tans.  Shocking the shit out of Grace, Sam passed over the spiffy one piece
Speedo styled tanksuit that Grace had provided her with and opted instead
for the skimpier of the two lycra-spandex bikinis she found in one of her
dresser drawers; selecting the thong cut bottom over the slightly more
modestly tailored one.

	"My, my!  Looking good, girl!", Grace, dressed in a bikini that
left little to the imagination herself, offered a cheery comment.  "So, am
I to take it that you're staring to get into this girl-shit?"

	"No...", Sam began thoughtfully.  "But you know what they say,
Grace!  You know!  As in: if you've got it!  Flaunt it!"

	"And since there's no getting around the fact that you got it in
spades now Sam, you just figured you'd take full advantage of the
situation!  Right?"

	"Yeah...", Sam returned shyly.  "I guess so..."

	A minute or so after that, having informed Granny that if she
should need the pair of them for any reason, they would be out on the deck
either sunning themselves or luxuriating in the soothing waters of the hot
tube, Grace handed her charge a plastic bottle of suntan lotion and
continued on to ask if Sam would be kind enough to apply an ample amount of
its' contents to both her back and legs; saying that she would be more than
happy to return the favor.  Sam did as requested, thoroughly relishing the
intimacy of the contact and unequivocally confirming the fact that as far
as that mind of hers was concerned, it was still as manly as it ever was.

	'Damn!', Sam internally fumed as she deftly worked the lotion into
Grace's back.  'Wouldn't you just know it!  Here I am!  Alone with the
woman I'm in friggin' love-lust with and I can't do a damn that about it!

	"I mean...  I've always said that life' ain't fair!  But, damn if
this sorry situation doesn't confirm it!'

	Oddly enough, though Sam hadn't the slightest inking that such was
the case, Grace, when it became her turn to return the favor of applying
the sun screen, found herself dealing with like sentiments.

	Grace, a self-proclaimed narcissist since the first day of her own
sexual reassignment, had, on numerous occasions, toyed with the notion of
engaging in a lesbian fling just to see if she could eventually manage a
monogamous relationship with another woman.  To that end, she had even
tried cruising a few of the clubs in and around the District of Columbia
that were known to cater to such clientele every now and again.

	Trouble was, try as she might to get beyond her own long held
aversions to women of the lesbian persuasion, though she knew that she
definitely classified as one herself, Grace was carrying around far to much
baggage from her life as a red blooded American male to get up the nerve to
take the plunge and there by, become a card carrying member of Washington's
affluent and Georgetown based lesbian sub-culture.

	Even when Dan Faber had been nothing more to her than a mere name
on a Justice Department file, Grace had come to form a grudging respect for
the former marine for not only what he had done in the service of his
country, but more importantly, what he had sacrificed in order to adhere to
the solemn oath he had taken as a young man to protect and defend the
Constitution of the United States against enemies, both foreign and
domestic.  Early association with the man only served to affirm and broaden
the scope of that respect.  Grace, though she never came right out and
acknowledged the fact, looked upon Dan as a kindred spirit.

	And so had begun their friendship.

	Dan, Grace soon came to realize, was hopelessly smitten with her,
as were most of the men she came in contact with on a day in day out bases.
Given the opportunity, Dan would have given his right nut and maybe, even
his left one as well, to coax her into his bed.

	Ego aside, Grace knew that, as a woman, she was one fine piece of
work.  She also knew, given that her mind was still very much that of a
man's, how those feminine wilds of hers affected a man's libido; sending
it, more times than not, into testosterone charged, male impassioned,
sexual overdrive.  And she knew that because, Grace still couldn't look at
herself in a mirror and not end up getting turned on.

	Dan however, was one of the rare breed, a throwback, if you will,
to a bygone era when civility was the hallmark of a true gentleman.  Dan
would no more force himself on a woman than he would cut off his own right
arm.  As besotted as he was with Grace's allurements, he would never
jeopardize the mutual friendship they had established by trying anything
even remotely untoward.  If a platonic relationship was all that Grace was
offering, though he might be desirous of so much more, Dan would abide by
the constraints that Grace placed on their relationship.

	Grace, unsure that she could have faired even half as well as Dan
had, respected him all the more for the way he had accorded her.  Trouble
was, Dan's all to recent transseualization into the shapely and sexually
scintillating Sam had thrown a monkey wrench into the whole equation.

	As bizarre as it was to witness Dan the Frog's metamorphosis into
the fabulous looking femme fatale that he had gone on to become, Grace also
found the final stages of that transition to be highly erotic.  Never
before had the image of another woman tugged at Grace's heart-strings the
way Sam had.  Never before had Grace desired a woman the way she fervently
desired Sam.

	Trouble was, instead of that amorous desire of Grace's losing
momentum as she had hoped and prayed it would, it continued to become more
pervasive.  More pronounced.  More persistent.

	Grace couldn't get the image of the new and sexually improved
Samantha Walthers out of her mind.  No matter what she did or didn't do,
Sam was there.  Bare ass naked.  Fanning the flames of Grace's ardor and
making a soiled, love-juicy slickened mess out of her panties in the
process.

	'Paybacks are hell!', Grace continued to remind and there by,
reprimand herself.  And when she wasn't telling herself that, she was
castigating herself with the 'what comes around, goes around' malarkey.

	For the past two nights, with erotic fantasies of Sam and herself
going at it hot and heavy serving as an enchanting backdrop for such
perverse and perverted activities, Grace, at a loss as to how else to
handle her frayed emotions, played a semi-satisfying, multi-orgasmic
triggering game of titty-tweak and stink-finger with herself in an all out
effort to assuage the sense of raging horniness that she had been
contending with since she had first beheld Sam, resplendent in all her
feminine glory.  Waking up in the mornings, Grace, much to her chagrin and
consternation, felt the pressing need to repeated the process as more or
less a preventive measure on her part.

	Needless to say, those preventive measure of hers didn't work.  As
soon as Grace linked up with Sam, damn if her horniness didn't rear up and
bite her on that succulent, man troubling derriere of hers.

	Ironically, though Grace remained oblivious to the fact, Sam was
contending with the same sort of emotional distress on her part, save that
Sam hadn't had the good sense to employ the techniques of female
masturbation as a means by which she could address the sexual tension that
was threatening to do a real number on that pretty little new head of hers.


* * *


	That afternoon, as the two of they indulged themselves by
luxuriating in the invigorating waters of Granny's Army Corps of Engineer
installed hot tube, Grace, having just finished grilling Sam for the
umpteen time that afternoon about center relevant facts of her bogus past,
sheepishly broached a subject that had been impishly tugging at her mind.

	"So tell me, Sam.  Now that you've had a day or two to get use to
it, what do you think about you and your being a girl and all now?"

	"Well...", Sam began, organizing her thoughts on the matter as she
did so, "It's like you said, Grace.  Being a live woman is a far cry better
than being a dead man."

	"That's pretty much a given, isn't it, Sam?", Grace concurred.

	"Yeah...  I guess it is."

	"So come on!", Grace encouraged.  "Fess up!  I really would like to
hear your impressions!  You know, just to see if yours are anything like
mine were."

	"Alright them.", Sam began afresh.  "But bear in mind Grace, right
now everything is still pretty much up in the air!  I mean, I'm still so
damn discombobulated that I'm not at all sure how I feel about this
girl-shit!"

	"That's to be expected, Sam.

	"I mean, to this very day, Sam!  Would you believe that I have some
very mixed feelings about it?

	"One moment, I think that my becoming a woman is the most wonderful
and extraordinary thing that ever happened to me!  The next, I thoroughly
despise what I've become!

	"Sometimes I think I have the best of both worlds!  Other times,
the worst!

	"For instance, I love the way my body feels!  The way it looks!
The way it moves!

	"I love looking sexy!  I love feeling sexy!

	"And Sam, as crass as this is surely going to sound, I love - No!
Make that cherish! - the multi-orgasmic aspects of this magnificent new
body of mine!

	"However, even with all of that, I have to admit Sam. that there's
a definite downside to being a girl.

	"I mean, I for one could do without that tenacious and
de-humanizing little monthly visitor that's part and parcel of what being a
woman is all about!  I hate the cramps!  I hate the PBS!  I hate muss!  I
hate the fuss!  And I hate all the hassles!

	"I hate having to get gussied up!  I hate having to put on makeup!
I hate having to fix my hair!  I hate having to shave my underarms!  Not to
mention, saving these new longer legs of mine!

	"I hate the way some guys leer at you!  I hate having to deal with
the trite and hackneyed come-ons of egotistical, self-centered bastards who
are so damn arrogant that they think that all they have to do is to lay a
line of bullshit you, and you'll be so friggin' flattered that you'll do
everything in your power and then some, to service all their crass and
carnal needs!"

	"I hate it!  I hate it!  I hate it!"

	Then, upon the realization that she had co-opted the precedings by
going off on a tirade all her own, Grace contritely apologized.  "Sorry,
Sam!  I don't know what in the hell was I thinking!

	"I mean, I go and asked for your impressions and then, like a big
dummy dunderhead that I tend to be at times, I went and gave you mine!

	"And that's the very last thing I wanted to do!  You know, because
I didn't want to prejudice you!  You know, about certain aspects of what
you are now going to be contending with on a damn near day in day out
bases!  You know, now that you're a girl and all!"

	"That's okay, Grace!  Think nothing off it.  I'm not the least
little bit upset.

	"And believe me!  I really appreciate your candor, Grace.  And,
since it's not the kind of shit that you can talk to just anybody about, I
just figured that you just needed to get it off your chest.

	"I did at that.", Grace freely admitted. "But that's no excuse,
Sam!  I shouldn't have said what I just said!"

	"Was it the truth?"

	"Pretty much, though I may have exaggerated somewhat.

	"I mean, don't get me wrong, Sam!  I really don't mind being a girl
most of the time!

	"Truth be told, I sometimes relish being one!

	"However, I have to confess that there are somethings that I could
do without..."

	"Yeah!", Sam knowingly concurred.  "I think I beginning to know
exactly what you mean..."


* * *


	That evening, after a delicious spaghetti dinner, Grace, with
Granny's help, pierced Sam's ears; starting Sam off with stud-posts
surmounted with little golden frogs as more or less a keepsake token of
what she had so recently undergone.  Later, having listening to Granny
reminisce about the many years she had spent in the Amazon Rain Forest
before being persuaded to come to the United States for several pleasant
and very relaxing hours, Sam, with an unbidden yawn, excused herself;
saying as she did so, that she was tuckered out and was therefore, calling
it a night and heading off to bed.

	Shortly thereafter, as the Granny and Grace sat there, gazing out
at the stars that populated the eastern portion of the night sky while
meditatively sipping some herbal tea that Granny had just seen fit to
brewed for the two of them, Granny caught Grace completely off guard as she
bluntly made the accusation, "You like her, don't you Gracy?"

	"Of course I like Sam, Granny!  I mean, what's not to like?  She's
a good egg!"

	Granny, always the insightful one, wasn't about to be put off by
Grace's casual dismissal.

	"Gracy!", Granny snapped sternly.  "That's not what I meant and you
know it!

	"You can't fool Granny!  You like her!  You like this Sam of yours
the way a man likes a woman!"

	Knowing that, where Granny was concerned, it was futile to try and
argue the point further, Grace gave up the ghost and freely admitted to the
elderly Amazonian that she did indeed have strong amorous feelings for Sam.

	"Good!", Granny declared succinctly.

	"It's not good, Granny!  It's awful!  The feelings I have for Sam
are doing a real number on me!  You know, as in they're tearing me up
inside!"

	"That's because you are falling in love with this new Sammy of
yours, Gracy."

	"I know, Granny!  I know I am!  And the problem is: I can't even
tell her how I feel!"

	"And why - Pray tell! - is that, Gracy?"

	"Because!", Grace emotionally intoned.

	"Because...", Granny emphatically prompted.

	"Because, Granny, that wouldn't be ethical for me to do that!"

	"And why wouldn't it?", Granny, tactfully playing dumb, quizzically
demanded.

	"Because, Granny!", Grace, on the verge of tears, countered.  "I am
responsible for Sam!  She trusts me!  And were I to tell how I really feel,
how I think that I am staring to fall madly in love with her, I could end
up ruining everything!"

	"Trust me, Gracy.  That's not going to happen."

	"And why won't it, Granny?", a clearly distraught Grace meekly
inquired.

	"Because, child, that Sammy of yours feels the same way about you
that you feel about her."

	"She does?", Grace's mood markedly brightened.

	"Yes, my dear!", Granny confirmed her privious statement.  "She
most certainly does..."


* * *


	No sooner had those ever so flattery honey hued locks of Sam's
graced her pillows and she was out.  And so she remain until somewhere in
and around three of the following morning where upon, she stirred,
re-positioned herself and so, entered into the surrealistic realm of dream
populated REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep.

	All of a sudden, though the incredulity of the dream had as yet to
register, Sam found herself once again functioning as a young, male, marine
recruit dealing the rigors, rancor and regimentation of the infamous Parris
Island.  Returning to the barracks after a grueling twenty mile forced
march in full combat gear, Sam, along with the rest of his barracks mates,
wearily climbed out of his fatigues only to come to the stark realization
that, unlike the other members of his platoon, the skives he was wearing
were anything but regulation.  French cut, black satin bikini briefs and a
matching Wonder Bra stood out in sharp contrast to the GI issue underwear
that his unconcerned buddies were wearing.

	Alarm set in as Sam came to the shameful realization that his
libido was responding to the erotic feel of the scintillating satin that
cradled and caressed his male genitalia into the state of full blown
arousal.  Trouble was, as Sam soon realized, his pecker wasn't the only
part of his anatomy that had risen to the occasion.  His chest had as well.
Looking down, Sam became appallingly aware that the cups of the formerly
superfluous bra he had been wearing were distended fetchingly outwards,
filled with a pair of the most exquisite, areola enhanced mammary glands
that ever troubled a man's leering and lecherous eyes.

	Just then, just as Sam was dejectedly contemplating those new,
ample and unquestionable feminine endowments that he had, in some
mystifying manner, been so brazenly fitted out with, while at the same
time, shamelessly fondling the living shit out of them, his manly member
experienced a rather lackluster ejaculation of semen.  Having done so, his
penis immediately began to shrivel up and go flaccid.  As it did so, its'
exposed, circumcised head meekly retreated back beneath the shiny satin nap
of the scanty bikini briefs that those loins of his were trust up in.

	A moment later, with more than a little trepidation compounding in
upon itself, Sam gingerly pulled the upper extent of the bikini briefs
outward, so as to allow him the ability to sneak a peek.

	What he found horrified him to no end.  His penis, testicles and
unruly mat of male pubic hair were gone, somehow magically, if not damn
near instantaneously, retrofitted into an anatomy that was clearly of a
feminine nature.

	Just then, just as Sam was in the process of confirming the fact
that his genitalia had undergone some sort of outlandish pussifacation with
a fumbling and hurriedly executed hand-grope of his satin ensconced
privates, Sam became peripherally aware that other changes had taken place.
His cot had become a brass bed.  It's wool blanket: a pink, lace trimmed
satin comforter.  His footlocker: a black lacquered hope chest.  His
recently discarded fatigues: a lycra-spandex, camouflage print, cocktail
dress.  His combat boots: a pair of your standard issue, stiletto heeled,
U-throated, pointy toed, dick teaser specials.

	An errant, flowing strand of spring scented strawberry blonde hair
served to inform Sam that the change he had been undergoing had culminated
in his becoming the living embodiment of the exotically sculptured femlines
that enticingly cavorted and frolicked about in his most cherished and oft
times visited fantasies.

	Then, just as he was beginning to assess the damage, one of Sam's
squad mates brought it to everyone's attention that there was a scantily
clad, gorgeous young woman parading around in their barracks; proceeding on
to glibly add, that he deem her a prime candidate for a no-holds bar,
tag-team styled game of hide the salami, claiming first dibs as he
boisterously did so.

	Before Sam knew what was happening, he found his newly herified
self roughly manhandle to that girlishly appointed new brass bed of his.
Hamstrung by four of his best buds, Sam, who was struggling away to beat
the band, looked up and into the lecherous and leering eyes of his foul
mouthed boot camp drill instructor, who had seemingly appeared out of
nowhere, only to straddle Sam's thoroughly feminized physique.

	Knowing fully well that that newly installed vagina of his was
about to be unceremoniously penetrated as the opening gambit in a gang bang
that he - as a she - was to figure prominently in, Sam masochistically
allowed his eyes to drift downwards, flowing incredulously over the sheen
of his DI's sweat moistened body, only to be rendered further horrified as
his eyes beheld his gunnery sergeant's erect and blood gorged shaft.

	Penises, Sam held, while functional and a damn nice thing to have
hanging down there in between one's legs, where nevertheless the ugliest
and grossest component in all of human anatomy.  Trouble is: there are many
degrees of ugliness and Sam's nightmare portrayed his gunnery sergeant's
swollen member as not only the epitome of genital ugliness, but as being
the hugest of the huge.  The damn thing looked to a frantically
disbelieving Sam to be as big as the business end of a Louisville Slugger.

	Trouble was, a distraught and manically squirming Sam was
profoundly aware, that the business end of his gunnery sergeant's
center-tapped, baseball bat sized impregnation rod was clearly targeted on
the severely constricted entrance foyer of that new little birthing canal
of his.

	With the encouraging, boisterous cadence of, "Go Gunney!  Go!"
urging his drill sergeant on, Sam braced herself for the inevitable as he
felt his DI shift position above him as a prelude to the flagrant act of
unsolicited vaginal violation that would shortly follow.

	Just then, as Sam intuitively felt his gunnery sergeant's muscles
tighten as a precursor to the horrendous act of craven idolatry the
horny-assed bastard was about to foster upon his magically feminized
subordinate, Dame Fate step in and saved Sam from having to endure the
horrific scenario that was being playing out in the dastardly and pervasive
nightmare she was having a single, solitary moment longer.

	Sitting bolt upright in her sweat soaked bed, Sam feverishly
clamored to separate false from true.  Though it was a short lived
perception on her part, lasting no longer than the briefness of a troubled,
gut wrenching shudder, Sam actually entertained the dehumanizing belief
that she had been about to have become the unwitting victim of a gang rape.

	Never before had she ever experienced a dream that had seemed so
vivid - so real - as to be almost tangible - almost malleable.  Her id, the
impish little component that, along with the ego and superego comprised
that male attuned psyche of hers and in so doing, exercised jurisdiction
over such matters as dreams and nightmares and such, had really gone and
outdone itself.  Though Sam had, within a second or so of her startled
awakening, come to the stark realization that it had been nothing more than
a extremely bad dream that had troubled her sleep, Sam felt as if she could
still feel her drill sergeant's vulgar and looming presence in between
those sweat drench long and ever so lovely legs of hers.

	The dream had served as a rude awakening for Sam.  Never before had
she felt so vulnerable.  So scared.  So troubled.

	She needed comforting and she needed it bad.

	Remembering what Grace had told her, about how she would be there
for Sam - anytime - day or night, Sam, who was having a hell of a hard time
even functioning, gingerly climbed off of her sweat soaked sheets and began
the short trek that would take her though the bathroom their shared and
into the adjoining bedroom in hopes of availing herself of Grace's offer of
compassionate counseling and girlish camaraderie.

	"Grace!", Sam meekly intoned as she stood there, naked as a jay
bird, seductively silhouetted in the doorjamb of her mentor's bedroom.
"Grace!  Grace!", she imploringly repeated, her voiced couched slightly
louder with each successive attempt.

	Just when Same was ready to give up the ghost and return to her
room, Grace, in a voice that clearly denoted the fact that she wasn't fully
awake, mumbled, "Sam.  Is that you?"

	"Yes...", Sam returned tentatively.

	"What's up?", Grace countered, sounding a whole hell of lot more
lucid than she had a brief moment before.

	With some hesitancy, Sam, in a clearly troubled voice, explained
that she had had a bad dream that, in its' turn, had triggered a bad case
of the night sweats, and because of that, her sheets were a bit soaked in
places.

	"Well,", Grace thoughtfully began, "since I don't know where Granny
keeps her spare bedding... and since we don't want to take the chance of
waking her should we try to hunt some up for you... tell you what, Sam: why
don't you just bunk in here with me for the rest of the night.

	"Granted it might be a little cramped.  But I suspect that if we
were to snuggle up real close to one another, we'll be able to manage it
just fine.

	Though the idea appealed to her, Sam was noticeable reluctant to
agree to Grace's proposal out of hand.  Such intimacy, Sam feared, could
have disastrous consequences.  Though she had always managed to restrain
herself in a gentlemanly like manner all throughout their past
associations, prolonged intimate contact with the woman that was the object
of Sam's infatuations could well be her undoing.

	Basically, Sam didn't trust herself.  She knew that she was
hopelessly in love-lust with Grace.  She also knew that it was becoming
harder and harder for her to restrain herself from putting a move on Grace.

	As the man she used to be, Sam, upon offering an off-handed comment
concerning his appraisal of a given woman's sex appeal when engaged in a
casual conversation with a male friend or associate, had often been heard
to quip, "Now, there's a woman who really gets my juices flowing!".  With
Grace, that comment was no longer a matter of semantics.  More times than
not, when in Grace's presence, that new vagina of hers was awash in its'
own secretions; so much so that Sam found it necessary to change into a new
pair panties several times throughout the course of the days she had spent
as a woman.

	What Sam didn't know, was that she was having the same effect on
Grace that Grace was having on her.  Like Sam, Grace's vagina was leaking
love-juices like a sieve on damn near a pesky and perpetual bases.

	To late, Grace came to the sad realization that she had made Sam
the offer to share her bed with her without taking the time necessary to
thoroughly think the matter through.  Knowing that it would be a hard row
to hoe for her to lay that close to Sam and not take advantage of the
situation, Grace, aware that she was more or less stuck, in that she could
not rescind the offer in a gracefully manner, did the only thing she could
do under the circumstances.

	In other words, backed in a corner like she was, Grace made her
offer again.  And in doing so, Grace, aware of the perplexing predicament
she was placing herself in, took away any counter-proposals that Sam might
come up with; there by, making it damn near impossible for Sam to refuse
her invitation to join her.

	Acting much like an elder sister might under such heart-wrenching
circumstances, Grace tenderly bundled Sam into her bed.  As she did so,
Grace realized that Sam was trembling uncontrollable.

	"That dream of yours really got to you, didn't it?"

	"Yes...", Sam tentatively replied, as she snuggled into the
consoling embrace that Grace compassionately enveloped her quivering charge
within.

	"Want to talk about it?

	"I mean, it might help some if you did..."

	Sam, though it took a little more urging on Grace's part, did just
that.  Without going into any great detail, Sam gave Grace a fairly good
recounting of the nightmare she had just experienced.

	"That was a dozy, Sam!  And I can certainly understand how it
caused you to break out into a cold sweat!

	"I mean to tell you, Sam!  Each and every time I have had a similar
dream to the one you just had, damn if I didn't break out into a cold sweat
too!"

	"You've had similar dreams?", Sam meekly inquired of Grace.

	"I most certainly have!"

	"Do you have them often?"

	"I did at first.  Now though,", Grace continued thoughtfully, "I
only have one about every other month or so.

	"However, when I do have one, they still give me a bad case of the
heebie-jeebies!."

	"You mean, there's a good chance that I'm going to keep having
them?"

	"'Fraid so, Sam!  I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I can't!
You know, as in they sort of go with the territory of you and your being a
girl now.

	"Though there has only been a handful of us who have undergone
Granny's rather unique sexual re-assignment treatment, to the best of my
knowledge, each and every one of us has had to endure the trauma caused by
such nightmares.", Grace offered, as she began to gently and
compassionately stoke Sam's luxurious tresses as a means to comfort her
charge's rather frazzled mental state.

	"Grace.", Sam meekly intoned.

	"Your dreams...", she hesitated, "...are they anything even
remotely like the one I just had?"

	"Pretty much.

	"Hey!", Grace said cheerfully.  Then, aware that misery does indeed
love company, Grace figured that it might prove therapeutic were Sam to
hear a recounting of one of her own nightmares and so, proceeded on to
suggest, "Tell you what, Sam!  Since it's pretty much a given that neither
one of us is anywhere close to being ready to go back to sleep, why don't I
entertain you by filling you in on the juicy one I had the night before we
ran you up to Washington to testify against that arrogant sleaze-ball
Tamborn."

	Receiving Sam's permission to do just that, Grace, adopting a
rather ribald approach to her storytelling, began.

	"The dream started with the male me that I use to be before I met
Granny and ended up looking like I do now placing the Seal's version of a
Kilroy was here magnetic calling card on the hull of Los Angeles Class
attack submarine that was moored to one of the wharfs up at the Bangor
Submarine Base.  Having done that, I swam back to my sled; chased off a
couple of inquisitive and playful seal pups; and navigated back to a
submerged older Sturgeon Class boat that was awaiting the return of me and
a couple of my Seal Team buddies that had also made the incursion run that
night.

	"You see, Sam, back when I doing that sort of stuff, the Navy like
to used us Seals to test the security of their precious submarine bases.
You know, just to keep those sewer-pipe swabbies on their toes.

	"So anyhow, I get back the sub; stow my sled; take off my Jet Fins
and climb down into the Sturgeon's escape trunk.  Several minuets later,
after the escape trunk has been purged of seawater, I crack the lower hatch
and climb down into the boat's forward torpedo room were the rest of my
team is shooting the shit with the other three divers who have beaten me
back, meaning: I've got to buy a round of beer for the whole friggin' team
the next time we're all out getting shit-faced.

	"Sam.", Grace intoned.  "Do you remember the Bond film that began
with Sean Connery wearing this dive suit that had a rubber ducky attached
to its' hood?

	"Better yet!", Grace briskly continued, in effect, keeping Sam from
answering her previous question.  "Do you remember the flick True Lies?
You know, that had Arnold Schwarzengger pretty much duplicating what Sean
Connery did when portraying James Bond years earlier!"

	"Yes, I remember", Sam managed meekly.  "Correct me if I'm wrong,
but weren't both wearing tuxedos under their dive suit.  However, if I
remember correctly, Connery - as Bond - was wearing a wet suit which
wouldn't have worked, where as Arnold was wearing what looked to be a
Viking Dry Suit, which would have."

	"You caught that little inaccuracy, did you?", a delightfully
surprised Grace Clark returned brightly.  "Know your dive gear, do you?"

	"A little.", Sam offered.

	"Well anyhow,", Grace said, returning to her story, "There I was.
Dressed in all my gear, while the rest of the guys who had been out for
swim that night were already in the process of shedding theirs.

	"Okay!  So I take off my mask, rebreather, weight belt and the rest
of the paraphernalia I've got on in preparation to clamor out of the dry
suit I'm wearing.

	"Got the picture, Sam?"

	Sam said she did and so, Grace continued.

	"Alright!  I unzip and begin to climb out of my dry suit only to
find that I'm not wearing the insulating, Michelin Man like jumpsuit
underneath.  You know, like all of my fellow teammates were wearing.

	"Me!  I'm wearing one of those outlandishly and super sexy, not to
mention, down right erotic black satin French maid outfits!  You know,
complete with one of those white crinoline under-skirt do-jiggers peaking
how from underneath the hem of extremely abbreviated skirt portion of the
outfit!  You know, looking like I do now!  You know, in this balls to the
walls beautiful, new and improved, built like a brick shithouse body of
mine!

	"Would you believe Sam, that when I stepped out of my dry suit,
that dream of mine had me decked out in a pair of sky high, stiletto
heeled, dick teaser specials and a pair of fishnet stockings!  You know,
just to add insult to injury!

	"Okay!  So all my teammates go bug-eyed and slack-jawed when they
behold me - resplendent as a gorgeous and highly assessable woman in their
midst.

	"Then one of them, though I'm not sure which, sings out with a line
right out of the movie Deliverance; suggesting as he did so that I had a
very pretty mouth and that it would look a whole hell of a lot prettier
with his dick crammed up inside it!

	"With that said, the dream shifts.  You know, as in it jumps ahead
a little and I'm down on my knees, gleefully sucking on this foul mouthed
so-in-so's cock while another son of a bitchin' friend of mine is on his
knees, butt fucking me to the chorus of cheers and jeers of all of my
former teammates, who are crassly standing around, ogling the shit out of
what's going on, while they while away the time until they get their chance
to have at me!"

	"That's a terrible, terrible dream, Grace!", Sam emphatically
interjected.  "Far, far worse than the one I just had was!

	"You're darn tootin' it was!", Grace readily concurred as she
unconsciously took the hand that she had been employing to stroke Sam's
hair and, doing what comes naturally, slipped it subtly beneath her
bedmate's arm in such a way as to be able to begin to gently fondle and
caress one of those new ample endowments of Sam's.

	"And do you know what the worst part of it was, Sam?"

	"The blowjob business...", Sam, who was so focused on what Grace
was telling her that she remained totally oblivious to Grace's erotic
ministrations, hazarded a guess.

	"Yeah...", Grace concurred.  "The blowjob business...

	"But it wasn't just the blowjob business!  It was the fact that the
dream portrayed me as a willing - No! - let's make that eager participant
in everything that went on in that sub's torpedo room!

	"I mean to tell you, Sam!  That dream had me acting like some sort
of nymphed-out slut!

	"You name it!  And - God help me! - I did it!

	"I took those old Seal teammates of mine on one - two - even three
at a time!

	"I mean, you want to talk about cold sweats!

	"Hell, Sam!  I'd be willing to bet you my next pay check that the
cold sweat that you just had wouldn't even come close to holding a candle
to the one I awoke to that night!"

	"I mean to tell you!  I climbed out of a bed that was so sopping,
wringing wet that it wasn't funny!

	"Well... in retrospect, I have to admit that it was pretty funny,
even though I didn't think so at the time!

	"Let me tell you, that dream sure as hell did a number on this old
mind of mine!

	"I mean, given what that dream of mine had me doing, I was worried
that I might actually harbor some latent homosexual tendencies!"

	"I could see how it would.", Sam, who was becoming more aroused
with each and every passing moment, cooing concurred, as she snuggle even
closer to Grace's fetchingly formed physique.

	"Let me tell you, Sam!  That damn dream of mine caused me no end of
soul-searching! ", Grace freely admitted, as her index and middle fingers
lackadaisically traced a whorl pattern about the super sensitized areola
surrounding Sam's fully distended nipple.

	"And what, may I ask, was the result of all that soul-searching of
yours, Grace?

	"I mean, given the opportunity, do you really think that you'd like
to behave like some brazen hussy, getting it on with a lot of guys?"

	"No!", Grace was emphatic.  "Never!

	"I mean, though that nightmare of mine threw me for a loop for a
couple of days, after one hell of a lot of introspective soul-searching, I
realized that that was exactly what it was!  A nightmare!  Nothing more!
Nothing less!

	"In other words, Sam: guys don't do anything for me!  Girls do!
You know, even though I happen to be one myself now!"

	"Oh!", Sam, who was so horny that her vagina was awash in its' own
satin secretions, teasingly chuckled.  "So, by your own omissions, I take
it that you're a self avowed lesbian, Grace?"

	"Yeah!  I guess I am at that...", Grace replied thoughtfully.

	"So, now that the cat's out of the bag about you and your being a
lesbian, Grace", Sam continued playfully, "tell me: is there any woman in
particular who tickles your fancy?"

	In that instant, it dawned on Grace.  She had overstepped the
bounds of proper decorum.  She had transgressed.  She had innocently and
inadvertently taken liberties with Sam's body that blatantly breached
established protocols.

	In a damn near instantaneous, knee jerk reaction, Grace yanked her
offending hand backwards.

	However, as quick as Grace was, Sam was even quicker.  Before
Grace's hand had passed below the upper portion of her companion's
emasculated arm, Sam had reached out and, grabbing Grace's arm by the
wrist, arrested its' withdrawal.

	"Sam!", Grace, her voice pained, frantically protested as she
violently twisted about on the bed to face her charge.  "I'm sorry!  I'm
so, so sorry!

	"Please, Sam!  I don't know what got into me!

	"I mean, I didn't even know I was doing what I was doing until just
a second ago!  And as soon as I did, I immediately stopped!"

	"Please, Sam!  Tell me you can find in your heart to forgive me!
And I promise, I'll never do it again!"

	"Grace!", Sam snapped, as she drew mentor's hand forward and placed
it once again upon her aroused nipple.  "The choice is simple!  I can
either file a sexual harassment suite against you, or you can get back to
doing what you were doing!"

	"Sam, I...  I...  I...", Grace stammered, unsure as to just what in
the hell was going on.

	"Grace!", Sam's retort was abruptly and sternly delivered.  "Would
you just shut up and kiss me!"

	A rather bewildered, though impassioned Grace did as directed.  An
eager and energetic Sam met her halfway.  Tenderly their lips tentatively
met.  A second later, long bridled passions sallied forth as reservations
and restraints were eagerly cast aside.  Lips parted, where upon a
confusion of tongue thrusts confounded their efforts.

	Giggling, both withdrew.

	"It seems we have a problem, Sam!", Grace, first to point out the
obvious.

	"Yes!", Sam, amidst an unabashed string of chuckles, gleefully
admitted.  "We most certainly do!

	"It seems,", she continued on to state the problem as she saw it,
"we still both want to play the part of the man!"

	"My sentiments exactly!", Grace concurred.

	"So what are we going to do about this little problem of ours,
Grace?  Take turns?"

	"Yeah!  That's exactly what we'll do, Sam!  We'll take turns!  And
guess what!  I have dibs on playing the part of the man first!"

	And with that said, Grace planted an impassioned lip-lock on Sam's
luscious lips that clearly informed Sam that Grace wasn't about to be
deterred from ravishing her up one side and down the other.

	It was all new ground for Sam and she wasn't at all sure she liked
being the recipient of a French Kiss instead of the instigator of the same.
It felt odd!  It felt icky!.  It felt - stimulating! It felt -
invigorating!  It felt - wonderful!  And Grace's kiss was only the
precursor to the erotic delights that she would deftly foster upon her
charge.

	Sam thought she had died and gone to heaven when Grace's lips and
manfully talented tongue, having teasingly and tenderly worked their way
tortuously down along the run her gracefully re-sculptured neck, targeted
first one and then the other of those overtly super-sensitized and
enchantingly enhanced nipple surmounted areolas of hers, sucking and
swirling away to entice and entreat her in ways Sam never thought possible.

	A second front was opened as Grace began to expertly caress Sam
inner thighs, drawing slowly and teasing nearer and nearer to those new
multiple lips folds of Sam's womanhood.  Within in seconds, Sam was riving
under Grace's tender administrations.  Moments later, Sam began to
helplessly whimper and moan as Grace's middle finger passed within the
love-juice lubricated sanctuary of her newly installed vaginal lips.  Her
stomach, on its' own accord, undulated.  Then, as Grace's finger proceed to
be drawn upwards, her body shimmed and then bucked, as one sexual shiver
after another charge with reckless abandon upwards along the run of her
spine.  Imploring the Almighty on High, Sam entered sexual Nirvana as
Grace's middle finger enticingly twirled about the epicenter of that
elusive nub of her clitoral protrusion.

	Jolt after jolt of pure, unadulterated sexual pleasure wildly
gallivanted within her.  Each and every little nuance of Grace's flicking
finger ratcheted her higher and higher.  Soaring within the swirling vortex
of unimaginable carnal and craven pleasures, Sam gasp.  She cried.  She
screamed.

	Sexually exasperated and feeling as if she could endure no more,
Sam found herself proven wrong as Grace, via a series of nips, sucks and
endearing kisses that traversed Sam's taught, trim and simply scrumptious
abdomen, shifted position, so as re-target her oral ministrations.

	Sam was rendered flabbergasted.  As fantastic as Grace's finger had
felt dickering around with that new clit of hers, the chaotic jolts of
carnal gratification that Grace's tongue engendered were so brazenly
compelling, so utterly astonishing, so erotic stimulating, that Sam found
the pleasure to be beyond excruciating.

	As Sam's primordial lust for orgasmic release gained in both
momentum and focus, billowing and churning back in upon itself in spasmodic
increments that defied Sam's ability to categorize, much less comprehend,
she became one with her new found femininity.  Sexually torqued beyond
believability, Sam transcended the inhibitions of her male libido and,
riding on the maniacally careening crest of her unfettered passions,
embraced what she had become, as the blessed relief of orgasm after orgasm
after multifaceted orgasm gushed and surged within her.

	Several minutes later, though her body was still being visited by
some delightful and very engaging orgasmic after-shocks, Sam reached a
stage in her recuperative efforts were she felt capable of returning the
favor: titty-tweak for titty-tweak, tongue-swirl for tongue-swirl.
Allowing her staunchly male attuned libido free rein, Sam eagerly pounced
upon her mentor.  Grace, who, out of necessity, was an old hand at the
self-serving art form of female masturbation, was astonished.  Having
assumed that she was mentally prepared for Sam's skilled ministrations,
Grace soon became frantically aware that her self-targeted erotic
manipulations couldn't even begin to hold a candle to those that Sam
fostered upon her.

	Like Sam, Grace moaned and whimpered.  She screamed.  She shrieked.
She cried.  She gasped.  Her body shimmied.  It lustfully bucked.
Repeated, clawing her pillow to her as she did so, Grace beseeched the
Almighty on High, cravenly savoring each and every nuance of how Sam was
not only meeting, but far surpassing those foreign, yet oh so familiar
carnal needs of hers.

	Becoming the honor recipient of Sam's altruistic act of cunnilingus
exceeded Grace's expectations.  The moment that Sam went don on her for
some tongue in grove work, Grace knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that
she had made the correct choice in choosing to become a member of the
fairer sex.  While it was true that womanhood had become a rather ponderous
and pugnacious cross for her to bear, Grace became intrinsically
appreciative of the fact that when it came to the wanton enjoyment of
sexual pleasures, being a woman suited her to a tee.

	Grace also realized the truth of the matter.  While her love-making
techniques fell some where in between the high side of pretty darn good and
the lower fringes of pretty darn great, Sam's were so fan-friggin'-tastic
that they were nothing less than phenomenal.  In one of her fleeting, lucid
moments of introspective thought, Grace deeply regretted the fact that she
hadn't availed herself of Sam's services before.

	All those long, tedious months sequestered in various Justice
Department safe houses with Dan waisted.  Had Grace been able to get past
her revulsions revolving around her being able to engage in a mutually
satisfying heterosexual relationship with a man, Grace realized, she could
have been enjoying such erotic pleasures.  As icky and repugnant as it
would have been for her to endure at first, Grace knew that if Sam - as Dan
- had the power to make her feel the way she was feeling at that moment,
having his penis shoved up inside of her vagina would have been a small
price for her to have paid as a form of recompense.

	Then, spurred on by her charge's ever so talented tongue and madly
careening on the rising crescendo of her own erotically torqued emotions,
Grace, with a tortured, "Oooo... Sam!", entered the realm of unadulterated
physical rapture, as one tsunami-like orgasm after another gushed and
surged furiously within her.

	A few minutes later, having found the wherewithal within herself to
do so, Grace meekly asserted, "That was wonderful, Sam!  Absolutely
wonderful!

	"I mean, to tell you, Sam!  A self-induced hand-job can't even
begin to compare what you just went and did to me!

	"I loved it!  I absolutely loved it!", Grace impishly proclaimed as
she deftly reached over and began to gently caress the inner portion of
Sam's upper thigh.

	Sheepishly, Sam, aware that she was about to be treated to another
round of Grace's tender love making, admitted with a delicate whimper that
she had loved it as well.

	Grace adroitly demonstrated the fact that she was not only a quick
learner but also, bound and determine to give as good as she had received.
Sam, when it once again became her turn to address Grace's carnal cravings,
opted for some deft-handed variations that clearly demonstrated the fact
that she still was the reigning champion and that Grace had some real
catching up to do in the manful art form of lesbian love making.

	A third session followed and then, as physically spent as the two
of them were, they fell asleep warped in one anothers comforting and
compassionate embrace.


* * *


	The next morning, at breakfast, without saying how she knew, Granny
made mention of the fact that the sofa in Sam's bedroom folded out to make
a double bed and that if the two of them would like to use it for the
duration of their stay, she'd lay out a fresh set of bedding for it.

	Later, as a gleefully Grace talked a rather giddy Sam through the
step by step procedure necessary to arrange the former Dan Faber's golden
tresses into a flattering and fairly easy to manage French Braid, a
somewhat perplexed Sam broached the subject that had been plaguing her
mind.

	"How did she know?"

	"You mean, Granny?  You know, about us?  And about what the two of
us did last night?"

	"Yes!"

	"Do you think our screams may have given us away, Sam?

	"I mean, if you will recall, Sam: the two of us were pretty
boisterous and we did raise a pretty good ruckus last night."

	"True!  But didn't you tell me that the Army Engineers who built
this place for Granny did a damn good job of soundproofing it, Grace?"

	"Yeah, I did at that.", Grace reply was thoughtfully aired, as she
bent over and gentle planted an endearing kiss on the nape of Sam's newly
exposed neck.  "And our doors were closed at that..."

	"And,", Sam, endeavoring to make another point, "unless I'm way off
base here, when we came down stairs this morning, though I was having a
hell of a hard time keeping my hands off of you, I don't think we behaved
any differently then we had before."

	"I tend to agree, Sam!

	"So, what I'd like to know is: what tipped Granny off, Grace?"

	"Maybe it was that shit-eating grin that was on your face this
morning, Sam!

	"I mean, take it form me!  You were grinning like a Cheshire cat!"

	"And I'm to take it that you weren't?"

	"Touche!", Grace cheerfully scoffed.  "You sure as hell got me that
time, Sam!"


* * *


	Given that they had a lot of things to talk over, Grace opted to
take a break from their normal routine.  Granny, fully aware of what had
occurred in the dead of the night, made herself scarce all throughout the
rest of the day and most of the evening.

	Retiring both early and eagerly, Grace and Sam spent another
delightful prelude to a blissful night of sleep exploring and expanding
their new found intimacy.  Upon waking, Grace dutifully informed that new
lesbian lover-girl of hers that, right after breakfast, the two of them
would start into Phase II of Sam's acclimation process.  When asked what
Phase II of that acclimation process consisted of, Grace replied that she
deemed that it was high time for Sam to start getting out and about.  To
that end, Grace, dressing herself in a pair of well worn jeans, a denim
work shirt and a pair of rugged hiking boots and directing that Sam do
likewise, continued on to inform her charge that the two of them would
begin Phase II by taking a few short hikes within the designated boundaries
of the Dolly Sod's rather unique wilderness area.

	Upon being asked as to just how the two of them would get to where
they were going, Grace informed a fairly inquisitive Sam that the there was
a rust eaten CJ7 ragtop garaged in a shed on the propriety that looked to
be on its' last legs, but wasn't, due to the fact that it was kept
religiously maintained by some plain cloths attired Army motor pool people
who dropped by on a regular bases to see to the jeep's upkeep.

	Before leaving the house, Grace handed Sam the keys to the CJ7 and
a fanny pack; informing her as she did so that the pack contained the
normal shit one would expect to find contained in one a day hiker might
wear, plus a 9mm semi-automatic Glock and a few spare clips in the off
chance that the two of them might run into some unexpected trouble.
Climbing into the jeep, Grace also told Sam that, though it was highly
unlikely for anything untoward to occur, should they require more fire
power than their Glocks could provide, there were a pair of Uzis
strategically secured under the jeep's front seats along with a few extra
high volume clips.

	Fifteen minutes later, Sam, following Grace's casually delivered
instructions, pulled the CJ into a small, bulldozed off, trail-head
designated parking area.  Getting out, the two of them strapped on their
innocent looking fanny packs, crossed the dirt road they had been traveling
down a moment before, and with an endearing, lustful kiss planted squarely
on those luscious lips of Sam's, Grace took the lead, and, choosing the
left fork, began to lazily lead Sam along a looping, self-guiding nature
trail.  Ten minutes or so later, the two of them stood enchanted, as they
gazed out across the totally unexpected, expansive mountain bog.

	"Kind of nifty, isn't it?", Grace asked, referring to the bog as
she did so.

	"Yeah!  It sure is!", Sam concurred.  "And I never would have
thought you would find something as unusual as such a large bog like this
located all the way up here on this ridge!"

	"That's the Dolly Sod's for you, Sam!  And for my money, it's one
of the most unusual places I've ever seen!"

	"Yeah!  I can see how it would be."

	Before heading back to Granny's place, the two of them hit a couple
other of the Dolly Sod's self-guiding nature trails.  The last of which was
more of a rock-scramble than an actual trail, but the vista at trail's end
was well worth the effort.  As they casually made their way back to the
jeep, Sam and Grace chanced upon a group of four college aged male hikers
who were heading the other way.  After exchanging trail pleasantries with
the foursome, Grace continued on to informed the rambunctious lads to be on
the lookout for a fairly good sized timber rattler that was just off the
trail sunning itself on one of the numerous limestone outcrops.  Having
done so, Sam and Grace parted company with the boys and proceeded on down
the trail that wound its way beneath the canopy of grotesquely gnarled and
misshapen wind sculpture scrub pines, en route back to the overlook's
trail-head parking area and their innocent looking CJ7.

	As the two of them passed beyond the range of the boys' hearing,
Grace, employing a very conspiratorial tone of voice, sought to indulge her
curiosity as she began, "So, Sam!  Tell me!  How'd it feel being ogled?
You know, like up one side and down the other?"

	"Creepy!  Really creepy!", Sam, with a cold shiver to punctuate the
point she was making, abruptly admitted, before continuing on to add, "But,
in a way, Grace, I have to confess that I also felt a tad bit flattered..."

	"Well get use to it, kiddo!  Because, from here on out... what with
that sexy new body of yours, you'd best believe you'll be turning heads
left and right!"


* * *


	The next morning, having informed Granny as to their plans for the
day the night before, the two were up at the crack of dawn, showered,
dressed and, with the driving chores falling once again to Sam, headed
south in the jeep.  After a leisurely stop at a greasy spoon for a hardy
breakfast, garnished well with the ogling and appreciative appraisals of
their fellow dinners, the two of them were back on the road again.  Passing
the scenic outcrop of the Seneca Rocks on their left, they proceed further
south and, following the appropriated signs, drew up in the Seneca Caverns
upper parking lot with plenty of time to spare before the first scheduled
tour of the day got underway.

	After a guide escorted tour of the caverns, Grace and Sam, having
browsed around the gift shop for a few minutes before leaving, returned to
the rust eaten and deceptively road-ready CJ and started back up the road
again.  Stopping for lunch at restaurant who's veranda granted them a
breathtaking view of the massive and picturesque Seneca Rocks that
dominated the eastern ridgeline and just across the road from a well placed
rock climbing school, the two of them grabbed a couple of grilled cheese
sandwiches, French fries and the damn near obligatory soft drinks.  In the
store below, on Grace's urging, they both purchased a couple of tee-shirts
apiece and an assortment of flavored hard candy sticks that Grace had
assured Sam were Granny's favorites.  A stop at the Seneca Rocks Visitors
Center followed that and then it was back to Granny's palatial mountain
retreat and a much looked forward to afternoon love making session.

	Knowing how hard it had been for her to feel comfortable braving
the world the first few times as a full fledged female herself, the next
morning, right after another one of Granny's splendidly prepared
breakfasts, Grace up the ante by suggesting that she and Sam drive up to
Petersburg and browse around the town a bit.  It took a little arm twisting
and a few well placed threats thrown in for good measure on Grace's part to
convince Sam that it was in her best interest to go along with the proposed
outing, but Grace finally managed to overcome Sam's anxiety laden
nay-saying.

	All throughout the drive, as she had on previous occasions, Grace
grilled Sam on various points of the bogus history that she had so
painstakingly created for her charge; trying, in every way imaginable, to
trip Sam up.  Sam was good and getting better and better all the time.
Plus, Sam was both resourceful and creative.  Each time Grace called Sam on
an erroneous assertion, damn if Sam didn't gloss over it; nonchalantly
saying, in so many words, that she must have misunderstood the question,
generally supplying the correct answer in the process of doing so.

	Sam, Grace had to admit, was becoming quit the little actress.
Once Sam got past all her aversions and reservations about operating out in
the public-eye as the beautiful young woman that she had become, Grace knew
that all it would take was a flash of those alluring baby blues of hers and
she'd have men eating right out of the palm of her hand.

	Arriving in the Potomac Valley town of Petersburg, the two of them
spent most of the morning checking out some of the interesting little shops
that they chanced upon and ended up grabbing a quick lunch at the local
Mickey D's.  Afterwards, on their way out of town, on Grace's insistence,
Sam pulled the CJ into a Walmart parking lot.  In the store, Grace made
directly for the cosmetic department, where she proceed on to
surreptitiously give Sam a crash course on the uses of the various items
and paraphernalia that lined the department's shelves.  Following that,
Grace headed off for the book and periodical aisles, where she promptly
selected about a half a dozen romance novels and several of the more trendy
women's fashion and make-up magazines; implying as she did so, that until
further notice, Sam was to consider them her required reading.

	Understandably, Sam wasn't all that thrilled with the prospect of
having to delve into the meat of the material.  However, as she informed
Grace, she wasn't the least little bit adverse to feasting her eyes on the
all attractive women who graced the multitude of advertisements contained
within the periodicals.

	That afternoon, Sam and Grace took full advantage of the
unseasonable warm, simply fantastic, spring day by interspersing some nude
sun bathing with frequent and refreshing dips in the luxurious waters of
Granny's deck mounted hot tube.  Later, as they headed off to their
respective bedrooms in order to get dressed for dinner, Grace informed Sam
that they would do something a little different that evening.  Much to
Sam's chagrin, Grace informed her that they would both get gussied up by
donning slinky cocktail dresses.  Sam, as was to be expected, endeavored to
talk Grace out of her proposal, but, also as expect, she failed miserably
in her efforts.

	Grace was adamant and would not be swayed one iota by Sam's
impassioned entreatments.  Quite possible, as Grace was quick to point out,
there would occur situations in Sam's future where some sort of dress or
skirted ensemble would be deemed as the appropriate attire required of
those women in attendance.  To that end, Grace said she would be remiss in
her duties were she not to prepare Sam for such an eventuality.

	Though she gave it her best shot to dissuade her mentor, Sam had to
admit that Grace's logic was unimpeachable.  That being the case, though
she fumed and fussed all throughout the ignominious ordeal of getting
dressed, Sam, upon getting a gander of herself in their bathroom's full
length mirror, had to admit that while the scarlet satin sheath dress that
Grace had trust her up in made her look like some sort of high class hooker
getting ready to attend a Washington bash on the arm of some over paid high
level bureaucrat, she sarcastically added that damn if she didn't look good
enough to eat.  To wit, Grace jokingly teased, that she had full intentions
of doing just that later that evening.

	Sam, though she had lost the war over wearing a dress, had, to some
degree, managed to win an engagement that dealt with the side issue of
footware.  Grace, who had selected a pair of lofty four inch heels for
herself, suggested that Sam try to see if she could manage to get around in
a pair of two inch heels.  Realizing as soon as she had made the suggestion
that it wasn't going to fly, Grace backed off and, in an act of
appeasement, presented Sam with a pair of pumps fitted out with a easily
manageable, chunky, one inch heels.

	Ironically, the next morning, Grace reentered the bedroom they now
shared from her morning shower only to find Sam - nude as the day she was
born - awkwardly trying to navigate about the room in the very metallic
blue stiletto heeled pumps that Grace had worn the night before.

	"What gives, Sam?

	"I mean, wasn't it you who told me only yesterday afternoon that it
would be a cold day in hell before you would ever wear a pair of shoes with
heels as high as those?"

	"Yeah!", Sam sheepishly replied.  "I guess I did at that..."

	"So why the change of heart, kiddo?"

	"Well,", Sam began with some reluctance conveyed in her throaty
intonations, "you looked so good in 'em, I just got to wondering how I
might look wearing them..."

	"So what's your verdict?"

	"Not to shabby... you, know, if I do say so myself.

	"I mean, I really like the way they make my legs look, but, as you
can plainly see for yourself, Grace, I'm not getting around in them very
well at all.

	"I mean, I'm as unsteady as all get-out!"

	"It's like they say, Sam!  Practice makes perfect!  And, I agree!
They really do make your legs look terrific!

	"So, tell you what we're going to do, Sam!  In order to help you
get use to wearing heels - Starting today! - why don't we start you off
with a fairly easy to manage pair of two inch heels?  Then, once you get
the hang of them, you simply trade up to a pair of pumps with three inch
heels and before you know it!  Guess what!  Those four inches that you find
so damn intimidating and hard to get around in now, will be a piece of
cake!"


* * *


	Two days after that, Grace had Sam pack an overnight bag and, with
the driving duties once again falling to Sam, the pair of them casually
drove up to West Virginia's scenic Blackwater Falls State Park.  Having
checked into the park's hotel, the two of them, upon entering their room,
tested out the queen sized bed's mattress by eagerly engaged in a
spontaneous, mutually satisfying, interlude of the lesbianized version of
the much lauded and orgasmic resplendent pastime of uninhibited Afternoon
Delight.  Afterwards, the two of them climbed back into their jeans,
t-shirts and hiking boots and drove over to Blackwater Falls upper
trail-head parking lot.

	The falls, which were still flush with the spring runoff, were
truly a magnificent sight to see and Sam extolled Grace to take lots and
lots of pictures, with the implication being: she wanted a complete set of
duplicates.  Grace replied that a set of duplicates probably wouldn't be
necessary.  Perplexed and just a wee bit irritated and put-off by Grace's
off-handed remark about not furnishing her with a second set of the photos,
a hurt and thoroughly disgruntled Sam tersely demanded an explanation.

	"What in the hell is the big deal about making me a duplicate set
of pictures, Grace?", Sam snapped in a huff.

	"I mean, if you're worried about who's going to pay for 'em, Grace,
don't!  Because, I will!

	"In fact, I'll pay for both sets!  You, know, out of whatever
pittance the Justice Department has decided to provide me with..."

	"Sam!  Sam!", Grace beseeched.  "I think you misunderstood me!"

	"I did?"

	"Yes!  You most certainly did!", Grace was emphatic as she reached
out and roughly drew Sam about to face her.

	"Look, Sam!  The reason I said what I did about your not needing
another set of the pictures is because, if things work out the way I hope
and pray they will, you won't need them!  You see, Sam, I'll be damned if
I'm going let you walk out of my life now that I found you!

	"Grace...", a hopefully mistrusting and emotionally distraught Sam
weakly managed, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

	"If you think that I'm saying that I love you and that my life
wouldn't be complete without you, then I am saying exactly what you think
I'm saying, Sam!  If not, I can only hope that I haven't just gone and
ruined everything and beg your forgiveness if I have!"

	"Grace,", Sam sought clarification, "did you just say that you
loved me?"

	"Yes!  Damn it!  I love you!  More than I ever thought possible!

	"I love you so much that it hurts!

	"And not only do I love you!  But, I need you!  And I want the two
of us to spend the rest of our lives together!"

	As the flush of heart felt relief flooded through her, a tearfully
exuberant Sam replied, "Good!  I so very happy to hear you say that, Grace,
because - God help me! - I love you too!"

	"You do?", Grace, needing Sam's reassurance, returned hopefully.

	"Of course I do!

	"Truth be told, Grace: I fell in love with you so long ago it isn't
funny!"

	"You did?"

	"Hell, yes!"

	"And you aren't put-off by the fact that we're both women, Sam?"

	"No!  Though I can't for the life of me figure out why, I most
certainly am not!

	"I mean, while I know that you used to be a man, Grace, I don't
thing of you as one!  I mean, though it thoroughly astounds me to be saying
this, when I look at you, all I see is the woman I'm in love with!

	"I mean,", Sam stammered, "while I have to admit that there are
times when I still would like to be the man I use to be... you know,
especially so when the two of us are making love... as crazy as this is
going to sound, Grace... knowing everything I do now... I wouldn't change
back even if I could!"

	"I take it that you're starting to take a shine to being a woman,
Sam?"

	"Yes!  Yes, I guess, in some respects, I am at that!  But, that's
not what I'm getting at, Grace!

	"Look!  I know this might not come out the way I want it to come
out, Grace!  But the truth of that matter is: if I have to be a woman to
have your love, so be it!  I'll be the best damn woman there ever was!"

	A few minutes later, as the exuberant couple began to climb the
conglomeration of stairs and inclined pathways that would deliver them back
to the upper lot where their CJ was parked, an extremely giddy Sam asked a
most interesting question.

	"Grace."

	"Yes..."

	"If I remember correctly, didn't Granny tell us that she was some
sort of shaman?"

	"Yeah...", Grace replied with a sense of guarded hesitation clearly
conveyed in her voice.

	"Well, isn't a shaman equivalent to being a priest or priestess or
something similar?"

	"Yeah, I guess so."

	"Well, while I know it is in no way legally binding, couldn't we
have Granny marry us?  You know, if, that is, you would consent to marrying
me!"

	"Sam!", Grace gleefully exclaimed.  "That's an absolutely wonderful
idea!  An just what do you mean with that nonsense of yours about me and my
consenting to marrying you?

	"I mean, it goes without saying that I want to marry you!"

	"You do?"

	"Of course I do, you ninny!  I love you!  So, it more or less goes
without saying that I want nothing more than to marry you!"

	Several minutes later, as, hand in hand they began to climb the
last flight of steps leading to the parking lot, Sam quizzically sought
clarification.

	"Grace, tell me something."

	"Sure, kiddo.  What do you want to know?"

	"In this marriage of ours, which one of us do you see as fulfilling
the role of the husband and which the wife?"

	"It don't make a rat's ass to me, Sam!  If you want to function as
the husband, that's just hunky-dory with me!  If you think you might like
to play the part of the obedient little wife, that's okay too!

	"Or, if you'd rather we trade off, you can be the husband on the
even numbered days and the wife on the odd numbered.  Or, we can exchange
roles on a weekly or even monthly bases.

	"I don't care as long as we're together as a couple..."

	Climbing into the CJ, Sam put another question to Grace as she
fumbled around trying to locate her seatbelt.

	"Grace."

	"Yes."

	"Technically speaking, I guess we both now classify as lesbians,
right?"

	"Yeah, I guess we do at that.", Grace concurred, not sure as to
where her compatriot was going with this rather ambiguous line of inquiry
of hers.

	"So that makes us dykes, right?  You know, given the fact that
though these bodies of ours belie the fact, we tend to think of ourselves
as men.

	"Yeah, so...", Grace tentatively agreed as she prompted Sam to
continue.

	"So, I'm confused about something and was wondering if you might be
able to set me straight."

	"I'll give it my best shot, Sam."

	"Are all lesbians considered dykes or is it just the ones who try
to act manly?  And if it's only the ones who try to act manly who are
referred to as dykes, what are the other ones called?"

	"Hmmm....", Grace began thoughtfully.  "You know something, Sam!
I'm not really sure..."

	As they drove out of the parking lot, Grace suggested that they
continue out of the park and hunt up a liquor story so that they could buy
a bottle of champagne in order to celebrate their betrothal.  Sam, liking
the idea, did just that.

	Back at the hotel, on Grace's instance, they both got dressed in
skirted ensembles that had Sam decked out in a leg showcasing black leather
mini-skirt, coffee brown pantyhose, a flattering and eye-riveting bronze
hued silk blouse and a pair of black, two inch tapered heels.  Grace, for
her part, selected a black leather skirt that was styled similar to that
which Sam was wearing, save that it was just a smidgen or so shorter, a
pair of suntan pantyhose, a long sleeved white lycra-cotton turtleneck
pullover and her trademark stiletto heeled pumps.  Makeup and perfume
followed and then the two of them were off for the hotel's restaurant and
what proved to be an extremely well prepared and thoroughly satisfying
meal.

	Even though the restaurant wasn't the least little bit crowded,
Grace could tell that Sam felt as conspicuous as all get-out dressed the
way she was.  However, as conspicuous as Sam felt, Grace also knew that Sam
wasn't about to allow anything to intrude on her idyllic savoring of
afternoon's most monumental events.

	"Sam.", Grace intoned, as she used her fork to sliced off the first
wedge of the cherry cheesecake she had ordered as a desert.  "You're a
certified diver, right?"

	"Yes.", Sam, prematurely swallowing a mouthful of sinfully
delicious German Chocolate Cake in order to do so, struggled to reply.  "I
have both military and civilian certifications.  However, I haven't been
diving for a couple of years now.  So, I figure I might be a tad bit rusty.
You know, and no where near the standards that you Seal's set for
yourselves..."

	"Let me let you in on a little secret, Sam.  I'm not up to those
standards either.

	"You know, as in the mind's willing, where as, the body's weak.

	"I mean, don't get me wrong!  I mean, I'm still in good shape!  You
know, for a girl!  It's just that this new body of mine isn't capable of
doing the sort of gung ho shit that my old body was capable of doing!"

	"Tell me about it!", Sam, putting in her own two cents, knowingly
quipped.

	"So how come the question, Grace?  Why did you want to know if I
was a certified diver?"

	"Well,", Grace began, "I was just sitting here thinking about where
we should go for our honeymoon and I thought that if you were up for some
diving, Bonaire would be the perfect place for the two of us to go and
spend a couple of weeks kicking back and enjoying ourselves."

	"Are you serious?"

	"I most certainly am, Sam!

	"You see, though Justice has no record of her doing so, my boss, on
my recommendation, purchased an efficiency apartment in a fairly well
established diver-friendly resort last year on - Shall we say. - the QT, to
use as an out of country safe house of sorts.

	"If you're amiable, as soon as we get back to Granny's, I'll jump
on the computer and make all the arrangements.

	"Sounds great!  Trouble is, I don't have any equipment."

	"Tell me what you want, Sam, and I'll move heaven and earth to get
it for you."

	"No shit?"

	"No shit."

	"Well, for starters, let's go with a top of the line Scubapro air
delivery system and, if it's not to much trouble, I'd like both the primary
and safe second stages to be equipped with air flow adjustment knobs.  You
know, just in case we run into a lot of surge.  Now, as to computers, I
would really liked something similar to the Sea Quest's Solution that I'm
familiar with, but if that's not possible, I can go with almost anyone
that's out there.  However, I would like a compass incorporated into the
console, along with the mandatory submersible pressure gauge.

	"I'd like a USD Impulse snorkel, a fabric weight belt fitted with a
Tenka styled depth-compensating quick-release buckle, Henderson boots and a
pair of Scubapro Jet Fins.

	"Wait a second!  Maybe I ought to go with a pair of Scubapro Sea
Wings over the Jet Fins!  I mean, while Jet Fins are - for my money - the
best fins out there, I'm not sure if these new feminine legs of mine will
be able to handle them!

	"What do you think, Grace?  Jet fins or Sea Wings?"

	"Why don't I just get you a pair of both.  That way, you can see
what suits you best."

	"Alright!  Let's...

	"Now, as far as what BC (Buoyancy Compensator) I ought to go with,
I am at a totally loss as to know which one!

	"I mean, now that I'm a woman, I know that my torso is a tab bit
shorter than it use to be.  Meaning, I'm going to need a BC that is
designed to conform to a women's body."

	At that point, Grace chimed in, "I had the same exact problem,
Sam!"

	"You did?"

	"I most certainly did!  None of the BCs that I used as a man would
work for me once I became a woman.

	I mean to tell you, Sam!  It frustrated me to no end trying to find
a BC that I liked!  For a while there it seemed like every single one I
tried sat right on top of my weight belt, in effect, locking it in, making
it so that I couldn't release it should the need arise!"

	"So, what did you do?"

	"After a lot of trial and error, I finally went with USD's Elan!
It's got a pretty nifty cross-your-heart strapping system and it fits me
perfectly!"

	"Alright,", Sam returned, "on your recommendation, why don't I go
with an Elan..."


* * *


	Later, once the two of them were back in their room, snuggling and
gleefully sipping champagne from those little plastic cups that come
individual wrapped for sanitary reasons, the two of them got down to the
serious business of attending to one anothers carnal needs in earnest.

	Up before the crack of dawn the next morning with the express hope
of being able to photograph some of the deer that foraged within the park,
the two of them hurriedly dressed and went out for a brisk morning hike.
Having caught sight of several does and a couple of bucks, the pair of them
return to their room; fooled around for about an hour; showered; dressed;
packed up and, after breakfasting in the hotel's restaurant; checked out
and leisurely headed back down the road to Granny's.

	As expected, Granny was ecstatic to hear how her two hard-headed
adopted 'daughters' had finally come to their senses and had spilled the
beans about how they truly loved one another and wanted in the worst way
imaginable to spend their lives together.  She was also extremely flattered
and somewhat taken aback when Sam and Grace continued on to asked her if
she would do them the honor of marrying them.

	Two days later, in a simple sunrise ceremony conducted out on the
generous deck of the former Amazonian shaman's palatial mountain abode,
with Sam and Grace wearing nothing more than a pair of high heels and their
well proportioned birthday suits, after an exchange of vows, Granny, acting
as an agent of the Almighty And Eternal Spirit, pronounced the couple
heart-bound soulmates.

	Ironically, that evening, Mr. Murphy's persnickety Law stepped in
and preempted planned events.  Though Grace hadn't been expected it to
occur for another day or so, that night, right after another one of
Granny's fantastic dinners, damn if Grace didn't get hit with her monthly
flow.  However, though she did, while she wasn't about to allow Sam to earn
the dubious honor of being inducted into the Legion of the Red Wings by
going down on her, Grace wasn't about to let a little thing like her period
prevent her from preforming the selfless act of cunnilingus on that new
bride/bridegroom of hers.

	Three days later, after profusely thanking Granny for all she had
done for them, and with promises to visit as often as circumstances would
allow, Sam and Grace bid Granny a fond good-bye and headed for the elevator
shaft that would take them down to the appropriate limestone ensconced tram
station.  After another mind-boggling ride through one surrealistic cavern
chamber after another, the tram car stopped at what Sam presumed to be yet
another elevator station.  Getting out of the gleaming, stainless steel
tram car, the pair of them entered the elevator and began to descend.  As
they did so, Grace, reached over to the control panel and switched off the
cab's intense white light and turned on a red one.  Then, after mentioning
the fact that while the red light wouldn't condition their eyes to the
complete absence of light of totally cave darkness, it would help dilute
their pupils to a point that would aid them in enhancing their eyesight in
limited light conditions.  Having said that, Grace continued on to
cautioned Sam to try to refrain from talking and to make as little noise as
humanly possible until directed by to her mentor and newly wedded
life-partner to do otherwise.

	The doors of the elevator opened with an almost inaudible hiss and
Grace, with a slight tug, drew Sam into a small, dank room that, like the
elevator, was dimly illuminate by the diffused, hellish red hue of several
craftily hidden lighting fixtures.  Motioning for Sam to occupy one of the
two available seats on the wall mounted bench that was contained within the
rock hewed out room, Grace sat down beside her.  Once seated, a very
intrigued Sam watched as Grace reached over to her right and after a few
hand gropes, managed to locate a small wall mounted control panel.
Suddenly, in response to something Grace must have done, a strange,
elongated, ultraviolet engendered blush-purple squiggle-like outline,
populated by what appeared to be randomly placed green and red low
intensity LEDs, blossomed midway up the opposite wall.

	Suddenly, one of the two red LEDs seemed to flicker and become
green as a green one to its' immediate left appeared to go from green to
red.  A minute later, the other red LED did the same thing, save that where
the former one seemed to be moving leftwards, this one, Sam noted, moved
one increment to the right.

	Just then, Sam felt Grace's lips draw up alongside of her right ear
and heard her almost inaudible whisper, "The red lights signify tour
groups.  The one on the left has just rounded the bend and passed from the
cave portion of the tour and into the larger main cavern room.  The other
group has all but finished the tour and is now proceeding out of the cave.

	"When the first group begins to retrace their path,", Grace must
have done something for an amber LED lit up, "we will wait for them to pass
this point and simply fall in with them.  You know, as if we're bringing up
the rear."

	And that's just what Sam and Grace did.  Once the tour group had
passed, Grace, with Sam in tow, exited the small chamber they had been
occupying via a spring loaded doorway.  Making sure the false rock faced
door was securely closed behind them, the two of them carefully descending
a short flight of corrugated metal stairs, the very same stairs that the
tour guides dutifully informed their respective tour groups led to a
portion of the cavern that was no longer on the tour due to some extremely
slick and therefore, very treacherous portions of the cavern.  Quickly,
with Grace urging Sam to pick up both her feet and the pace, the two of
them caught up to the group that was itself tactfully being encouraged by
their tour guide to stay to the right of the pathway as they exited the
cavern in order to make room for another tour group that was in the process
of advancing into it along the very same ramp-like and watercourse hugging
pathway.

	Working their way around a family of five that had tarried behind
the rest of the tour group in order to take snapshots of a small
hibernating bat that tenaciously hung from a fairly low portion of the
cave's arched ceiling, Sam, acting on Grace's hastily spoken admonishment,
located the sunglasses that hung about her neck and dutifully put them on.
A minute later, Sam was glad she had taken Grace's admonishment to heart.
The morning sun was intense.  So intense, that Sam actually had to raise
her hand in order to help shield her eyes as she accompanied Grace out into
the parking lot of West Virginia's well visited Smokehole Caverns.

	Handing Sam a set of keys, Grace pointed to a forest green Ford
Explorer with Ohio tags, saying as she did so, "There!  Our chariot
awaits!"

	Passing through the town of Petersburg, with Grace playing
navigator, Sam drove north to Cumberland Maryland where they checked into a
moderately priced motel.  There, the two of them spent the remainder of the
afternoon and most of their evening heatedly engaged in some delightful and
reciprocal tongue in grove work.  The next day, after breakfast at a local
greasy spoon, Grace had Sam drive the two of them down to the old Western
Maryland Railroad Station where she proceeded on to purchased two tickets
for the daily scenic rail excursion to the Frostbrug terminus.

	Arriving back in the City of Cumberland after a most enjoyable
scenic train ride, they climbed back into the Explorer and spent the rest
of the afternoon and several hours of the evening driving up to Pittsburgh.
Checking into a hotel that was just a hop, skip and a jump from
Pittsburgh's International Airport, the two grabbed a late dinner and
returned to their room for a bout of love-making ere they fell asleep
wrapped ever so serenely in the comforting embrace of one another's
emasculated arms.

	The next morning, having to settle for a quick cup of coffee and a
couple of day old doughnuts to tied them over, the two of them drove over
to the airport and managed, without a lot of the normal who-struck-john
that normally goes hand in hand with airplane travel, to board a 727 and
were soon airborne, on their way to Miami and a change of planes.  After a
six hour lay-over, that in due course of things became a seven and then
eight hour lay-over, the two boarded their overseas flight.  Once airborne,
the pilot informed his passengers that there had been a change in his
flight plan and that the plane would be landing in Arubia first before
proceeding on to Bonaire.

	As their plane taxed to the terminal in Arubia, Sam took note of
the fact that there was another plane - just like theirs - being service on
the tarmac just outside the terminal.  Oddly enough, their pilot's voice
came over the speakers and informed his passengers that they all had to
disembark and proceed through customs.  Sam and Grace, unsure as to just
what in the hell was going on, did as directed.  Fifteen minutes later,
having to pass through a second customs check, preformed by the very same
uniformed officers that had processed the whole group only a few short
moments before, Sam and Grace, along with their fellow passengers, were
hustled out of the Arubia terminal and directed to board the other plane
that Sam had seen sitting outside the terminal.  Upon boarding and being
welcomed by the very same flight attendants that had been with them on the
flight down, Sam and Grace exchanged befuddled shrugs as they began to
speculate as to why they had had to change planes in the first place.
Then, to add insult to injury, the very same flight crew that had ferried
them from Miami to Arubia entered the cabin and after exchanging a few
words with the cabin attendants, moved forward to occupy the flight deck.
Spending about five minutes longer sitting on the runway's tarmac in Arubia
than in the actual forty mile flight over to the Island of Bonaire, Sam and
Grace, having to once again pass through yet another custom's check,
engaged a taxi and so, arrived at their resort somewhere around midnight.

	The next morning, after an excruciatingly long and extremely
tedious pre-dive briefing, followed by the resort's obligatory in-water
weight check, Sam and Grace settle in to thoroughly enjoy their well
deserved and long anticipated honeymoon.


                                                  POSTSCRIPT


	Fourteen months and a few days later, a cab-over tractor, pulling a
road soiled trailer that had but a month before proclaimed itself as being
part of the J. B. Hunt fleet, but now bore the almost blasphemous, huge,
three letter trademark of the Guaranteed Overnight Delivery trucking
outfit, was progressing south on Interstate 70 just a few miles north of
the Naples Florida exits.  Contained with the innocent looking trailer was
the very same specialized passenger compartment where in one Mr. Daniel
Faber had been sequestered during the next to last leg of his interstate
odyssey.

	Hanging up the handset of the wired intercom system, Special Agent
Mathew Maldean addressed the man sitting across from him, "Alright,
Tamborn!  You and I are about to part company, so listen up!

	"In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into a truck stop.  When the
guys up front give us green light, I'll open the hatch so that you drop to
the pavement below.  Keep your head down, orient yourself towards the cab
and move to the right of the truck.  There'll be a dark blue Chevy Tahoe
pulled up close alongside of us with its' right rear passenger door open.
Get in.  Okay?"

	When the time came, Jason Tamborn followed Agent Maldean's
instructions to the letter.  Quickly and nervously, fearing the sound of
gunshots, Tamborn climbed into the Tahoe's rear seat only to receive the
curtly delivered command to close the door behind him.  He did so, the
Tahoe got underway.

	"Well, well...", the driver's distinctly feminine voice began, "if
it isn't Mr. Jason - The Scumbag - Tamborn.  Tell me, old buddy, old pal!
How's it hanging?"

	A confused, anxious and highly agitated Tamborn felt compelled to
ask, "Do the two of us know each other?"

	"Yeah, we do...  Sort of...  But don't worry, I one of the good
guys and me and my partner here are going to take real good care of you."

	"Yes,", another female voice concurred with the first, "we most
certainly are."

	Opting to use the Tammiani Trail, US Route 41, instead of Alligator
Alley, Sam headed east.  Passing through the town of Homestead, she merged
onto US 1 south and began to pass through the eastern most fringe of the
Florida Everglades as she proceed south towards the Florida Keys.  Arriving
in Key Largo, they passed Diver's Outlet on the right and continued on down
Rt 1 a little ways, only to make a left into the camp ground access road of
John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park.

	Backing into a canopied over space between a large Southwind RV and
a mid-sized silver Airstream trailer, Sam cautioned the gutter mouthed and
abrasively insulting Tamborn to stay put until her partner unlocked and ran
a security check on the Airstream.  With a wave from the Airstream's
doorway, Grace's gave Sam the all clear, where upon, Sam informed Tamborn
that he was to get out of the Tahoe and move expeditiously to the
Airstream, saying as she did so that she would be right behind him,
covering his rear so to speak.

	As mundane as the Airstream looked from the outside, it was
anything but on the inside, prompting a disgruntled Tamborn to quip, "What
the hell is this supposed to be?  Some sort of botanical garden on wheels?"

	"Oddly enough Mr. Tamborn,", Grace conspiratorially offered by way
of reply, "that's exactly what it is.

	"Fact is: this... as you have just call it, botanical garden on
wheels was built specifically for you.  So, it seems to me that you should
feel somewhat flattered."

	"Well, I don't!", Tamborn returned flippantly.  "It's to damn hot
and muggy in here for my tastes and if the Justice Department thinks I'm
going to stay in this high tech hell hole of theirs for even a day, they've
got another think coming!  Cause, I just ain't going to do it!  You two are
just going to have to get on the horn and inform whomever in the hell you
have to inform that Jason Tamborn wants - No!  Make that demands! - other
accommodations!"

	"Alright, Tamborn.  We'll do just that.", Grace lied.  "But, while
I'm across the way making the call, why don't you partake of the tasty
little tonic that my partner has just gone to all the trouble of preparing
for you.  Trust me!  After a couple sips you'll up and forget all about the
heat and humidly in here."

	Sam stepped forward and handed a parched mouth Tamborn a tumbler of
Granny's frogifying concoction and the stupid arrogant bastard, upon taking
a preliminary tentative sip, raised the glass to his lips and downed its'
contents in one swift gurgling guzzle.  A few minutes later, as he felt his
body begin to tingle and spasmodically undulate, Jason Tamborn knew that he
had been somehow duped.  The two bodacious bimbos into who's care he had
been placed, had slipped him a mickey.  Trouble was, as he soon came to
realize, they hadn't poisoned him as he at first assumed they had.  Looking
to a hand that was taking on a sicken bluish tinge and was in the first
stages of developing some sort of loose skin like webbing between its'
fingers, Tamborn came to the stark realization that indeed there were some
things in life far worse then death.

	As a clearly panicked and disbelieving Tamborn <croak> demanded
<croak, croak> an explanation.  Sam, by way of response, held up a jar with
several live flies trapped inside and, as she impishly intoned, "Look
yummy, don't they?", proceeded on to remove its' lid.

	About fifteen minutes later, Sam said, "Tell you what, Grace!  I'll
corner Tamborn.  You attend to putting the other two brutes into that
pretty nifty little pond enclosure they've installed back there in the
other room.  Then, since we've got the whole day ahead of us, if, that is,
you're up for it, why don't I put a call into Captian Slate's and see if
they have any openings on their boats so you and I can get in a couple of
dives this afternoon.

	"I mean, since we're going to be here for next several days so that
Granny's little amazon wonder boys can work their magic on that egotistical
son of bitch Tamborn, we might as well get in as many dives as we can."

	"Sounds fine by me, Sam!  I mean, I for one sure wouldn't mind
doing another dive on either the Duane or the Bibb while we're here.",
Grace off-handedly replied, as she carefully hefted a big indigo hued frog
out of its' cabinet mounted vivarium.  "And if all of Atlantis' boats are
booked this afternoon, we can always give Ocean Divers a holler."

	Three days later, having prepared their RV for road travel, Sam and
Grace restored Jason Tamborn's humanity.  Needless to say, Tamborn wasn't
the least little bit thrilled over the business about having to live out
the rest of her life as a stacked and packed member in good standing of the
fairer sex.  However, when Grace commented that they could always restore
her to froghood if she so chose, a extremely disgruntled and fit to be tied
female Jason Tamborn quit her complaining.

	Relocating to the Southwind, Grace bundled the befuddled and
extremely tuckered out Tamborn into the RV's shower stall as her soulmate
made the final preparations for getting underway.  Leaving the Airstream
and Tahoe for others to attend to, Sam gingerly maneuvered the Southwind
out of the camp grounds proper and, after a quick stop at the ranger's
office to acknowledge the fact that they were checking out, she pulled out
of John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park and headed north on RT 1.

	As expected, after eating all four of the peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches that Grace had hastily prepared for her, a very sleepy
Ms. Tamborn gratefully allowed Grace to put her to bed in the RV's rear
bedroom compartment.

	Four and a half weeks later, a stretch limo pulled up in front of
the infamous Watergate Complex in Washington DC..  "Alright, Tyra.", Grace
Clark sternly began.  "Here's where you get out.  You'll find your
apartment fully stocked with pretty much everything you're going to need
for the next month or so and you have the eight hundred number in case of
emergency.  Don't hesitate to use it.

	"First thing Monday morning, you're to call that local number we
gave you.  You're to ask for Ms. Tori Gutherage.  She'll handle the rest.
All you have to do is to do what she tells you to do and you'll be fine.

	"Remember, she doesn't know anything at all about you and your
having once been a man.  So please!  Do us all a favor!  Watch what you
say!  Remember, Tyra!  Loose lips can get you admitted to a psychiatric
ward!  Remember, Tori Gutherage thinks she's hiring you as a favor for a
congressman.  Don't disappoint her.  Understand?"

	The former Jason Tamborn said that she did and, so saying, began to
extricate herself from the limo's interior.  As she did so, Sam couldn't
restrain herself from getting in a last dig before parting company with the
obnoxious person who she, in a former life, had once shared a drink with.

	"Tyra!", Sam said coyly, as she reached out and firmly placed a
restraining hand on the woman's laced, opera gloved ensconced forearm.  "I
can only say that I sincerely hope you enjoy being a high class hooker!
Excuse me!  I'm sorry, Tyra.  What I meant to say was: female escort!

	"After all, for my money, you've always been a first class
cocksucker!  Now, you get to demonstrate just how good a cocksucker you can
be, girl!"

	With that said, Sam released her hold on Tyra and Tyra, feeling
more than a little put out by Sam's parting remarks, quickly exited the
vehicle.  Then, as the limo pulled away, Tyra, as unsteady as all get-out
in the gleaming, black patent leather, five inch, stiletto heeled
sock-it-me boots that Sam and Grace had demanded she wear that day as part
of that abbreviated, body showcasing ensemble that they had so scandalously
decked her out in, turned and, exercising all the care and caution she
could muster, began to gingerly make her way into the Watergate's lobby and
from there, to the elevator that granted her access to that new, boudoir
equipped apartment of hers.

	"Am I ever glad that that's over!", Sam remarked as the limousine
they were riding in pulled away from the curb and re-entered the hectic,
damn near helter-skelter traffic flow that is the hallmark of midday
Washington.

	"Me too!", Grace readily concurred.

	"Tell me something, Grace!  Was I to hard on Tyra?"

	"For my money, Sam, you weren't hard enough on her!"

	Five months later, while the two of them were eating breakfast in
the country kitchen of the rustic cabin they had recently purchased near
the sleepy little township of Front Royal Virginia, Grace, who had been
perusing the paper as she munched away on a margarine dunked corn muffin,
exclaimed, "Well, what'da you know!

	"Sam!  You're not going to believe this, but guess who's getting
married!"

	"Who?"

	"The Bitch!"

	"You're kidding!  Tyra's getting married?"

	"She sure the hell is!"

	"To who?"

	"Senator Crutchmire!"

	"Correct me if I wrong, but isn't Crutchmire one of the of the
guys...", Sam began.

	"...that we believe to be behind the conspiracy to take out those
Supreme Court Justices...", Grace, finishing the sentence Sam had so
quizzically begun.

	"And the answer to your question is: yes!  Our boss believes him to
be one of the chief movers and shakers who have been trying to grab control
of the reigns of government!"

	"And our Tyra is going to marry him?"

	"That's what it say here in this article!"

	"When?"

	"Today!

	"As ludicrous as it sounds, the two of them are getting married
this afternoon at, of all places, the National Cathedral!

	"Would you believe that it say here that the President and the
First Lady will be in attendance!  Plus, as crazy and asinine as this is
going to sound, some of the very same Supreme Court Justices that the
bastard had planned to have snuffed out will be there as well!"

	Six weeks after that, Lara Bigalow called her two special witness
liaison officers into her office.

	"Grace.  Sam.", Lara began, as she started to aimlessly rearrange a
few of the little nicknacks that graced her desk. "The two of you keep
going on and on about this dream vacation of yours and how you'd both like
to spend a week or two on a live-aboard, diving the numerous wrecks of Truk
Lagoon.  Correct?"

	With their curiosities peaked, both Sam and Grace acknowledged the
fact that - yes - they really would like to dive the remnants of the
Japanese merchant fleet that littered the bottom of the famous lagoon.

	"Well...", Lara continued, "I think the two of you should take that
vacation now.  I think once we're finished here, the two of you should go
home; pack whatever you need for an extended stay in Truk and catch a
flight out to Hawaii this evening."

	"What gives, Lara?", Grace felt compelled to ask.

	"Yeah, how come you're so eager to get the two of us out of
Washington?", Sam, putting in her own two cents worth, energetically
inquired.

	"Something happened very early this morning that leads me to
believe that it might prove prudent for the two of you to be, shall we say,
incommunicado for the near to immediate further."

	"What - exactly - happened early this morning, Lara?", Grace wasn't
about to go anywhere unless she got to the bottom of just what in the hell
was going on.

	"Tyra Crutchmire pulled a Lorena Bobbitt on that new husband of
hers!

	"She didn't!", both Sam and Grace exclaimed in unison.

	"She most certainly did.", Lara was emphatic.

	"Though it's a fairly well kept secret, known to a sparse few of
the upper echelon of the inside the beltway crowd, Senator Crutchmire has
what one might call a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality when it comes to
women.  In the beginning, he's a real sweetie pie.  You know, as in he's a
great big cuddle bear kind of guy, who wines and dines the ladies with an
almost irresistible boyish charm.  Then, once he feels secure in his
relationship with a woman, he apparently becomes a real sadist."

	"Tyra must not have been aware of that little foible in the
Senator's personality when she consented to marrying him and I didn't think
it my place to inform her.  Or, maybe she did know and thought that,
knowing what she knew about some about some of the Senator's more
unscrupulous activities, activities she, as Tamborn, had had a hand in
carrying out, she had some leverage and could therefore, turn the bastard
into her trained pet lapdog.

	"Whatever...

	"So anyhow, since this is all nothing more than conjecture on my
part,", Lara continued with her explanation, "somewhere along the line,
Nathan Crutchmire must have reverted to form and tried some of his
sadomasochistic shit on our Tyra, only to find that while he might be a
sadist, Tyra wasn't about to turn the other cheek, so to speak, and so
become a masochist.

	"So,", Sam sarcastically interjected, "what it all boils down to
is: she had enough; found a knife and took up amateur surgery as a hobby!"

	"That's about the size of it!", Lara concurred.  "Save that Tyra
did Lorena Bobbitt one better!  She didn't just cut off her husband's
pecker, she went whole hog!  Balls and all!"

	Mentally cringing, once again Sam and Grace exclaimed almost in
unison, "She didn't!"

	"Oh but she did.  And then, having turned the Senator into a modern
day eunuch, she somehow scooped up his genitalia and tossed into a blender
and shredded the shit out of it so that it could be sown back on."

	"You mean he didn't bleed to death?", a thoroughly intrigued Grace
felt compelled to ask.

	"No.  As crazy as this is going to sound, would you believe that
Tyra called for an ambulance before she actually went and did the deed.
And then, as I understand it, once she hacked of her husband manhood, she
cauterized the wound with a Bunsen Burner."

	"Now there's one vengeful bitch for you, if ever there was one!",
Sam declared.

	"What's she been charge with?  Attempted murder or aggravated
assault?", Grace, in an effort to get the discussion back on track,
tactfully inquired.

	"The Maryland States Attorney Office hasn't made, or at least,
hasn't announced their decision as yet.", Lara replied.

	"As soon as they do, I'll make sure to let you guys know.
Alright?"

	"Has she said anything about... you know, us?  And about what we
did to her?", it was Grace's turn to once again ask a question.

	"To the best of my knowledge, no.  And, if Tyra's smart, she won't.

	"If she does, she'll find herself in a looney bin so fast it won't
be funny.

	"The best thing she can do under the circumstances, is to keep her
trap shut and let her lawyer handle it.

	"Truth is: Tyra could get off scot-free."

	"She could?", Sam felt compelled to ask.  "How come?"

	"Well, though the press has yet to report this, you know, because
as far as they're concerned Crutchmire is one of the anointed and
therefore, can do no wrong, Tyra has massive bruising covering over sixty
percent of her body.  She also has numerous, what look to be cigarette
burns, on her breast, inner thighs and pubic areas.  Her lip's cut and the
team of doctors who examined her, believe she may have a serious
concussion.

	"And then there's the tapes..."

	"Lara!", Grace aggressively cut in.  "Tapes!  What Tapes?

	"Are you saying that Crutchmire was foolish enough to tape these
sadomasochistic little whatever you want to call 'em of his?"

	"Those and more..."

	"Lara!", it was Sam's turn once again.  "Come on!  How about
belaying the coy, cutesy crap of yours and just tell us what you're dying
to tell us!"

	"Alright, Samantha.  I'll do just that."

	"It seems that Senator Crutchmire is one of the most egotistical
and arrogant SOBs that there ever was!

	"In other words, he didn't just tape those sadistic sexual romps of
his.  He taped everything!"

	"Lara!  Are you saying,", Grace quickly cut in, "that that so and
so actually taped those clandestine meetings of his that dealt with the
conspiracy to take out the more conservative members of the Supreme Court?"

	"Yes."

	"And the Maryland State Police actually got their hands on them?"

	"Yes!  And as soon as they realized what they had, damn if they
didn't called in the FBI."

	"Holy shit!", Sam exclaimed as Grace continued on to say, "You mean
to tell me that Tyra may have succeeded in doing what we've been trying to
do for the last five years or so?"

	"Looks like it!", Lara Bigalow beamed as a great big shit-eating
grim spread across her face.

	"Shit's really going to hit the fan now!", Sam emphatically stated.

	"It will if I have anything to do with it!, Lara was quick to add.

	Always the inquisitive one, Grace ask, "Lara!  How did the State
Police find the tapes in the first place?"

	Coyly, Lara responded, "Would you believe that a former amazonian
frog, who now happens to work right here at Justice, just happened to
mention it to a prosecutor friend of hers in the Maryland States Attorney's
Office, who, in turn, told a State Police buddy of hers just where to
look."

	Grace wasn't about to let her boss off the hook so easily, "And
just how did that former amazonian frog find about Crutchmire's cache of
tapes in the first place, Lara?"

	Feigning a sense of hurt, Lara, who was a first rate actress in her
own right, countered, "You surprise me, Grace!  You, if anybody, should
know that we girls like our little secrets!"

	"Now, unless the two of you want me to find something for you to
do, I suggest you take my advice and get the hell out of my office!

	"Oh!  And before I forget, when the two of you get to Dulles, call
me!  By then, my secretary should have completed making all the
arrangements for your stay in Truk!"

	"And just what - Pray tell! - will you be doing while we're off
having the time of our lives, Lara?", Sam teasingly inquired.

	By way of reply, Lara Bigalow said, "I was thinking that since
every good Washington scandal needs some well placed leaks, you know, in
order to keep the public interest piqued and the story on the front burner,
so to speak, I might just stick around.  You know, just to ensure that it
doesn't end up getting buried.

	"Oh!  Bye the bye!  Do either of you know how I might go about
surreptitiously contacting Matt Drudge?"





******************************************************************

A few after thoughts:

	In most TG stories, an individual undergoes a sexual reassignment
due to one of two reasons.  The tanssexuallization is either forced upon
said individual for some nefarious reason or another, or the person desires
to become a member of the opposite sex and so eagerly elects to undergo the
change.  I wanted to do something a little different in this story.  I
wanted to create a premise where the main character finds that he must
reluctantly agree to a sexual makeover.

	The second idea I wished to incorporate into a story was a
two-stage sexual reassignment process.

	I also set out to write a short story.

	Hey!  What can I say!  Two out of three ain't bad!


							Deane Christopher

e-mail DEANECHRIS@aol.com