Date: Fri, 22 May 2009 20:20:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: sjtw69 <sjtw69@yahoo.com>
Subject: Body Transplant

Body Transplant
By Stephanie Silver


Every story has to start somewhere, and this story starts with April
Kovell. But, rather than spend a lot of time telling you all about April,
who was 5'5" tall and well over 370 pounds, with the medical conditions to
match, let me just say that April and I were friends.

We worked for the same company, and had adjoining cubicles. April was a
technical writer; I was a project engineer. In my spare time, I liked
writing transgendered fiction, and so it was just natural for me to seek
out April's expertise from time to time.

Of course I didn't tell her, at first, what kind of fiction I liked
writing. Whenever the question came up, I vaguely replied that it wasn't
important. But eventually I knew I would have to tell her.

The time finally came when I finished a story and needed someone to review
it. Knowing the questions it would raise, since April still didn't know
anything about my transgender desires, I was extremely nervous when I
finally sent her that very first file.

The story was about a geeky college student who finds a magic formula in a
library book and decides to use it to turn himself temporarily into his
best friend - who just happens to be the star of the college football team
- in hopes of ending up on a date with his best friend's girlfriend, Lisa,
a girl he finds extremely attractive. Something goes wrong, however, and
instead of turning into his best friend, he ends up turning into Lisa.

That was a Friday, which gave April the whole weekend to look it over
before I saw her again on Monday. When I did, she simply said, "So you
played college football."

I guess that was better than saying that I must be some kind of closet
transvestite with secret desires of being a girl. I shrugged and tried to
smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

Only, as it turned out, April had a secret of her own, which she could then
share with me. Her son, Thomas Kovell, was a doctor. Actually, I already
knew that. I didn't know what kind of a doctor he was, though. That was the
secret.

One warm spring day, as we were crossing the courtyard on our way to lunch,
April stopped to rest on a wooden bench. We'd started going out to lunch
more often so that we could talk more easily.

"Clay, I have to tell you about Thomas."

"Okay." I sat down, enjoying the warm sunshine.

"He's a doctor. You knew that."

I nodded.

"He does medical research, and he might be interested in seeing someone
like you," she said.

"Me? Why?"

She looked at me with what I can only describe as the beginnings of an
amused smile. "He does body transplants," she said.

Now, for the record, I was pretty content in my body. Other than its
gender, of course. But at fifty years old, I'd pretty much given up any
hopes I'd ever had of being able to do anything about that. I still did my
best to keep it as feminine as I could. I shaved my legs and chest and
underarms regularly. But mostly I accepted the fact that, whatever my
feelings were about it, I was stuck in a male body. And, to be honest, it
wasn't a bad one. I was reasonably healthy and semi-athletic. I suppose I
was even attractive, physically, to many women, although I'd never had much
success with any of them.

"Why would I want a body transplant? I asked.

Her amused grin changed into a warm, caring smile. Touching my arm lightly,
she said, "Because you're not happy in this one."

* * * * *

Thomas Kovell was a little younger than me. He was a medical researcher, as
April said. Very successful. Very intelligent. I first met him on Memorial
Day at a backyard barbecue at April's house. It was about two weeks after
that talk in the courtyard. Doctor Kovell was tall, about 6'1", with a
muscular frame, striking blue eyes, and thick blond hair. I couldn't help
being attracted to him.

Now, normally I wouldn't think of a guy I'd just met in terms like
that. But April had told me a little bit about her son's history. Not only
was he a doctor, he had also dated a transsexual named Sasha up until about
three years earlier. They were even considering marriage. And April, oddly
enough, really, really liked Sasha. So it was a definite tragedy when Sasha
died in a freak skiing accident just three weeks before she was scheduled
to undergo SRS. Thomas, devastated by the loss, threw himself into his work
of perfecting body transplants, with the goal of helping the transgendered
community.

So, knowing a little bit about Doctor Kovell's interest in transgendered
women, I couldn't help thinking of him the way I did.

Doctor Kovell, Thomas, wanted to perfect the world's first complete body
transplant. Actually, it wasn't a body transplant. Even Doctor Thomas
hadn't figured out a way to bring a dead body back to life. It was the
transfer of a person's brain activity to an artificial body. Think of the
possibilities if he could make it work. But that was the problem. Despite
his successes and improvements, it was still very much an experimental, and
risky, operation.

First, there was the rejection problem. In the same way that bodies tend to
reject an organ transplant, there's a great deal of difficulty getting the
mind to accept a different body. Obviously, body rejection is not good, and
generally results in death. So, he had been limited in his choice of
candidates – people who were going to die anyway.

Second, the transplantation process is very hard on the transplantee. Since
he was able to use only volunteers who were typically in poor health and
close to death, the physical demands were often just too much for his
patients.

Third, the process only worked to make a person female. It had something to
do with the transplant mold being an inverse of the person's body, making
the penis a very tricky organ to simulate, and so he couldn't seem to do
that part accurately. That, he felt, was a minor detail at the moment.

I'm not a doctor, but let me try to explain the transplant process a
little. What Doctor Kovell did was to put his patient into a mold. He would
then stimulate various senses as he monitored brain activity, and then map
that information into the new brain and body. As I said, this required an
inverse mold of the person who was being transplanted. I guess it's also
where the physically demanding part of the process came up.

He had some ideas on how he could overcome these problems, though. He
believed that he might have more success with healthier
individuals. Healthier individuals, he thought, would be better able to
handle the physical demands of the transplant process. The problem there,
of course, was the risk of him being wrong. He needed a willing volunteer
who trusted him enough to try it.

He also felt that men would make better candidates than women, on average,
simply because they typically have better spatial abilities. The transplant
process, unlike other transplant processes, worked best if the patient was
actively engaged in the transplanting process. The process required the
patient to more or less willfully move their brain functions from one body
into the other, and that required a bit of spatial reasoning. Men, in
general, do better at that than women.

Unfortunately, that requirement conflicted with the problem that the
process didn't work as well on men's genitals. But since Doctor Thomas's
goal was to help the transgendered community, he didn't see that as an
immediate issue.

After getting to know me, April was convinced I would be a good
candidate. Since I wanted so much to be a girl anyway, I wouldn't have a
problem with the fact that the operation only worked to make a person
female. In fact, I would welcome that. She also told me that Thomas thought
that might help with the rejection problem. One reason for rejection is
just a general unhappiness with the result. His theory was that the
excitement of finally being in a true female body would offset the brain's
tendency to reject its new body.

And finally, because I was in good physical shape for my age, I would be
more likely to be able to handle the physical demands of the transplant
process without as many problems. And, since I was, at the time, fifty
years old, I met one of Thomas's criteria, which was that the candidate be
between the age of fifty and sixty. His reasoning was that such a person
was old enough that the risk of dying was not as costly as it would be in a
younger person, but they would still be young enough to meet the physical
demands. He also agreed with his mother – in fact it was his opinion
which he had shared with her – that the ideal candidate would be a
healthy fifty-year-old transvestite who wanted to change his sex from male
to female.

C'est moi!

So, after some time, I agreed to do it.

* * * * *

We started with designing my new female body. I got to choose everything
about myself, starting with height and weight. Thomas sat in with me as we
designed my new body, offering suggestions. Although he had given me final
say in every decision, I wanted to show my gratitude by getting his opinion
as much as possible. As we went through all of the various features, he
couldn't help noticing what I was doing, and being flattered by it. Even
though I was a man... My female personality characteristics were already
showing up as we sat side-by-side in the lab, and I couldn't help flirting
with him. I suppose it was a doctor-patient crush, and he was trying to be
professional about our relationship. But... I was going to be a girl! And
he was there walking me through every choice about my new body. I couldn't
help being attracted to him, and where I had no specific preference, I
couldn't help wanting to please him. So very often, I asked him what he
would like. He would just grin and say, "It's your choice."

But I would ask again, and get a little flirty – I couldn't help it,
it's who I am – and he would finally give in and tell me what he liked.

So... I decided to be 5'4" tall. I talked about being 5'3" tall, but he
convinced me I'd enjoy being a little taller. He thought 5'7" or even
taller would be a good choice, but I refused to go beyond 5'4". We made me
rather thin, and set my weight at 113 pounds. I told him I always imagined
my female body flaw to be short legs, and so we designed my body that
way. I gave me dark brown hair and blue eyes the same color as his. We made
my hair naturally curly, and set the length to the middle of my lower back,
just above my waist. As we designed, an image of my new body would appear
on the computer screen. I couldn't help being excited by what I was seeing.

Many of the choices were routine, but eventually we chose breast size. I
told him I wanted to be a 34B. He showed me how that looked, and warned me
it was a little on the small side. He told me how women really do compare
themselves by breast size, and told me that I might be happier being a
34C. I hesitated. In all my years of on-line play, I'd always thought of
myself as a 34B. I asked him what he'd like, and at first he avoided the
question, the way he always did. But finally he said that he was
recommending the larger size partly for personal reasons.

I thought some more. I'd always been fascinated by the idea of having
breasts, and I was starting to think it might be more fun, as he pointed
out, to have something a little larger. I could show them off more than I
could a 34B.

Finally, he told me that, if I just didn't like it, we could always do a
breast reduction later. It would be easier, and safer, to do that than it
would be to live with implants later. I got him to show me both the 34B and
the 34C and I toggled back and forth between the two thinking about it for
several minutes. I had to admit the idea of being more bosomy appealed to
me, and I knew, before I ever gave Thomas my final decision, even as I was
still pondering the options, which one I was going to choose. I wanted to
be a girl – and I want to be unquestionably and undeniably female. I was
going to choose to be a 34C. But I still thought about it for a long time
before I told him my choice.

"You can always change it later, if you change your mind," he assured
me. "Right up to the very last minute." And he reminded me again that I
could do the breast reduction surgery later. I smiled and thanked him for
the information, acting like it was something I would continue to
consider. But I knew I wasn't going to change it. I was excited. I was
going to have nice-sized boobs!

And let's see... Then we designed the pubic area. I made him look away
while I fiddled with the options there. He made it so I could put the
information in without him seeing what I chose. I knew he could go back and
find it later, but Thomas wasn't like that. I knew he would respect my
privacy. I made my pubic hair a shade lighter than the hair on my head, and
I made it thin and sparse. I liked looking at it, and imagined what it
would be like to have a vagina instead of a penis.

We did the same thing with my butt – making him look away as I set the
parameters. I gave myself a nice, round shape, with cheeks that hung over
my thighs. I wanted it to be my sexiest feature.

Thomas helped me design my face, giving me thin arched eyebrows, full round
cheeks, and a soft mouth. I asked him to make my mouth a little on the
small side. We gave me perfect, straight teeth, and a cute little nose. We
designed my navel. There was no question there – I wanted an inny. We
set my hips to be narrow and boyish, just one size bigger than my bust size
– 35". We toyed with small waists all the way from 18" to 36". Every
change we made changed the body's final weight, and I watched it change as
we made my waist smaller and then larger. I wanted my waist to be as small
as possible, while still being realistic. It ended up being 25".

With all of the parameters set, the next step was to create the transplant
mold and my new body. Thomas was wrong about one thing. Changing anything
after that point would be a problem. Perhaps not a major problem but it
would require him to make a new body with the new parameters. I had to
appreciate the way he gave me that option, though. It showed he was more
concerned with my feelings than he was with the trouble it could cause him
if I changed my mind. Periodically, he asked me if I was satisfied with the
settings, or if I wanted to change anything. I assured him I was happy with
them. I knew he was asking partly just to be nice. I knew he also had to
ask because there was a great risk of rejection if my brain didn't like its
new body.

Preparing the transplant body and mold takes about six weeks. During that
time we worked on a few legal issues – mostly related to identification
after surgery. I got to choose my new name – Dana Robbins. And then
there were some decisions to make regarding disposal of my old body. Of
course there were the other legal issues regarding liability and risk. I
signed the forms, not really wanting to think about them too much. I just
wanted to wake up in my new body. I found myself counting the days until I
became a girl.

* * * * *

The day finally came, as sunny and glorious a day as there could ever be. I
showed up at Thomas's laboratory twenty minutes early, after getting almost
no sleep the night before. Yeah, I was a little bit excited.

Following instructions, I had shaved off ALL my body hair, including my
eyebrows and the hair on my head. Hair just confuses the mold. I hadn't
been able to eat for 24 hours – another one of the physical demands that
made this operation so difficult for people who weren't healthy.

I'd even shopped on-line for some clothes that I could wear immediately
after the operation. My new skirt and blouse were waiting where I could see
them. I gave them a look and smiled, knowing that by this time the next
day, I'd be wearing it. Legally and proudly. Both the skirt and the blouse
were a size 5, and they looked so small, that I couldn't imagine how I'd
ever fit into them. The skirt was black, and would come down to just below
my knees. It was the kind of skirt that you could twirl out in a big
circle. I saw it, and the blouse, in a newspaper ad one day, and fell in
love with the entire outfit, so it was the first thing I wanted to wear
once I was in my new body.

The blouse was white, with long sleeves. My new outfit included black
leather boots that would come up to my knees. I couldn't wait to wear
them. I'd also bought some sexy black lace panties that would show off my
legs up past my hip, and a lacy white bra, with cups that would just barely
cover my nipples. Oh, did I tell you my nipples were going to be tiny (for
a girl), pink things? Impossibly cute, is how I describe them.

Not that I was planning for anyone to see me in my lace underthings. I was
still trying to decide what kind of girl I was going to be. Part of me
wanted to be a slut. Part of me wanted to be respectable. For the moment, I
was trying to be non-committal. Once I was a girl, I'd figure out what
worked best for me.


At last it was time for me to climb into the semi-transparent mold. I took
off all of my clothes and lay down inside. They closed the top over me. It
fit, as you would expect, very tightly. Almost like a second skin. It felt,
actually, a bit claustrophobic. I think my excitement at what was happening
is the only thing that got me past that feeling. There were, of course, air
holes so I could breathe, and in other places for ventilation.

Dana, my new body, was lying in a similar mold on the table next to
me. Once I was inside the mold, I couldn't move, but I knew she was
there. I wondered what it would feel like to be transplanted into her body.

Thomas activated the controls, and I felt a tingling sensation all over my
body as thousands of tiny probes began stimulating various parts of my
body. It would have felt erotic, except that none of the probes was working
on my penis. There was no point in doing that – the information would be
meaningless to my new body's brain. Thomas had told me that one problem
they had with the operation when it came to males was the penis, which
tended to respond to the probes by growing bigger. I had to chuckle when he
told me about that problem. Because it kept changing size, it was hard to
design a probe that would accurately recreate the sensations in a new
body. Some patients complained of too much stimulation while others
complained of not enough.

For me, coming from a male body, the mapping program would use default
parameters in forming my female genitalia. There was a possibility I might
be overly sensitive there, or not sensitive enough, but I had assured
Thomas at least a dozen times that I would be happy with whatever I got.

With the outer parts of my body-nerve mapping completed, I felt most of the
probes retract. That wasn't a good sign, and I gulped involuntarily. It
meant that it was now time to map my insides. It was impossible to use a
sedative for the mapping process, as it would affect the results.

Mapping the inside required somehow getting the probes inside me. One probe
went down my throat; another went in through my anus. It didn't feel at all
good. And it got worse. The probes had to get as far as they could to
collect information. That's why a healthy person had more chance of success
than an unhealthy person. As the process got further and further along, the
probes were forced to begin destructively probing the candidate's old
body. By this point, the new body was mapped out with much of the
information, and it was possible for the brain functions to begin migrating
to the new body.

That's where the doctor needed to use great skill in controlling the pace
of the probing. The idea was to gain information as fast as possible so
that the new body would function better – too much time collecting the
information would cause the brain-nerve connections to be weak or
ineffective, or possibly even wrong. However, if he went too fast, the
patient might die before his or her brain functions had a chance to
migrate. In my case, I was so eager to migrate into my new body, that there
was no problem.


I'm not sure how to describe the migration process. If you think about the
way your mind works, you tend to perceive yourself – I mean the part of
yourself that is your core essence - as being somewhere right behind your
eyeballs. Thomas explained to me that's because sight is our primary
sense. We're aware of our other senses, but they are almost peripheral, and
so we tend to associate our core as being there at the point where the most
brain activity is occurring. During the migration process, a synaptic
pathway is set up between the old brain and the new brain. As various parts
of the new body get mapped, your brain has the opportunity of controlling
those functions remotely – that is from your old body – or locally,
which would be from your new body's brain. During a successful migration,
you choose to do it locally.

A problem with body rejection is when the mind doesn't seem to want very
much to operate locally. Too many body functions fail to migrate to the new
brain, and eventually both bodies die. The old body dies as the probing
gets more and more destructive. The new body dies because there is not
enough brain activity to support it. The doctor, then, is trying to balance
this migration with the destructive nature of the final probing. He needs
to obtain mapping information as quickly as the brain activity will
migrate.

As I said, for me, I was so eager to migrate to my new body that Thomas was
able to let the probes run as fast as they could. For me, it was a weird
feeling. I could feel the probes stimulating various parts of my old body,
sometimes quite uncomfortably. But it almost felt like it was happening to
someone else. I mean, I could feel it... But it was like it was a layer
away or something. I found that I could shift my attention to a
corresponding part of my new, female body, and the pain would dramatically
decrease.

Thomas later explained to me how that was the migration process at work. My
mind was finding alternative pathways, and setting up its functions locally
in the new body. I was still aware of nerve signals coming from my old
body, but they were filtered by my old brain, and by the synaptic link,
making them feel less intense. I'm not sure what happened in people who
were unable to successfully migrate to their new body's brain. I guess in
its simplest form, you could say that the transplant works only if you
really want it to.

Although I was told about the synaptic link, my first awareness of it, my
first personal awareness of it, came shortly after the external probes
lifted. That's when the first real mapping gets downloaded into the new
body's brain. As soon as that happened I became aware of my new body's
external parts. I guess it was like the pain process in reverse. At first,
it was like I could feel things and wasn't sure where I was feeling
them. As I focused on the feelings, it would suddenly occur to me that they
were sensations coming from my Dana body, being filtered by her brain and
the synaptic link. As soon as I figured that out, I immediately wanted to
cross the link and experience the sensations first hand. I wanted to
migrate to them. And just like that, my brain functions would shift, for
that particular sensation, to my new female body.

At first, I was migrating just because I could. I was eagerly anticipating
each new development, and migrating functions over as fast as they were
ready. Later, I found myself migrating in self-defense, to get away from
the probes that were slowly destroying my old body.

For the time in between, I was literally in two bodies at once. I could
feel things in both bodies. Of course, once I migrated a function, I never
went back. I was aware that I could go the other direction, just exactly
the same way I was migrating into my female body. There just didn't seem to
be any point in going back. My old body was becoming more and more
unpleasant. It was literally going to die. The transplant operation was
designed so that the old body was completely destroyed, and would no longer
support life, by the time the probes were finished. I was vaguely aware of
the fact that my old body was dying. If I allowed myself to think about it
from the perspective of my old body, it literally felt like I was going to
die. But that wasn't a pleasant sensation, and so I fled. I migrated to a
happier, warmer place – my new female body.

Okay, so what was different and when did I first become aware of it? Boobs!
They were the first thing I noticed that was different. I could feel
them. I could feel their weight as they pushed down against my chest. Oh
God! I had boobs! I was so happy. I could feel my nipples as a soft breeze
blew across them. Thomas had intentionally placed my new body to receive
gentle stimulations, saying that seemed to aid in the migration process. He
was right. I could feel things, and I found myself eagerly exploring every
new sensation that came along.

I don't remember exactly when I became aware of my vagina. I was looking
for it, but I guess I wasn't sure what I was looking for, because I must
have missed the sensations a dozen times before I finally figured out what
they were. It's like... being in a new house, and running around opening
doors and looking in all the new rooms and getting excited by all the new
sensations, but for some reason I never noticed the "vagina" door. When I
finally did, it was more like, oh, so that's what it feels like to have a
vagina. I guess I ultimately had to figure it out by sort of not thinking
about it. I thought about the things I knew that were close to it – my
tummy, my thighs. I would slowly push those feelings aside, trying to focus
on what was between them. I guess I finally became aware of what I wasn't
feeling anymore, and that's what finally helped me figure out what it was I
was feeling.

As a male, I guess you just get used to having testicles hanging down
between your legs. I knew my new body didn't have them, and so I understood
why that sensation wasn't there anymore. I guess boys are also vaguely
aware of their penises even when they're not hard, and so I recognized that
sensation was gone. But it took some time before I could connect the
missing sensations with the sensations that had replaced them.

When I did, I nearly leapt for joy. Of course, I was in a heavy mold that
prevented me from moving, so leaping really wasn't an option, but if I
could have... Anyway, I suddenly became aware of the area between my
legs. I suddenly became aware of my mound. I was already aware of what
wasn't there, but now I was aware of another, very subtle feeling – my
vaginal slit. My vaginal slit! Oh God. I wiggled as best I could, earning a
reprimand from Thomas to stay as still as possible.

Oh my God... I was moving Dana's body. Not much, but I was moving. I could
feel it. I moved just enough to be aware of the differences in sensation,
and it was enough to help me feel my new vagina. Oh God! A vagina! I had a
vagina! I was, without question, a female.

Well, other than those unpleasant sensations still coming from my old
body. I guess as long as those were there, I wasn't completely transplanted
into my new body. But that was a minor detail that I knew would correct
itself soon. As far as I was concerned, I was from that moment officially
and completely a girl.

What else? Vision! Vision was the most amazing thing. I was feeling things
in my Dana body, but seeing things still from my old body. It was just a
bit disconcerting. That theory I said about your mind being right behind
your eyes at the point of maximum brain activity? Not completely true. My
sense of self was on the Dana table, thrilled to be in a female body. But I
was seeing things remotely. I'm not sure how I knew that. It just felt that
way. Maybe because I knew where I was, and what the room should look like
from that angle, and it didn't look that way. It literally felt like my
eyes were in the wrong spot. Which in a way, they were.

It was nice when my vision functions finally showed up, and I could see
with my new eyes. That made me grin. I was seeing things for the first time
as a girl. I smiled, and that made me smile more, as I thought about my
lips, my very feminine looking lips, responding.

That's when I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was totally
naked. The mold, of course, covered me up somewhat. But I'd seen my female
body when I came in, and I knew that if anyone walked in, they'd see a
naked girl on the table. Grinning.

Well, there wasn't anything I could do. Just let them look. The thought
made me feel funny in my stomach. My girl stomach, I realized. My girl
stomach in my 25" waist, which was somewhere in the vicinity of my... oh
my! My female sex organs! Not totally functional. Thomas hadn't quite
perfected that. I could get pregnant, if I wanted, but it would require an
egg donor from another female. Still, it would take a gynecologist a lot of
work to figure out I wasn't the real thing.

A gynecologist! It seemed like I couldn't keep my thoughts focused on the
things I was trying to think about. Every time I tried to think of
something, I'd get all distracted by some new realization that my life was
about to change in amazing ways.

I thought about some gynecologist giving me an exam. He'd be handsome, I
realized. And I'd happily spread my legs and let him peer inside, secretly
hoping, wishing, he was opening me up with his penis instead of with some
sterile piece of metal.

I blushed... Hey, I had blushing functions now. When had those shown up? I
wondered if Thomas was watching me, and if he was aware of all the crazy
thoughts I was having. I wondered if he knew "where" I was now. Did he know
I was happily making myself at home as Dana?

I wondered how big his penis was. I wondered what it would feel like inside
me. Would I like it? Would I want it deeper? Would I wrap my legs around
him, urging him to thrust deeper? Would he even be interested in me
sexually? He always tried so hard to be professional. Did I even stand a
chance at getting him to consider me as a potential lover? Would I ever
find a man that I wanted to give myself to? Oh my! Did I just ask that? I
thought I might be a slut, and I'm already being picky.

I knew sex with guys was my destiny. I'd known that before I ever met
Thomas or agreed to get a body transplant. Well, no. I didn't know
that. Despite my transvestite ways, I had pretty conservative and
traditional values when it came to sex – boys with girls, girls with
boys. The problem for me was I felt more like a girl than a boy. So I knew,
and had known for a very long time, that I wanted to have sex with
guys. The thing that had always held me back, up to the time of my body
transplant, was that I wanted to have sex with guys as a girl and not as
another guy.

So, I knew that, as a girl, I'd want to have sex with guys. I just didn't
know if I'd be a slut or the kind of girl some guy would want to marry
someday. Well, I was getting my answer. I wanted a guy. I wanted a great
guy. I wanted a husband and a father. I wanted someone to build a home
with. I wanted to be someone's wife. I knew I might have to battle sexual
urges. And I might still be a very naughty girl. But, I would always try to
be the kind of girl that someone, someone like Thomas, would want to
marry. I'd guard my chastity as best I could, waiting for him. Waiting for
him to find me, marry me, kiss me, sweep me off my feet, make me fall in
love, and open myself, for the first time, to my husband. I knew that I
would try my best to be a traditional, conservative woman.

Wow! So many thoughts. What started that? Oh yeah, I was naked on the
table, and if a guy walked in, I wouldn't be able to keep him from
looking. Well, what could I do? I knew he'd enjoy what he saw. I made
myself that way. It would be fun. "Take a picture. It'll last longer." I
imagined myself only directing that thought at some imaginary guy, since I
knew the mold would prevent me from actually speaking out loud.

Oh my God! Talking! I was going to have a girl voice from then on. What a
thought!

My thoughts went on like that for the rest of the time. Occasionally I'd be
aware of some pain that made me feel like I was going to die – my old
body, that is – and so I'd search for a new place to perform those brain
functions in my new body. I'd find one, and go back to thinking about what
life would be like as a girl.

Finally, I became aware that I wasn't feeling, or sensing, much of anything
from my old body. I realized I hadn't sensed anything from it for several
minutes. It's like it had... Oh my! I suddenly realized what had
happened. My old body was dead. Dead! For the first time I felt a sense of
loss. Not a profound sense. It was... maybe like the feeling I had when my
parents passed away. A sense of loss, knowing I would miss them
greatly. But not a crippling loss. I was Dana; safely inside my new body
now. I'd miss the old me, but I'd get over it. Life was still good. Better
than good, even.

I still couldn't move, but I could sense machinery shutting down around
me. Occasionally I could see Thomas walk past me. A few times he would
pause to stare at me with concern. I tried to smile, and show him I was
fine. Finally, the cover to my mold was lifted, and I could at last get
out. Again, I was instantly aware of my nakedness. Using my new, never
before used vocal cords, I formed words in my mouth with a mix of practiced
ease, and confusion because all the moving parts were new to me. My voice,
my beautiful girl voice, cracked once as my very first words as a girl
vibrated my vocal cords and found their way out of my mouth. "C-Can I have
some clothes?"

Thomas looked surprised. Then immediately he reached for a hospital gown
and handed it to me. "Here. Use this."

"Thank you," I said softly. I could hear myself speaking. I could tell I
sounded like a girl now. I wished for a moment that my first words had been
something more exciting. Finally, I said the one thing that seemed to be
the most important. "I'm a girl now."

Thomas grinned, agreeing. He let me get dressed, and helped me tie the gown
behind me as I sat up. He helped me off the table and then helped me get
used to walking on my new legs. Like my tongue, it felt both familiar and
different. "Can you walk?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

"I think so," I replied, loving the sound of my feminine voice. "I just
need a little practice." I smiled broadly at him. "I think it worked," I
said.

"The operation?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think it worked." I suddenly turned to look at the table I had
been on at the start of the operation. It was empty now. That was a little
weird to think about it. I'd walked in and laid on that table, and without
moving, somehow got up from the other table.

"Um, where...?" I asked pausing, not sure what exactly I wanted to know.

"It's not a pretty sight," Thomas explained, knowing what I was
asking. "The probes can be pretty vicious toward the end. They have to get
as much information as they can before..."

I nodded, knowing what he meant. "I think I could tell when my old body
died," I told him. "It's like it just quit sending me signals."

"Yeah, I've heard that before." He stared at me, a look of minor amazement
on his face. "So, how do you feel?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. The truth was I felt great. Other than the fact
that I was still having trouble figuring out how to move different parts of
my body. "Good," I said, compromising.

"That's good," he said. "Most people feel a little lost when they first get
off the table. "Like something's missing."

I grinned. I'd had practice grinning while I was on the table, so I was
already getting pretty good at that. "Well, it does kinda feel like
something's missing," I said, pointing toward the area at the top of my
legs. "But I guess we expected that."

Thomas chuckled, but then got serious as he said, "Some people feel like
they're missing important things. They say they feel like they're only half
there or that part of them died during the operation. Do you have any
feelings like that?

"No. I feel... Like I'm all here. I mean, I know what they mean, about the
dying part. I felt like my old body was dying. I mean, I knew it was going
to die. You told me it would. But... I kept getting out as fast as I could
find places to go. When... " I choked momentarily and then said, "...I
died, I felt sad, but only because that's part of me that's gone now and
won't ever come back. But not sad like I'd lost... I mean... It's hard to
explain," I said. "I mean I knew I'd lost part of me... But it was only the
physical part. I felt like the rest of me, the part that makes me me, my
mind, got out before that happened."

"So who are you?" he asked with genuine concern.

"I smiled. "Dana Robbins."

"Tell me a little bit about yourself," he asked.

"I'm 5'4" tall," I said, "brown hair, blue eyes." I left out the part about
my eyes being the same color as his. I reached around to drag a lock of my
long, curly hair in front of me and showed it to him. It felt so amazing to
show him my hair like that. My long, girlish hair. I was so happy. "I weigh
113 pounds," I continued. "My belly-button is an inny, and I'm a 34C." I
thrust my breasts forward slightly, for the moment glad I'd let him talk me
into the bigger size.

Thomas stared at my chest for a moment, until I suddenly felt
self-conscious. I relaxed my stance, suddenly realizing how hard it would
be to keep guys from looking at my breasts.

"Very good," he said. "It sounds like you have a good sense of self. Tell
me, when you think about your core essence, where is it?"

I pointed to the area right behind my eyes. "Right here. Right where it's
supposed to be."

Thomas did some more tests and asked me more questions, trying to determine
how well I was adjusting to my new body. He told me I was doing very
well. My reflexes were normal, and everything about me seemed to be
functioning normally. Best of all, he said, was that my sense of self
seemed to be firmly seated in my new body, which meant the risk of
rejection was very low. He promised to watch that very closely, although he
didn't tell me what we would do if my risk went up. Another body
transplant?

During the exam, Thomas had to reach beneath my gown to put his stethoscope
on my chest. I was very aware that he was a man as his hand brushed across
my breasts. Oh yeah! I was attracted to him. There was no doubt about
that. My nipples responded by stiffening slightly – my first physical
sexual response as a woman. As he put the gown back down, I noticed that my
nipples were protruding now, evident beneath the thin material. I grinned
helplessly at Thomas, not sure if he noticed. If he did, he didn't say
anything. See what I mean? Always so professional.

After the exam, I asked Thomas if I could see my old body. He gave it only
a moment's thought before saying, "Um, I don't think that's such a good
idea."

I asked him why, and he explained that seeing my old body might cause me to
regress, basically wanting to reattach with my old body. Plus, he said,
it's not a pleasant sight to see. One thing I've learned about medicine
over the years is that it's as much an art as it is a science, and that a
doctor is best when he can explain the science part to you, and then let
you decide on your own what feels right for your personal situation.

In my case I felt he was wrong about the effect it would have on me. I felt
very comfortable and at home in my new body. I couldn't imagine any reason
for wanting to go back. But I also felt like I needed closure on the
issue. I needed to see my old body to know for sure that I really was who I
felt I'd become.

I told him that, saying, "I think I need to see it, if you don't mind. I
think it will give me closure. Kind of like... going back in your house
before a vacation – or more like when you move out of an old house, and
all the furniture's gone and it's just an empty house, but you have to go
back in one last time and walk through all the old rooms to make sure you
haven't left anything behind. Does that make sense?"

He stared at me for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, Dana, it does. Okay,
I'll take you to see it. But, I have to warn you, it's not going to be a
very pleasant sight."

He was right. My old body looked like it had been in a fight and lost. It
was lumpy and misshapen, with cuts and bruises everywhere. "As I said,"
Thomas explained, "the probes can get pretty vicious toward the end as they
collect the last bits of information."

I touched my old body softly. There was a touch of sadness. Not the kind of
sadness that made me want to return. Just a sadness of feeling that I'd
lost a close and trusted friend. "That was me," I said softly, speaking
more to myself than to Thomas.

I continued walking around the lifeless body that used to be me. It was a
surreal feeling. I knew that body so well, and yet I'd never seen it from
that perspective. It all looked so familiar, and yet it felt like it
belonged to someone else. I realized that my new body was now my home. I
realized that I literally fled to its safety during the operation. But more
than safety, my new body felt like the home I had always wanted. It was
where I could be comfortable. Although I'd only been Dana for a couple of
hours, it almost felt like I'd always been a girl. The man on the table
looked familiar, but he might as well have been a stranger to me. I could
never, ever go back. I was home.

I turned to Thomas and asked, "What do you do with him?"

"I think you specified cremation. After that, interment. Just as if he had
died normally."

I looked at him again. "He feels like someone else to me, Thomas. He
doesn't feel like I ever used to be him."

"That's a good thing," Thomas assured me. "It means the transplant is
working. So you don't feel like you left anything behind?"

"No. I mean, I'm sad. I can't help thinking about what it was like... being
a man. But it just seems like that was another life. And, now... It feels
like I've been in this body... all my life. Even though it's only been a
couple of hours. It just feels like who I am. This used to be me," I said,
pointing at the body on the table. "But it isn't anymore. If you go back to
my analogy about the old house, it feels like it already belongs to someone
else."

As we went back to Thomas's lab, we passed a mirror. I saw myself for the
first time and had to stop. "Oh my god! Is that me?" I asked in surprise. I
was looking at a beautiful young woman in a hospital gown. She shifted and
moved slightly, in total sync with my thoughts. I watched myself some more,
as Thomas looked on. Finally I turned to him excitedly and said, "I need a
mirror with a little privacy for a few minutes. I have to get a good look
at myself."

Thomas grinned. He'd been expecting that. He took me to a small bathroom
just off the lab, where a full length mirror had been set up. My clothes
were hanging on a hook by the mirror and my underthings were on the
counter. "Why don't you take some time getting to know your new body? Then
put on your clothes and we'll go to lunch."

I stepped inside and started to close the door. "Take your time," he
said. "I'll be in my office. Anytime you're ready."

I took my time. I spent several minutes just looking at myself in the
hospital gown. The gown wasn't flattering, and yet I realized that I looked
very cute and sexy despite that. I studied the way my hair fell,
experimenting with various styles, draping it straight back, and then over
my shoulders. I realized that I could use my hair to cover my breasts if I
wanted.

I stepped closer and looked at my face. I recognized it as the same face we
had designed on the computer. I slowly studied my eyebrows, and then my
eyes, followed by cheeks and nose and then my mouth and chin. Everything
was perfect. I smiled, trying to find a facial expression that fit my mood
and flattered me the most. It would be my default expression, I imagined. I
looked at my teeth, my perfectly straight, white teeth, and then stuck my
tongue out. It was so small – a girl tongue, I realized. All my parts, I
realized, were girl parts. I really was a girl.

I stepped back. "Okay, Miss Transplant, if you're so convinced you're a
real girl now... Prove it!" I dared myself to strip in front of the mirror.

I slowly untied the gown behind my neck, and then found the tie behind my
back and undid it. I shimmied the gown lower and lower, teasing myself as I
slowly revealed first the tops of my new breasts and then the whole
things. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Breasts! I pulled the gown up
slightly, and tightly to my chest, showing just the tops of my breasts
again. I even had the cleavage that I'd always found so sexy. I turned back
and forth and stared at myself, getting different views.

"Oh God! I've got boobs." I whispered.

I pulled the gown down to my waist and stared at my nipples. They were so
small and pink, barely any bigger than the nipples on my old body. But my
new nipples stuck out further. They were, unquestionably, girl nipples.

I lowered the gown a little further and looked at my tummy and my tiny
waist. No question there. That was definitely a girl's waist. With a
feeling of excitement building in my tummy, I kept lowering the gown. The
girl in the mirror mimicked my movements, slowly undressing as I watched. I
watched as her hips began to emerge beneath the tiny waist. I couldn't
believe how much wider my hips were than my waist. No wonder girls always
felt so sensitive about their hips.

Finally I begin to see the wisps of pubic hair as my pussy emerged. I
paused a moment, revealing it slowly, almost positive that a penis would
suddenly appear if I lowered the gown far enough. It didn't. Even after I'd
let the gown fall all the way to the floor and spread my legs apart. As a
transvestite, I many times would hide my penis between my legs, tucking it
back and up. By spreading my legs, I was proving to myself that I wasn't
hiding anything. It really was gone, replaced by a beautiful woman's
vagina.

I was totally stunned. I mean, having breasts is one thing. But what I was
looking at just then was quite another.

For a moment, my thoughts were filled not by what I WAS seeing, but by what
I WASN'T seeing. For fifty years, there'd been a shaft of flesh sticking
out of my lower body just above my legs, with a ball sack hanging beneath
it. Not anymore. I turned and look at myself sideways, thrusting my hips
forward, as if I was thrusting out the penis I remembered having. There was
nothing there. I was completely flat. I turned back to the mirror and
stepped closer to it. "You, girl, don't have a penis anymore," I whispered
to my reflection. She grinned back at me with a happiness that only she and
I truly understood.

"Okay, I'm starting to believe," I told my reflection. "So... show me what
you do got then. Lets see your cunt, you little slut."

I found a chair and sat down, spreading my legs wide and opening myself up
to peer inside. "That is definitely a pussy," I said. I touch the wetness
inside. "Oh God!"

I opened myself wider, moving closer to the mirror so I could see
everything. I found my clitoris and exposed it to the air. I could
literally feel and see it throbbing. I touched it softly. The default nerve
endings in my new brain matched perfectly, and the lightest touch was both
thrilling and intense. I started playing with myself, alternating between
rubbing the area right around my clitoris, shielding it from direct
pressure by using the soft, puffy mounds of flesh at the top of my vagina
slit, and gentle stroking of my clitoris itself, followed by inserting a
finger into my vagina.

It was my first time masturbating as a woman, but I had no trouble finding
the techniques that felt best to me. I found myself enjoying it immensely,
and decided I wanted to give myself an orgasm. I got off the chair and
turned around. I bent over at the waist and watched my fingers reaching
between my legs to massage my female genitalia from behind. As I did, I got
a good look at my cute, sexy ass. I started thinking about a man seeing me
in this position, and how aroused it might get him. I imagined my fingers
were his cock. I started breathing heavily, and said, "God, yes, Thomas, do
it to me. Stick your cock inside me. God yes, right there. Put it inside
me."

The words, I realized, felt completely natural and unforced. I wanted a
man's cock inside me. It's the way I was built. It was completely natural
for me, a young, attractive female, to want a man's cock inside her.

"Deeper," I breathed, urging my imaginary lover to press his imaginary cock
further inside me. My fingers did what I would have my lover's cock do,
filling me as deeply as they could. I sensed that a cock, so much bigger
and thicker, would feel quite different. But that was enough for then. I
rubbed my thumb across my clit and shivered. I was so close.

"Fuck me!" I said loudly, loving the way the words sound coming out of me
in that lovely soprano voice. "Fuck me, Thomas." Saying his name out loud
made it more real, and soon I had pushed myself over the edge. I shivered
and shook. For a moment I worried that I might be experiencing the first
symptoms of transplant rejection. It felt like my tummy wanted to turn
itself inside out. It was like I wanted more sensations and less at the
same time. I paused and the feeling subsided.

"Dang!" I whispered. I realized that I had to keep going through the
sensation of wanting it to stop if I wanted to give myself an orgasm. A guy
wouldn't pull his cock out at that point, I realized. I tried again,
building up to the climactic moment once more. This time, as the trembling
started, I mashed my thumb down on my clitoris and jammed it up against my
pubic bone. I gasped. I wanted to stop, but I knew I had to continue if I
wanted an orgasm. I rolled the tiny, sensitive bud back and forth over the
bone, sending rolls of pleasure sensations through my legs, which were
getting weaker. I thought of changing positions, but it was too late. I was
going to cum that way. I mashed my thumb down again across my clit and felt
my body buck in response.

The feelings were intense. Not as intense as a male orgasm, surprisingly,
but much more spread out. It was like my whole body was having an orgasm,
not just the one part. Or at least parts of my body. I felt it in my tummy,
and in my legs, and in my nipples, and in my face. My eyes were closed and
I bit my lips softly to keep from screaming. Why did I care? I let a soft
cry of pleasure come out, "Oh God, yeah."

I rolled my hips up and down, grinding my hips across my masturbating
fingers. I shivered again. I had to stop. The feelings were just too
intense. I stopped. "No, Keep going." I mashed my clit again and gasped
once more. "That's it. That's it. Just let it happen." Another shiver went
through me.

I suddenly realized the problem with a woman's orgasm compared to a
man's. A man knows when he's finished - semen comes out of his penis and
that's the end. As a woman, there was a feeling that led up to that same
moment, but where I was expecting some physical sign that I was finished,
nothing was happening. The feelings just got too intense. I realized that
if I were a man, I'd be squirting cum at that point, and my orgasm would be
over. As a woman, all I could do was keep pushing myself up to that point,
shiver and tremble as my body tried to find some kind of relief, and then
collapse back as the feelings subsided and I stopped what I was doing.

In a way, I decided, it was frustrating as hell. "I can't cum." I
whimpered. But in another way, it was better. I could stay at that
climactic point longer, and keep pushing myself over that edge several
times before I'd had enough. Multiple orgasms. I finally quit when I was
just too tired to do any more. By that time, my legs had collapsed and I
was kneeling on the floor with my head on the chair.

For a moment I just knelt there, catching my breath. Then I shifted my
position so that I could look at myself in the mirror. I loved the way my
legs looked, curled beneath me. I looked at the curve of my bare butt, and
the curve of my hips. I looked at my breasts, provocatively dangling from
my chest. My reflection looked flushed. I had that just-fucked look. I
smiled. I was sexy.

After a few minutes, I put on my clothes. I snugged my panties up and
reveled in the flatness of my front. I put on my bra, happy about the way
it cupped my breasts. I felt the bite of straps in my shoulders and on my
back. For someone who had always wanted to wear a bra, and now had a reason
for doing so, it was a good feeling. I paused in just my underwear for a
minute, looking. It was not my first time in girls' underwear. But it was
my first time wearing girls' underwear in a girl's body. As a man, wearing
girl things was somewhat disconcerting. You had to learn to look past the
surface image to the image beneath. Now, the surface image was totally in
sync with that inner image.

I finished dressing, putting on the skirt and then the blouse. I left it
unbuttoned to just above my bra, allowing part of my new breasts to show. I
cinched up the belt. It was still surprising how small my waist was. I put
on the boots. They felt so sexy – like a hug all the way from my toes to
my knees. Fully dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. I twirled the
skirt slightly. "Wow!" is all I could say. "I'm a girl!"


A few minutes later I was in Thomas's office. He was telling me how good I
looked as we prepared to go to lunch. My first meal as a girl. "So, How are
you feeling now?" he asked for the umpteenth time. He had to worry about my
transplant failing. I knew that would never happen. I loved being a girl.

I smiled and said, "I keep thinking of that Shania Twain song."

He cocked his head, not understanding.

"Man, I feel like a woman!"