Chapter 1

"Thunk, thunk." The cable from the box twitched causing a twinge of pain in my crotch where it was plugged in.

"Whirrrrr..."

"Thunk, thunk," it continued. I could feel something shifting in my abdomen.

The thunking continued for about five minutes before it finally went "ping!" after which the cable detached itself and zipped back into the box by the side of the toilet.

"Ohhh!" I gasped, as urine gushed from my body, splashing noisily into the toilet bowl. Some valve inside my body had been released and now I could urinate. A powerful sense of relief and warmth coursed through me.

God damn box!

Two days ago I woke up, horribly mutilated. My penis was gone, replaced with folds of skin. There were stitches just under each nipple. But I was still flat-chested, so what was going on? And my face had been changed, my nose was smaller, my cheekbones higher, my throat was raw and I croaked whenever I talked. I could barely recognize myself.

And now, to add insult to injury, I was forced to connect myself to this infernal machine before it would let me urinate. After two days of trying to piss by myself, I finally gave in, followed the instructions, and connected the cable to the socket nestled in the folds of my new sex.

How had this happened? Who would have done this to me? I tried to remember, but only got fragments. Some kind of medical/psychology experiment I had signed up for?

But I would never have signed up for this.

"Oh, but you did," said the sternly efficient lady sitting across from me. She had introduced herself as Julia, my 'case worker' from the Institute. "In fact, here are copies of your consent forms. I brought them for your files."

She handed over a folder and then checked her watch, tapping it. I looked through the pages, confused and bewildered. After I woke up I was feeling pretty good, but seeing the pages and suddenly I couldn't seem to think straight.

"But I couldn't have signed these..." I mumbled, looking at my signature, clear as day. "Why?"

"I was there when you signed them. The interview process was quite extensive." She tapped her watch a couple more times, seemingly impatient to continue. She jotted something down in her notebook.

Fragments from the interview started to come back to me, all those questions. Scenes of the surgery drifted into my head, the hospital bed, IV tubes, medicines, papers, signatures. Had I agreed? Was it possible?

"But, I don't understand..." I tried to put the papers down but instead they slipped from my fingers and onto the floor. I felt my eyes get wet. Was I crying?

"There, there...", she moved to sit next to me and patted my hand. My tears dripped down my cheeks and onto my T-shirt. "You were accepted into our top Gender Reassignment Program, it's very exclusive."

"But I don't want to be a woman," I sobbed, my breath coming out in gasps. "I always thought I'd find someone and have children someday..."

"Ohhhh, you can still do that. That's why I'm here. It is perfectly natural to feel confused, sad, even depressed after surgery. Go ahead and cry, it will make you feel better."

"And you are going to have such an exciting time ahead of you," she continued, trying to brighten the mood. "There's electrolysis, makeup, cooking, posture, child care..."

But I wasn't listening. Eventually she left.

"Thunk, thunk."

'Trapped, ' I thought to myself.

"Thunk, thunk."

The next morning I felt better and my head was clearer. Although still nagged by doubts, I decided that there was no way that I could have willing agreed to surgery. My signatures must have been forged, or coerced.

But now what? Lawyers, detectives ... I needed help. I picked up the phone, but the line was dead. So, I threw on some clothes, grabbed my car keys...

No car keys. No wallet. No identification of any kind. I looked through every drawer and closet and ransacked my desk.

Come to think of it, where was my computer? And my television set? What else was missing?

I ran out of the apartment to the parking lot.