Chapter 11

Fran found the meeting mildly depressing. The whole ‘people behind glass’ thing was uncomfortable, and Marta was obviously bothered by Fran’s appearance and the whole ‘not right in the head’ thing. Marta was looking better despite some visible wear and tear – undoubtedly caused by her poisonous toad of a husband. Fran was glad that the oily snake had left Marta. You knew he was venomous just by looking at him.

As for Fran’s appearance, well, no girl ever looks her best in the hospital, right? She was doing what she could, working on her belly, which was an embarrassment. Since she had plenty of time, she was getting some results, but she would probably need liposuction and plastic surgery to get anything resembling a girlish figure, so some nice clothing would be a help – but of course, it was, ‘Nothing you can use to hurt yourself, nothing too long, nothing too hard, nothing, nothing, nothing... ‘ Fran thanked God for depilatories, since she wasn’t allowed to shave her legs or her armpits or the horrendous moustache that kept appearing on her upper lip. It was no wonder that she had trouble attracting men, as furry as she got.

Hair was another trial for poor Fran. She had it in lots of places where she didn’t want it, but the top of her head? It was virtually nude! Very embarrassing. A man could wear a hat, but it wouldn’t help HER! She was making due, but a wig or hairpiece would be nice. She was trying to convince the good doctor that there really was no way she was going to hurt herself with hair.

She remembered the rapes – and Trainer and Turnip – as if they happened to someone else. She’d had sex before, but that incident was what made her what she was today. Why they would stick a woman in a holding cell with those apes wasn’t clear at all, but it was water under the bridge. The good news was that, rough as it was, she’d learned to enjoy it.

Afterward, there had been several long, trying interviews where people had INSISTED upon calling her Fernando. Was that nice? Okay, so she was more than a little ugly, but calling her a man sort of went above and beyond, didn’t it? They went around and around about it for some days ... and there were gaps in her memory where she apparently became VERY frustrated with them over the name-calling and some ridiculous crap involving high finance. ‘I can’t even balance my checkbook!’ Fran mused, remembering, ‘And I was supposed to be stealing from a bank or something? No wonder I lost my temper!’ Finally, they’d gone away and left her in the care of Doctor Frank.

He’d been a trial, too, for a while. He’d apparently found her amusing for the longest time, and not taken her seriously. But she’d finally made some inroads, there, thank God. Last week, she’d talked him into some decent panties, although he hadn’t delivered yet. Fran was hoping for something black and lacy – she needed all the help she could get!

Sex had been tough to get. The patients were all either drugged nearly comatose or standoffish; it was the nature of the beast, Fran figured. That left the staff.

Armando, the day attendant, was a dear, despite the nasty-looking scar on his cheek. Clearly, he didn’t get a lot of attention from women, but he was shy. Fran was slowly domesticating him – he wouldn’t fuck her, but he enjoyed her blowjobs. There had been a very depressing period after the first one when he’d withdrawn from her and wouldn’t even come close; Fran had been at her wit’s end and life had been Hell. He had come around, though, finally, and Fran had high hopes – especially now that he’d started doing little things for her, like bringing her bubble bath. That was sweet.

Luther, the night attendant, had been more direct about things, bursting into her room at three o’clock one morning a couple of weeks ago and rasping, “I hear you think you’re a woman, asshole!”

The big, ugly black had been very rude, calling her names, and quite rough, but it had turned out to be a quite satisfying little encounter ... one they had repeated three times since. He still called Fran ‘Bitch,’ but she assumed that it was just his way – and, frankly, a man with a cock the size of his could call her Bitch if he felt like it, as long as he was fucking her.

Humming to herself, she settled into the tub of hot bubbles that Armando had thoughtfully prepared for her and beckoned him forward. “Since you have to watch me, Lover, you might as well enjoy it.”

Armando came sheepishly forward and Fran unzipped his fly... ~#####~ Nobody at the Reyes residence was done for the night. The four young couples organized themselves more or less as they had been originally, but there had been at least one change after they drifted apart.

Hank and Maddie had gone to Maddie’s room, a familiar place for Hank and the site of many a sexual liaison with his girlfriend. Gabriel and Lillian stayed in the living room and folded out the couch. Randy and Bernice took Marta’s vacant bed, and Pietro brought Brie into his room.

It seemed like each couple took a turn making the sounds of passion for the others to listen to, starting with Hank and Maddie. Gabriel and Lillian followed, and Brie and Pietro listened to their contemporaries coupling lustily for a bit. Then Brie, who had been uncharacteristically sober and clingy, turned to Pietro.

“I think it’s time.”

Pietro shut his mouth on an exclamation of “Are you sure?” He was undeniably nervous, despite the confidence imparted by his interlude with Bernice. Instead, he began to get serious about the lazy caresses he’d been giving his narrow lover. Pietro and Brie didn’t have the infatuation going for them that Lillian and Gabriel did; theirs was a different relationship. It wasn’t incredibly casual, but it wasn’t an acknowledged love thing. Both of them felt free to take advantage of opportunities offered by others – Brie got oral sex from other guys all the time, and Pietro had gotten a little strange now, too – it was all a part of the basic understanding that they had with one another. But this? This was different.