Barbara
by Callie Messenger

     I looked out of my apartment window to the street below, making sure
to keep my face obscured by the curtains.  There was a car parked on the
road near the building doors, with a couple of guys inside.  How could I
get out and get help.  I thought it over carefully.
     The guys in the car had to be Joe's bruisers.  I had worked for Joe as
his accountant for a couple of months.  I left his house in a hurry last
night when he had come back early, and almost caught me with his moll.  She
must've told him who it had been in her room.
     They could see the door, but they hadn't come to look for me yet.
They must've thought I hadn't come back.  So I had to get out soon, and get
past them.  How?  I looked around my small flat for some kind of disguise.
Disguise!  That was it!  Jess, Joe's bit, was an aspiring actress, and
often left for work from my pad, leaving a lot of her kit around for
'emergencies'.  I grabbed for a wig, and a few of her clothes, and sat down
in front of a mirror with her make-up bag to see what I could achieve.
     I didn't achieve much, needless to say, but a thick layer of
foundation cream did wonders for my skin tone, and lipstick and blush
reshaped my main features.  I looked like a man in drag, but I didn't look
like the man Joe's hired help were looking for.  Thick tights hid my hairy
legs, and a loose woman's coat hid my shape.  I had found a pair of sandals
that could just about fit my feet, the high heels weren't too high or hard
to control, and the wig reshaped my head.  I walked out of the front of the
building and away from the watchers' car without a glance behind.  I was
trembling as I turned the nearest corner, but no-one followed.  I breathed
a big sigh of relief and headed straight for Richard's office.
     Richard was an old friend from college.  He worked as the accountant
for a small, private hospital.  I say "friend" loosely, as Richard and I
were more often rivals for anything and everything, including the job with
Joe.  I think Richard had fancied Jess as well.  He never mentioned it now.
     I sneaked past the receptionist -- sneaked might be the wrong word to
apply to your average guy dressed up as a woman trying to look
inconspicuous, but it worked -- and into a lift.  Richard's office was on
the top floor.  He liked his perks.  The top floor was only two floors up
but he always let you know that the best rose to the top, and that he
golfed with the director.  I couldn't sneak past Richard's secretary.  She
knew me, and the shock registered on her face as she recognised me.
"Jenny," I pleaded, "is he in.  I need to speak to him right now."
     "Go straight in, David."  I didn't look back.
     Richard was just as shocked, but it didn't take seconds for his
surprise to turn to a laugh.  I told him the story, and he sat in silence
throughout, smiling as I reached toward the end.  "So I'm in dire need of
some help."  I finished.
     "I think you've already shown yourself to be pretty damn resourceful,
Dave.  What more could I do?"
     "I need a place to stay until the heat dies down."
     Richard suddenly sank into deep thought.  After a few seconds he stood
up.  "Did you think this through at all, Dave?"  He looked at me.  "Don't
you think that the first person Joe will come to question is me?"  I sank a
bit lower in my chair.  No, it hadn't occurred to me, until now.  "We
really have to think quickly.  The hospital might already be under
observation."  He paused.  "You were definitely seen leaving your
apartments -- as a woman -- and you may have been seen entering the clinic
-- also as a woman.  If you continue entering and leaving the clinic as a
woman it would probably raise less suspicion than a complete change of
routine.  We can account for you as a patient and you can stay over some
nights-"
     "Hang on right there!"  I interjected, "I can't carry on like this!
Can't I just borrow a bed for a few nights and use the back door?"
     "There is no back door.  All doors except the main entrance are
alarmed fire doors.  Now that would bring a lot of people running in here!"
     The telephone rang.  Richard picked it up.  "Richard Worthington.
Yes.  Oh, yes, hello, Joe!  David?"  He looked at me.  I tried to shrink
into the seat.  "No, I haven't seen him for quite a few weeks -- even
missed our last squash match as I recall.  No.  No, I don't mind at all.
Certainly.  Okay, Goodbye."
     He put the phone down.  "He's on his way over right now, says he'll be
a few minutes.  We've got to hide you somehow."  He pressed his intercom
button.  "Jenny, take David down to Hargreaves in Burns.  I'll call down
with instructions."  He ushered me rapidly out of the door.  Jenny dragged
me by the hand down to the ground floor, where we turned away from the
reception area and into the Burns unit.  "Nurse Hargreaves is our Cosmetic
Artist."  She explained to me on the way.  "She works with our burns
patients where surgery can't.  She's a miracle worker!"  We walked into an
office that looked like a GP's surgery.  A greying, middle-aged lady stood
up to welcome us in.  Jenny introduced Nurse Hargreaves and left.
     "I just got off the 'phone with Richard.  It appears we may not have
very long so we'll work with what you have.  Sit in front of that mirror."
She pointed me to what might have been a theatre dressing table, except
that it was spotless and, in addition to various cosmetics and bags,
displayed certain of what looked to be surgeons implements; scalpels and
the like.  I sat.
     Within five minutes my face looked as though it had been propelled
through the windscreen of a car.  Within five minutes more, it still looked
like it had been through the window of a car, but it wasn't my face.  No,
now it looked like some unfortunate young woman had been through the front
of a car, and that the scars were healing.  My wig was cut almost into the
scalp on one side to look as though hair was growing out over a head wound.
The Nurse reclothed me in a hospital gown, replacing my socks that had been
stuffing the bra with two small false breasts.  They didn't look real, but
under the gown they performed all the necessary shaping to make me look
like a woman.  She showed me to a bed in a private ward, where she loosely
bandaged my legs and arms.  "This should cover anything else if someone
should be rude enough to look.  Right, under the covers, and go to sleep,
you've had a very traumatic experience."
     Nurse Hargreaves' last words left me imagining what kind of traumatic
experience I might have if I was discovered.  But then, I couldn't
recognise me.

     "Joe, come in, take a seat."
     "Don't mind if I do, Richard" Joe stepped past Richard to sit in his
seat behind the desk.  Richard sat in front.  One of Joe's bruisers closed
the door and moved to sit behind him.
     "Richard, let us come straight to business.  David has but one friend
in this town and I know it is you.  He has done me a disservice which I
wish him to rectify, so I must find him.  You will let me know where he
is?"
     Richard shifted in his seat.  "He is a friend.  I believe he trusts me
so, if he was to come here, why should I do other than he requests?"
     Joe laughed loudly.  "I see!  Good!  You wish me to give you a reason
to let me know where he is?  I have a reason.  I want his balls, and I'm
willing to remove the balls of anyone else who might prevent me from
getting them."  He snarled.  Richard paled slightly, but maintained his
composure.
     "I have a better reason," he ventured.  "For a good enough price, I
would give you his balls."
     Joe turned to the window for a moment.  "You are not a thug, I see.
The words of violence do not come easily from your mouth."  He turned back
and leaned forward to look Richard in the eyes.  "Let me put this straight.
Your friend fucked with my wife, and now I want to fuck him so bad he can
never cross me or anyone again.  You let me know where he is."
     A smile began to cross Richard's face.  He leaned forward himself.
"Perhaps we can strike a deal, and I could make your wishes come true"--

     "Doctor Evans, this is not only a great opportunity, but also one
which I can make more than worth your while."  Richard had got back onto
the 'phone as soon as Joe had left his office.  "This patient is actively
seeking to undergo such an experiment, and you are, might I say, a
revolutionary in the field -- this experiment could be a boost to your
research-- Yes.  Yes, I quite agree.  We are a hospital.  Of course, we can
come to a suitable arrangement.  See you soon, Dr.  Evans."  Richard put
down the 'phone and pressed his intercom button.  "Jenny, get me Doctor
Szelnik at the Heimlein Institute."

     Richard was the first person to come into my ward since Nurse
Hargreaves had left about an hour before.  I tried to look asleep.  "David,
it's okay!"  Richard said quietly.  I turned to face him.  "Wow!"  He
stuttered.  "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't known it was you!"
     "So, what happened?"
     "I think he believed me about you not being here, but he's left a few
guys outside in the street.  He did happen to mention the list of people
seen entering and leaving here in detail, so we're stuck with you having to
leave here if you don't want to arouse suspicion and have him search the
hospital."
     "You mean I should stay looking like this?!"
     "Unless you want to walk into his hands, yes."  The answer was pretty
straightforward.  "I'll send Nurse Hargreaves back in again, and we'll see
what we can do to complete the disguise."
     "Why complete it?  As soon as I'm out of here safely I'm back to me
again."
     "I can see the appeal in that, David, but think a little.  You can't
go back to your apartment as yourself, you can't go to my apartment as
yourself, and you can't get in and out of here as yourself.  You didn't
pack any money or credit cards when you left your apartment, and anybody
going to fetch them would be at risk.  You're relying on my help and my
charity, and I'm trying to stay alive to help you too.  So you're going to
perfect that disguise for as long as it's needed!"
     I hung my head as best I could.  I guess Richard was right, and I
didn't want to put anyone else at risk.  "Perhaps," he said, "we should
keep you here for the rest of the day and overnight.  It would give us more
time to work with you."  At that moment, Nurse Hargreaves came in through
the door.  "I think you know what to do, Nurse?"
     "No problem, Mr. Worthington."
     "Nurse Hargreaves is completely reliable, David, but try not to get
seen by too many other people.  Stay in here for the duration, huh?"
     I nodded as Richard left, and the nurse to it as a sign to get down to
work.
     The bandages came off, and a plastic sheet was laid underneath me.
She coated a foul smelling cream liberally over my legs and arms,
explaining that it was a depilatory and silencing any protest I could make.
She even applied it to my hands and feet, and left me completely hairless.
My armpits were shaved, as were my chest, stomach and back.  All makeup was
removed from my face, where she applied a different type of depilatory
cream, one supposedly less harsh.  Denuded, I must have looked a pathetic
sight, though the nurse didn't complain, frequently commenting that she
much preferred smooth men.  The last preparation I protested most, as she
dragged me into the bathroom to bleach my hair.  "You're the one who chose
a blonde wig!"  She stated firmly.  "It wouldn't look clever to have brown
hair falling out from underneath it!"  I concurred.  After twenty minutes I
was ginger, but a further application left me almost white, with just hints
of gold.  I hadn't noticed until I looked in the mirror that my eyebrows
had been lightened slightly as well.  Personally, I didn't think blonde
suited me.  And when the wig was reattached, firmly, with clips, I thought
I looked plain ugly.  Although, as Nurse Hargreaves commented, the blonde
did make my blue eyes look brighter.
     We adjourned to Nurse Hargreaves' ("Call me Helen, David, after all,
we are getting to know each other quite well!") office for me to have my
makeup redone.  At the end I looked much as I had before, but everything
had gone a little smoother this time, and Helen had explained in detail
what she was doing, presumably so that I could begin to learn to do it
myself.  Finally she reattached my false breasts, only this time with a
glue.  She didn't bother to tone them into my skin, explaining that if
anyone were to look under my robe, they would spot the fact that I wasn't
female pretty quickly anyway.
     Back into the ward, and Helen brought in lunch.  She explained that
meals were usually taken in the wards, as the hospital specialised in burns
patients, especially those needing reconstructive surgery, and they usually
preferred privacy at all times.  She left a few magazines and books with me
to pass the time.

     That afternoon I was woken from a light sleep by Richard re-entering
the room with a man I hadn't seen before.  I felt a twinge of fear.
Richard must've seen it.  "Don't worry, David, this is a friend of mine,
Dr. Evans, who has come to help us with your predicament.  Dr. Evans is a
psychotherapist specialising in trauma situations."
     "What can he do for me?"
     Richard nudged the small, grey-haired man toward me.  He cleared his
throat.  "Well," he began, "you, the patient, have to deal with an
immensely stressful situation here."  He reminded me of a caricature of
Freud, but without the accent.  I found it reassuring.  "Not only that, but
you are not dealing with the situation as yourself, but trying to appear to
be someone else.
     "My aim, and my speciality, in fact, is to help the patient deal with
stresses in their life, and come to terms with them, and with their many
ways of dealing with them.  Allow me to explain--"
     I didn't notice Richard leave the room as the doctor talked about his
experience with stress disorders.  He seemed to count himself an expert on
dissociative disorders, especially of identity, which he explained to me I
probably knew as multiple personality disorder.  He explained how many
people, especially the young, learned to avoid traumatic stress by mentally
dissociating themselves from the situation that caused it.  He explained
that, in order to avoid detection, I could probably perform the same
function.  I should appear natural in my disguise to avoid suspicion, thus,
he would help me to feel less scared of discovery, and therefore more
natural, by creating an identity to go along with my disguise.  He gave me
a small dose of a thick syrup which he explained was a mild hypnotic, and
some few minutes later he began to help me into a trance.
     Some moments later he handed me another dose of syrup.  "Do you need
to give me more?"  I asked.
     "No, no."  He chuckled.  "No, this is a stimulant, to counteract the
hypnotic that I gave you.  The session is over, and I think it went
exceptionally well!  I will come back later so that we can really get to
work."  He picked up his back and left.  I tried to think back to the time
that I had obviously been in a trance, but could remember nothing.
Unperturbed, I reached for a book.

     Back in Richard's office, Dr. Evans was going over his work.  "I have
begun to work on his fear, giving him a desire to retreat into his disguise
when he feels threatened by discovery.  Later I will return to work on his
disguise, as every improvement to his alter-identity will make him feel
safer in that identity, and thus make it easier for him to fall in to.
Just as you suggested, however, I have attempted to make the alter-identity
a temporary one.  By focusing on his fear as the trigger, his need for a
disguise will evaporate when his fear does.  In sessions I will build up
his fear, but I have already begun to implant the trigger that will remove
it completely."
     "Excellent!"  Responded Richard, "and in such a short time.  How long
do you think it will be before he is, how can I put this, not himself
anymore?"
     "I wonder?"  Mused the doctor.  "This afternoon I will begin giving
him a hook to attach his new identity to.  Perhaps some history, or a name.
Yes, that's it, a name.  The personality will grow from there."
     "Then let's give him something defining.  Something that suggests a
particular type of personality.  Pamela perhaps, or Barbie.  Yes, that's
it!  Barbara, and we'll call her Barbie!"

     Dr. Evans returned to my room, with Nurse Hargreaves behind him.  "The
nurse is here to instruct you on the use of makeup as part of your
disguise, David, and to enable quick learning and good retention I will put
you under once more.  So, if you would be good enough to lie back and
relax, take a few deep breaths, and when I say 'Sleep now, David'--"
     Nurse Hargreaves looked at Dr. Evans.  "That's it!  He's under?"
     "Yes, my dear, all the hard work was done a few hours ago.  David
realizes that this is all to help him, so he will go along with it more
easily every time.  Now, David, I want you to go with Nurse Hargreaves to
her office.  When you sit in front of the mirror you will see your disguise
and remember why you need it and what you are hiding from.  Your fear will
make you want to hide.  You will let yourself be led by someone unafraid.
Now go with the nurse."
     I think I recall walking with Helen, and sitting down in her office,
but then I must have passed out.
     Dr. Evans spoke again.  "David, are you still with us?"  No response.
"Good."  The doctor changed the style of questioning, removing any
reference to 'David'.  "Can you hear me?"  A nod.  "You are not afraid.
David is afraid.  When he goes, you take over.  You are safe, because of
who you are.  No-one will ever recognise you as David.  No-one will ever
mistake you for David.  You are Barbara, but you have always been known as
'Barbie'.  You will do everything in your power to complete yourself,
because as yourself, you are completely safe.  You have a picture of
yourself in your mind.  You have a picture of 'Barbie', of you.  You are a
beautiful, graceful, elegant woman.  You are a blonde, a blonde Barbie.
Can you imagine what a blonde Barbie looks like?"  A nod.  "Can you imagine
what a blonde Barbie should act like?"  A more hesitant nod.  "We will help
you to understand yourself and to be yourself.  As your psychiatrist and as
your friend I will help you to be yourself.
     "First, you shall learn to use makeup.  Nurse Hargreaves will
demonstrate, and you will learn quickly.  You enjoy wearing makeup, so you
will practice until using it is completely natural to you."  The doctor
turned to the nurse.  "Show her everything you know, not just for disguise
purposes, but everyday techniques too.  I will observe."
     I must've been under for quite some time, but it was all patchy to me.
I remember seeing myself in the mirror a couple of times, whilst Helen was
showing me how to apply some element of facepaint.  I was only able to
register how different I looked each time, before the doctor would say a
few words and I would doze again.  I woke in my bed, with the doctor
standing over me.  "Well done, David," he said as I roused.  "Now you
should go to practice the techniques you have learned.  You will find that
you remember them easily.  We have left you some various items in your
bathroom.  I will see you first thing tomorrow morning.  Good Day."
     I felt awake, late though it seemed, so I went into the bathroom to
see what I'd been taught.  A few items had been placed in front of the
mirror, including bottles, tubes, pencils, brushes and lipsticks.  A look
in the mirror showed me my own features.  Nothing like the now almost
dreamlike images that I'd seen when under hypnosis.  I began to concentrate
on one of those images that I could recall, picking out objects and colours
that looked as though they might help me to achieve it.  I found it oddly
fun to play with makeup like this.  I could make my eyes seem bluer with
one pencil, dark with another.  Foundation powders and creams smoothed my
skin.  I could make my nose appear thinner, and my lips appear gorgeously
thick.  I'd never used makeup before, and wondered why I should be using it
now.  Why was I trying to look feminine like this?!  I scrubbed my face
with a tissue and looked at my own face.  Unbidden, pictures raced into my
mind of Joe seeing me like this.  He'd recognise me!  I panicked.
     The next thing I knew I was looking in the mirror again.  I was fully
made-up, so much so that it took me a few minutes to come out of the dream
I seemed to be in and recognise myself.  I didn't remember putting the
makeup on.  I'd even blended my false breasts into my skin so that they
looked almost seamless.  I reasoned that my sudden fear of discovery had
forced some sort of alter-ego to take over, like the doctor had suggested.
I crazily wondered what it would be like to meet this alternate identity.
What was he/I like?  Was he an actor with a talent for disguise?  Who knew?
I resolved to talk to the doctor about it.  Whoever he was, I felt a lot
more secure with his talent for disguise.  Looking like this I might try to
get out for a day or two.  I rolled back into bed with the makeup still on.

     "Tomorrow we will move on to deportment etc.  I would like to move
onto speech soon too, if that is possible?"
     Richard looked up at the doctor.  "I'm afraid not.  Unfortunately, the
speech therapist I have booked is not my first choice, and therefore must
be led to believe that she is dealing with a woman, and not made suspicious
of our motives.  To this end I have also set up a meeting with a Voice
Doctor, with the hope of presenting the therapist with essentially a fait
accompli, giving her a story about retraining a voice following a
tracheotomy or some such."
     "But all this will extend the life of the project.  A voice operation
may take six weeks to recover from!"
     "Which gives us plenty of time to perfect our project, doctor."
     The doctor shifted uneasily in his seat.  "It is just that I am not
sure that the subject will not begin to ascertain his situation, possibly
upsetting the project itself."
     "Doctor," said Richard, quite slowly, "I have the fullest faith in
your abilities to overcome any problem that you might encounter.  I would
like to begin preparations for reconstruction tomorrow, also.  I hope you
will prepare David for them?  Goodnight."  He said with a smile.

     I awoke at Helen's insistence.  She excused me while I went to the
toilet.  Seeing my face in the bathroom mirror, I washed, but used a little
cream because it seemed to do wonders for my skin.  I returned to find
Dr. Evans waiting.  "Good morning, doctor!"
     "Good morning, David.  How are we feeling today?"
     "Fine, doctor, but I do have a question for you.  Who is my other
identity?"
     Helen turned her face slightly.  The doctor cleared his throat.
"Well, David, your other identity is you, of course.  That is to say, it is
those parts of you that will most aid you in this short crisis, fleshed out
by your own imagination."
     "So you're saying that I'm acting, underneath the disguise."
     "Hmm, well, yes, I suppose so.  You are filling out the disguise, as
it were."
     "But surely I don't have the ability to act like a woman.  I'm a man,
I know nothing about it."
     "Don't worry yourself, David.  That is why Nurse Hargreaves is here to
teach you, and I am here to help you learn.  Sit yourself down on the bed,
relax and don't worry.  Take a few deep breaths and 'Sleep now, David'--"
     Nurse Hargreaves turned to the doctor.  "What will happen if he finds
out that his alter- ego is a woman?"
     "Shush, Nurse," warned Doctor Evans, "be careful in front of the
patient.  But it is a worrisome question.  He might try to throw off the
conditioning.  But no!  That's it!  If he is worried about being a woman,
then once again, his fears can be turned against him.  It solves the
paradox!"
     "What are you talking about, doctor?"
     "You see, as we progress with Barbie, David must become more
suspicious, especially with the physical alterations that our principal
would like to introduce.  Therefore, if David were to be worried about
turning into a woman, then that very fear could induce him to retreat
further into the Barbie persona, as Barbie will have no such qualms with
adjusting to the changes."
     "Surely that would destroy David?"  Questioned the nurse.
     "It would seem, but the strong persona of Barbie is built on sand.
You see, when David's fear of Joe is removed, Barbie will still be removed
as a persona, leaving David to come to the fore, left only with any of her
habits and conditioning that have become ingrained.  So," continued the
doctor, "let us continue conditioning."
     "David?"
     "Yes, doctor."
     "I have some instructions for you now."
     "Yes, doctor."
     "When you awake, you will not feel hungry, you will be suffering from
a loss of appetite.  Perhaps you are coming down with an illness.  After
all, you are in a hospital, and they are for sick people, aren't they,
David?"
     "Yes, doctor."
     "The nurse will provide you with some medications, which you will take
to feel better.  We will start on your medications now, with a small
injection.  Don't worry, you will not sense a thing.  You will not feel any
pain.  Turn over."
     The nurse prepared two syringes containing a controlled overdose of
female hormones which would disperse evenly from within the fat of the two
cheeks she expertly injected it into.  The pills to be provided were also
hormone pills, at a dosage set to place a stranglehold on male hormone
production and produce physical changes in the shortest time possible.
     "David, you may turn back now.  I want you to wake up slowly.  You
will not worry about any ill feelings, as you are in a hospital, where you
can be well taken care of.  3--2--1--wake up now."
     I could feel where the injections had gone.  Something to do with the
sick feeling in my stomach, I guessed.  Helen was taking some pills off her
tray to put on my bedside table.  "Four times a day."  She said to me.  I
nodded, and got up to walk to the toilet.  I had sat down before it struck
me that I didn't need to sit, even if my stomach was playing up.  Still, I
relieved myself from that position, seeing no need to stand once sat, but
thinking it a little odd.  I walked back to my bed with a bit of a wiggle
-- well, my backside hurt now from those injections, so I was bound to be
walking a little oddly.  Once in bed, I reached for Cosmo and began to
read.

     "That's excellent, doctor, and should relieve you of some concerns
now," said Richard to Doctor Evans who had returned to Richard's office
immediately to share in his success.  "We are beginning the second stage of
the program this afternoon, when Dr. Szelnik arrives.  Perhaps after lunch
you could persuade David that he is having an operation for possible
appendicitis this afternoon?"
     "Of course, that will fit in with his sudden stomach trouble.  But why
appendicitis?"
     "We will in fact be performing liposuction around his stomach region,
even though he does not really require much.  I am reliably informed that
the procedure has a common side effect, whereby the body replaces lost fat
cells, but places them in the common fat producing regions.  Most notably,
in both men and women, in the chest area.  The removed fat cells can be
reinserted around the hip region, though often the results of liposculpture
are short-lived.  In this case, however, we believe that the hormone
treatment will encourage the body to retain the fat in those regions.  In a
secondary operation, Dr. Szelnik will insert small silicone implants under
the pectoral muscles.  David will be persuaded that this pectoral growth is
due to a combination of factors, including the side effect I mentioned and
that we will get him to wear a corset following his 'appendectomy'.  The
corset is, of course, to aid in the healing process, and has to be
restrictive."
     "So far, it would seem, the process can be explained away."
     "Yes, and tomorrow there will be a throat operation -- tonsils need to
be removed as any throat infection could upset the healing process -- so
David will be in a difficult situation should he try to make any escape
after tomorrow.  And recovery will be protracted, as you have already said,
enabling us to keep him here without questions being asked, and to perform
all further steps.  We might only need another couple of days of your time,
doctor, provided that you could leave us with some sort of permanent
control over David and Barbie?"
     "Certainly, Mr. Worthington.  One thing, if I may be so bold?"
     "Yes?"
     "Why are you doing this?  I mean, an experiment I can understand, but
surely David is a friend of yours?"
     "I have thought about this myself, doctor, and perhaps you can
understand me when I say this.  Joe Gadriani, the man who is looking for
David, wants simply to kill him.  I don't want David to die, so we made a
deal that I would enable him to disappear.  I have told you, doctor, that
we have David's complete co-operation.  He does not want Joe to find him,
and so he is permitting me to complete his disguise, with your help, of
course."
     "But you are planning to make him look like a woman.  How long will he
have to endure this?"
     "I'm sure that Joe will back down in due course."  How little you
know, doctor, thought Richard.  He will not just look like a woman, he will
have all the parts, and for as long as he lives.  He was once a friend of
mine, but Jess was with me before he took the job that would have kept us
both together.  How long I've been planning this fate for my oversexed
'friend'!  And now that Joe is paying me a cool million for its execution--
Richard laughed silently to himself.

     Doctor Evans came in with Helen again early in the afternoon.  This
time it was Helen who spoke.  "We think your stomach problems could be
appendicitis, David, so we're going to have to take you into surgery, where
another doctor will run a few tests and then will be able to operate
immediately if the diagnosis is correct."
     Doctor Evans then chimed in.  "If you wish, I could put you under for
the procedure, to alleviate any worries that you might have?  And do not
worry, as if surgery is recommended you would be given a general
anaesthetic as due course."
     "That's okay, Doc, I'd like to be awake for the news."
     "As you wish.  Please, come with us."
     We walked round to the surgery, which was only a couple of doors from
my ward.  It was the longest walk I had made since the day before, when I
had run away from my apartment to begin this ridiculous charade.  I say
ridiculous because I felt ridiculous.  My false breasts were bouncing
slightly, warning me of their presence on my chest.  In trying to minimize
the feeling I pushed my chest forwards against the restriction of the bra.
It seemed to work, and I discovered that smaller steps, especially on
tiptoe, helped.  I discovered that I was copying Helen's walk, though I
wasn't wearing a restrictive uniform skirt or heels.  It worked, and I
found I didn't have to think about it to keep it up.  Fortunately nobody
saw me performing in this way, as there seemed to be nobody else walking
about the small hospital.  I remembered Helen saying that most patients
here preferred to keep to the rooms because of the type of injury they were
usually here for.
     In the theatre there was only one other man, a doctor, by his
clothing.  He was already dressed for surgery, masked and gloved, which
seemed a bit odd to me.  He prodded around my stomach area, eliciting
various yelps of pain, then he opened my mouth and looked around my throat.
"Okay," he finally said, with an odd inflection of accent, "we will begin
to operate."  Nurse Hargreaves stepped forward with a hypodermic.
     "Doesn't this require my consent first?"  I asked.
     "Of course," Helen answered.  "If appendicitis is not treated it can
kill.  Will you permit the Surgeon to operate, David?"
     "Put it like that, Helen, and I can't really see any option.  Where
are you going to stick it?"
     "Hold out your arm, dear, and when you feel the needle, count from ten
down to one."
     She swabbed the area, then "Ten, nine, eight, se-ven, six, fi--"

     I came round again back in my room.  My head was full of cobwebs and I
just stared up at the ceiling for hours.  Finally I needed to use the
bathroom, so I tried to get up.  My whole torso was bandaged up.  It took a
while to register, but wasn't appendicitis a fairly simple operation,
requiring only one small incision?  I sat on the toilet to think and pee.
I did it again!  Why had I sat down.  Wow, my head was fuzzy.  I looked in
the mirror.  I really was looking pale, so I refreshed my face with some
foundation and blusher.  Might as well practice, I thought.  For what?  I
asked myself.  My disguise, but that's what I was here for, my disguise,
and a place to hide, so why was I having my appendix removed?  I hadn't
felt ill when I came to the hospital.  I'd come to get Richard's help.  I
needed his help to hide, didn't I?  Yes, that's right I had to hide from
Joe!  And I was stuck here where he could find me any time!  Shit!
     Barbie looked at herself in the mirror, and added eyeliner and shadow
to her face, followed by a slow and accurate lipstick manoeuvre.  She
looked at her torso.  She could see her small breasts under the bandaging
but realized she would have to keep wearing the falsies if she wanted to
feel good about herself.  Perhaps she could arrange to have her breasts
enlarged here?  Her waist was slim, but she still needed exercise and to
lose a bit of weight if she really wanted to look attractive.  She brushed
through her wig, and then wondered about having extensions done until her
hair grew out.  She inspected her face again, spotting a few hairs that the
depilatory must have missed.  That nurse, Helen, must know about a place to
get electrolysis done.  After all, she was a great beautician.  Yes, Barbie
felt like having another beauty session with her.  And this skin could
really do with some moisturizing.

     I realised from the way the sun was coming in through my window that I
must have slept all night.  I couldn't remember going to sleep or even to
bed, though that was easy to blame on the after effects of the anaesthetic.
Helen came in in response to a buzz on my bedside button.  She was dragging
an IV-drip on a wheeled stand.  "Are you hungry?"  She asked breezily.
     "Yeah, what's for breakfast?"
     "Unfortunately for you, this."  She said with a sympathetic smile.
"You can't take solids after your operation, and it's even a little too
soon for liquids, so we'll put you on this for a while.  Also, you can't
take any of your pills, so medication can be delivered via this as well as
all the nutrition you require.  Handy, isn't it."
     "Or army."  I joked, with reference to it being stuck in my arm.  I
had to explain it to her before she smiled.
     I lay back quietly as she attached the drip to my left arm, with
plenty of bandaging to hold the needle in place.  While she worked, Doctor
Evans entered.
     "Good morning, David.  How are we this fine morning?"
     "Hungry, doc."
     He chuckled.  "I suppose you will have to get used to that feeling."
     "Doc," I asked, "there is something else.  I'm feeling like I can't
fit together events since I got here.  Like I can't remember being ill when
I came.  I thought I came to get Richard's help.  And I've been getting
blackouts, though that might be due to the illness, or the anaesthetic
yesterday.  I remember you telling me about an alternate identity, but
should it be affecting me this much?  I mean, I'm hardly myself."
     "Yes, David, you seem to be expressing a problem.  It may be just an
effect of the illness you have had, which I believe could easily have been
brought on by stress.  Perhaps you need me to help you relax more, to get
these stresses out of your mind.  Lie comfortably, relax, and take a few
deep breaths.  In, and out.  In, and out.  And 'sleep now, David--'
     "David?"
     "Yes, doctor."
     "Your illness must have been a result of your stress, you think.  And
your illness has been causing you some discomfort, which has been leading
to further stress.  As you yourself said, your blackouts may have been due
to the illness.  In fact, you are happy with that, and you believe that
your explanation is correct.  Your alternative identity can only help you,
so you are happy with your other self.  It follows that you are calm about
your blackouts, and you have no desire to question them.  Is this all
clear?"
     "Yes, doctor."
     "Finally, David, I am going to give you a word to remember.  When you
hear this word, you will allow your alter-ego to take control of your mind.
Do not worry about this in any way, as you will understand that it is so
that we can program your alter-ego to improve your disguise.  Is this okay,
David?
     "Yes, doctor."
     "Then the word is 'Barbara'.  When you hear that word from now on, you
will allow your alter-ego to take over your mind, in a trance state,
susceptible to suggestions from others.  The words 'Wake up, Barbara' will
allow your alter-ego to awake whilst remaining in control of your mind.
The words 'Wake up, David' will return control of your mind to yourself, in
whatever state it was prior to the command.  You are not worried about
these commands or their effects.  You know that programming your alter-ego
will improve your disguise, and improving your disguise will make you
safer.  This does make you feel safer, doesn't it, David?"
     "Yes, doctor."
     "So we'll try out these command words now, and you won't worry about a
thing.  First we'll let you wake up.  3--2--1 and 'Wake up, David.'"

     "I feel lots better now, thank you, doc.  Even my pains seem to have
gone."
     "That's good, David, but now let us talk to 'Barbara'."
     I passed out again, waking up in my bed later that day as Helen was
changing my IV drip bag.  "Good afternoon again, David.  Enjoy your lunch."
She clipped the tube into the bag and the liquid began to flow.  This time
it can't have been just my normal fluids, as I began to feel a little
lightheaded within a few moments.
     "Helen!  What is in this stuff?"
     "Nothing to worry you, dear."  The last thing I heard was her
mentioning that I needed my sleep.

     "Doctor Evans!"  Said Richard, welcoming the little man into his
office once more.  "I understand that you have left us with some buttons to
push should we require David's cooperation with future proceedings?"
     "Certainly, Mr. Worthington, everything is included in my notes that I
have given you."
     "Then here is the donation for your favourite charity.  I'm sure you
will find it to be most generous."  Richard handed the doctor an envelope
containing a cheque.  "We have your office numbers and we will be sure to
call you back to view the outcome of this experiment.  For now, Goodbye!"
     "Yes, of course, goodbye, Mr. Worthington."

     "Everything went well, Doctor Szelnik?"
     "Perfectly, Mr. Worthington.  The throat will require a few weeks to
heal.  During this time we will proceed with facial and body restructuring,
though most of the bodily restructuring will have to wait for the hormone
treatment to take full effect.  It is at a high dosage so we should be able
to progress within weeks.  Facial bone restructuring can proceed
immediately if it is to heal within the project timelines, especially if it
is to heal enough to allow chemical treatments and laser restructuring to
the skin.  I believe I will suggest keeping the patient sedated for the
duration."

     I didn't record time passing, though I knew that it had.  Helen had
come in and out of my room to change the drip bag.  Once I had tried to say
hello, but my mouth couldn't seem to move and my throat burned in response.
The pain moved with the time.  My throat, then my whole face, then my mouth
again.  I could never move my jaw, then next I would find my skin burning.
I would pass out, and wake up with my lips feeling like they had been
involved in a road accident.  As the pains in my face began to ease, so the
pains in my body began.  My chest ached constantly, sometimes more,
sometimes less, and with the ache came a nagging itch.  Then my groin felt
like somebody had kicked me hard.  The skin itch moved around my body all
the time, periodically returning to my face.  Just when I would begin to
realize how bad I felt, I would pass into oblivion again.

     "David!  David!  Ah, there you are.  It's me, Richard.  I know you can
hear me.  The healing is almost complete now and we can shortly allow you
to wake up.  Let me tell you a little about what has been happening.  Well,
while you have been asleep we have been remoulding your body to your own
recommendations.  You see, your alter-ego is a woman.  Not just a woman,
but your idea of the perfect blonde bimbo - I think you were inspired by
Jess a little -- and it is your alter-ego that has been helping us to
perfect you.  You have a wonderful face, chemically softened -- a slimmer
jawline with a less pronounced chin but slightly more pronounced
cheekbones, larger eyes, a smaller nose which we have turned up slightly,
and we've removed some of the flesh between the nose and top lip to enlarge
the lip and the cupid's bow, the lips were enlarged anyway with some
inserts -- you really look like you're begging to kiss something, or
perhaps to suck?  Your hair has grown, but we're not sure how far as your
real hair is indistinguishable from the extensions, which go to half way
down your back.  And you're blonde now, of course, we thought peroxide
blonde went well with the image your alter-ego has of herself.  And that's
blonde with an 'e', of course!  Because you don't just look female, you are
female!  One of the first items that went was your cock, to make way for a
juicy new vagina -- which is real, by the way, lifted out of one of our
ex-patients who, unfortunately for her, but fortuitously for you, didn't
even make it out of the ambulance.  It doesn't work properly, of course,
but you won't be needing to do any of that dilation rubbish.  On the other
hand, perhaps you would enjoy that?  And the removal of your male bits and
pieces allowed your breasts to respond to hormones almost instantly.  We
helped your bustline of course, with some compression of the ribcage,
liposculpture, and implants.  We managed to reduce your natural 38" chest
to a 36, and shape you a wonderful DD cup.  The fat for the liposculpture
was provided by your waist, which we have kept corsetted and has slimmed to
23" while your pelvic bone was reshaped -- which may give you pain for some
weeks yet -- and fat and implants added to your hips to give you a
voluptuous 38" measurement.
     "You are a doll, David, a living Barbie doll, but I still have plans
for you yet.  You see, your therapist, Doctor Evans, created you an
alter-ego which will disappear when its purpose is served, but that
alter-ego contains many feminine characteristics which I wouldn't want you
to lose when she goes, so I'm going to make sure that you remember them,
and that they become a part of you too.  So, 'Sleep now, David.'"

     I felt someone's hands on my legs.  They were small and soft, moving
smoothly up and down, massaging my calves.  I flinched slightly.  "Oh,"
said a young woman's voice, "you're awake!"  She moved her face up to mine
until I could see her.  It was a beautiful face, with deep blue eyes and
golden blonde hair, which she kept held away from falling into my face, not
that I would have minded.  "My name is Kirsten, and I'm your
physiotherapist."  I tried to say hello, but my mouth must have been
bandaged so I couldn't make myself understood, but wow, did my voice sound
weird.  All faint, and high pitched?  "Pleased to meet you too, Miss
Davies!" she said as she returned to my legs.  'Miss Davies?'  Did I hear
right?  And my high pitched voice!  But then I remembered what Richard had
said about what he was doing.  I had to get up and get out of here!
Kirsten's voice came back to me, "We have to work on this every day as your
muscles can lose a lot of strength.  They can deteriorate in twenty-four
hours, and you've been in bed a lot longer than that.  We'll have to work
on your flexibility too, though I've been doing that while you've been
sleeping.  You were pretty stiff!"  I tried to move my legs.  They wouldn't
go anywhere.  Kirsten must've felt my attempt.  "Whoah, looks like there's
a lot of work to be done here!  I'll have to go get the TENS and leave that
on you everyday."  TENS?  "TENS is a machine that electrically stimulates
your nerves to move your muscles.  We'll have you back on your feet in no
time!"
     So I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, and my physiotherapist thought I
was a woman.  I lay there with no idea of what to do.  Shortly Kirsten left
me alone to my thoughts, but returned within minutes with the TENS.  When
she showed me it looked like straps, pads and wires, which she attached to
my legs, arms, and placed under the bandaging around my abdomen.  When she
switched it on I felt quite tingly all over.  She left me again.  She
passed someone on the way out coming in.
     "Good morning, Miss Davies!"  It was Richard!  I tried swearing at him
but all effect was lost into the bandage around my mouth.  "Oh, don't
worry, we'll be removing all of that bandaging very shortly.  After all, we
have to let you take a look at yourself.
     "I did a lot of work last time I was in here.  You see, Doctor Evans
forced you to retreat into your alter-ego often, to avoid you discovering
the changes that were progressing in you, but there's no need for that now,
as there's nothing you can do.  You might wonder why this is happening to
you?  Well, much of it is because you cost me getting a great job with Joe,
and I was already dating Jess.  Your arrival cost me both.  Then Joe found
out about you and Jess, and, in a fit of minor rage, put a million pound
price on your head.  I persuaded him that the million pounds could be put
to great use in revenge -- he said he wanted to screw you, and I suggested
to him how he might be able to."
     At the mention of Joe's revenge I passed out.  Strangely though, when
I awoke, I could remember much of what Richard had continued to say as
though I had carried on listening.  He had said that I would be back on my
feet as soon as possible, though as Barbie, whom I dimly understood was
myself.  Barbie would work with Jenny as Richard's secretary until Joe
arrived to take her to his office as a secretary until he wished to exact
his revenge.

     I started walking within three days.  Kirsten made me train in heels,
which she said would boost the development of my calves and ankles, while
toning my hips and buttocks.  I met my speech therapist, but she had met me
before many times.  When she mentioned it I seemed to remember.  Much of
the bandaging came off my face to allow me to practise.  My voice was
higher pitched, and a bit breathy.  I asked her if it would improve but she
looked puzzled, and said it was just fine.  A week or so of exercise and
therapy later, and Richard returned to my room with Helen.  "We're going to
remove the last layers of the bandaging now, David," said Richard, to allow
you to get a last look at yourself."  'Last'?  I wondered.  The final
strips came off and I stood in front of the mirror.  I was stunned.  Into
silence.  Into shock.  Before me stood a dream, my dream, of a woman.
Long, blonde hair.  Big blue eyes.  A beautiful, smooth face with a cute
nose and full, pouting lips.  My 5'9" frame now had longer seeming legs as
they tapered up to wide hips which vanished into a wasp waist.  Above the
waist almost floated two large breasts, perfectly rounded and pouting
outwards almost more than my lips.  In between the hips was my only visible
patch of body hair, a nest of thatch that hid, well, nothing.  I put my
hand there to feel but could find only some warm, smooth flesh with a slit
down the middle.  My brain couldn't relate the mirror image to my body, or
what I was feeling to my self-image.  My senses were screaming.  I passed
out.

     I was having lunch with Jenny in the staff canteen.  Wow, the girl
could eat!  I was toying with a last slice of tomato from my salad watching
her put the last bite of a burger into her mouth.  How she doesn't pile on
the pounds I'll never know.  "Desert, Barbara?"  She asked.
     "Not on this diet, Jen."
     "You've got no waist to watch!  You're not seriously dieting?"
     "I've got other areas to get down to size."  I pushed out my chest.
We both giggled. At that moment Mr. Worthington stopped at our table.  "Are
you two girls getting back to work shortly?  I have some schedules that
need typing up."
     "I was just about to have a dessert, Richard," smiled Jenny, as I
stood up to go, "but Barbara didn't want to join me.  She claims she has to
get some weight off her chest."  We giggled together again.
     "Is that so, Barbie?  I'm sure I couldn't condone a girl of your
exquisite figure skimping on the occasional luxury.  Why don't you help
yourself to a cake.  Perhaps a cream one?"  He smiled at me.  I really did
feel a bit of a craving for a chocolate eclair coming on.  I guessed it
couldn't do any harm.  Though I was sure I'd been putting on weight
recently, while working for Mr.  Worthington, and a girl has to watch her
figure.
     After lunch Jenny and I got back to work.  Jenny was trying to help me
with checking hospital accounts, just making numbers add up in a
spreadsheet, but it was beyond me.  I'm a good typist, but numbers are
dull.  Jenny wrote me a sheet of instructions to follow but I can't add up
things in my head.  I thought I could, but Mr. Worthington kept bringing me
into his office and telling me I was getting worse.  "Barbie," he would
say, "you're simply no good with numbers.  You're not much good at
anything."  Mr. Worthington is always right, though.  At first I wore some
really stuffy suits into work, but he assured me that I would feel more
comfortable in a simple skirt and top, and now I do.  He suggested that I
should wear my hair down, and to have it permed, and I felt a lot better
about myself then too.  I woke from my thoughts to Jenny's voice.  "Can't
you even add those two figures correctly, Barbs?  Honestly, you're getting
worse.  Give me this to finish off, and you can finish these invitations."
She softened to a smile.  "And you can quit daydreaming about men until
you're done!"
     "Barbie, come into my office, please!"  That was Mr. Worthington on
the intercom.  I slipped on my heels -- I kick them off under the desk but
I can't walk without them, flats are just too low!  Mr. Worthington's
office is beautiful.  Always so clean and tidy.  Another thing that Mr.
Worthington has impressed into me is a real desire for neatness and
cleanliness.  Sometimes I even take his shirts to my apartment to wash!
The poor man doesn't have a wife or mother.  I closed the door behind me.
     "Time for some diction, Barbie."  I smiled.  Diction was his little
joke, something about a mix of words like 'dick standing to attention'.  He
thought it was funny so I would smile or giggle.  Men love it when you
giggle at their jokes, so I laugh when they do.  It also meant that I was
to get down under his desk and give him a blow job.  Men also love blow
jobs, so I give them at every opportunity.  I always listen to
Mr. Worthington when he tells me how to give good head, but I must be
getting very good now, because he rarely offers advice.
     I crawled into the footwell behind his huge desk and proceeded to undo
his fly and remove his cock.  I placed my mouth over the glans and slowly
moved up and down on it while sucking to bring it to its full size.  It was
about six and a half inches when hard.  Mr. Worthington said I should be
happy with any size of cock, and I am, I love them all.  When it was hard I
paid it some attention, licking it, kissing it and caressing it.  Like I
said, I love cocks, and their owners know it.  I began to suck on it,
moving my hand up and down the shaft, and my lips over the glans, sucking
on the foreskin as it slips over the head.  Mr. Worthington began to moan,
and I quickened my movements, taking more of the cock into my mouth.  Very
soon he began to buck, forcing himself deeper into my throat.  I kept my
mouth still and sucked hard, quickening my hand movements until he gushed
his cum into my throat.  I swallowed it all.  I never gagged.  I had
practiced 'long and hard' at controlling that reflex with my vibrator.  You
know, I seem to remember Mr.  Worthington suggesting that I do that too.
Surely not!  I'm getting so ditzy these days, I never know what I'm going
to think next.  Though I usually think about men.  Wow!  Nearly forgot.  I
licked off Mr. Worthington's dick and gently pushed it back inside his fly.
I crawled out of the footwell and stood up, straightening my skirt.
"Barbara?"
     I turned.  "Yes, Mr. Worthington."
     He smiled.  He always said that he adored my voice, especially the way
I said 'Yes, Mr.  Worthington', because it dripped sex appeal, but I always
spoke that way.  "I have a few sheets here for you to fill in, as part of
our ongoing staff test requirements."  I reached for the questions before
turning for the door, reaching for my lipstick.  "Oh, and Barbie?"
     "Yes, Mr. Worthington."
     "Please try to concentrate, though I know you find it hard."
     I did you know.  Too many men around to distract me.  All these dishy
doctors.  I reached for the door, almost dropping the papers I had in that
hand.  What were they for?  Oh, yes, the test.  I sat down at my desk to
read the questions.  'What is the amount of VAT claimed on 12.35 pounds of
restaurant expenses?'  "Cheap date!"  I thought.  'What is the amount of
Capital Gains Tax deductible from a single wage earner who has sold 4500
pounds worth of shares in the fiscal year?'  If I could find me a man who
had shares to sell.  Hmm-- I'd probably get him to buy a sports car.  I
don't know which one, but it's got to have an open top.  I could wear that
bikini I bought the other week.  I thought it would be a bit too skimpy --
I mean, I'm well endowed up top, as girls should be.  Men love tits.  But
the bikini, oh yes, Mr. Worthington saw it and reassured me that it would
look marvelous, and it did.  He told me that I would look good in anything,
and never to be afraid of showing myself off, so I do.  He told me to do
this test!  "Oh, Barbie," I thought, "You're so dizzy!"  Just like
Mr. Worthington always said.  I skipped the first page.  'What does PAYE
stand for?'  Now, I thought, I answered that last week, and I'm sure I got
it right.  What was it?  Pay something.  Pay all you ever?  Pay all you
ever what?  I don't know, but it doesn't sound too wrong.  I wrote it down.
The rest of the page was sums.  I thought of skipping it entirely but I'd
already missed out the whole of the first page.  256 times 432.  10441
divided by 124.  12.5 percent of 427.  I can't do these!  They're for
people like Jenny, people with brains.  But she hasn't got my figure, poor
girl.  24 times 3?  That's easier, 62.  12 times 8?  86.  I finished that
page there.  'What colour is an orange?'  I don't remember these questions
from the last test.  'Orange', I wrote.  'What colour is a banana?'
'Banana', I wrote, and started to giggle.  That was funny.  I left it as
the answer.  'What is a teddy?'  That's what I wear when I have guests.
'What is a woman's best attribute?'  Obviously her tits, I thought proudly.
But a woman's got to look after everything.  Perhaps I should've written
'Her body and face'?  It all counts.  I reached for a nail file as I
wondered what really would be the best answer.
     I finished off the remaining questions and got up to go to
Mr. Worthington's office.  Inside, he looked over the answers.  "Barbara,
do you enjoy your job?"
     "Yes, Mr. Worthington."  I had always enjoyed my job.  Every aspect of
it.
     "Barbie, you don't like accountancy."  No, I didn't enjoy accountancy.
I'm sure I used to.  "You don't like numbers much at all."  Well, that was
certainly true.  "And, Barbie, I think you don't like typing as much as you
used to."  Perhaps not.  I was good at it, but it must be getting boring.
"So, Barbie, it seems that you're not enjoying your job as much as you used
to."  I'm not, it's true, but I'm sure I used to.  I must have just gone
off it over time.  "The results of this test suggest that you might be
better employed elsewhere.  You love cleaning, don't you, Barbie?"
     "Yes, Mr. Worthington."
     "And you love keeping things tidy, Barbie?"
     "Yes, Mr. Worthington."
     "And you'd love to show off your body in a smart uniform, wouldn't
you, Barbie?"
     "Oh, yes, Mr. Worthington."  I'd love to do that.
     "As you aren't enjoying your job here, I have found you another
position.  You will be a maid for a gentleman called Joe Gadriani."  That
name?  Probably some rich client of the hospital.  Bound to be a playboy!
"I'm sure you'll enjoy it.  I'll give you a cheque for your services at the
end of the afternoon.  You start there tomorrow!"

     The job was fairly easy.  Mostly dusting and vacuuming, washing and
ironing.  I had to wear a proper French Maid's uniform, and the corset had
reduced my waist a little more, even though I ate enough of chef's cakes
and pastries to push my hips and bust out a little further.  Mr.  Gadriani
was a harsh boss though, often telling me off for little jobs that I
missed.  The punishment was usually sex of some description, so I used to
miss some little jobs on purpose at first, until he began to get kinky,
which often ended up with me getting hurt.  He didn't like the fact that I
looked down on him, especially in my heels.  He would often get rough, to
prove his strength and mastery.  He would often bring me to tears before
leaving me.  I did get on well with his wife, Mrs. Gadriani, Jess, who
would often console me when she found me crying after Mr.  Gadriani's worse
sessions.  I found myself oddly attracted to Jess, though I never acted on
it.  Somehow it seemed to be wrong.
     One night I was helping to serve dinner for Mr. Gadriani and Jess when
the front doorbell rang.  I went to open it.  It was Mr. Worthington,
accompanied by Tommy, a nice gorilla, who returned to the front gate.  "How
are you, Barbara, my dear?"  He greeted me.  I smiled to him.  "I see
you've filled out a little more where it matters."  I showed him in to the
dining room. Mr.  Gadriani stood up to shake his hand.
     "Richard!  It's been a very long time!"
     "Joe, pleased to see you again.  I hope you remember our little
arrangement."
     "Of course.  I presume you have some news after all this time?"
     Mr. Worthington took out a small package from inside his
jacket. Mr. Gadriani's butler had a gun pointed at him before he could
begin to be afraid.  I almost screamed.  "It's just a present, Joe.  Part
of my half of the bargain."
     Mr. Gadriani relaxed.  He took the small package and opened it.
Mr. Worthington winked at me. Mr. Gadriani unwrapped a small china plate,
with a closed dish on it.  The dish held two round-ish objects in a clear
liquid.  "These look like testicles."  He observed.
     "They are."  Responded Mr. Worthington.  "David's testicles.  On a
plate."
     Mr. Gadriani laughed out loud.  "Excellent, Richard, Excellent!  I
remember now.  Yes, wasn't the full deal that I should fuck him, too?"
     "Of course, Joe.  Would you mind if we could discuss this slightly
more delicate matter alone?"
     Mr. Gadriani waved all of us out of the dining room.  Just as I
reached the door, Mr.  Worthington called to me.  "Barbie, you should
stay."  I turned back obediently.  Jess passed me on the way out.
     When all the doors were closed, Mr. Worthington spoke to me again.
"Time for some diction, Barbie."  Suddenly it was just like old times.  I
relished the prospect of revisiting Mr.  Worthington's crotch.  I got down
to my knees and headed toward him under the table.  As I began to toy with
the cock in front of me I heard the conversation continue above the table.
     "Incredible!  How did you get her to do that so simply?"  Joe's
question.
     "A simple command.  And she wants to do it."
     "I have noticed her willingness in that department."  Only until you
hurt me, Joe.
     "Then you have fucked her?"
     "Of course!  She is barely resistible."  Ohh, I smiled at the
compliment, and repaid it by paying more attention to the cock in my mouth.
     "Mmmnh."  I heard above me.  "The deal is complete, then.  You
have--fucked David."
     "That--is David?"  Who were they talking about now?
     "Yes--" I think Mr. Worthington was beginning to have real trouble
talking straight.
     "Absolutely incredible!"  I think Mr. Worthington was thinking the
same thing.  Time for you to cum, my sweet cock!
     "You'll--uunh--remove the contract?"
     "Of course."  The cock thrust into my mouth and began to spurt forth
cum.  I sucked it all up.  "The contract is removed!  I have no wish to
harm David anymore."
     Huh??  David???  Whoah, I feel dizzy.  "Look at yourself for the last
time, David."  "You are an incredibly beautiful woman."  What are all these
memories?  "Sleep now, David."  "Time for you to become the bimbo of
everyone's dreams."  "Wake up, Barbie--" My head is spinning!  What is
happening to me??  "Not so harsh, Barbie, more breathy, exhale--" My speech
therapist?  "Bandage the feet!"  "But her achilles should be allowed to
stretch!"  The physio?  Wasn't her name Kirsten?  "Don't your vital
statistics make you think of sex?  36-23-38?"  Mr. Worthington?  "All
numbers make you think of sex.  They aren't sexy.  You just can't
concentrate on them, you think of sex instead."  Richard!  "Think of your
ideal woman, David, then slowly replace that picture with male features.
Imagine it, colour him in brightly, realistically, make him appear larger
in your mind--" Richard again, all the time Richard, instructing me,
telling me what to think, what to feel.  "Barbie, you're such a bimbo!"
"Barbie, you love your tits!"  "Barbie, you just love to dress like a tart.
That's all you are, Barbie, a tart."  But he's talking to Barbie.  I'm not
Barbie.  "Barbie, you love to suck cock, as often as you can!"  I'm David.
Where am I?  What is going on in my head?  "Heels, Barbie, miniskirts, and
tight tops, that's all you want to wear" "Barbie, you want men, and you
want their cocks!"  I'm not Barbie!  I'm David!!
     What's this in my mouth?  Sticky and salty.  I try to spit it out but
it's stuck to my teeth.  I try to lift my shirt but bang my head in my
attempt to straighten up.  I'm under a table?  I reach down for my shirt
again but I can't seem to pull it out at the waist.  I look back down
again, and something pulls on my chest and shoulders.  A bra?  It's coming
back.  I remember seeing myself in a mirror.  A woman!  Richard, you
bastard, you did this to me!  And this in my mouth?  I was just sucking
Richard's cock!!  I think I'm going to puke.  What am I?
     I crawl out from under the table.  Richard is doing up his flies.  Joe
Gadriani is staring at me from the other side of the table.  I start in
shock.  "It's all right, David, the debt is even."  He said in a placating
tone.  "It seems I have placed you in a mildly more embarrassing, and
certainly less escapable position than the one you put me in."  He smiled
at me.  "More ingenious than a pair of concrete boots, though, eh?"  I
sneered.  "Now, now, my dear, that is not a pretty face for such a pretty
woman."
     I looked at Richard.  "It's true," he said in response, "you are a
very pretty woman."
     "You bastard, I'll fucking kill you!"  I leapt at him, my fists flying
at his face, and knocked him backwards off his chair.  I was blinded by my
hair but I didn't care.  Then he grabbed my hands, and I just couldn't
break his grip.  He rolled me over on to my back and sat atop me, then
placed both my wrists in one of his hands before brushing my hair out of my
face with the other.  I could see blood coming from his nose and mouth.  He
was smiling at me, evilly.  "I took Barbie's virginity," he said, slowly,
"but I think I'm going to take far more pleasure out of relieving you of
yours."  His meaning filtered through just a little too slowly.  Joe had
already come around the table to hold my wrists and Richard had placed his
knees between my legs, and was coaxing life out of his flaccid penis.  As
it grew to erection again he moved the skirt of my dress up, and I felt his
fingers on my crotch moving my knickers aside.  I still didn't comprehend
what was about to happen -- I still didn't believe it could -- so when his
penis entered me I screamed, in pain and disbelief.  Richard covered my
mouth quickly with a free hand, at the same time moving forward to get
deeper inside me.  The pain was unbelievable, but so was the feeling of
being penetrated.  Somehow I had a cock moving inside me and it was filling
me up, the feeling being both physical and emotional, like I needed a cock
to be there.  The feeling was maddening as it moved.  It was scratching and
pinching, but less and less with each grind of Richard's hips, and at the
same time it was stroking pleasurably, providing similar feelings to having
a woman's mouth stroking your cock, but spread out more and pushed in
deeper.  The last feeling was one of no control -- I wanted Richard's cock
deep inside me, but he kept moving it out, and I wanted him to move more
slowly, to avoid the pain and draw out the pleasure -- and I wanted him out
completely, because I was in pain, and being raped.  I struggled, but there
was no escape, and somehow Richard's cock was beginning to move more
smoothly inside me.  Just as I thought about that, he slowly moved his cock
deep inside me and the pleasure completely filled my mind.  I moaned,
hearing myself exactly as the others must have heard me.  I didn't even
have time to wonder why I had moaned before I felt Richard pulling his cock
slowly right out of me, and my hips involuntarily thrust upwards to keep it
inside me.  Again, I began to wonder why, but the movement of the cock
pushing slowly back inside took up all of my attention as a flood of
pleasure pushed up into my brain, growing as the cock moved deeper inside.
Once more a moan escaped my throat as Richard's hips met mine, and once
more I thrust towards him as he drew them away.  The movements became
voluntary as I began to anticipate when and where I could squeeze more and
more pleasure out of each thrust.  Sometimes I realized I was moaning,
sometimes I would catch myself looking up at Richard through half closed
eyes, but each growing thought or realisation was cut off before it could
begin by the intense feelings permeating my whole body from my crotch.
Suddenly the realisation that Richard had speeded up broke through, and I
could feel his cock grow tenser.  I bucked harder to equal his movements
and then with a few mighty thrusts I could feel his penis pumping inside of
me.  My mind and body were reaching for some kind of release, but as
Richard's thrusts slowed to a halt I began to feel the engrossing pleasure
dissipate, leaving a hole which my body was telling me should have been
filled by an explosive ending.  I groaned in frustration, feeling more
anger at Richard for stopping than I had felt for him starting.  He pulled
out of me, and I felt a small trickle of liquid run down the inside of my
leg and round between my ass cheeks.  I felt tired, deserted, empty,
frustrated, and finally, violated.  I began to cry as my emotions poured
out -- as I realized the position that I had just been in, and the position
that I might now be in for ever -- weak, helpless, no more a man.
     Richard stood up, and Joe let go of my wrists to join him.  I could
hear them talking together quietly.  I struggled to pull myself together
against overpowering emotion but finally was able to compose myself.  I
stood up.  Richard turned to face me.  "That was very satisfying, David.
Or should I say Barbie?  After all, you enjoyed it as much as Barbie used
to!"  I bowed my head, I was blushing uncontrollably.  Why?  "I can see
your embarrassment, but you did enjoy it, David.  I'm very glad to see that
so much of Barbie's conditioning has remained with you.  That was my idea."
     "Just like everything else, I suppose, Richard."  I spoke quietly.  I
found myself speaking words with a natural breathiness, as natural as
walking, which I couldn't avoid.
     "Indeed, just like everything else.  I don't think you would be able
to survive in that body without some of Barbie's skills.  Look at the heels
you're standing in.  Four inches!  And yet you walk as easily as you used
to in loafers."  He was right, I didn't even notice I had them on.  In mute
protest I slipped them off, but when I tried to put my heels on the ground
I felt a tight pain through the back of my heel and I rose sharply back
onto my toes to relieve it.  Richard smiled.  "That was one idea, taping up
your legs whilst you spent just over two months in bed.  Your Achilles
contracted, and I persuaded your physio not to restretch them, and to
retrain you to walk in heels, with, of course, a natural sway.  You do look
delectable from the rear.  I paid a speech therapist well to give you the
sensual inflection you have on every word -- you could pay to remove it,
but I'm sure you'll be better off speaking that way.  Besides, wherever
would you get the money?  You're working as a maid and I'm not sure whether
your employer wishes to keep you on after this revelation about your past
life.  And you aren't qualified to do much else."
     "I'm a damn good accountant.  I could get a job anywhere."  I snarled,
huskily.  Listen to me, I can't even snarl!
     "David was a damn good accountant.  I think you'll find that you have
no qualifications.  You don't even have an identity!  No driving license,
no birth certificate, no nothing.  I wouldn't be surprised if you can't
even remember how to add!  Barbie was useless at it."  He smirked.  But
shit, he was right.  I couldn't pass as myself anymore, unless my surgery
had been written into my medical records, which was about as likely as my
being able to reverse it.  What the hell was I going to do?
     Richard and Joe must have guessed what was going through my mind.  Joe
spoke.  "I have a small suggestion.  You see, I can get hold of id's,
licenses etc.  Perhaps I can help?"
     "Surely these things are very expensive, Joe?"  Richard asked, with a
sly tone in his voice.
     "Oh, yes.  But I'm sure David, or should we say, Barbie, can earn the
money very quickly with her evident skills."
     "You mean, she could continue working for you, Joe?"
     "Of course, I have many openings for women like Barbie.  It was on
your suggestion, Richard, that I employ her in my household, but now I
would like to place her in a much more rewarding line of work.  I shall
move her in with some of my other girls tomorrow morning.  Over time, I
will remove the cost of her id's from her earnings.  It shouldn't take long
before she's back on her feet!"

EPILOGUE

     "Back on her feet!"  Joe had said.  He meant it literally as while I
worked for him I was on my back.  He put me up in a flat with three other
girls.  He took the rent out of what I earned from the clients he sent to
us.  He also charged us all for advertising our services, clothing, and
anything else we needed from him.  Fortunately for me that was just the
id's I needed to get out of there.  For the other girls it was usually
drugs, which Joe kept them addicted to.  One of my Czech flatmates died of
an overdose two months after I moved in.  I never touched the stuff.
     It took me eight months to buy the id's from Joe.  I walked out of
that flat the same day, with nothing but two plastic carrier bags
containing my clothes.  Eight months of dirty, unfulfilling sex, in a
dirty, featureless flat, decorated only by ashtrays and alcohol.  I got a
job as a waitress in a nightclub, and a bedsit which wasn't far enough away
from the flat.  Waitressing didn't make enough money for me to rent the
bedsit, so when the club manager offered me a better paid position at
another club I accepted.  So I became a table dancer.  Sometimes I enjoyed
it. Without it I'd be out on the streets.  I even managed to save enough
money to enroll myself on a course.  Bookkeeping.  So I'd done it all
before, but I needed a qualification to prove it, and anyway, it seemed
like years ago.  Actually, I failed the course.  I don't know why, but it
seems that most of Richard's conditioning went a lot deeper than I knew.
However, I met this incredible guy there.  Well, he was the lecturer.  Six
foot two, dark and dreamy, he looked just like something out of a playgirl
magazine.  Every girl's fantasy, right?  He was so sweet.  When I failed
the course he blamed himself for not allowing me to study when we were
together, and he knew I worked most nights.  So he employed me as his
secretary -- it didn't take me long to relearn how to type, and better than
I'd ever known, it seems.  So I have a job now, good enough to give up the
work in the clubs, and I've moved in with him, so no bedsit anymore.
     He knows some of my past, the recent past, but he doesn't ask me about
it.  He thinks I've just struggled against my background working gradually
upwards, and loves me for it.  He knows I can't have children, but just
thinks I'm naturally sterile.  He knows I see doctors for hormones, but I
let him believe it's related to my sterility -- I suppose it is.  He
doesn't know about Richard and Joe, and they don't know about him, nor me,
I don't think.  I said I'd kill Richard, but I think I've softened.  I
simply don't ever want to see him again.  No, I have a new life now.  A new
life, a new job, a new man, and he's looking at me now like he wants his
good morning kiss.
     "Barbie?"
     "Yes, darling?"
     "Will you, er--?
     "Will I what?!"
     "Will you -"
     "Kiss you?"
     "No!"
     "Love you?  Make your breakfast?"
     "Not those either."
     "What then?"
     "Will you marry me?"
     "--"

(the end)