La Femme Nikita

La Femme Nikita

ADVISORY

The following story is a realistic depiction of a young man transitioning genders to a woman who is having sex with both men and women.

The people, places and events contained in this story are strictly products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to any actual people, places and events are entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The Proposal

I was at my favorite diner getting a milkshake to go, when I felt a tug on my sleeve.

So I looked down -- to see a child, a boy, about the age of primary school, staring up at me with a solemn face.

I said, "Yes?"

The boy asked me, "Are you a boy or a girl?"

"Honey," the child's mother said, in a chastising tone, blushing bright red, either at what her child had said, my reaction to what he said, or possibly both at the same time.

"But, mom--"

The woman dragged her child out of the diner, the child protesting every step of the way. Shaking my head, trying not to laugh, I turned back to the front counter, still waiting for my milkshake.

I mean, I was definitely a boy -- if you went with what was between my legs. I just didn't look like it. Puberty had not been kind to me. I was still only five-two at the age of 19, and I looked androgynous to boot, neither male nor female. I did have dark hair and blue eyes, and, some have said, a nice smile.

Just as I had features that were masculine, I also had features that could have been considered feminine -- slender wrists and ankles, long arms and legs, and long, fine eyelashes.

I had to admit, the boy's question was appropriate. But, with as many times as I have heard it asked, it was starting to wear thin. As someone who was neither male nor female in appearance, I could do absolutely nothing about it. What hurt was, I was regarded as a freak by regular society, which was all about clearly denoted expectations of what a man or a woman should have looked like, and I fit neither of them.

More than once I have thought about what life would have been like as a woman, but I put those thoughts away. I had a lot of other things to worry about than how I looked, like trying to survive. Then a story about the Senator Mark Tyler came on the television that was mounted above the cashier station. Just what I needed. He was the reason why I was just trying to survive.

I'm afraid my opinion of the man must have been written on my face as plain as day, because a man sitting nearby said, "He is a bit full of himself."

I glanced at the man. He was middle-aged, with dark hair that was starting to go gray at the temples, wearing an argyle sweater vest over a shirt and tie with black slacks and gray sneakers, looking quite casual.

"You could say that," I replied, trying not to betray how I felt, without going into details.

Just then the waitress came over with my milkshake. "Thank you," I said.

"Don't go yet," the man said, rising from his stool at the counter. He reached for his wallet, flipped it open and slipped a business card out, handing it to me. "Call this number. Tell them I sent you. My name is on the card. My secretary will take care of the rest."

"And...what is this?"

"Payback," he said, without going into details. "Like I said, give that number a call."

"Okay..."

Fortunately I had my cell phone with me, and it was charged, so, once I left the diner, milkshake in hand, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number, sipping from my milkshake through a straw as I waited while it rang.

A female voice promptly answered. "Hello."

"Uhm, hi," I said. "Your man, Stan Lion, gave me his card and--"

"Hang on a minute while I access his calendar," she said, sounding friendly and not snappy at all. "Let's see when I can make you an appointment."

"Okay," I said, hearing typing and clicking on the other end.

In less than a minute, she had fixed up the date and time of when I could meet this mysterious person. Then I asked where was the building was located, and she gave me an address located downtown. I wouldn't have to ride the bus. I would have to walk but that wasn't an issue.

* * * *

Just a few days later, I was at the office building in question. It literally could have been any organization in the world, judging by the office building, twenty stories of glass and steel. The security desk asked me if they could help me and I told them I had an appointment with Stan Lion.

At the mention of that name, they told me quite promptly that someone would be down to meet me. Just a few minutes later, a pretty young lady, beautifully dressed in a sleek black pantsuit and heels, came right over to me, hand extended.

She said, "You must be Nick!"

"Yes, hi," I said, extending my hand to take hers.

"I'm Lisa, Stan's assistant," she explained as we shook hands. "Let's get you upstairs, shall we?"

"After you," I said.

"Right this way."

I followed the pretty young lady across the lobby and over to the elevators, where she pressed the call button. Once it arrived, we stepped on, and she pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

I said, "Wow, Stan has a secretary and an assistant?"

Lisa laughed. "Well, Stan has a lot going on. He needs us both."

A few more moments later, she stepped off and I followed her down a plush-carpeted hallway to a conference room.

She held open the door for me and said, "Have a seat. Stan will be with you shortly. Help yourself to a snack."

She gestured to a silver tray sitting in the center of the table, which held a selection of snacks, with a silver decanter sitting in the center of the tray along with a few empty glasses.

"Thank you," I said.

With a smile, she withdrew from the room, closing the door behind her.

I sat at the table, on the far side away from the door, and helped myself to a quick snack, because my stomach was rumbling at me. I'd hadn't had much to eat that morning.

Stan came in a few minutes later, looking the same as before, except he was wearing a Navy-blue suit, tailored to the last thread, a white shirt open at the collar. He smiled as he closed the door behind him and took a seat at the conference table in the chair across from me.

"Hi, Nick," he said, in quite a casual tone. "Thanks for meeting with me today. I hope it wasn't too hard to find the building."

"Not at all," I said. "Pretty easy, actually."

"Good," he said, his smile widening temporarily.

Then he was all business.

"Now. I'm sure you are fit to burst with curiosity as to why I invited you down here."

"You could say that," I admitted.

"So let me get to the point. I couldn't help but notice your reaction to the Senator at the diner."

"There's a reason for that," I told him.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"Yeah, seriously--"

"No, really. Tell me about it."

So I gave him a short description of what Mark Tyler had done to me and my family.

Simply put, the Senator was the reason why my family was in dire financial straits. Before he became a senator, he ran a financial investment firm that dealt in real estate -- a firm that specialized in playing dirty tricks to get properties it wanted. And my family paid the price.

We lost everything trying to save our home, but we couldn't stand up to his attorneys, and nobody would take our case, strangely enough.

It all came to a head, so to speak, when I approached the Senator at his offices and almost beat him to a bloody pulp. The Senator had agreed not to press charges -- but I did earn a Restraining Order for my trouble.

The whole thing still left a bad taste in the back of my throat.

We were practically living on the street, making do with what I could earn as a computer network specialist.

"I'm sorry to hear what happened," Stan told me. "That can work in your favor."

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Well, when we have agents go undercover, we screen for traits, like reactions to certain people or to certain topics. And your reaction to the senator was, well, off the charts."

"Who's we? And why would you send in agents undercover?"

"The organization I work for," he said, without going into details, annoying the hell out of me.

"And that would be?"

He smiled wider. "All in due time. But as I was saying, your reaction to the senator can work in your favor."

"Uhm...thank you. I think."

Stan smiled briefly. Then -- just as quickly -- he was back to business.

"Again, as I was saying, let me get to the point. We are planning a takedown of the senator -- a brutal, personal takedown. We want to make sure he never shows his face in civilized society again. Certainly not in politics."

"Sounds good," I told him. "Except I'm sensing there's a but here."

"There is. In order to send you undercover, we plan to transition you to the female gender," he said, in a matter of fact tone.

I spit out my drink into the air, fortunately away from Stan. "What?" I sputtered, wiping my chin with a napkin.

"I said, we're planning on transitioning you to a woman," he repeated, in that same calm, matter of fact tone. "We've pulled your medical records. You would be a perfect candidate for gender reassignment."

"Uh-huh," I said, in a voice full of sardonic doubts. "And so you think that me becoming a woman will help me get in his office?"

"I can almost guarantee it," he said.

"What if it turns out I'm an ugly woman?"

Stan finally cracked a grin. "I assure you, we can make you a very pretty woman."

"Really?"

"Really," Stan said. "You've met Lisa, I assume?"

"Yes," I said. "She's very pretty--wait, you mean she's trans?"

"Yes," Stan said. "We can do the same for you."

"And for what?" I asked. "What am I supposed to give up in exchange?"

"Your life, basically," Stan told me, speaking in that matter of fact tone once again. "We would fake your death, so we could re-introduce you to the world as Nikita, or Nikki if you like."

"And why go through all this trouble?" I asked.

"Nick, come on. I don't have to tell you how the senator would react if you applied at his office looking for a job. More than likely you would get more than just a restraining order for your trouble."

I had to admit, the man had a point.

"Sounds intriguing," I said. "But I want something in exchange."

"If it's within my power," he said, his tone turning non-committal.

"It's very simple. Mark Tyler ruined my life, ruined my family's life. If you're going to fake my death, then make sure my mom gets to live the good life. My family never lifted a finger to help her with Tyler and his company. I want my mother taken care of."

A muscle in Stan's jaw twitched. "Yes, I'm aware. Okay, I agree with your terms. However, we have to have you see our psychologists first."

"Please--"

He raised a hand to stop my protests.

When I quieted down, he said, "Transitioning from one gender to another doesn't happen overnight. In fact, it requires a period of three years. A lot can happen to a person's mental health in that time."

"In other words, you want to make sure I'm not going to crack up?"

"In so many words," he acknowledged. "So, let our psychologists examine you first. If they give the word, then I'll write your mother a big, fat check. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I told him.

* * * *

I was glad to hear the final report from the psychologists a couple of weeks later, who said that, psychologically, at least, I was all there and that I would come through the process of gender reassignment intact.

Which was good, because I'd had to miss a day or two of work, and I would have hated to miss work for this to be all for nothing.

I had never been so thoroughly examined as when I had sat down with several mental health professionals, both male and female, who had asked me all sorts of questions. Apparently I gave all the right answers.

Now Stan and I were having a second meeting, in the same conference room as before.

"All right, Nick," he said as he slid a thick stack of documents across the table to me. "Sign these, and your next stop will be at a private clinic to begin your gender reassignment. But you have to understand that once the process is underway, it can't be stopped. All right?"

"Yes. All right," I said impatiently, eager to get started. "As long as you have that help for my mother you promised."

"I'm glad you mentioned that," he said. "I think this will more than compensate your mother for her loss."

And he slid a second set of documents across the table to me, this stack much lighter, with a check resting on top. I coughed as I saw the amount on the check. I'd never seen so many zeroes. Certainly my mother would not be going on welfare, or worse, be homeless.

"Will that do?"

I coughed again. "Yes," I said. "I think that will do."

"Very good," he said. "Now, let's sign some documents, shall we?"

"Yes," I said, making my decision. "Let's sign some documents."

It took the better part of twenty minutes, but we worked our way through the larger stack of documents, after which Stan looked across the table at me.

"All right, Nick. This is going to be the last you're going to see of me, at least until your transition is completed. I'll make sure your funeral is a good one."

My stomach lurched for some reason.

Then a nurse in plain blue scrubs came in the room, followed by two paramedics. "This is Pam. She's going to be guiding you through the initial steps of the transition process. Your first step is straight to the clinic."

"Wait," I said. "I don't get to say goodbye?"

"We're going to be faking your death," he reminded me. "We have to make it look good."

Shit. But I'd already signed my life away. Now I was committed.

"Make it look good," I told Stan.

"You have my word," he told me.

So I followed the nurse with the paramedics as they led me out of the room.

Chapter Two

I Feel Like A Woman

I could honestly say Stan had not been lying -- the transition process had taken every bit of three years.

If one pressed me, I had to admit that I had been transformed into a very pretty woman -- not drop-dead, supermodel-gorgeous, but just pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way.

My body, at least, thanks to all the hormones, sure looked like a woman's body -- I had narrow shoulders, hourglass hips, and in between, a slim waist, not to mention a nice rack. Plus I had smooth alabaster skin that was silky soft to the touch and long silky raven hair.

It had taken about thirty months -- two and a half years -- of hormone treatments, mostly by IV infusion but also with pills, to turn my body from androgynous to feminine. Watching my body develop was beyond fascinating, almost like a second puberty.

Then, after the hormones, I had the gender reassignment surgery, during which I lost my cock and gained a pretty vagina.

Now, six months later, once the swelling had gone down and all the bandages were removed, I looked sufficiently unlike myself to pass the smell test. Most guys wouldn't go past that point. They would just see the pretty face. Not to mention the rack. And the hot body.

I was counting on that, to be honest. Especially with the senator.

I was currently sitting on an exam table, attired in an exam garment open in the back, my hair flowing down my back, trying not to look down at my bountiful rack as the doctor listened to my breathing from behind.

I also had to admit that I failed miserably -- at not looking at my rack. It really was beautiful. I was going to wiggle out of some traffic tickets with this rack.

The doctor, a woman herself, came around to face me. "Well...Nikita," she said. "Physically, you are fit as a fiddle. Your new vagina has healed to the point where it's acting like a real vagina, all your surgery scars have completely healed, and your heart and lungs sound fine."

"Thanks," I said. "I think."

The doctor smiled. "No, you should be very pleased at your progress so far. We're all very pleased, and a little amazed."

"Thanks," I said again.

"Now that all that has been done, there's someone here to see you."

"Who?" I asked.

"I'll let her explain."

With one last squeeze of my arm, she left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving me to stew in silence.

I didn't stew for long.

Only a minute later, a beautiful brunette came in, dressed in a white silk blouse, razor-creased blue slacks and white pumps. She carefully closed the door behind her, and turned to face me with a smile.

"Hi," she said, still smiling. "Wow, you're very pretty."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm Nikki. But I guess you knew that."

She smiled as she said, "I'm Sara. It's nice to meet you. I'm going to be taking you through your agent training."

"Okay," I said, taking pleasure in my voice. It at least sounded feminine.

She further explained, "Becoming a woman has three stages. The first stage is hormone therapy. The second stage is gender reassignment surgery. Both of those stages you have already been through. But you haven't been through the most important stage -- agent training."

"Okay," I said.

"Now, I want you to get used to thinking of me as a friend. Whatever kind of issues you might be having in becoming a woman, I want to hear about them, okay? Only by hearing about them can I help you figure them out and find solutions."

"Okay," I said. That sounded good.

"I understand from the surgeon who did your gender reassignment surgery that your vagina is acting like a real vagina would."

"Well...yeah, I suppose," I said, suddenly uncertain.

"Can I see it?"

"You mean my pussy?"

Sarah smiled. "Yes, if you are comfortable with letting me see it."

"Well...here goes." So I spread my legs.

Her face lit up. "Wow, you've got pubic hair!"

I looked down. I did have pubic hair -- like I had a real vagina. "Uhm...wow."

"Let's see your tits," she said, at which she burst out laughing.

I asked, "What?"

"Nothing," she said, still chuckling. "Just that I sounded like a guy at a strip club. But let's see those hooters."

Chuckling as well, I pulled the top part of my garment apart until my breasts were out for all the world to see. I had to admit, I had quite a nice rack. I'd given up long ago trying to get a size, but they were round, shapely and perfect, the nipples like two pink erasers.

"My god," she said. "They're beautiful."

"Thank you," I said shyly.

"May I touch them?"

"Uhm...okay. I guess."

"I promise to be gentle," she said, as she slowly reached forward and cupped my breasts in her hands, first gently hefting them in her soft, warm palms, then curling her fingers around them.

Despite myself, a soft moan escaped my lips and I closed my eyes as she ran her hands all over my breasts.

"You're enjoying that," she said, as if in realization.

"Oh god," I said, moaning out loud. "I can't believe this but I think you're making me wet."

Sara's eyes became round as saucers. "That surgeon sure did a hell of a job on you. That and you have taken to your new parts as if you were a woman all along."

I cast my eyes to the floor -- for what reason, I wasn't sure.

"Don't be embarrassed," Sara said softly, making me raise my gaze.

"Really?"

"It's natural to want to be beautiful," she said. "We put far too many expectations on men. Women have it easy, or so you're going to find out."

I didn't have a chance to find out what she meant.

"Your training to be an agent begins tomorrow morning."

* * * *

One year Later:

Sara sat in my room, waiting patiently while I fixed up my face.

The last several months have been a whirlwind.

The very next morning after my conversation with Sara, I was taken to an entirely different building, this one looking like it could have been abandoned, for all I knew.

"What's this place?"

Sara smiled. "Welcome to The Campus. Here is where your agent training will begin."