!--My first ever story about a person testing their identity, who they have chosen to be, and of course sex with someone you picked up at a bar.--!
The process itself had only taken about an hour. It was a large half room sized machine with a conspicuously human shaped cavity in the center adjusted specifically for my height, weight, and so on. Once inside the machine, there was only darkness then I awoke as a new person in a dimly lit recovery room, the anesthetics still making their presence heavily known. There were some simple tests, look at this light, temperature, urine sample and so forth, then three hours after my admission I was allowed to go. There followed a year of awkward physical and mental rehabilitation, or perhaps retraining would be more appropriate, followed by once weekly visits for three months with the physical therapist to ensure I would be able to proceed on my own.
Now, nearly two years after I had stepped into the machine, I finally felt prepared. I examined my naked body in the mirror for a moment longer. Green eyes shone faintly from beneath my well kempt dirty blonde bangs. My face was, perhaps, average but nothing exceptionally so. My hair touched just upon the tops of my collar bones and let way to slightly broad shoulders, full C breasts (of which I was most proud), a narrower waist and finally filling out around the hips into my absolutely perfect legs. Am I biased? Certainly, but I felt that my body was everything a woman should be: neither too skinny or muscular, nor too flabby and undefined. I didn't like everything I saw, but every woman has her secrets, and it serves my purpose to let you think of me at my best and not concern yourself with anything less.
I dressed carefully, knowing my audience and the effect I wanted. I chose black lingerie and my tight fitting black dress. I accented it with a simple diamond stud earrings, silver chain and pendant, a black leather clutch with silver clasp, and my sexy silver high heels that had straps which tied just above my ankles. It was an outfit that, I felt, delivered both class and sex appeal. I gave myself one final look over: touchup the makeup, a slow turn, adjust the hair. I exhaled in satisfaction, grabbed my coat, and left.
The cab was waiting, probably had only just arrived. "Corner of 53rd and Clifton platform two," I said softly as I slid into the back seat. "No hurry and thank you for waiting." The driver smiled, shrugged, and undressed me with his eyes one more time before taking off. Nearly two years later, and those looks still thrilled me. As the taxi began its ascent over my childhood city, I wondered if I would ever get used to it; I hoped not. The short rough towers of Old Town fell quickly beneath me as the taxi rose higher and banked to the East. My nerves started. The taller sleek towers and lights of downtown swung into sight and dominated my vision. The sprawling metropolis seemed to out shine the heavens themselves on a cool fall night such as this, sparkling in its many colors far below. I tried not to let myself get anxious, tried not to think about myself imposed journey. I was excited and terrified all at the same time and it was becoming harder to ignore it.
It wasn't long before the taxi descended to land on a platform just about halfway down one of the 'older' towers just on the edge of what most people considered to be downtown. I was trying not to panic and tell the driver to take me back. I carefully and purposefully got out of the cab, walked to the driver's window, and bending in the way only a woman can I gave him another free view at my cleavage and tipped him nicely. His hungry eyes still thrilled me and gave me the encouragement I needed to turn around and walk into the bar. Glenwood was tucked in the corner of the building and boasted a decent view of downtown proper. It was a bar that pretended to have a western theme; the façade was faux wood made to look like an old saloon and the 'O's of the sign resembled wagon wheels. Beyond that, there was nothing particularly 'western' about the place. The music was all controlled by one jukebox just to the right of the entrance and it varied as widely as the clientele.
I smiled inwardly; it was just the sort of place Jake would like. Well, it was just the sort of place he did like. I quickly made my way to a dark corner booth, attempting to ignore the looks a couple of men threw at me, sat, and lit a cigarette. I was still early. The crowd was relatively thin and allowed me a decent view to the main entrance. I waited perhaps an hour before he finally arrived. Jacob Bower. Six foot one, shaven head, a neat goatee and beard, toned body, and loose fitting t-shirt and 'work' jeans. It had been over three years since last I saw him and I had to gasp. Last we met he was a bit more pudgy, and a little less clean, but those were different times. We'd been roommates in college together, but now we both had changed. I only hoped we hadn't changed too much.
I allowed myself to stare as I recalled that house. It had been me, Jake, Rob, and Jon; four crazy guys sharing a house together. The last time we spoke had been the night we all moved out. It has been a somber night of farewells and rehashed memories. We got drunk, very drunk, and sang songs until we couldn't remember the words or the music. Then, after long quite moments of sobering silence, we toasted each other and slept. The next day, we said stiff goodbyes, knowing that our farewells had truly been made the night before, and we parted ways. It seemed like it had been much longer ago than three years, so much had changed for me. Yet, I had known for some time it would be Jake. It always had to be Jake. Out of the three of them, Jake was the only one who would understand.
"Hi," he said calmly in a low voice. It startled me from my reverie. "I'm Jake."
"Hi," I said sheepishly. I had planned on approaching him, and now I was completely unprepared and felt like the cliché deer in headlights.
"Look I know how this seems," he presented me with a beer than sipped from his own. "But I saw you staring at me as soon as I walked in."
I didn't know what to say, I knew I had been staring but I hadn't noticed his gaze or his approach as I drifted into my own thoughts. I felt the panic start to rise in me again, I wasn't ready and beginning to worry that it was too late to start again.
"I'll just be honest with you. I can either hit-on you and buy you more drinks or we can just talk and relax no pressure. It's up to you. Just remember: you were the one staring at me."
I laughed, and relaxed a little. He clearly didn't recognize me; the machine had thoroughly changed me. "Staring? Me? Never." I sipped from the beer, trusting him from past experience not to have drugged it, though a small doubt remained in the back of my mind. "What's to stare at?"
It was his turn to laugh. "Well let's be honest. I'm not a Chippendale, but I'm certainly good enough looking to catch the attention of a..." he stopped short and looked as though he was searching for words.
"A...? Hot chick?"
"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yes."
