La Dolce Venganza (Patreon)

La Dolce Venganza

by T.G. Cooper

Chapter One: Senator Senorita

Senator Jerry Wilson reached back and unhooked his bra, slipping the straps off his shoulders, letting his breasts sway free. Pulling his hair back over his shoulders, he poured body glitter into his left hand, then rubbed his hands together, spreading it over them, and taking a breath, he grasped his full, firm breasts and rubbed the glitter over them, his body tingling with pleasure so intense it forced him to squeeze his legs together. He had sensitive breasts, and all-over sensitive--sides, their lower curves, nipples--the slightest touch and his body trembled with pleasure. He heard a couple of the girls giggle at him. They all knew he'd been a man once.

Moving up from his breasts, he rubbed the glitter onto his small, round shoulders, his neck. His face already sparkled- plump, kissable lips, big brown eyes ringed with long, curly lashes. Looking at himself he felt an ache and a shame. He couldn't look at that face, his face, without wanting to bang her, that girl, that pretty Latina, and it was like a punch in the gut each time he looked at HER, HIM, the fuckable piece of ass he'd become.

He sighed, a soft, sexy little girl sigh, and ran his long, crimson nails through the thick, wavy black hair he now teased and tossed, his golden hoop earrings sparkling in the gorgeous mass of glossy hair. The music for the previous girl was finishing, so he rose and slipped on his stiletto heels, then rushed from the dressing room to backstage, his breasts bouncing.

"Senator," Hector said, slipping an arm around Jerry's waist. "God damn you are a hot little piece of ass."

"Thanks," Jerry said, fluttering his eyebrows and giggling as he knew he was expected to do now.

Juanita came off the stage, garters stuffed with cash. A couple of young guys ran across the stage grabbing up the money the men had thrown down there. "Let's keep this party going," the DJ said, in Spanish. "It's time now for your favorite gringo, Senorita Senator, the hottest little fuck this side of the Rio Grande, give it up for Mia Tijuana!"

"Go earn some money," Hector said, grabbing Jerry's ass, goosing him, making him yelp and skip as he strutted on stage, and the men all shouted and yelled. Jerry plastered a huge smile on his face and shook his breasts, feeling them swaying from side to side, blowing kisses to the men. They laughed and cheered. They all knew who he was, or who'd he'd been, and what he'd now become. He turned fluidly on his heels, giving them a view of his ass, and then he bent over, glancing back over his shoulder, thrusting back while the man all howled. The music pulsed, getting louder, more intense, and Jerry, smiling, smiling, cupped his breasts and squeezed them, danced right to the end of the stage, leaning forward, presenting them to the drooling men, some of whom shoved money into his garters, his panties.

He hated the feeling of the men pawing at him, grabbing his panties, thrusting money in there, ogling his body. It all seemed like some kind of nightmare, a terrible dream. He'd been a U.S. Senator, one of the most powerful people in the world, and now--how? It didn't seem possible. He was a woman, a stripper, but he had to earn money, to pay someone to smuggle him back to the States. He had to get his body, his life back.

Strutting back to center stage, he wrapped his legs around the brass pole, threw his hair back and started to ride the pole, thrusting his hips against it, tossing his hair, licking his lips. The men went wild, and Jerry cringed, feeling what was left of the man he'd been dying just a little more as another part of him, a part that grew stronger every day he spent in this shape. Part of him reveled in the power, the feeling of being desired by all these men, of driving them mad with the beauty of his soft, curvy body. He was losing his old self, the big swinging dick, the man who took who he wanted when he wanted. He was becoming more and more a helpless little woman who craved the protection and attention of men.

The worst irony of it all was that he'd done it to himself. He never would have ended up like this if he'd just been a good little girl.

Chapter 2: The Past Blast

"Illegal immigrants have overrun this nation," Jerry said. "And the Republican Party is going to do something about it!"

Sean Hannity nodded, his fat, jowly face jiggling. "The liberals hate America! They want to see illegals flood this nation. Criminals and rapists who will attack our daughters!"

"I have introduced a bill that will do what those America hating liberals won't: It will fund and empower I.C.E. to hunt down these animals, drag them from the holes they hide in and send them back to the third world hell holes where they belong!"

"You, sir, are a true American!" Hannity howled, pounding his pudgy fists on his desk, his belly quaking. "Send them Home! Send them Home!"

"And cut to commercial," the director said. "Good stuff, guys."

"Senator," Hannity said, reaching out for a handshake. "Always a pleasure."

"Indeed," Jerry said, patting the cigars in his coat pocket. "Thanks for the Cubans."

"Just make sure I.C.E doesn't come after my gardener, okay? He does good work--and cheap since he's an illegal and knows I could turn him in if he ever asks for a raise!"

The men laughed. "We let these beaners become citizens they'll want to get paid like white men," Jerry said.

"We can't have that!" Hannity laughed.

"No, we cannot! See you at the club."

"God bless America."

Jerry Wilson made his way out of Fox Studios. It was a cool, crisp afternoon in Manhattan. A car waited for him at the curb, and he opened the door and smiled. The girl was there, wearing a red dress, just as he'd asked. She had perfect, coffee colored skin, dark brown eyes, black hair. Big, firm breasts. Exactly what he'd ordered. "My, my, senorita. You are a gorgeous girl."

She giggled. "Gracias," she said, smiling shyly, just the hint of a Spanish accent in her soft little girl voice.

The senator climbed into the car and gave her a hug and a kiss right on her plump, inviting lips. She accepted the kiss, and he put his arm around her, imagining what she would look like naked, feeling himself getting a little hard. "Luxor Hotel," he said to the driver. "Want a drink?" he asked the girl, reaching toward the bar. "Tequila?"

"Whatever you're having." The girl licked her lips, and Jerry felt himself getting harder still. It was going to be rough, waiting to get to the hotel. H He wanted to take her now, right in the car. But the wait was part of the pleasure. He splashed some tequila in a rocks glass, tossed back a finger's worth, then handed the glass to the girl.

She smiled and tossed back the rest, then leaned forward and pulled Jerry in for a kiss, letting the tequila sluice back into his mouth, pushing her tongue in with it, holding the kiss until he swallowed. She climbed onto his lap then and pushed her breasts against his body, and she looked into his eyes, a kind of smirk on that pretty face of hers, like she had a big secret. Jerry slipped his hands around that curvy waist and cupped her ass--soft and firm, just the way he liked, big but not too big, and he buried his face in her cleavage, nuzzling her breasts, thinking, I hope my wife is making something good for dinner.

The driver let them out near a service entrance. Jerry took the girl's hand and helped her out of the car, and she wrapped her arms around his, clinging to him. He always loved to play the gentleman. In the room, he kissed her again, and then he said, "strip." The girl took his tie in her hands and caressed it, then spun away, smiling, her hair floating around her head.

Jerry climbed onto the bed and watched as she started to dance, slipping one strap off her shoulder, then the other. She lifted her hair, giving him a real good look at those big, round breasts rising on her chest, then she reached for the top of her dress and pulled it down. She wore a black lace bra beneath, and Jerry nodded, smiling, loving the way she looked in it, but wanting more. "Show me your tits," he said. The girl reached back and unclasped her bra, slipped out of it, held it out to the side, dangling from her fingertips, revealing those perfect swellings to him, swaying, their big brown nipples moving hypnotically. Jerry could feel himself getting hard, and he gruffly murmured, "play with yourself."

The girl gave him a you're so bad look, cupped her breasts and started to squeeze and fondle them, and Jerry could feel the blood rising. He loved being in control, issuing commands, having this girl do whatever he told her to do. Now, she slipped the rest of the way out of her dress, letting him see the tiny black panties, her long, firm legs. "Get over here," Jerry said, feeling it all rising, the desire building, building, the tension.

The girl danced over to him, tossing that thick, glossy black hair, and when she reached the bed, she slipped her fingers into her panties and pulled out a small vial filled with a pale, pink liquid. She uncorked it and took a sip, then held it out to Jerry, who eyed the vial shaking his head 'no' but without too much conviction. "What is it?"

The girl climbed up Jerry's body, planting those perfect breasts against his chest, looking down at him, her hair in her sparkling eyes. "You'll have an orgasm," she said, kissing him, "like you've never had before." She kept kissing him, talking between kisses. "You will be consumed." She held the bottle to Jerry's lips.

Every instinct in Jerry told him to say no, to refuse the vial, but staring into those eyes, feeling her body pressed against his, and most of all hearing the passion in that pretty voice of hers, a deep hunger, some kind of primal sexual need and the promise not just in her words but in her tone. "I don't--"

She grabbed his throbbing dick and squeezed, hard. "Drink," she whispered.

"I'm thinking I'll regret it if I do," Jerry said, mustering his will.

"Oh, you will regret it," the girl said. "I promise."

You will regret it. The phrase sent a thrill through Jerry's whole body, drove the intensity of his desire to a level he hadn't felt since he'd been a teenager, and so when she pressed the bottle to his lips and tilted it, he parted them, felt the sweet, cool liquid pour into his mouth, and then he swallowed.

The girl smiled, giggled, started to unbutton Jerry's shirt, pulling it open, clawing at the thick hair in his chest. Jerry rolled her over onto her back, grabbing at her panties, yanking them down while she worked at his belt, and then they both shoved his pants down. Whatever she'd given him was working; Jerry's skin tingled, and his hard on raged. He wanted to hold it back, keep it going for a little longer. He looked down at her magnificent breasts, the nipples hard little erasers now, pointing up at him, jiggling. He covered them with his palms and--

--The room spun, and, somehow, he was lying down, staring up at his own face grinning down.

He gasped as he felt his hands on his breasts, the nipples so sensitive, tingling with a pleasure he'd never felt, and the soft flesh underneath, yielding, the fingers on the sides of his soft breasts, and he felt himself hot and wet down there, terrified by what he felt but consumed with the terrible new pleasures. He heard a man say, "just go with it" and a woman moaned in pleasure as he felt a mouth, hot and wet, on his nipple, and then the mouth sucked and Jerry's eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned... "mmmmmmmmm" and felt his boner press against the soft flesh of his inner thigh and it sent a bolt of lightning up his leg and right into the center of him, and he felt something opening in him, some space that needed to be filled, had to be filled...

"What's happening?" he said, unnerved, reeling, his voice high and strange and accented, suddenly wanting to pull away from this new need, new hunger.

"Shhhh," the man leaning over him - the girl? - said, slipping a thumb between Jerry's soft lips, and he instinctively began sucking on the thumb, licking it, nibbling at it with his teeth, a sweet pleasure filling him. He relaxed back into the sheets, spreading his legs, feeling her hard and throbbing, pressing into his leg.

"Mmmmmmmm," Jerry moaned again, his mouth full, his whole body burning with pleasure and need, and he reached down trying to find her member, wanting to touch it, squeeze it, push it inside him.

No, he thought, or some part of him at least, a part that seemed to have been pushed far back into his near subconscious. This was all wrong. What the hell did she do to me? But that part was weak now, feeble, and he couldn't resist the lure of these new pleasures, the demands of his body, so he kept sucking, and when his small, soft hand finally found... her...? dick, it sent a thrill through him that made him arch his back, buck his hips and moan louder, more desperately.

The girl pushed his hand away from his penis. Jerry angrily grabbed it again, then fought as she pushed his hand away again. "Not yet," she whispered, and then shoved her hand between his legs, slipping her fingers into him in a way that was not possible, and he screamed around her thumb, then sucked harder as she found his clit. Jerry's mind went wild even as his identity shattered, and he dug his long fingernails into her back and desperately pressed his body against hers, wrapping his long, soft legs around her torso, wanting, needing, desperate for her to.... "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"

She pulled her thumb out of Jerry's mouth, a strand of saliva dribbling across his chin, and then grabbed his hips with both hands, positioning herself. Jerry kept his legs wrapped around her, his nails buried in her back, the excitement building, the need, and when he felt her slip her dick between the hot, wet lips of his vagina he screamed as the pleasure tore through him, and then she started to rock, and he met her rhythm, their bodies sliding together. Jerry felt tears in his eyes as the pleasure consumed him, and the shaft thrust into her, and Jerry heard herself crying out, "Omigod... omigod... omigod.... omiGO-O-ODDD" as he suddenly felt a ball of fire explode in his belly. The orgasm spread, rolling out to every limb, and his fingers tingled, and curled his toes, and then she came, too, exploding in him, and he felt her jizz hot and wet as it filled him. He threw his head back as another ball of fire detonated inside him, his second female orgasm, and when the man finally pulled out of Jerry and lay her back down, she stared at the ceiling through strands of black hair that lay across her eyes, panting, stunned, her whole body just one sweat-slick tingling mass of pleasure.

It had all happened so fast. Yet, it couldn't have happened. She must have given me some hallucinogenic drug. LSD. And yet he could feel the weight of his breasts on his chest, rising and falling, his nipples still hard little points of pleasure, and feel his long hair like a pillow beneath his head, tickling his bare shoulders. He looked over at her--himself--he looked different from her eyes, but the same. She climbed out of the bed, and now sat on a hotel chair by the desk, staring at him with hard, possessive eyes, like he was her pet. The look scared Jerry, woke him up to the situation. He pulled the sheet over his breasts, a gesture that brought a smile to the girl's face--in his body--and then Jerry pushed himself up, his hair falling over his face and mouth. He struggled to push it away with one hand while using the other to keep the sheet pulled over his breasts. Some of the hair got in his mouth, and he made a little high-pitched sound of frustration. He heard the girl laugh, a gruff, harsh, amused laugh.

"It's a lot of work being a woman," she said in his hoarse, whiskey voice.

Jerry finally cleared the hair from his face, from his mouth. The comment sent a jolt of fear through him. It sounded like she meant to leave him this way. "What happened? What did you do?"

"I fucked you silly," the girl said. "You're a little screamer."

"I know-- I mean..." Jerry felt himself getting emotional, felt tears rising. With an effort, he stopped and focused. He needed to take control of the situation. "Give me my body back."

"Okay," the girl said.

"Just like that?"

Jerry found himself suddenly sitting in the chair, back in his own body, looking at the girl, whose face went from scared to amused. "You're in big trouble," Jerry barked, finding his shirt and starting to button it up. "Big trouble."

The girl giggled, then let the sheet drop from her breasts and stretched, reaching her arms up high over her head.

Jerry sat back, confused, looking down at his flat chest, then back at her. He felt breasts, felt them rise as she lifted her arms, and when she wiggled her shoulders, he felt them jiggling. Jerry reached to his chest, wanting to stop the jiggling, but felt only flat, bony ribs. "What the hell?"

The door buzzed and opened, two men in dark suits and sunglasses walking in, closing the door behind them. "Senator," one of them said.

The other went right to the bed. "Chica," he said, and leaned down and kissed her, cupping her cheek.

Jerry felt the man's lips on his, felt the hand on his cheek, felt the man's tongue slide into his mouth. He recoiled, bumped into the chair and fell backwards, even as the kiss lingered and he pushed against air, trying to get the man off him. The others all laughed, and when the kiss finally ended Jerry felt---- violated, invaded, and he rubbed his arm over his lips, his anger growing.

The first man who entered stood above Jerry, laughing down at him. He took his sunglasses off and slipped them into his coat pocket. He reached down and offered Jerry a hand, but Jerry batted it away and got to his feet, arching his back and yelping as he felt someone pinch and twist his nipple. Once more the room filled with laughter.

"Do you have any idea who you're fucking with?" Jerry screamed, his voice sounding shrill. "Ahhhhh!" he shouted as once more the other man pinched and twisted his nipple, this time even harder. Looking over at the bed, he saw the second man doing exactly that to the girl, who smiled at Jerry, her eyes filled with glee.

"Sit down, chica," the man said to Jerry, righting the chair he'd knocked over. "And shut up, unless you want another titty twist."

Jerry headed toward the door. He wouldn't let anyone boss him around, certainly not these beaners. But then he gasped, his knees together, as he felt fingers slip between the lips of the vagina he didn't have and find his clit. Shock and pleasure and pain and impossibility made him collapse, grasping at his groin, trying to grab the hands that weren't there, to stop them from playing with the vagina he didn't possess.

The room filled with more laughter, but the fingers kept working. Jerry's will broke, and he cried out, "Stop! Please!" The fingers pinched his clit, hard, and he fell onto his side. Relief washed over him as he felt the fingers finally slide out of him.

"You ready to sit down and shut up?" the man asked. "Chica? Or, sorry, that should be Senator Chica."

"More like senorita," the man on the bed said in a thick, Spanish accent, and once more they all laughed.

Jerry got to his feet, consumed with rage and humiliation. He would find some way to win in the end. He always did. But in the meantime, they had him, and he would just have to make them think he was playing along. He sat in the chair.

"My name's Jesus," the first man said, the one standing next to the chair, pronouncing it the Spanish way, 'hey-sus'. "My friend there is Jose. And that young lady, whose name you never even bothered to ask, is Mia."

Jerry nodded. His head spun, his thoughts jumbled. The incoherence of the situation, what had just happened... the world was spinning, nothing made any sense. He felt a hand cup his breast, a thumb brushing across his nipple. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Jose, appalled the man would do this would have the audacity. Jose just smiled and kept running his thumb over the nipple. "Could you stop that?" Jerry barked.

"No."

Jesus chuckled. "You don't give orders, you don't make requests. Just sit there and listen. You can do that, right?"

Jerry nodded, keeping his arms crossed over his chest, pressing his knees together without even realizing it.

"You're gonna withdraw that bill," Jesus said. "The one about kicking all the immigrants out. Once you do that, we break the spell, and no one plays with your tits anymore."

"I can't," Jerry said, automatically going into his politician's bullshit mode. "Once a bill has been..."

Jesus pinched the nipple, really hard, twisted it, and Jerry shouted in pain.

"We aren't idiots!" Jesus said, the smile vanishing from his face. "I know the laws. I told you to withdraw the bill. This is the part where you smile pretty and say, yes."

Jerry had doubled over. "Tell him to stop," he said, but the man instead pinched harder, eliciting a yelp. "Stop!"

"This is the part where you smile pretty and say yes!" Jesus repeated, grabbing Jerry's hair and yanking his head back.

"Yes!" Jerry said, just wanting the pain to stop, wanting to get away from these maniacs. "Yes!"

"Smile pretty when you say it!" Jesus shouted.

Jerry forced a smile. "Yes," he managed.

The pain stopped. Jesus shoved Jerry so hard he fell to the ground.

"Get dressed and get the hell out of here."

Jerry got weakly to his feet, found his pants and stepped into them.

"One more thing," Jesus said. "One more little incentive to make sure you do the right thing."

Jerry pulled his belt on and buckled it. He looked at Jesus expectantly, then suddenly found himself on the bed, looking at himself and Jesus, Jose's arm around his shoulder... and then he was himself again, wobbling unsteadily.

Jesus smiled. "We can swap you any time we want, Senorita. If you try and go to the police or whatever law enforcement you can imagine, if you do not withdraw this bill, you will be spending the rest of your life as her."

Jerry glanced at the girl, that pretty face, that gorgeous body, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought that he could be her, that, reduced to a --- woman. "I got it," Jerry said.

"Good," Jesus said. "It's been a pleasure."

Jerry put his shoes on, finished buttoning up his shirt.

"You were a great fuck," Mia called from the bed. "Be good, now, okay honey?"

Jerry bit his tongue and headed for the door, sick with shame.

He left the hotel room. He still felt as if he had her body. Could feel breasts, a big butt swaying and jiggling, could feel the weight of all that thick hair. His mind raced. He didn't know what to do, what he could do. None of it seemed real or even possible. How could he fight it? Stop it? Should he just withdraw the bill as they asked? But then they would own him forever. He couldn't have that. Couldn't have those god damn taco heads pushing him around, making him a- a bitch. A slut? No. They would have to pay. Somehow, they would have to pay.

That's what he told himself, and he even wanted to believe it, but feeling those big, firm breasts swaying on his chest? They told a very different story. He thought about the feeling of her thrusting into him, the ecstasy now mixing with shame and horror. He'd been fucked. She had fucked him just like he was some common street whore. A bitch. He got into the back of the car and croaked, "home." Then, he rolled up the tinted window between him and the driver. He felt dirty, and he didn't want anyone looking at him, talking to him. Each time the car hit a pothole or a bump, Jerry felt his breasts bobble, which seemed especially unfair: he could feel what happened to the girl, Maria, and they reacted to stuff his body had done to it, but he couldn't feel them with his own hands. He reached up again, still not quite believing, and as before felt only his own bony chest. Head swimming with confusion, memories terrible and sublime, Jerry started to tremble, crossing his arms under his imaginary breasts, trying to get them to stop bouncing and jiggling. Memories of what had just happened attacked like fragments of a fever dream, and he kept going back to the feeling of her penetrating him, riding him, the orgasms that tore through his body, and he closed his eyes and tried to push them away, tried to make them stop.

His wife greeted him like he was still her husband, still a normal man, and quailed when they hugged, and he felt his huge breasts press softly against hers.

"You okay?" She asked, feeling the tension in him, seeing something in his eyes she'd never seen there before, some kind of-- she didn't know what.

"Fine," Jerry said, stepping away, needing to get away from the alien feeling of his breasts against his wife's body. "Just tired." He brushed at the hair he felt tickling his cheek. "Long day."

"Do you want to lie down for a sec?" His wife, Carol, asked. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Yeah. No. I'll be in my office." He turned away. He and his wife had a brownstone in Georgetown, all pre-twentieth century wooden fixtures and banisters, thick carpets, tasteful paintings. In the hallway leading to his office, family pictures: his kids, Bethany and James Jr. They were both grown now, but the pictures showed their evolution from babies to braces to college graduations. At the end of the hall, pictures of Carol's parents, then his. He stopped short of the portrait of his father, also James, wearing his Marine uniform, square jaw, bristling flat top haircut. He was a Marine, and I'm a U.S. Senator, he thought proudly, reassuring himself. And then the senator remembered being on his back, spreading his legs, screaming in pleasure as a man thrust into him, and he felt sick, consumed with a shame deeper than any he'd ever felt, knowing what his father would think, would say; and the Senator turned and ran to the bathroom, dropping to his knees and vomiting into the toilet, his puke smelling of tequila. He saw that girl's face, her lips--what had her name been? He couldn't remember.

Getting to his feet, he felt his breasts sway, and one hand across his chest, he stumbled to his office, glancing down the hall, hoping his wife hadn't heard anything. Closing the door to his office, he splashed some Maker's Mark into a rocks glass and slammed it. He sank into his desk chair, sighing. Everything looked different somehow. The polished mahogany wood, the green blotter, the Apple MacBook. On the wall, a painting of Custer's Last Stand, the general surrounded, pistols in hand, smoke rising as he faced the end. James looked at the phone on his desk. An old-fashioned landline. Secure. Safer than a cell phone. All he needed to do was call the Senate Majority Leader, Dan Howarth. They were buddies. Ask him to table the bill. Say he wanted to tweak some language. He wouldn't like it, and they might get raked over the coals by Fox, but Jerry could work it all out. Buy some time. Find a way to eliminate the taco heads, then pass the bill anyway next term. It might be better. Time it closer to the election, help Trump get a second term.

"Dinner in five," his wife called.

Let's get this over with, Jerry thought. He was nothing if not a survivor.

"Senorita," he heard a woman's voice say, her voice, and at the sound of it he tensed, felt afraid, angry, humiliated. "What are you doing?" He looked over and saw his Alexa, the home media interface from Amazon, blinking, and he realized the voice was coming from the device.

He sat, silent, not moving. How? he wondered. His house was secure. His systems. He was a United States Senator!

"I know you're there, chica," she said. "Don't be shy now, honey."

"What is it?" Jerry hissed.

"You haven't withdrawn the bill. I need you to get on that right away, sweetie pie."

"It takes time. I need...." he felt fingers down there, gently running over his vulva. "Oh! Ow. Come on!"

"Right away, honey."

"I'm doing my best," Jerry said, struggling to control the trembling in his voice.

"I don't believe you," the girl sang. "You better make sure that bill never comes to a vote, or you know what's going to happen."

"I got it, I-- ahhh. Oh! I heard you!"

"And ya feel me now, right?" the woman said. "We have eyes on you, chica. We know your every move. Your house isn't secure. Just do what you're told, and this all goes away."

The fingers moved away, Jerry sighed, his rage building. He looked at the phone again, and then at the painting of General Custer. Somehow, they'd infiltrated his home systems. He thought about the women who came to clean his house. Who watched them when they were here? They could easily have tampered with his stuff, given someone access. He felt trapped. He couldn't do anything, not here, not now. "I'll call. Right now."

"Good girl. Bye now!"

"Dinner's ready!" his wife called.

"On my way," Jerry called, his body still tingling from the stimulation. His nipples felt hard, his crotch a little wet. He picked up his phone and punched the speed dial for the Senate Majority leader. It went straight to voice mail. "Dan," he said, adopting his jovial colleague voice. "Dan the man! Look, I really need to talk to you about this immigration bill. ASAP. I want to hold the vote. Make some tweaks. Call me as soon as you can, okay buddy? And give my best to your wife." He hung up. "Okay?" He said to the room.

"For now," the woman said. "And here's your reward." He felt a hand on his breast, a hand pinch his nipple, and then Jesus's hot breath, right in his ear. "You dirty girl."

"God! Stop!" Jerry shrieked, shocked and appalled. He couldn't believe they were treating him like a woman, let alone making him feel all the things a woman felt. "Get your hands off me."

Alexa went dark. The groping hand removed itself from his breast. Jerry got up, tucked in his shirt, picked up his rocks glass, swirling the rest of the dark brown liquor. He looked at the painting of General Custer. Hurray, boys, he thought, throwing back another shot of whiskey, remembering Custer's reported last words. Let's head back to camp.

Dinner. Strained conversation punctuated with awkward silences. Jerry's wife could tell there was something wrong, something different. It unnerved her, and she couldn't stop her own mind from racing, running through one terrible scenario after another: Jerry was getting indicted, he had cancer, he was getting thrown out of the party. He was leaving her, finally, for one of the younger women he didn't think she knew about. She tried her best to get him to say something, anything that would give her a hint, but he'd raised his walls and pulled on his armor, sitting there inscrutable, talking about nothing, deflecting every question with some trivial story.

He watched the news. She went to bed early. He drank and then drank some more, listening for the phone, passing out on the couch. He slept, the deep, dark sleep of the drunk, waking up at some point, feeling himself peeing, the warm urine slipping out of him, and he rolled off the couch, shocked and ashamed, but when he touched his pants they were dry, and then he felt someone wipe him with toilet paper, and he shook his head, falling back to sleep, struggling not to cry.

When he woke again, the clock read 3:12, and on the screen some bearded clown was selling a miracle cleaner based on lemon juice. Jerry stood, wobbling, momentarily thrown off by the weight of breasts swaying on his chest, the feeling of a big, round butt, but then he remembered, remembered it all. He made his way upstairs, climbed into bed next to his wife. Drifting off to sleep. He woke to find her climbing on top of him, her hands on his shoulders.

"What?" he murmured.

"I need you," his wife said. "Now." She kissed him.

Jerry wasn't in the mood, didn't feel it at all, but his body had its own ideas, and so he lay back, staring up at his wife, feeling himself getting hard, but also hot and wet. His nipples tightened and started to throb, and as his wife moved on him, he felt his breasts bounce. "Oh," he said. "Wow. Okay."

His wife kissed him, her breasts pressing into his, sending a bolt of heat that curled his toes. His nipples were so sensitive. She grabbed his member and started to work it with her hand, getting him hard, and so wet. The mix of impossible feelings overwhelmed him, and he couldn't think, couldn't act, he just found himself surrendering to her, letting her do what she wanted to him, and when she lowered herself on him and started riding, his brain exploded, shattered, and he couldn't stop himself from screaming out in ecstasy as she made him cum as a woman and a man at the same time. Carol kissed him, rolled off. He heard her snoring, while he clutched a pillow to his chest and stared at the ceiling, confused and overwrought and .... God. It had felt so good.

Chapter Three: Stripper's Life

It had felt so good. So terrible, and yet so good. Jerry thought about it all, remembering it as his song ended, and he strutted off stage, his heels clicking as the men howled, their eyes drinking in Jerry's ass and legs. "Hot ass bitch," Hector said, kissing Jerry on the cheek, giving him a quick hug.

"Gracias!" Jerry chirped, making his way back to the dressing room, where the other girls milled about, either getting ready or cleaning up. Some of them were toneless, or bottomless. Jerry checked them out, but only to compare their bodies to his, pleased to see he was still one of the hottest girls in the whole club.

Jerry went to his locker and got his duffel bag, a towel, heading to the shower to wash off the body glitter. He put his hair up, careful not to get it wet, as it would take forever to dry. Then, he stepped into the hot water, luxuriating, rubbing his body wash over his soft skin with a puff ball, lifting his breasts and washing under them. Stepping out of the steaming shower, he wrapped a towel around his body and went back out to the dressing room and his locker.

"You going to go out and get some dick tonight?" Maria asked from her dressing table, where she was putting on her mascara. Jerry could feel the other girls smirking. They knew who he'd been and loved that he was now a horny little slut. Jerry didn't know if it was some kind of voodoo hoodoo that had made him this way, or if the body they'd trapped him in had always been so horny, but he not only wanted men now, he needed them. If he went too long without a good fuck, he'd found he got emotional, couldn't think straight; he went crazy, and then he would go on a fuck binge that would leave him raw for days. He loved dick, and he needed dick now. He'd long since stopped denying it.

"I'm always up for some dick," Jerry said, pulling up his panties. The girls giggled. He got dressed, sat down and checked his make-up. He'd made sure to keep the shower off his face, and the damage from the dancing wasn't too bad. His face still sparkled with glitter, and he fixed his lipstick, touching up his blush and eyebrows. He saw Maria watching him, an amused look on her face. The other girls loved seeing him primping and making himself pretty. He stepped into his stiletto heels and grabbed his purse, hooking it over his elbow.

"Where you going?" Juan, one of the bouncers, asked.

"The International Club," Jerry said. The fact that he'd come to admit and even accept his needs, didn't mean he liked it, but he'd decided to make the best of it. He was saving money, and the more meals he could get horny guys to buy for him, the closer he got to having enough money to pay a 'coyote' to smuggle him back into America!

"I'll walk you over," Juan said, putting a hand protectively on the small of Jerry's back and steering him toward the door.

"Gracias," Jerry said, smiling, enjoying the feeling of being small and pretty and protected. Being a woman wasn't all bad. The men at the club where he danced, Latinas Magnifico, were all very protective of him and the other girls.

The door opened and a wall of steamy, summer air hit Jerry. He walked out into the sultry night, the streets of Mexico City teeming with people. Jerry idly checked out the other women, feeling pretty, sexy, superior. "What are you going to IC for?" Juan said.

"Find some cute guy to buy me dinner," Jerry said.

"And then back to his room for dessert?" Juan said.

Jerry bit his lip. "If I'm lucky."

"With a face like that, you don't need luck, conejita."

"Oh," Jerry said, giving Juan's arm a squeeze. "You're sweet."

There was a strict no fraternizing policy at Latinas Magnifico, so Jerry felt very safe with the men, not just from them wanting sex from him - every straight man wanted sex from a girl with a body like his - but from emotional entanglements, which were actually a lot more gross and harder to deal with. Guys could become obsessed pretty easily with a girl as pretty as Jerry, and he'd already had some awkward experiences with men who thought they'd fallen in love with him and couldn't live without him.

They got to the club, and Juan gave Jerry a hug and watched him through the door safely. Jerry made his way to the bar, checking out the room even as he pretended not to be looking. He saw three pretty promising prospects, and slipped sexily onto a bar stool, smiling brightly at the bartender, Consuela. "Hey, girl," he said, setting his purse on the bar. "I'm thinking six minutes," he said.

"Your bag is so cute," Consuela said. "And you lose because there's a guy heading this way right now."

Jerry smiled, flushing with feminine pride. "That was fast. Does he look like money?"

"Oh yeah," Consuela said, wiping at the bar idly. "And tall."

"Chivas Regal, Royal Salute," the man said, sliding onto the bar stool next to Jerry. "And the same for this lovely little lady."

Jerry smiled, tossing his hair, checking the guy out. A 10,000 Tag Heuer watch. Tailored silk jacket. The shoes cost at least 5000. No wedding ring, which meant nothing, but he did have a diamond ring glittering on his other hand. Real diamond. A girl could tell. Jerry's heart fluttered even before he met the man's pale green eyes, saw his square jaw. He clearly had money, and seemed like the kind of guy who liked a little challenge. Jerry didn't have to fake the inviting smile that spread across his wet, red painted lips, but he slit his eyes and said, "What makes you think I want Chivas?"

The man smiled, a shark's smile, all predator. "I don't think. I know."

"Oh?" Jerry said, raising a slender eyebrow. He leaned forward, giving the guy a better look at his breasts. "And how could you know that?"

"You're a classy girl, used to the finest things. You want the best, and you're used to getting what you want. I'm the same way," he said, and when he looked down at Jerry's breasts he didn't try and hide it, but openly looked him over, then met his eyes. "Exquisite," he said. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

Jerry crossed his legs and smiled, glowing with the force of the compliment, the look of hunger in the man's eyes, the smell of his musky cologne, but at the same time disgusted at what he'd become, a woman in heat. Consuelo had poured the drinks. The man lifted his glass, staring into Jerry's eyes. Jerry lifted his glass, a tennis bracelet sparkling on his slender wrist. "Tell me your name," the man said.

"Mia," Jerry said, his voice hoarse, feeling thirsty and hot.

"Mia," the man said, clinking his glass against Jerry's. "To the finer things." He let his eyes roam over Jerry's body again as he said, "finer things."

"The finer things," Jerry said, feeling his body blush all over. He took a sip of the Chivas. It was good, pouring down his throat like molten steel, pooling in his belly. This man seemed like the kind of man who had good boundaries, who might become a "friend" Jerry could count on for presents and sex, so he decided to ask the man's name. It wasn't usually the case. Most of them were just pogo sticks for Jerry to ride, but certain ones could become long-term benefactors. "You didn't tell me your name," Jerry said, tugging on an earring.

"Call me Bennet," the man said, putting a hand on Jerry's knee. Jerry covered Bennet's hand with his own. Jerry glanced at Consuela, who'd moved down to the other end of the bar. Consuelo smirked and gave him a thumbs up.

Drinks led to dinner. Jerry got the lobster. Bennet got a steak. They went back to his room. Had another drink. Jerry needed to be a little drunk to really give it up, to be the woman his boyfriends expected him to be. They kissed, and then Bennet picked him up and carried him to the bed. They squirmed out of their clothes, and Jerry lay back, spreading his legs. As Bennet started to ride him, thrusting in and out, Jerry heard himself calling, "harder. Harder! Fuck me harder" in his high-pitched, squeaky voice.

Bennet's thrusting grew more urgent, their hips slamming together, but he took his time, making it good for Jerry, bringing him to a screaming orgasm before finishing himself off. Jerry appreciated it. Most men weren't so considerate. After they finished, Jerry climbed out of bed, slipping into his panties, his bra. Bennet had fallen asleep and snored loudly, suddenly seeming like just another guy, just another male, nothing special.

Jerry squirmed into his dress, slipped his heels on, and grabbed his purse, pausing to tease his hair and fix his lipstick before heading out into the early morning, the air now cooler, crisp, the streetlights still on. Jerry sighed as he made his way back to his little studio apartment. His whole body felt relaxed, and he had a pleasant, buzzy feeling in his head. He yawned, ready to sleep. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the man that he'd been sat curled into a ball, weeping, but for now Jerry was a woman, and she'd been fucked well and good, and she was pleased she's attracted such a man.

Once he got home, he took off his bra, sighing with relief as the pressure came off his shoulders, his breasts bobbling free. He had deep welts on his narrow shoulders from the bra straps cutting into his flesh, but with boobs as big as his puppies, that was just part of the cost of doing business. He had developed conflicted feelings toward his breasts. He was a man, so of course hated even having them, hated they were so big, how they constantly bumped into things, how he was always finding things in his cleavage. That men stared at them constantly. But he'd also come to love the fact that men stared at them constantly. His breasts got him attention, tips, free meals. Women envied and respected him.

Jerry cleaned off his make-up and slipped into sweatpants and an over-sized Dallas Cowboys nightshirt, pink and white, and then he crawled into bed, tired, but satisfied. This was his life now. He'd made some money, gotten a free meal, moved one step closer to his goal. It was just another day in the life of a dancing girl in Mexico City.

In the morning, Jerry put on three sports bras, nestling his breasts in tight layers of spandex. It still wouldn't stop them from bouncing when he ran, but it at least gave him enough support to make running possible. For a busty girl like him, that was a win. He pulled on a pair of yoga pants, and then his pink and white Nikes, did some stretching and started his run. It felt like he had two huge water balloons glued to his chest, and his boobs bounced up and down with each step, and as he hit the streets, ponytail bobbing, he felt the eyes of the men checking him out. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. A taxi driver spun his head around, desperate to keep looking and almost ran into a guy on a bike, who had also taken his eyes off the road to stare at Jerry's magnificent breasts bouncing up and down. Even as the biker swerved, hit the curb and fell, he stared, and as Jerry passed, his eyes went to the small of Jerry's back, the flaring of his hip and his plump, inviting ass. "Mama Mia!" he said. "Botin caliente."

Jerry kept running, repressing a smile. He heard wolf whistles, comments, but soon he got lost in the runner's high, making his way to a nearby park, running around it, and then back to his apartment, where he then spent thirty minutes doing ab work and lifting some tiny little dumb bells, just to tone his arms. He needed tiny little arms and pretty little, round shoulders - the men loved it when a girl looked vulnerable. Jesus had given Jerry a hot little body, but there was no magic keeping him pretty, and he had found he needed to work very hard to stay slender. His body loved to put on fat, and not just on his boobs and butt, so when he finished the workout and looked at his flat, toned tummy and slender waist, Jerry felt a swelling of pride in all the hard work he did to stay so pretty, even as he wished he could fuck this hot body in the mirror, and not be her.

The morning prep continued. Armpits, shaving cream, razor. Wipe, check, smile at the clean, peachy armpits. Jerry sat down on the toilet next and ran his Finishing Touch electric razor up and down his legs, then ran his fingertips along the soft, smooth skin, checking to make sure he hadn't missed any spots. His hair was black, so even a little showed, and a girl couldn't have that. He showered, slipped on a fresh pair of lime green lace panties, searched for the matching bra, but finally gave up and just hooked himself into a green bra that kinda sort of matched. It was a good one that fit well, and he loved the pretty little bows on the shoulder straps; they made him feel sexy. Today, but not every day anymore, he wondered what his wife would think if she could see him fitting his cups over his breasts, slipping a thumb under his bra strap and adjusting it on his shoulder. Would she laugh? Pity him?

Finally, he sat down to do his make-up, one of the biggest challenges he faced every day. It wasn't doing the make-up itself that challenged him anymore. He'd spent hours studying and learning, and he was always on fashion websites keeping up with the latest trends and colors. He could do his face as well as any woman, better than many he saw on the street. But it pained him and disturbed him still to look at THAT Face. He sat down and looked at her in the mirror, each morning still surprised to see this stunningly beautiful woman looking back at him, her big, brown eyes always with the same look of disbelief and confusion. She, he, had perfect, cinnamon colored skin, wide brown eyes ringed with curly black lashes. A cute little nose and plump, kissable lips. A heart-shaped, feminine face framed by thick, wavy black hair. Stunning. She was stunning, and she was him, and it still didn't seem possible, didn't seem real, and yet here she was, staring back at him, the gorgeous little Latina. It still seemed surreal, and yet it had become harder and harder to remember his real face, the one that truly belonged to him, to the man within. He sighed, breasts rising and falling, and squirted some coconut lotion into his little hands, then applied it to his face, enjoying the cool feeling against his soft skin, and finally picked up his eyeliner and went to work, losing himself in his feminine morning ritual, making his pretty face prettier, being the woman he'd been made into.

His face perfect, Jerry plucked a few stray hairs from his slender eyebrows, then got dressed for his day job: a pair of tight little Daisy Dukes and a crop top that read Bongos across his breasts. One thing about Latinas, they worked! And Jerry had taken some afternoon shifts at Bongos to make extra money in addition to his dancing. While dancing made him feel like a goddess, up there on the stage being admired and fawned over by the sweaty men, being a waitress was a whole different experience, and the next few hours were full of men grabbing his ass, slapping him on his ass, ogling his breasts and making crude come ons.

Jerry smiled and giggled through it all, being the pretty little scatter-brained female they wanted him to be, shaking his breasts, bending over, knees straight, ass out while he served food and drinks, shoving their tips into his cleavage, putting on a show. The customers loved him, as did his manager, Pedro, just a little too much. Leaving work every afternoon was an adventure in wrestling as Pedro always wanted a hug, a kiss, and tried for more, usually giving him a slap on the ass when he finally untangled himself and bolted for the door. "Stop!" Jerry squeaked.

Pedro just laughed. "You know you love it!"

Jerry smiled and winked, needing the job and knowing how fragile most men's egos were, how easily they could become offended and turn on a beautiful girl like him. Anyway, it was just an everyday occurrence for him now, so he'd gotten used to it and tried to just use it as motivation to keep working, saving. He had to get back to America and get his body back. Back at his little apartment, Jerry sat down and counted his tips, shoving them into a glass jar he kept hidden under his bed, and then unable to resist, he got on his computer and searched himself, his old self, to see what she was doing with his life. It was a bad habit. It only made him furious to see what she was doing in his body.

"Senator Wilson-Howell pushes for Amnesty." Jerry put his fingers to his lips. Ever since she'd taken his body, Mia had become a sudden and unexpected champion for immigrants, reversing all his positions, and she'd also decided to become a champion of every feminist cause she could think of, co-sponsoring bills on equal pay, sexual harassment, and even making constant appearances at women's sporting events, celebrating female athletes. The political world was still suffering whiplash over "Senator West's" conversion, switching seemingly over night from an old school Republican into a liberal wacko, adding his wife's last name to his own in the interest of equality.

Jerry felt mortified, reading some of the quotes from the new "Jerry." "Behind every great man is a woman who should be his boss." Worse: "The best Americans are the immigrant Americans." Or, "We must welcome all who come to our shores with open arms and wallets." Liberal hogwash! Jerry tapped his long fingernails against his little plastic desk, furious at the words that little witch had put into his mouth.

It all disgusted him. Even as a woman, a Latina, he refused to reject his conservative values, and when he got his body back, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to undo the damage little Mia had done to his reputation. He adjusted his bra straps and blew a stay hair out of his eyes. Ugh! That bitch! Then he saw a picture of Mia with Carol, his wife. The first thing he noticed was that Mia had gotten her eyebrows threaded, and that she now had an earring. The nerve! From the moment she'd taken his body, she'd taken to wearing flashy silk suits and wild, patterned ties, a thick gold chain bracelet sparkling on her wrist. Once he got done looking at the flashy look she'd adopted, his eyes went to his wife--she looked happy. Very happy. The smile. The spark in her eyes. That rankled as much as anything. Was Mia a better husband, somehow?

Merde! He had to get back, get his body and life back, he had to! He had to--oh no! He had to get ready for his date with Max, one of his "boyfriends"!

Keeping his Daisy Dukes on--he knew he looked hot as hell in them--he pulled his Bongos halter top off and pulled on a semi-transparent white blouse he knew Max liked, then touched up his make-up, grabbed his day purse and slipped on a pair of black fuck-me pumps and skittered out the door.

He reached the Cabana just as Max walked up. Max was a tall, slender American, all white beard and hair, kind of shy, rich and in love with him. As soon as he saw Jerry mincing along the sidewalk in his heels, long black hair blowing in the wind, a smile of pure joy spread across his face, and he opened his arms, eager for a hug.

Jerry obliged, opening his own arms, letting Max pull him in for a tight hug, feeling small and soft in the man's arms, and then they exchanged air kisses. Max took Jerry's hand and led him into the dark, cool Cabana, then pulled out his chair and slid it in for him as Jerry sat, feeling cherished, pretty, and cared for. "I'll have steak and potato," Max said, "and the little lady will have a cobb salad."

Jerry smiled.

"I have a present for you," Max said, pulling out a rectangular jewelry box and handing it to Jerry, who gasped.

"Max! You shouldn't!" Jerry said, pretending to resist. "You give me too many presents!"

"You know I like to give you pretty things," Max said. "It makes me happy. Open it!"

Max opened the case and squealed, only slightly exaggerating his excitement as his girlish eyes fell on the most to-die-for necklace he'd seen, like, ever: a string of black onyx interspersed with glittering diamonds. "Omigod! It's so pretty!" he gushed. And, he thought, worth a pretty big chunk of change! I'll have enough to hire a coyote now!

Max got up and came around the table. "Let me put it on you."

"You're too good to me," Jerry said, lifting his hair while Max slipped his arms around Jerry's neck, the cool stones resting against his chest and shoulders. Max fumbled for a minute with the clasp, then finally got it done, giving Jerry a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting back down.

Jerry touched the cool stones with his fingers, vaguely conscious of the eyes of women around the room eyeing him enviously, giving scolding looks to their boyfriends and husbands. Jerry did another little shoulder raise and giggled.

"Do you like it, really?" Max said, some of the neediness that annoyed Jerry slipping into the man's voice. "I mean, really?"

"I love it," Jerry said. "Oh! It's so elegant!"

Drinks came, food, and they made small talk. Jerry found Max tedious. He was old, talked slowly, and seemed oblivious to the fact that the mundane details of his day were sooooo boring. "So, I got up today, and guess what?"

Jerry raised his eyebrows. "Tell me!"

"I decided to make some fresh squeezed orange juice. I have a juicer, you see, but I had neglected to get oranges, so that meant I had to put on my shoes and walk down to the market!" When he smiled, he curled his lips back, showing no teeth like a baby. He smiled like that now and laughed.

"Incredible!" Jerry said, a master now at faking interest in the boring stories of men.

"I actually had to put my shoes on and walk down to the market, just to get oranges, because I have this new juicer and had decided I had to make juice. Then, would you believe it, I forgot oranges are out of season!"

God, Jerry thought, he keeps repeating the same boring details! What an ass. But he hid those feelings behind a dazzling smile. "There were no oranges?" Jerry said, wrapping his lips around the straw in his iced tea and sucking, slowly, seductively. He saw the shift in Max's eyes, and Max's voice got hoarse.

"Oh, I got oranges, all right! I had to make fresh squeezed orange juice! But I paid a fortune! 3.99 a pound!"

Jerry licked his lips, then wrapped his lips back around the straw.

Max coughed, babbled on about his ordeal making orange juice. Then, as the meal wound down, he did what he always did. He took the napkin off his lap, leaned forward, took Jerry's hand and said, "why don't you let me take you away from all this, Mia?"

"Max," Jerry pouted. "I've told you. I'm saving myself for marriage." He thought he heard the waitress, who was taking an order a table over, chuckle.

"Then marry me," Max said, his voice rising, filling with sad desperation. "I'd be good to you! I'd love you! You won't want for a thing!"

"Max, I can't. I've told you." Max had asked Jerry to marry him on their second date. Initially, Jerry had said he couldn't see Max anymore, worried the man would turn into an obsessed stalker. He seemed so needy and desperate, but then he'd seen that Max was weak, scared... manageable. He'd strung him along, accepting his gifts, but always insisting they could never marry because of--

'Your mother. I know. Introduce us. If she met me, she'd approve. I'd talk her into it!"

"Oh, Maxie, can't you just be happy with what we have?"

"No! It pains me to see you struggle, work so hard. I want to save you from all this! You deserve so much better."

"It can never be," Jerry said, laying on the drama, squeezing Max's hand.

"Mia. I'm sixty-nine years old. You'd only have to put up with me for a little while, and then you could inherit it all, my houses, my money. You could find a younger man, start a family. I just want a few years of happiness, and then you can forget all about me."

Pathetic, Jerry thought. Put up with me. Forget about me. How could he expect a woman to value him when he didn't even value himself? But Jerry said none of that, he just squeezed Max's hand and said, "I'll never forget you. You're already my hero!"

Max brightened, making that same toothless baby smile, and Jerry smiled, relieved, when the waitress brought the check, and he could finally be free of this sad, simpering old fool.

Chapter 4: Bad boy to Worse Girl

The morning after the crazy incident with the Latina girl in the hotel, Jerry woke, aching in places he didn't have, hung over, emotionally exhausted. He showered, trying to ignore the feelings of his phantom woman's shape, and dressed. He went into his office, closed the door and said, "You there?"

"Been waiting for you, chica" Jesus said, through Alexa.

"I'm going to the capitol building. I'll meet Dan and get the bill shelved."

"We'll be waiting."

Jerry took his car to the capitol, tense the whole way, dreading the possibility that they were going to start fondling him again, or fingering him. Or worse. Ride over, his mind raced as he tried to think of some other way, some other path, some way to regain control of the situation. He felt powerless now, and he hated it. He reached the Senate offices and made his way to Senator Dan Whatever's office.

"Good morning," Dan's secretary, Luciana Vasquez said. Did he detect something in her eyes? Some knowing little arrogance?

No, you're imagining things, Jerry thought, sitting, crossing his arms under his breasts, squirming uncomfortably at the sense of his butt being big and plump, spreading out an inch when he sat. He felt like he was wearing panties, and they were riding up his crack, but he knew it wasn't real, wasn't him, and so he just squirmed and shifted, alternately certain that Luciana was watching, laughing, amused, knowing what he was experiencing and laughing at him, and then just as sure he was imagining it.

A group of Jerry's fellow senators came out of the office, laughing, followed by Dan, patting backs, laughing, talking in a loud, boisterous voice. "And that's why they call it "the nitty gritty" he said. "Hahahaha."

Jerry stood, shaking hands and greeting his colleagues. As soon as they cleared the office, the smile left Dan's face and he looked at Jerry, annoyed. "Come on in," he said, waving Jerry in. "Hold my calls," he told Luciana, then closed the door. "Take a seat," he said. Jerry sat. Dan didn't. "Listen," he said. "We're voting today. I'm not pulling the bill. I wanted to tell you to your face. I appreciate all the work you've done, but we threw a parade and invited the media. The horse has left the barn on this one, Jerry."

Jerry nodded. "Give me a chance to make my case."

"Jerry, I'm not going to waste your time or mine. This is happening, so there's no point in debating it."

Hell. Well, maybe there was a good side, Jerry thought. Jesus couldn't hold this against him. "I appreciate..." Just then, he felt a hard cock press against his ass, and arms circle around him and cup his breasts." "Oh!" He jumped, shocked.

"Jerry?"

He felt himself being bent over, and the cock pushing between his ass cheeks. The feeling outraged and shocked him, and he shouted, "No! Fuck no!"

"Calm yourself," Dan said, thinking Jerry was talking to him.

"No. I'm not talking to you..." Jerry grated out, his body on fire, pain and pleasure igniting in his backside, a sick feeling coming over him as he again found himself violated, taken against his will. "Shit."

He heard Jesus whisper in his head, "Better do something, or else you're going to get fucked."

"Ahhhhh," Jerry stood, arching his back, trying to pull away from the offending member, reaching back trying to block it, but of course it wasn't really there. "Please," he said, falling to his knees, wincing, swallowing, batting his hands against his own behind in a futile effort to protect himself, but he felt the thing shove into him, deeper. He dropped forward one hand on the floor, arching his back, raising his ass, one hand reaching back, desperate to push the man away, the man who was... "Stop!" Jerry shrieked at Jesus as he felt him pounding him. He looked up at Dan. "I'm begging you," he said, his voice cracking and rising to a high pitch squeal as he felt himself being penetrated again. "Table the bill!"

"Do you need help?" Dan said, appalled at what he was seeing. He went to his door and opened it, calling out, "Get medical help!"

"No," Jerry said, his voice still cracking. He got to his feet and stumbled toward the door, trying to ignore what was happening to him, hearing the sound of Jesus chuckling, his cheeks burning with helplessness and shame. He pushed through the door and out into the hallways, struggling to walk, the feeling of anal rape making his legs wobble, his head spin. He could hardly walk--the attack had made him weak in the knees, and lurched and stumbled to his own office, ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of the colleagues and staffers and he passed in the hall. Why are they just watching? Why won't anyone help me? Jerry thought, knowing why, but his mind swirled with confusion bordering on insanity, and he wanted, needed to be saved. He slammed through the door to his outer office, his secretary Mabel looking up from her computer, shocked. "Jerry?"

Jerry staggered toward his office. "Just need--- give me a sec." He pushed through the door and locked it, falling to his knees, onto his hands, the same position he felt Mia in wherever she was. He felt his breasts hanging from his chest, firm and heavy, swaying as Jesus pounded him from behind, and finally, resigned to his fate, he just closed his eyes, bit his lip to keep from screaming, and started to chant in his head, please stop. Please. Just let it end, and I... he groaned, a piteous, sad, dying groan as he felt Jesus pop, pumping cum into his ass, and then Jesus slapped him, hard, on the ass, and Jerry rolled onto his side, feeling the hot, sticky mass leaking out of him. "You bastard," he moaned. "You sick bastard."

Jesus chuckled. "Me? Sick? That bill you wrote, sponsored, pushed? That bill will separate children from their parents, will separate husbands from wives, will send thousands of people back to countries they left when they were one or two years old, countries they don't even remember, a language they don't speak. People who have worked and paid taxes in this country for twenty years will be expelled, their lives destroyed."

"Those people can't vote," Jerry said. "It's just politics."

"You think that makes it better? That makes it worse. That you would do all this for a few votes? A campaign contribution? You could retire now and live in luxury the rest of your life, but you'd rather screw over good, decent, hard-working people just to satisfy your ego? You're weak and you make me sick."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Jerry said. "I - was wrong. I shouldn't have been so--- callous. I'll do my best to fix this. I promise. You've opened my eyes."

"You hurt so many people," Jesus said.

"At least I never raped anyone," Jerry said, wanting, needing the moral high ground.

No answer. Quiet. Jerry got to his feet, still feeling the sticky mess on his backside. "Could you clean yourself up, Mia?"

He heard Mia giggle and say, "No."

"Find a way," Jesus said.

"You heard Dan--"

"So go around him. You are a whore, Senorita. You have always sold yourself. So, use that pretty little mouth of yours. Call some of the men you work with and use your mouth."

Jerry looked at the clock. He had one hour until the bill went to vote. The feeling of the hot stickiness on his butt, the terrible memory of what had just happened, though, filled him with disgust and shame, and he decided the time had come to fight back. He called the CIA, and he said, "I'm being blackmailed." He gave them a version of the story. A hotel room. An escort. The compromising of his home. "We're on it," Agent Grant said.

Jerry told his secretary to hold all calls, turn away all visitors. He took a stiff drink and braced himself, expecting another attack, waiting for the next indignity. He watched the clock. The second hand seemed to move in slow motion, the minute hand to barely move at all. He just stared, waiting. The time ticked away, minute by minute, as the vote drew nearer. "Bring it on," Jerry mumbled. "What are you waiting for?"

Nothing. 11:21. 11:32. 11:43. Maybe they'd run. Maybe when he'd called the CIA, they'd run. Maybe it was over.

The phone rang. Jerry jumped, his nerves still jangled, edgy. The Caller ID was a code, and he recognized it as the CIA. He picked up. "We got them," Agent Grant said. "They hadn't made any effort to cover their tracks at all. Amateurs."

Jerry cackled. "Stupid taco heads," he said. "Good work, agent. Excellent work. Now, I have to go cast a vote for America!" Jerry poured himself another shot of whiskey, slammed it back and fixed his tie. He could still feel the weight of breasts, the swelling of a full, womanly ass, could feel the sticky cum in his butt crack, but he had won. They would be locked up, and they would have no choice but to undo this sick curse they'd placed on him.

He swaggered out of his office, seeing his fellow senators heading toward the chamber, ready to vote, to pass the bill he'd crafted. If anything, his experiences over the last twelve hours had confirmed how vital it was to get rid of the bad actors. The Republicans all filed into the senate chamber, grinning, shaking hands. The liberal Democrats all looked grim. Jerry snickered. Bleeding heart pussies. Always crying about fairness and being nice to everyone. Jerry sneered at them. So pathetic. Oh, the poor immigrants. Waaaaaahhhh!

Once the procedurals had been taken care of, roll call... etc... The Senate leader asked if anyone cared to speak, and called on Jerry before he could even raise his hand. It was all arranged. Jerry stood, grinning. They were all there, even the vice-president, all there to see his moment of triumph. "Ladies and gentleman of the sen---" he felt a dick slide into his mouth and gagged. No. It can't be. It pushed in further. He felt rigid veins, pulsating, saliva, he covered his mouth with his hands, tried to bite down, but what he felt was his mouth widen, felt hands on the back of his head, pulling him in, felt the penis touch his tonsils. He tried to speak, fighting against the sensory input that told him his mouth was stuffed, and croaked out, "One.... One..." He held up a finger, reeling, and that's when he felt a second man behind him, a second cock pressing against his ass. To the room it looked like he did a bunny hop, hands clasped over his mouth, eyes filled with horror.

Mia was on her knees again, naked, breasts swaying, and so was he, at least in his mind. This time the man taking him from behind found his slit, sliding into him, filling him even as his mouth slid up and down the length of the other man's member, his whole body on fire, so hot and wet, his body tingling, nipples aching they were so hard. Jerry moaned through his hands, turning and pushing his way along the rows of seats, falling, stumbling, crawling out of the chamber, jerking and twitching while the whole room looked on in shock and confusion.

And then he was Mia, in her body, in a shabby room getting penetrated from behind, a dick in his mouth and he felt the men both cum at once, shooting into his mouth and his slit, all impossible, all happening, and he couldn't pull or push away, and the man had his hands on Jerry's head and was holding him there, and Jerry couldn't breathe and tried to scream, started choking and then swallowed the cum, hating it, feeling sick, wishing he were dead, and when the men finally pulled out, laughing, high-fiving, Jerry curled up into a ball and wept, feeling the soft swelling of his breasts pressed between his arms, his soft, hairless thighs, and most of all the hot, sticky shame clinging to his tongue, leaking from his slit. It was all impossible, he kept thinking, it couldn't be happening, not to him, he was a United States Senator, not just some ethnic slut to be fucked, to be used, to be treated like he was nothing. "I'll get you for this," he whispered, hating the soft, high-pitched sound of his voice.

Jesus and Jose laughed. "I won't be able to sleep," Jose said.

"Don't take her lightly," Jesus said. "She might pull your hair or something."

"How? The CIA. They had you."

A pair of black shoes appeared in Jerry's vision, and above them, dark blue trousers. He turned his head, looking up through a spray of black hair, and saw Agent Grant looking down at him. "What?"

"Idiot," Agent Grant said, stepping over Jerry.

"You? You betrayed me?"

"Agent Grant did not want to spend the rest of his life as a hot little piece of ass," Jose said. He and Jesus were getting dressed, pulling on their pants, tucking in their shirts. "He made a smart decision. You, did not. Now, thanks to you, Mia has to be a man, give up her life, her family. You selfish asshole."

"You fucking bitch," Jose said. "I can't believe what you did to Mia. Asshole. Fuck you!"

"Mia? You-- I--" Jerry saw they were all heading toward the door. He realized he was in a hotel room--not the five star hotel from the other night, but more like a shabby Motel 6 or a Holiday Inn. "Where are you going?" His mouth felt thick, cottony, still tasting of that other man's... he didn't even want to think it. He pushed himself up on one arm, draping his other slender little arm across his full breasts, covering his nipples.

"Oh, yeah. I almost forgot." Jesus pulled out his wallet, withdrew a few bills and tossed them on the floor. "You were a good fuck, chica."

"You can't leave me here, leave me like this," Jerry said.

"Better clean yourself up and get dressed," Agent Grant said. "ICE will be here in 20 minutes."

"ICE?" Jerry said, shaking his head. "But I'm.... Isn't she?"

"You're an illegal immigrant now, Senator. Good luck."

The men walked out into the daylight and the door swung closed, leaving Jerry in the darkness. Jerry's mind reeled, rebelled, because what his senses were telling him couldn't be true. He couldn't be a woman who'd just been double-teamed, left in a hotel room, an illegal immigrant. None of it was possible, not the breasts he felt under his arms, or the taste of semen in his mouth. Not the smell of sex all over his soft body, not the long hair tickling his shoulders, trailing down his back. He started to giggle, then laugh, putting his hands over his eyes. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of dream, some kind of nightmare. He laughed and laughed, rolling onto his back, laughing, feeling his breasts bounce as he laughed, and that made him laugh all the more because it couldn't be real, wasn't real, wasn't even possible. He was a United States Senator, a husband and a father. He didn't have a vagina, breasts, he wasn't a woman. He calmed himself, lifted his hand to brush his long black hair away from his eyes, felt a breast, so firm and soft, press against his upper arm, and he giggled and had another laughing fit, rolling onto his side, curling up, feeling his soft thighs press against each other, the long hair once more falling across his face.

He heard someone knocking on the door, then light washed over him as the door pushed open, and men and women came in, it seemed like ten of them all in their dark uniforms, I.C.E. stenciled across their flak jackets in big, bold letters. Ten agents? For me? Jerry kept laughing. One of the men was talking to him, but Jerry, curled up in a ball, just kept laughing. He felt someone grab his arm, pull him to his feet. Jerry giggled, seeing how the men's eyes all popped out of their heads at the sight of him. They actually thought he was a woman! "Do you like what you see?" he said, taking his hands off his breasts, shaking them, laughing at the absurdity and the unreality of it all.

"Get her dressed," someone said.

Briefly, he considered the possibility this was real, that he should treat it seriously and explain what was going on. Yeah, like, explain how Mexican sorcerers swapped a U.S. senator into this sexy whore's body, he thought. The absurdity had him shaking his head. Someone was helping him dress, put on a bra, panties, step into a red dress. "I love a woman in a tight little red dress," he said, giggling because he was putting on the dress now, while all these men watched, but that couldn't be real. He loved the sight of a beautiful woman in a tight little red dress. He did. He wasn't a woman. He didn't wear dresses. It was all too funny! He wondered what he looked like, but the mirror was in the bathroom. One of the men zipped him up, and Jerry started laughing again. A man zipping up his dress? He couldn't seem to stop laughing, the absurdity of it all. Him. Wearing a dress?

"Miss, do you have any proof of residency?" One of them asked, taking a position in front of Jerry. "Because if not, I am going to have to arrest you and initiate deportation proceedings."

The words were like, as they say, a bucket full of cold water in the face, and Jerry suddenly found himself grounded, the laughter and feeling of amusement dying a quick death. He was standing there in a dress, looking up at a man, an ICE agent wearing dark sunglasses, and the men had called him "Miss," had said "deport." It was suddenly all very real. Jerry was a woman now, somehow, and these agents. "This is all... do you realize who I am?" He brushed the hair back away from his face, felt hoop earrings tickling his cheeks. It all reminded him; he wasn't himself, and if he tried to tell his story they would only think he was insane.

"No, young lady, I do not realize who you are," the man said.

"I'm a US citizen," Jerry said, suddenly feeling nervous, uncomfortable, wanting to get away from this man, from all these agents crowding him.

"Do you have any documentation?" The agent asked, his tone arrogant, condescending, amused. "A social security card, a passport?"

"No." Jerry said, cringing at the sound of his voice. He grimaced.

The agents all laughed. "Okay, honey," the man said. "You need to come with us."

"What? No!" Jerry said. "Who carries documentation around with them?" He tried to push his way past the ICE agent, but the man grabbed his arm. "Let go of me!" Jerry shrieked, trying to pull away.

"Miss, I strongly advise you to come peacefully," the man said, his voice filling with anger.

"Get your hands off me!" Jerry tried to pull away, and another man grabbed his other arm, and they started dragging him from the room.

"You are under arrest, and if you resist, that will be added to your charges."

"Just calm down," a female agent said. Her uniform tag read Lopez. "You'll only makes things worse for yourself."

Jerry gave in. He felt so powerless, both physically and politically, being almost carried from the room by the men, his pleas and demands ignored. He'd never felt like this, even as a child. His parents had been rich, influential. They'd run the town he grew up in, and even his teachers had known to be deferred to him, lest his parents place a call. But now, suddenly, he felt like nothing, no one. These agents didn't care at all who he was, or rather - and the realization hit him hard - they considered him a nobody.

He started crying again, the tears pouring down his face, mascara running. His feet were catching on the hem of his dress, so he pulled on the skirt, lifting it, trying to at least walk as the men dragged him out of the hotel room and then he found himself being loaded into the back of a van. Office Lopez appeared, holding a pair of stiletto heels. "Your shoes," she said.

"Heels?" Jerry sniffled, wiping his tears.

"I know, but better than bare feet."

He reached out with a small hand, took the heels, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Thanks," he said, his voice trembling. "Can you? You know?"

Officer Lopez shook her head. "Sorry, honey," she said. "Just--be brave."

The van door slammed shut with a loud metallic thunk, and Jerry sat there, his heels in his lap, in his little red dress, a Latina woman, an illegal immigrant, helpless and afraid.

He found himself in jail with a bunch of other female immigrants, wearing an orange jumpsuit with a number on it instead of a name. The girls were from all over the world, mostly Hispanic, but Africa and Asia too. They didn't stay around long enough for there to be any gang stuff or real problems. Jerry just kept to himself for the three days he was there, trying to somehow process the idea that he was a woman, that his name was now Mia Tijuana. He had tried to call his wife, Carol, but Mia in his body had answered and hung up as soon as he started speaking. He called back only to find the number blocked. Each night he cried himself to sleep. Every morning it was a shock to wake up as a female, to find himself in prison, to remember who he was now, where he was now. He sat down to pee. He wiped himself. He found himself constantly fussing with his bra straps, trying to get comfortable in this strange, jiggly body. His hips were wide, his butt big. He found himself bumping into tables, chairs, people.

When he went to court, the judge invoked the new law President Trump had just signed and ordered Jerry's expedited deportation. "Please," Jerry said, his eyes filling with tears once more. He was a very emotional girl. "I grew up in this country. I don't speak Spanish. Let me stay."

"I am sorry young lady, and I do feel for your predicament, but the law is the law," the judge said, pounding her gavel.

A few hours later, Jerry found himself on a plane with a bunch of other deportees. He was wearing the clothes he'd been arrested in--the red dress, the heels. He had the money Jesus had thrown on the floor--a hundred dollars, shoved into his cleavage. That was it. The plane ride felt like a dream, and he sat there with his hands in his lap, staring out the window, looking at the tops of the clouds below them, wondering what he could do now, a girl on her own. He couldn't let this stand. Wouldn't let this stand. He would get his life and his body back. But in the meantime, his life had become very simple, and it had come down to survival. He needed two things: food and shelter. He didn't know how he would get it, but already, his mind was toying with an idea, playing with it like a kitten with a ball of yarn.

It was like an idea coming from someplace else in him, something deep in his subconscious, the thought: You are very pretty. A pretty girl can get things.

But no, he decided, sitting there on the plane. He wouldn't do those things. He was a man, and even in this body he would find a way to survive as a man and not a--working girl. It was decided. He was still Senator Jerry Wilson, and nothing would ever change that.

Chapter 5: Escape to America

"Here it is," Jerry said, feeling so proud and excited, handing the coyote, Ziggy, a small pile of envelopes stuffed with 20,000 US dollars. Ziggy insisted on small bills, so Jerry had had to use tens and twenties.

Ziggy counted the money, reached over and chucked Jerry on the chin. "And now for my bonus."

Jerry swallowed and plastered a fake smile on his face. It was part of being a woman. He got on his knees, and Ziggy stood. Jerry reached up and undid the man's belt, took his zipper and pulled it down, then tugged his pants down, his underpants. "You're so big!" he said, looking up at Ziggy, taking the man's swelling member into his small, soft hands. It was a lie. Ziggy was average, but Jerry knew he had to please the men in his life. Ziggy had a hard, glassy look in his eyes, the look of a man reveling in his dominance. Jerry worked the member with his hands until it was hard enough, then took it into his mouth, bobbing, letting his mind drift away while he performed what had become a common act for him.

"I'm going to miss seeing that pretty face of yours," Ziggy said, putting his hands on the back of Jerry's head. "I'm going to miss that mouth. You're the best cocksucker in Mexico City."

Jerry blushed. He knew it was meant as a compliment, but in some way that only made him feel more disgusted and ashamed. Ziggy was a regular at the club and had seen Jerry dance many times, had paid him many times for "private dances' in one of the back rooms. Jerry had a lot of practice pleasing Ziggy. He kept bobbing, sucking, pleasuring the man. Ziggy came. Jerry swallowed. Wiped his mouth, got up and went to the mirror to tease his hair, fix his lipstick.

Ziggy chuckled, pulling up his pants, stretching. "Tomorrow. Meet me here. I have a group making the run. Wear dark clothes, stuff you can move in, and don't bring too much. You will need to be able to move fast! Fast and light! Que pasa?"

"Si!" Jerry nodded. It was real. Tomorrow, he'd be in America, ready to pursue his dreams, to get back the life he'd lost! He and Ziggy hugged. Jerry got a quick bite, then went to the club. He wanted to make some more money for the journey, then say goodbye to Hector, who'd been so sweet and good to him. It surprised Jerry as he did his makeup that he started to feel a hollow feeling in his stomach, and he realized he was sad, that he was actually going to miss this place. Soon, he found himself on the stage, strutting, shaking his tits, the men howling, clapping, the musky smell of horny men filling the air, and he danced his heart out, the best set ever, and when he came off the stage he threw his arms around Hector, kissed him on the cheek and started bawling. "I'm going to miss you so much!" He said.

Hector brushed Jerry's bangs away from his eyes. "I'll miss you, too, baby," he said. "But I am excited for you. Happy for you to chase your dreams!"

Much to Jerry's surprise, when Jerry went back to the dressing room, the girls all shouted "surprise!" They had hung balloons, brought a cake with the picture of a woman running across the border done in frosting. The tears once more flowed, and Jerry couldn't help but whisper, "I thought you all hated me."

"We kind of did, but now we're going to miss you!"

There were more hugs and tears, and farewells. Finally, Jerry found himself being walked home, feeling so full of all the feelings, looking at all the usual buildings with fresh, new eyes, knowing this was the last time he would ever walk past them at night, would ever be making his way home from the club, would ever see Mexico City. Hector had arranged for Jerry to stay with one of his cousins in California, so he knew he had a place to stay, and even a job working as a waitress in a night club. He would get settled in, and then he would find some way to get back at the people who'd stolen his life. Back in his room, he cleaned off his make-up, put his hair up in a high bun, put on his pajamas.

He went to the shoe rack that ran along the wall next to the door and looked at all his pretty shoes, and he felt a stab of sorrow at the thought he had to leave them all behind. He'd splurged on shoes. A girl had to, and he had some oh so cute heels he would have to leave.

He picked up the red heels he'd worn when he first came to Mexico, and wished a little--and he knew he was just being a silly girl--but he kind of wished he could wear them going back. It would be dramatic, like something from a telenovela! But no. He would wear his running shoes. It was better to be practical. Bye, pretty shoes, he thought, looking at them all one more time, lined up on the rack. I hope you find a good home!

Climbing into bed, he wondered what the girls in LA were wearing these days? Once he got there, he would find out, and he'd get himself some cute outfits. He'd become something of a little fashionista, and he took pride in always looking good and being stylish. It was just one more challenge he'd faced and overcome. He was, after all, Mia Tijuana, and there was nothing he couldn't do!

Chapter 6: Rebirth in Stilettos

The thudding of the plane as the landing gear touched down in Mexico woke Jerry up, and he'd looked around, confused, brushing the hair from his eyes, looking down at the swelling of his breasts from the low-cut top of his little red dress, remembering who he was now, what had happened. Once the plane taxied to a stop, the ICE agents started telling everyone to get up, repeating the phrase in English and Spanish. "Welcome home!"

Jerry tried to stand, but found he was stuck. With his wide hips, he'd had to squeeze himself into the narrow airline seat, wiggling until he finally managed to get between the armrests. Now he found he couldn't get up, his hips seemed like they'd spread, and he was wedged in. He struggled, grabbing the seat in front of him, pulling. The other passengers filed out, none of them seeming to notice his struggles. One of the ICE agents saw. A young woman. "Latina hips," she said, her voice full of empathy.

"Yes. Si," Jerry said, flushing, embarrassed.

"Let me help." She grabbed Jerry's arms and pulled, but Jerry remained stuck.

"Let me try," a tall, muscular black agent said. The woman who'd been trying to help stepped aside. Jerry saw the man's eyes fall to his breasts, just for a moment, then come back to his face. He took the man's hands, and the man pulled, Jerry popping free of the seat and landing right in the man's arms, their chests pressing together. Jerry felt his skin tingle, and looking up at the man, felt his vision blur and his knees go weak. He clung to the big man, confused, aroused, feeling small and soft, feminine. The man set him on his feet. "You've got those wide, birthing hips, don't you?" He said.

"Birthing?" Jerry said, instinctively speaking in a breathy, flirty voice. "Oh!" He giggled, running his hands over his wide, round hips. "I guess so." Who am I? he wondered. Why am I acting like this? Get a hold of yourself! Turning sideways so he could get down the aisle without bumping everything, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time to get one last look at the man. He was so tall! Jerry had never noticed it before, but he noticed it now, and it made him all--- googly to remember being in the man's arms. He wobbled on his heels as he made his way out of the plane to the terminal, finally slipping them off, carrying them in his hand, dangling from his fingertips, walking barefoot into the Mexico City airport. Where to go? What to do?

Then, a sign caught his eyes. It was held by a man in a black suit, wearing dark sunglasses. The sign read, Senorita Jerry Wilson. Jerry did a double take. The sign scared him. He didn't want anyone to know who he was, that he was this woman now. He pretended not to see it, trying to walk by the man, but then he heard the man call out. "Senorita! Senorita Wilson!" Jerry glanced back, horrified, looking to see if anyone else was paying any attention, and he started to run, his breasts bouncing, almost hitting him on the chin. He crossed one arm over his bouncing boobs, holding the other out to the side, his high heels dangling from his fingers.

The man ran after. "Senorita! Stop!"

"Stop following me!" Jerry squealed, looking around for a policeman, anyone to help him. People started to gawk and stare.

The man got in front of Jerry, held out his hands. "I need to talk to you. That's all."

Jerry stopped, couldn't see a way around. "That's all?" he said, breasts heaving as he gasped for breath.

"That's all?"

"Okay. Fine."

The man took a step toward Jerry, and he made a little squeal. "Stay back!"

"Okay. Okay. Fine." the man said. "Look. This is it. My boss has a job for you. A place to stay."

"A job?" Jerry shook his head. Who knew he was here? That he was a woman now? Only Jesus and his crew. His curiosity got the best of him. "What?"

"Doing what you do. Dancing."

"Dancing?"

"You know." The man shook his shoulders and made cups under his chest in the universal male gesture for boobs. "Dancing for the gentlemen."

Jerry snorted in disgust. He couldn't believe Jesus thought he would become a stripper. "No thanks," Jerry said, tossing his hair and walking past the man.

"Wait." The man reached out and grabbed Jerry's slender little arm.

The feeling of the man's hand on him filled Jerry with panic. He remembered the ICE agents grabbing him, and the feeling of Jesus and Jose taking him, men grabbing and using his body. He was too small now to fight back, men could easily overpower him, and in his desperation, he said, "I'll scream!"

"If you change your mind, just come to Club Bang Bang," the man said, letting go of Jerry's arm. "You got a job waiting for you."

"Club Bang Bang?" Jerry sneered in disgust. "Go to hell."

"A fine ass girl like you could make a lot of money there," the man said, letting his eyes wander up and down Jerry's body, mentally undressing him.

Jerry walked away, his skin crawling. He could feel the man's eyes on his ass the whole time.

And, so, he found himself a girl alone in a strange country. Well, he thought, time for me to get to work. He didn't know how, but he would find a way to overcome this latest challenge and rise above. He made his way to the airport exit, walked through the doors, the hot, humid air greeting him as he strode out onto the hard, concrete sidewalk. Taxis and buses idled at the curb or raced up and raced away. Jerry looked out over it all, at all the teeming people. Everyone seemed taller now, bigger, everything seemed bigger, and his confidence evaporated as he looked out at the world, suddenly feeling very small, very female, very vulnerable.

He turned and walked back into the airport. Found a bar and ordered a drink. Within ten minutes a guy came along and started hitting on him. Jerry picked up his drink and walked away, scared, humiliated. The guy followed him. "A pretty girl drinking all alone? That's not right. Let me join you," the guy said, smirking.

"I just want to be alone," Jerry said, his voice sounding weak, scared.

The man sat down at Jerry's new table. Jerry got up, went back to the bar. The man followed. "Stop! Leave me alone!" Jerry said, stomping his foot, sending a tremor through his breasts that made the man's jaw drop.

Jerry could see the guy wouldn't leave him alone, so he finally fled the bar, running off into the airport, getting lost in the people until he saw a bathroom, almost ran into the wrong one. He ran into the ladies’ room, found a stall and locked himself in, curling up on a toilet and crying, sobbing, feeling lost, alone, overwhelmed. He had no place to go, no place safe to wait, he needed shoes he could actually walk in, food. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Please help me."

Two days later, hungry, tired, desperate, he walked into Club Bang Bang, wobbling on his stiletto heels, and as soon as he walked in the owner, who'd been stocking the bar, smiled, his gold tooth sparkling. "Senator. I've been expecting you."

"Call me Mia," Jerry had said. "Please."

The man chuckled. "Mia it is, little chica. Boy, Jesus was not kidding. You are a hot little piece of ass."

Jerry had no fight left in him. The man could call him anything he wanted if he had food, a safe place for Jerry to lay down his head. "Thank you," he said. "I'm hungry. Can I get something to eat? I haven't eaten in a day."

"Oh, I think we can manage that." The man let his eyes roam over Jerry's body. Jerry stood there, eyes down, and waited, letting the man take him in, savor his curves. "I think we can manage that. Right this way," the man said, and he put his hand on the small of Jerry's back and guided him toward the kitchen. Jerry let himself be guided. It was good to have someone show him where to go, what to do. He had no idea anymore, and he just needed someone to take care of him.

Jerry ate. He had a couple drinks. He found himself bent over a counter, dress hiked up over his hips, panties around his ankles, while the man slapped his hips into Jerry's ass. Jerry closed his eyes and endured what turned out to be quick, rough sex. When it was over, he walked bow-legged to the bathroom and wiped himself clean as best he could, all the while a sick realization growing in him; he'd liked it, needed it, craved it. What was happening to him?

. He was bleeding now from his backside, so he wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it up there to staunch the flow, then pulled up his panties. He thought briefly of his wife, wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she would notice he was gone, that his body had been taken by a woman. He pushed all those thoughts away, wiggling, straightening his dress, adjusting his bra straps. It was too painful to think about her, about them, about who he used to be.

He was led to a dormitory behind the strip club. Rows of cots in a warehouse. He gratefully sank onto one of the cots, closed his eyes and slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

He started his career as a stripper the next day. Jerry had been woken up, taken to a shower, handed some tiny little scrap of fabric. The girls had laughed watching him trying to figure out how to put it on, trying to pull it over his head, getting it tangled in his long hair. Finally, one of them had helped him into the bustier, the panties. He'd attached the garters to his silky stockings himself, his legs tingling pleasantly at the feeling of the cool, sheer fabric against his smooth, hairless legs. He'd felt himself diminishing, getting less, all these pretty women watching him dress up in the sexy little garment that lifted his huge breasts, pushed them together, making them seem bigger, his cleavage deeper than ever. He wobbled over to the bar on a pair of black stiletto heels, and when he walked in the man took one look and smiled.

"You clean up good." He brushed Jerry's hair back from his face and placed a possessive hand on his smooth little shoulder.

"Thanks," Jerry said, feeling himself getting smaller.

"You ready to dance?"

"Dance? I don't know how," Jerry said, his voice small, scared, filled with terror at the thought.

"Neither does anyone else who works here. Just watch some of the other girls and do the same thing."

"I-- don't ---"

"You'll do fine," the man said, giving Jerry's ass a squeeze.

Jerry watched the first few dancers from backstage. His stomach was doing flips, and he couldn't stop his hands from trembling. He kept thinking about his son, his father, his wife and daughter, shrinking further and further with shame as he stood there perched on his heels, his soft body squeezed into a woman's sexy clothes. He'd failed them, failed them all as a husband, a father, a man. It was better that they never saw him again, never knew what had happened to the real him, that they never found out what he'd become.

The girl before him came off the stage, giving Jerry a little wink and a smile. They all knew. In front of Jerry, the stage loomed, lights swirling across a narrow stage, flashing over the dirty brass poles. The music thumped, the DJ transitioning from some Latin dance song to... Jerry felt his heart in his throat, his shame building. It was America The Beautiful put to a thumping disco beat. No, Jerry thought, his pretty, red lip-sticked mouth dropping open.

"He was an immigrant hating a-hole," the DJ called out as the room cheered, "and now he is the hottest little cunt in Mexico City! Give it up for Senator Jerry, though she now prefers to be called Mia Tijuana!"

Jerry backed away from the stage, shaking his head. He felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward. "I can't!" Jerry squealed. "Please!"

"Get out there, chica! Shake your ass! You'll be fine!"

The man shoved him, and he stumbled onto the stage, his ankles wobbling, and he almost fell over but grabbed the stripper poll, clinging to it, twirling around, his hair billowing out around him as he spun. The crowd cheered and laughed. Jerry clung to the pole, looking around with wide, frightened eyes. The crowd calmed, watching him clinging there, terrified.

"Dance!" someone shouted, waving some bills he had clutched in his hands. The crowd picked up on it, and soon they were shouting "Dance! Dance!"

"Shake your ass!" the man shouted from off-stage. "Shake your tits!"

Jerry bit his lip and took some tentative, fawn like steps away from the pole, his arms out to his sides, palms down as he wobbled, trying to keep his balance. The crowd cheered and laughed, amused to see the senator so helpless and vulnerable. Jerry glanced back at the man, who wiggled his own hips, made a cupping gesture under his chest.

Jerry wiggled his hips, and the crowd roared. Swallowing his pride, he cupped his own breasts and lifted and squeezed them together. More roars and laughter. God Bless America thumped on, and Jerry started trying to move a little with the beat. He minced to the edge of the stage, as he'd seen the other girls do, and men started to shove money into his garters. He wanted to pull away - it scared him, terrified him, made him feel less - but hands had grabbed his ankles, his calves, and he wobbled, squealed, felt like he might fall forward into the audience.

"Sonrisa! Bella Sonrisa!"

"Smile! Smile pretty!" he heard men yelling.

He smiled, the widest, prettiest smile he could, hoping they would let go of him, stop pawing at his body. The bouncers finally appeared, getting the men away from Jerry. He lurched away, relieved, and tumbled backward onto his butt, legs spread wide, giving the room a clear view of his crotch, his long hair falling in his face. The men laughed and clapped and howled, and Jerry grabbed the pole, pulling himself to his feet, giving them all a great view of his ass. More howls and laughter. Jerry kept his back to them, not wanting to show his face, and he grabbed the pole with both hands as he'd seen some of the other girls do and tried his best to twerk, thrusting his ass back and forth, his legs spread wide, perchedon his stiletto heels. He could feel the crisp dollar bills in his garters rubbing against the soft flesh of his round thighs.

Jerry saw the man waving him off, saying, "Come on! Good. Come on!"

Gasping with relief, Jerry strutted off the stage, still wobbling, still uncertain. As he came off stage, he saw the girls laughing, covering their mouths, and tears erupted, blurring his vision. The man wrapped his arms around Jerry, hugging him. "You did great chica! They love you!"

Jerry just felt hollow. It wasn't true, of course. He'd been terrible, and they had all loved seeing him fail. But it also didn't matter. The last thing he wanted was to be a good stripper.

At Club Bang Bang, all the girls worked the floor and the pole. When he would think back on it later, Jerry would be amazed at how much he'd learned, how fast. He'd learned to waitress, do lap dances, strip, tend the bar. He'd learned to flirt and smile and be sweet and pretty, sexy and cute. He'd learned to read men and give them what they wanted, whether it was a giggling schoolgirl or a sultry slut, a submissive or a dominant. He could see right through them and become the woman they needed him to be, and in just a few weeks he'd become one of the club's top earners. The other girls had helped him master heels, to do his make-up and manage his hair. They'd even helped him learn some Spanish, gleefully transforming the former white male senator into a sex bomb. It made them all giddy to watch his transformation, all the hard, masculine edges of his personality giving way to curves as soft as his body.

He knew they were taking a great deal of pleasure drilling him, making him walk back and forth in his heels, turn, sit. They teased him about the way he talked until he'd started to talk just like them, even adopting a slight Latina accent. He knew they loved seeing him become more feminine every day, fussing over his make-up, his hair. But he needed it. He had to learn, to become this woman so he could once day return to being a man. He let them tease him, push him deeper and deeper into his new sex and life, because it was the only way. He watched the other girls. He went online to check out videos of the top exotic dancers. He worked out routines in his room, spent hours practicing on the pole, and he trained, worked on his body, building his curves, keeping his tummy trim, his waist slender. He had to walk this path because it was the only path. He would do whatever it took to get his life back.

His hard work paid off with a promotion to a better, higher class strip club where he could get bigger tips. Hector had gotten word about a hot new dancer blowing it up, and he'd come and seen Jerry dance, watched him work the floor and offered him the job plus a sweet deal on a studio apartment that very night. Jerry found himself walking on air, and he'd gone out to celebrate that night with some girls he'd met who worked in a textiles factory and didn't know who he used to be. They were all happy for him. His hard work had paid off! He was moving up in the world, and he couldn't believe it, and Hector hadn't even asked for a blow job! He couldn't remember the last time a man had done anything for him without expecting sex--a hand job at least. It made him feel good, a proud woman, because it made him feel that Hector respected him and didn't just see him as a collection of wet holes, like so many men. Hector saw him as a person, and he was a person, a hard-working girl who was going places.

Chapter 7: The Crossing

Jerry wore a hoodie, jeans, running shoes, huddling with three other women in the back of Ziggy's van as he drove them north to the Baja peninsula and Tijuana, where they would cross. The rest of the people were all men, and they scared Jerry, because they were men, and strangers, and they had looked up and seen what he had under that hoodie, and he knew what they were thinking. He kept his knees together, his eyes averted. He didn't want them to think he was interested, to get ideas.

The van came to a halt. Jerry could hear the engine ticking. Heard a door slam and winced, thinking, shouldn't he be more quiet?

The back door opened, and they all started to climb out. Ziggy helped Jerry, taking advantage of the opportunity to cop another feel, cupping his ass. They'd gone over the process. They would all follow Ziggy, who would lead them across the river to the Las Americas Premium Outlets, where Ziggy had a van waiting to pick them up and take them to LA. They'd parked at the Museo Decera, the Wax Museum. It was night and the whole world flickered in the other worldly glow of the streetlights. Ziggy moved; the group followed. They made their way north until they came to the river and looking across to the east Jerry saw the border crossing, the American Flag. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt a surge of excitement followed quickly by fear as he saw the letters ICE on a big sign, saw men and women on flak jackets searching a truck. He remembered them grabbing him, dragging him away, throwing him in jail, and he crossed himself, a habit he'd picked up from the girls at the club, and asked Mary to protect him.

They waded into the river, Ziggy leading the way. The water was cold, and it rose to Jerry's waist, his chest, his neck. The current was strong, and he felt it lifting him, dragging him south, but one of the other women reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him along to the other side, helping him up the bank and through the hole that had been made under the fence. "Gracias," Jerry whispered, squeezing her hand, wet, shivering as they made their way to the parking lot, the next van.

Once they were in the van, the women all huddled together, shivering. "I'm Isabelle," the woman who'd helped Jerry said. "You remind me of my daughter. So pretty."

"How old is she?"

"Oh, she's 22. I haven't seen her in four years. I am so excited to see her again, and my granddaughter, little Gina. I got deported before she was born."

"I'm sorry," Jerry said softly. He'd seen on Facebook that his own daughter had had a baby, his first grandchild, and he knew the pain of not being, not being a part of her life anymore, of his grandchild's life. It had hurt so bad, and always would hurt, a wound that would never heal. "It's not fair."

"When is life ever fair?" the woman said, squeezing Jerry.

Jerry fell asleep, woke, shifted slightly, his legs tingling, and fell back asleep. Then, the back door of the van opened, bright sunlight poured in blinding Jerry, who shielded his eyes.

"Vamoose!" Ziggy said. "Go!" Jerry untangled himself from the others, and they stumbled blearily out into the hot, golden California sun. They were in another asphalt parking lot, this time outside a flea market, Latin music blaring over the speakers, the smell of food filling the air. The group all dispersed, either going to relatives who waited or just melting away in the crowds. Jerry watched as the woman who'd saved him, bonded with him, walked off into the crowd, pausing to wave. Jerry felt sad that he hadn't gotten her name, some contact information. He heard the van door slam shut, the engine start up, and Ziggy drove away. Jerry found himself standing alone, lost. He didn't know where he was. Someone was supposed to meet him here, Hector's friend, but Jerry didn't even know what the man looked like.

He put a hand to his cheek, feeling his heart race, feeling so sad and lonely. What if it had all been a trick? What if no one was waiting for him? They'd set it all up, and now he was alone, with no one to watch over him, to protect him, and no ID, no papers. He was just a girl in the world, and what would he do? What if some--

"Mia?" He heard a deep voice call.

Jerry turned and looked up at the tallest, dreamiest man he had ever seen. Tall. Oh, how tall men made Jerry's heart flutter... and then the face. Oh. My. God. He had a square jaw, thick black brows, almost cruel but oh so kissable lips, and thick black hair, perfectly tousled on his head. His skin was a dark, whiskey color, and the top of his shirt was open, giving Jerry a glimpse of his hard pecs, bristling with curly black hair.

"Miguel?" Jerry said, hooking his hair behind his ear, smiling, throwing his hip out to one side, a giggle in his voice and in his eyes.

"Si. Yes. Come on," Miguel said, taking Jerry's hand. "Let's go."

He's so confident, Jerry thought, eagerly following the man. So decisive. So... He glanced back at the man's tight butt. Strong.

Miguel led Jerry through the flea market. "You must be hungry," he said. "Can you hold out till we get away from here? ICE does sweeps here sometimes."

The word ICE gave Jerry chills, and he said, "I can wait. Whatever you think is best."

Jerry was practically in love, and the feeling only grew stronger when he saw Miguel's RAM truck-- black, sparkling, with chrome details, it was a man's truck, a successful man's truck, and on the side it read, Premium Contracting. "I love your truck," Jerry said, unable to control himself.

"Is that so, chica?" Miguel said looking down at Jerry, amused.

'It's so... big! And you have your own business?"

Miguel opened the door, helped Jerry up. Jerry's body tingled everywhere Miguel touched him, and he shivered, biting his lip, trying to hide his feelings.

"Oh yeah," Miguel said. "I have a couple things going." He was a good-looking man and was used to the little ladies getting all giggly around him.

While Miguel went back around to the driver's side, Jerry sneaked a look at himself in the side mirror--and almost screamed. He had mud on his clothes, in his hair, on his face. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He couldn't believe this hot guy had seen him like this. He'd meant to take a sneaky look, expecting to see his usual hot little self. He was so distracted by this stud that he'd completely forgotten what he'd just been through. "Eiiee! I look like a vagabonda!" Jerry squealed, ashamed, but also wanting the man to reassure him, to tell him it was okay. Miguel did not fail.

"You just crossed the river!" Miguel said. "You look great!"

"You're just saying that!" Jerry said, pulling his hood over his head. "Don't look at me!"

"Women!" Miguel laughed, patting Jerry on the knee. "No matter how many times you tell they are beautiful, they always need you to tell them one more time."

Jerry warmed to the feeling of Miguel's hand on his knee and smiled. Looking out the window, seeing all the California plates, it struck him. He was back in America. He'd made it. The tears started to pour down his cheeks. He didn't fight it. He cried at the drop of a hat now, and it was something he'd accepted, maybe even embraced. As a man he'd been taught to hide his emotions, but as a girl he could let his feelings show.

"Oh, no, are you okay? Should I pull over?"

"I'm just happy," Jerry said. "I can't believe this is really happening. I'm in America!"

"Yes, you are," Miguel said. "Ain't it something?"

They drove. Jerry cried himself out. "You want to stop for food or wait until we get to my place?"

"I don't want anyone to see me like this," Jerry said.

"Chicas!" Miguel said, amused.

A couple hours later, they pulled into the driveway next to a white, two-story house with a picket fence and gleaming, emerald front lawn. Jerry's eyes sparkled at the sight of it. Miguel led him inside. Jerry insisted on cleaning up first, so Miguel showed him to the guest room where he'd be staying. "My sister brought over some clothes that should be okay," Miguel said. "In the dresser."

The room was neat, clean, bright, and he would even have his own private bath. It was the nicest place Jerry had stayed since he'd become Mia, and he felt so blessed looking at it, that he had to touch the Virgin Mary medallion he wore and say a prayer. Jerry luxuriated in the hot shower, scrubbing himself down, washing his hair, then went through the clothes. Miguel's sister was taller than Jerry, had smaller boobs and narrower hips--like most women--but he managed to wiggle into a pair of her jeans and squeeze his boobs into a soccer jersey. He could smell something good cooking--pork, and his stomach rumbled. His long black hair still wet--it would take hours to dry--he padded bare foot out to the kitchen, where he found Miguel busily frying up some pork, and peppers. And he even cooks! Jerry thought, glancing down at the bulge in Miguel's pants. "Let me do that." Jerry said.

"You want to help, get the tortillas out of the oven. They should be ready."

Jerry did as he was told, flushing with pleasure, loving it to have this handsome man boss him around. Soon, they were eating, laughing, Jerry telling Miguel all about his great escape, Miguel telling Jerry about his life in LA. They looked into each other's eyes, laughing together. At one point, Miguel said, "you've gotten something there." He pointed to the corner of his own mouth.

Jerry slipped his tongue between his plump lips, eyes sparkling, as he tried to lick whatever it was away.

Miguel reached over and brushed his finger against Jerry's lower lip, then showed him a smear of black bean. "Got it!"

"Gracias," Jerry said, his voice hoarse, his mouth dry. They stared into each other's eyes, both of them feeling the tension, the magnetism.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" Miguel said, staring into Jerry's eyes.

'Si." Jerry felt something clench inside him. He knew what Miguel wanted. He wanted what all the men wanted. But it was different this time. Jerry had never felt this way about a man before, and he wanted Miguel inside him, wanted to please him, to make him happy, to love him. Yes. Already. So fast. But yes. Jerry wanted to love him, and to be loved by him in return.

"I really want to thank you for helping me," Jerry said softly. Jerry stood, came around the table and knelt between Miguel's legs. "I really," he licked his lips and smiled up at Miguel, "want to thank you."

"No, no," Miguel said, putting his hand under Jerry's chin. "Come on. Get up."

"What?" Jerry felt a shock, rejection, fear.

Miguel put his arms under Jerry's shoulders, pulled him to his feet and sat him down. Jerry sat there, knees together, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. "You don't want me to...?"

"Oh, I want you to," Miguel said, nodding. "I got blue balls right now. Believe me. You are one hot little tamale, girl."

"Then, what's wrong?" Jerry said, confused.

"You're a guest in my house. A friend. I offered to help you for a friend, but that doesn't mean you have to, um, please me with your mouth, or anything else. What kind of man would I be if I treated you like that? Comprende?"

Jerry's eyes went wide, and his heart nearly burst with surprise, gratitude, and oh my God was this guy for real? Those fluttery feelings of a girl falling in love intensified, and Jerry nodded. "Si," he whispered.

"You're a beautiful young woman," Miguel said. "And I am going to treat you with respect at all times. Otherwise, you know, my mother would kill me. Good?"

"Good," Jerry said, smiling.

"Okay. Hopefully, this won't stay awkward. Let's clean up and watch some TV or something. Okay?"

"Okay," Jerry said, relieved, pleased, and he got up and grabbed some plates, eager to have something to do, and happy to have an opportunity to show Miguel that he knew his way around a kitchen.

Chapter 8: Down in Defeat

Jerry curled up in his bed in his room. The bed was so soft, the room so quiet. He slept a deep, restful sleep. In the morning, Miguel's sister, Maria, came around. Jerry thought she was pretty - not as pretty as him, of course, but pretty - and she was so friendly and nice. She insisted on taking Jerry shopping for some clothes. He needed bras, the ones Maria had left for him were too small, and with his puppies a bra was not just a good idea, it was a necessity. Plus, of course, he needed some everyday clothes as well. Maria told him they would be going to Fig at 7th, which was, "hands down the best mall ever in the world!"

Maria, it turned out, loved shopping almost as much as Jerry, and when the two of them sat down with their salads in the food court, they were both flushed, tingling, practically high over all the cute clothes and bargains they had discovered.

"What will you do for work?" Maria asked, taking a sip of her iced tea.

"I don't know yet," Jerry said, not wanting Maria to know his profession. He also felt off, to be out of work. He'd worked and worked hard since the time he'd been deported, and now to be out of work? It was shameful. The other girls would not approve at all.

"What did you do before?"

"I... I was a waitress," Jerry said, thinking 'stripper.' Maria seemed so clean and proper, he felt like maybe compared to her he was a slut, a tramp, and if she knew she wouldn't like him, would make Miguel throw him out.

Maria picked up on his sense of shame, though she didn't know the real reason. "There's nothing wrong with being a waitress!" She said.

"I know," Jerry said. "I just, I don't want you to think less of me."

"Pooh! You know what? I have a cousin who's the manager at Broken Spanish. It's the cutest restaurant, right downtown. Good tips from what I hear. I could put in a good word for you?"

"Would you?" Jerry said, sitting up, feeling so excited. "That would be so great."

"Of course." She pulled her phone out of her purse, tapped away, smiled and said, "done."

"You're all being so nice to me!" Jerry said, moved.

"We help each other," Maria said. "Mexicans. We have to stick together, you know?"

Jerry nodded. "I can't thank you enough!"

They shopped some more. Back at the house, they hugged, did air kisses, and when Maria left, Jerry slipped into one of his new bras, relieved to finally have some quality support again. His boobs felt like they weighed twenty pounds sometimes, but looking in the mirror, turning sideways to see how they hung in this bra, jutting out impressively from above his slender waist, like a pair of torpedoes, he wouldn't trade them for the world. They were one of his most valuable assets, and they opened a lot of doors for him.

Dressed, he went into the living room and curled up on the couch, turning on the television. One of his favorite telenovelas was on. Gina still hadn't figured out that Max was cheating on her! It made Jerry so mad. He shouted at the television! But she was a girl in love, so of course she was blinded to all his sneaky ways. Men! Jerry thought. "Ugh!"

As he watched, idly playing with his hair, knees to his chest, Jerry's mind wandered to his thoughts of getting his body back. He didn't have a precise plan, really, and hadn't thought much about what he would do once he got to America, but he knew he would do something.

His show ended, he looked at the time. Miguel would be home in an hour or so, and Jerry wanted to surprise him with dinner. He got up and went to the refrigerator, all his thoughts turning to Miguel - tall, handsome Miguel - and how to please him.

When Miguel walked in the door, he sniffed the air and said, "Wow! That smells so amazing!"

Jerry was in the kitchen, tossing a salad to go with the basic steak and sweet potato meal he'd whipped up. He smiled, flushing with pride. "I hope you're hungry!"

"I'm always hungry!" Miguel said, coming over and giving Jerry a 'hello' hug.

They ate. Jerry told Miguel all about his day at the mall, how great Maria had been, even the lead she'd gotten for him on a job. Miguel listened. He actually listened! And then he shared his day, and they laughed and felt the tension building.

That night, Jerry woke with a start. He'd heard a noise! His heart raced and he sat up, pulling the sheet up to his chin, staring into the darkness with wide eyes. Was someone there? He scanned the darkness. Nothing. But when he tried to sleep, he couldn't He was too scared! Finally, he got up and scurried to Miguel's room, pushing the door open, seeing him lying there, his sheet pushed down to his waist, his chest rising and falling. Jerry bit his lip. He hoped Miguel wouldn't be mad, but he just couldn't be alone right now!

Tiptoeing across the room, Jerry climbed into bed next to Miguel and pulled the sheet up over the both of them, feeling the heat of Miguel's body, listening to the gentle sound of his breathing. Jerry drifted off to sleep, smiling. When he woke in the morning, he found Miguel's arm draped over his shoulder, Miguel having rolled onto his side and spooned with Jerry, and Jerry's heart fluttered, and he smiled and closed his eyes, feeling safe, a small female protected by a big man, and he wished it could be like this forever, and drifted back to sleep.

When Miguel woke, Jerry woke too. Miguel kissed him on the shoulder. "Buenos dias, hermosa."

"Buenos dias," Jerry said softly, hooking his hair back, a shy little smile on his pretty face. Miguel got up and went to work, leaving Jerry to lay in bed a little longer, reveling in the smell of him on the sheets.

Jerry did his makeup and hair, put on his interview outfit--a white blouse, black slacks, pumps. He felt nervous, taking buses downtown, and meeting Maria's cousin, Ariana, who impressed Jerry right away with her flawless, put together business looks, and her quick, direct manner. The interview took all of ten minutes.

"You're hired," Ariana said after just a few questions. "Be here tomorrow at four."

"Gracias!" Jerry said, taking her hand, swelling with pride. "Gracias!"

"Okay. Tomorrow at four," Ariana said, thinking she's cute and hot as hell. The customers are gonna love her. Oh, and look at that ass!

The uniform at Broken Spanish was pretty much what Jerry had worn to the interview: black slacks, white blouse. Fortunately, sans heels. It had been years since Jerry had worked in anything but heels, and he offered up a prayer of gratitude to Mother Mary. Of course, he wore a push up bra, and a thong under his tight little pants. A girl couldn't have unsightly panty lines! The first day was hectic and exciting as Jerry got used to the new menu, his co-workers, and the space. The tables were fairly close together, and with his wide hips and big booty he had to twist and turn and do some creative maneuvering to get between them without his hips bumping into customer chairs or the other servers as they passed. A couple times his boobs brushed against one of the other girls, and he smiled and apologized, but they got it.

The tips were good. The costumers here did not slap or grab his ass. When the night ended and he was setting up the tables for the next day, Ariana came over and said, "Great job, today, Mia. You're a great little waitress."

Jerry blushed at the compliment, his eyes dropping to the side. "Gracias!" he said. "I try my best."

"Yes, you do," Ariana said, patting him on the back.

A great little waitress! Oh! Jerry covered his heart. It meant so much to him. He worked hard, and he tried to do all the extra things, to be extra sweet, to refill the water, and he was a great little waitress, and it felt so good to be recognized for that. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Miguel about his first night!

But, when he got home, the house was quiet, Miguel asleep. Jerry put on his pajamas and crawled in next to him again, tingling. It was okay. He would tell him in the morning!

Exhausted form his long day and first shift, Jerry still forced himself to get up early, earlier than Miguel. Going down to his room, he brushed out his hair and did his face. He liked to always be bright and pretty faced. Men said they didn't care, that they liked a girl to look natural, but Jerry's friends had all convinced him that was bullshit, and remembering back to when he was a man, he remembered saying it many times, but always feeling a little extra excited when a woman did do her face. So, he put on foundation, lipstick, a little eyeshadow plus eyeliner and mascara. Nothing too crazy. He liked doing his make-up anyway, it relaxed him and made him feel confident.

Miguel woke to the smell of bacon frying, and his stomach rumbled. He ran his hands over the cool sheets where Mia had lain, the imprint of her body, and then he took Mia's pillow and held it to his nose, breathing in the sweet, vanilla and honey smell of her shampoo. Miguel felt himself getting hard, thinking about Mia, her slender, bombshell body, her smile, her smell. He went downstairs and made a big show about praising Mia for her cooking, for the meal.

Jerry blushed and giggled, played with his hair. He hadn't had a man in a few days, and he was getting boy crazy.

Miguel looked at the clock. He had time. He looked back at Mia, stared into her eyes and smiled, his eyes and smile full of a promise and a question.

Jerry felt it, felt that clenching inside him he'd come to cherish as a woman, felt himself squeeze his legs together, smile back, his eyes and body language saying it all, saying yes, please now.

Miguel pounced. His arms wrapped around Jerry, his lips covered Jerry's, and then Jerry, kissing, grabbing, found himself lifted in Miguel's arms, and his heart flip-flopped. He was so light! So small! And Miguel was so strong! And then he was on his back, and Miguel had one hand on Jerry's breast, the other between his legs, and Jerry sighed, moaned, and threw his arms back. He bit his lip as he felt Miguel growing hard, his dick pressing into Jerry's soft thigh, and it was the best feeling in the world, and Jerry felt himself getting so hot, and so wet, and he clawed Miguel's back with his long fingernails, and when Miguel slipped into him, Jerry wrapped his legs around the man, wanting him deep, so deep, and he cried out in ecstasy as Miguel did go deep, so deep, all the while playing with Jerry's stiff nipples, sending waves of pleasure through his whole body, and when they came they came together and Jerry screamed, throwing his head back, lost in an eternity of pure pleasure.

It ended. Jerry felt stunned, devastated, his whole body just a tingling mass of post sexual glow. "You're so good," Jerry said, kissing Miguel, holding his soft little body against Miguel's hard angles, wanting to see his eyes, kiss his lips.

"You like, right?" Miguel said, kissing Jerry back.

"Oh my God," Jerry said. "You're just so amazing."

"Mia," Miguel said, running his thumb along Jerry's jawline. "I think... and this has never happened so fast, but I think I am falling for you."

Jerry almost orgasmed again right there, hearing those words. "I'm--- I feel the same," he admitted, though the feelings scared him. "I feel scared," he said. "I don't want you to take that the wrong way, but I'm losing myself in you, and I love but it also scares me because I've never felt like this about another--about a man."

"It's okay," Miguel said, taking Jerry's hand, kissing his knuckles, then his palm, then on his wrists, the soft place where all the veins were. "I'm scared, too, but I want this, I want it more than anything, and I am willing to walk through the fear with you. We'll do it together. Will you come with me, Mia?"

"Si!" Mia said. "I would follow you anywhere."

Epilogue

Mia shivered as she left the restaurant. The LA night had cooled, and she wore a slinky little dress, one she knew Miguel really liked. Miguel slipped his sports coat off and placed it over Mia's tiny little shoulders. She looked up at him, feeling so special and protected, and said, 'Gracias."

Miguel slipped his arm around Mia's waist and pulled her to him. She clung to his arm, and they walked side by side, so into each other they didn't even notice the couple approaching them from the other direction, not until a gravelly voice said, "Mia?"

Mia looked up into the weathered face of an older man, then at the woman walking with him, and the world spun. The man was her, or rather the person she used to be what seemed like a thousand years before, and the woman next to him had once been her wife, though that, too, seemed impossible, that a woman as feminine as Mia could ever have had a wife, could ever have been a man.

As Mia looked at them and slowly realized who they were, she felt herself fill with fear. What if the senator wanted to steal her body back? What if he were going to have her deported again? Mia clung more tightly to Miguel as the Senator stared at her face and said, "Mia. That is you."

"This is... he, I mean she's Mia?" Carol said, her face breaking into a grin as she looked Mia over, reveling in her bombshell body.

Mia just pressed herself against Miguel, cowering behind him, looking down, trying to hide her face in his shoulder. 'Pardon," Miguel said, sensing Mia's distress, stepping forward. "I don't believe we've met. Name's Miguel."

"I am Senator Jerry Wilson," the other man said, meeting Miguel's firm, powerful handshake with one of his own. "And this is my wife, Carol."

Miguel kissed Carol's hand. "A pleasure to meet you both. Senator Wilson? The one who's been so good for immigrants?"

"Si," Senator Wilson said. "That's me."

Carol looked up at Miguel, imagining her one-time husband in this man's bed, and then she looked past him to where Jerry was cowering, propped up on tall stiletto heels, hoop earrings dangling from his ears, a sexy little clutch purse on his wrist. He looked so helpless and afraid, it made her want to laugh.

"How do you know Mia?" Miguel asked, concerned at how terrified Mia seemed, wanting to protect her, but also cautious about dealing with a senator, pro-immigration or not.

"Oh, well," Senator Wilson said, rubbing his chin, looking at the sky. "Mia should be the one to tell you that story. I'm afraid we must be going. We're meeting friends. So good to meet you," he said. "And Mia. I must say, I simply love how much you've changed."

"Such a darling girl," Carol said. "You are a lucky man, Miguel. She's such a sweet little thing now, isn't she?"

"She sure us," Miguel said. "Have a wonderful evening."

The Senator and his wife walked off. Mia watched them. Once they'd gotten far enough away that she couldn't hear them, they put their heads together, looked at her and then burst out laughing.

Mia tugged at the hem of her short little dress, feeling herself burning with shame. Miguel pulled her close and started walking. "Friends with a senator? How did that happen?"

'I wouldn't call us friends," Mia said. "I was... I worked... I was his maid for a little while. Before I got deported. It was back when he was still anti-immigrant."

"Oh. That explains... I could tell you were scared."

"I still don't have a green card. Papers." Mia lived in a constant state of tension and fear. Whenever she saw the policia she got nervous, wanted to run. The laws were better, but they still weren't good, and as an illegal who'd re-entered after being deported once, she would face big problems.

"I have a friend. We're going to get that all taken care of," Miguel said. "You just have to trust me."

"I know. I do. I just-- I'll be afraid all the time until it's settled, until I am citizen! I just wish I didn't have to be so afraid! That I wasn't so afraid!"

'Mia, you're my woman now. You can be afraid. I will be strong for both of us."

Mia glanced back at the man she'd once been: confident, strong, brave and with an arm now around the waist of the woman Mia had married, who'd mothered his children. Mia could no more handle a woman like that now than she could do a push up.

She realized then, that they had taken everything away from the man she'd been, and not just the material things like money, or his body, but they'd taken away his very essence, his personality, and they'd turned him into a meek, frightened little female who wanted and needed a man to take care of her.

They'd destroyed him and had made her love the destroyed thing she'd become. As she pulled Miguel's coat over her shoulders and snuggled against her man, all Mia could think about was how badly she needed her man to fuck her brains out.

She heard Carol, her former wife, laugh again

Mia sneered, thinking, Bitch, I have way better tits than you ever had, so you can go to hell. And then she snuggled closer to her man and followed him into the night.

The End