A loud, piercing tone woke up Warden Tommy Tuber. It was a few minutes after 3 a.m. He glanced at his girlfriend. Sleeping on her stomach, she was still in the hot pink corset she wore when he had made love to her a few hours earlier. He pulled the white satin sheet over her sexy derriere seconds before the large computer screen captured their images in bed.
“Sorry to wake you, Warden. There’s been a homicide in D-Unit,” said Lauren Mutifa, Tommy’s chief of staff at the Louisiana State Reformatory. Her face was projected on the far wall of the bedroom. “Anne-Marie’s body was found half an hour ago. Rudolph has confessed. The Inspector General will arrive on-site in two hours.”
Tommy groaned. Anne-Marie was a stunningly-beautiful transgender female inmate who had emerged as a leader of the transgender female community in the prison. Rudolph was an inmate, a former Wall Street executive and her lover. The inspector general was the chief reason for Tommy’s groan. “I hate politics” was among Tommy’s favorite catch phrases. The inspector general was focused solely on politics.
It was the year 2066. The United States of America included Mexico, Canada and most of Central America after a series of economic depressions triggered civil unrest. After decades of phasing out mass incarceration and “defunding” the police, the U.S.A. was locking people up again -- led by its first female President, Pam Piper, who espoused fascism while making headlines with her lavish lifestyle, latex wardrobe, and bisexuality.
Tommy’s nickname was the “boy warden.” He was 23 years old and slight in build – 5’4” and about 120 pounds. He made up for it with a strong Napoleon complex, barking orders as he gained international fame as a progressive prison head.
As the call ended, Tommy woke up his girlfriend to tell here there was an emergency at the prison. He apologized for having to leave, spanking her lightly as he left. She went back to sleep.
Climbing into his self-flying helicopter in a heavy rainstorm, Tommy called Lauren for an update. She usually was the smartest person in the room, a 29-year-old who had an encyclopedic mind for criminal justice issues.
“Did Rudolph say why he did this?” Tommy asked.
“We have a videotaped confession from him. It boils down to jealousy. He had heard that Anne-Marie had flirted with the leader of the neo-fascist gang. Someone then gave him a video file showing them having sex. He said he reacted without any thought and hanged her from the second floor of the D Unit.”
Tommy asked Lauren if she knew what angle the inspector general would take when he arrived.
“He’s going to want to know why we have prison bitches in the year 2066. His political bosses will be asking questions.”
“Let’s not call them bitches, OK? They’re transgender females,” Tommy said.
Lauren apologized, saying she was using the terminology of “Big and Rich.” That was the nickname of Rich Smith, the inspector general. A short guy who had recently turned 40 years old, he weighed 400 pounds and usually wore a specially-made black pinstriped suit.
“He and his fellow political apparatchiks can go fuck themselves,” Tommy bristled.
Lauren asked Tommy if he had a plan.
“Yep. It’s the one I’ve talked about interminably for six months. I should have moved forward with it. I own that mistake, Lauren, and I apologize. No one else will suffer the blowback for my fuck-up. But at least I have a card to play with Big and Rich.”
Rich Smith rolled into Tommy’s office at 5 a.m. sharp. He accepted Tommy’s offer of coffee and two cinnamon rolls. Lauren joined them. She sat in a chair to the side of Big and Rich so she could study his body language.
Tommy asked Lauren to brief them on what the prison investigators knew about the homicide.
“I know it’s offensive language, but why do you still have bitches here?” asked Big and Rich, “Without gangs, there’s no need for protection.”
With a “told you so” look on her face, Lauren stifled a smile as she looked at Tommy.
Books about 20th-century and early 21st century prisons briefly had covered the topic of prison bitches, male inmates who dressed as women and had sex with gang leaders known as bulls. They did so, according to the books, because they needed protection from other inmates. The bulls provided that security.
But the need for that security had disappeared.
As prisons began to close around 2030, inmates returned to their communities. Correctional institutions that remained open took down their barbed wire fences and removed cell bars. Those convicted of crimes – a considerably smaller number as the number of police dwindled – had a choice of prison or home detention. Most chose the latter.
What had not disappeared was a reality the old books had glossed over. Having a bitch altered the behavior of the bulls, making them more docile and easier to manage. Also, the bitches often found freedom and love in their relationships with men, two qualities rarely found in a prison.
“Gangs are re-emerging; perhaps because of the change in the nation’s political climate emanating from the White House,” Tommy told Big and Rich. “The suspect, Rudolph, was an ardent capitalist and anti-fascist. But politics does not appear to be a motive here. The motive was jealousy – pure and simple.”
Big and Rich frowned. He didn’t like Tommy referring to President Piper, even obliquely. The President signed his paycheck. In return, Big and Rich carried her water.
“Isn’t there a rule against male inmates wearing women’s clothing?” Big and Rich asked.
“This isn’t 1896. Anne-Marie was a transgender female. She had the right to wear whatever she wanted between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. Outside of those hours, she wore a standard prison uniform.”
Big and Rich snorted.
“That’s not what I hear. A guard told us she’d often walk into the lunch room in a ‘little skirt climbin’ way up the knee.’”
Tommy caught the lyric to the oldies song by Aerosmith. Big and Rich consulted his notebook, searching for the next question. His body language displayed impatience, Lauren thought.
“I saw from your records that there has been a sharp increase in assaults on transgender female inmates over the past year. Why is that?” Big and Rich asked.
“There’s been an increase in non-transgender female inmates seeking job retraining services we offer here. So more convicts are choosing prison over home detention. That higher head count has increased competition for transgender females, leading to conflicts,” Tommy replied.
Big and Rich shifted gears.
“We’re weighing whether to disclose this murder on state-owned media. We’re also leaning in favor of releasing the mix-tape. I presume you have seen it.”
Tommy nodded, but didn’t say anything. Big and Rich referred to a 65-minute video of sex between transgender female inmates and bulls. Three guards had produced the footage from the state-of-the-art surveillance system. They had been terminated after distributing it to friends and family.
“Some feel that release of the mix tape would generate a lot of revenue for state-owned media,” Big and Rich added.
Tommy was amused that Big and Rich referred to state-owned media. It was the only media left because of the economic collapses. Tommy knew where this was going. It was a threat. The mix tape would be a disaster for his career. Images of criminals being rehabilitated in a humane prison setting would be replaced by transgender females taking cum-shots from their bulls.
“We have a plan to eliminate violence against transgender females,” Tommy explained. “We have a state grant that has not been spent. We also have funding from the federal anti-prison rape program. The money would be used to construct a new building on the prison grounds that would house transgender females. Those in relationships would be permitted to have their boyfriends spend the night.
“The building would be called the Transgender Residential Unit, or TRU. It would be dedicated to Anne-Marie’s memory. There would be a wide range of services provided, from higher education to transsexual surgery.”
“I’m not sure building a cat house is the solution,” Big and Rich said with a smirk.
Tommy felt his anger rise. Take a deep breath. He’s trying to bait you. Instead, Tommy talked more about his plans for the TRU. “Will you give us a chance to try it?”
Big and Rich hesitated, but grudgingly gave his approval. He thought Tommy was naïve, a bleeding-heart liberal who didn’t understand that someone with an iron fist should run the prison.
State-owned media never reported on the homicide. People who lived near the prison heard rumors about an inmate swinging from a rope, but didn’t know if they were true.
Big and Rich kept a copy of the mix tape in a safe. He watched it a few times, his cock getting so hard he had to touch himself. He would feel guilty about masturbating to the images, especially since he was married, but he would get over it soon.
The following morning, Tommy walked slowly up the front steps of the Fifth Avenue Baptist Church, where he and his girlfriend worshipped on Sundays. It was the start of summer. By 8 a.m., the temperature had hit 120 degrees because of climate change.
The pastor, the Rev. Mark Jones, greeted him in the air-conditioned lobby and they headed for his office. Rev. Jones was an old friend of the family in the small town near the prison. He had baptized Tommy and his father, “Big Tom.”
As America embraced fascism in response to economic woes, the nation also underwent a religious revival after decades of secularism. For Rev. Jones, that meant money flowing into the church’s coffers as the pews filled. It also had meant increased responsibility. Like many others, Tommy had returned to church to find quiet continuity during times of rapid change. His girlfriend taught Sunday school and read the Bible frequently.
After chatting about what was new in town, the Rev. Jones asked Tommy what was on his mind.
“I was wondering if some of the church’s volunteers could help us construct a new building at the prison. We’re using an old state grant and some new federal funds, but the church’s help would let us stretch those dollars farther,” Tommy said.
The Rev. Jones asked how the building would be used.
“We put up a building two years ago for inmates who need intensive treatment for drug and alcohol abuse. That’s cut down on the smuggling of drugs into the prison because the demand is gone. It’s also saved a lot of lives and helped them conquer addiction,” Tommy said.
“We want to try to the same approach with our transgender female inmates. We’ve had a wave of assaults targeting them. We need to give them a safe space outside the main prison building. This would be a small facility to house them and it would be easier to provide social services tailored to their needs.”
The Rev. Jones listened intently, his right index finger on his temple. He asked about the size of the building. Tommy said it would be able to house up to 100 inmates. He unrolled a blueprint on the Rev. Jones’s large wooden desk.
“Sounds doable. What is your timeline?”
“We want to start construction in two weeks, with completion by the start of fall,” Tommy said.
The Rev. Jones considered himself the keeper of Tommy’s soul. Shortly before his death, “Big Tom” had asked him to counsel Tommy about the inevitable temptations that life offered, from “easy money to fast women.” The Rev. Jones never had told Tommy this.
Like others, the Rev. Jones had heard rumors about Tommy’s girlfriend, who was a model, being transsexual. He didn’t know if it was true. Even if it was, the Rev. Jones thought it was irrelevant.
That night, he wrote in his journal:
I approved Tommy’s request for church volunteers to help construct the building. In the back of my mind, I wondered, ‘what will it be like to be in a building with up to 100 transgender females. I asked Tommy if there would be a rule prohibiting the staff from having relations with those inmates. He said he hadn’t thought about that. I told him there could be unintended consequences in housing so many transgender females in a building separate from the general population. He seemed miffed by my comment, but he didn’t say anything.
The Transgender Residential Unit opened on Sept. 1, as planned. Tommy was the keynote speaker at the opening and he unveiled a plaque in the lobby honoring Anne-Marie. State-owned media reported on the event in a short but positive piece that showed the large rooms and walk-in closets.
No one could deny the success of the TRU in its first year. The number of transgender female inmates tripled, attracted by the services offered and the security of the building. Without any transgender females in the prison’s general population, the number of assaults fell to zero. It became the latest progressive reform on Tommy’s resume, garnering attention from prison reformers in several countries.
Tommy was visiting a staff member at the TRU when one of the inmates approached him. She introduced herself as Kara and politely asked if he had time to talk. Tommy asked her to set up an appointment with his administrative assistant.
She did so and a week later, a guard escorted her to Tommy’s office on the top floor of the five-story main prison building. Tommy had looked up Kara’s file. She was 20 years old and had been convicted of forgery. Kara was in line to undergo transsexual surgery in the TRU.
Kara wore a vintage-inspired outfit – a long-sleeve pink shaping cardigan with a scoop neckline and four white bows, a short white skirt laced in trim, black fishnet stockings, black short leather gloves, and black pumps with a high stiletto heel. Inmates in the TRU could dress en femme 24/7 and all of them did. Kara was known as the most stylish.
Tommy’s chief of staff, Lauren, entered Tommy’s office to take notes. Tommy sensed a feeling of dread in her expression. Lauren felt that Kara was being presumptuous in wearing such a formal outfit that demanded attention.
“I am here in memory of Anne-Marie, who was a treasured friend of mine,” Kara said after Tommy introduced her to Lauren. “I am speaking on behalf of a majority of TRU inmates, but their positions on these issues are not monolithic.
“Most of the TRU inmates have approved a list of requests to the prison administration, but I’d like to discuss only two today. The first is our request for pay,” Kara said.
“For what?” Tommy asked.
“For our services,” Kara replied matter-of-factly.
“Eligibility to be housed in the TRU requires that a transgender female be in a relationship. Why would you be paid for that?”
“Some of the inmates feel that these relationships involve sex work and they should be compensated. Others feel that if their boyfriends are earning money working in the prison industries, they should earn their own. It’s a matter of gender equity.”
Tommy didn’t know what to say. He said he would consider forming a committee to explore the issue.
“We’d prefer not to get mired in bureaucracy,” Kara replied curtly.
“I understand.” Tommy looked at Lauren, who kept her head down. Haughty is the word Lauren chose for Kara.
“What’s your second issue?” Tommy asked.
“We’re requesting an end to the F2 policy.”
The reference confused Tommy. He looked to Lauren, who told him: “F2 stands for Forbidden Fruit. It’s how some of the inmates refer to the ban on staff members having relationships with transgender females at the TRU.”
As Lauren offered details on the Forbidden Fruit policy, Tommy watched Kara slowly cross her legs. Her skirt rose up just enough to reveal the bottom of the black garters that held her fishnets. He watched her fidget with her leather gloves. She noticed this, wondering if it was the buttery black leather or how she played with the gloves that grabbed his attention – or more likely both.
Kara loved how malleable men were, how a fetish like leather could seize them and never let go. If Lauren had not been there, Kara thought, she would have stood up, sat at the edge of Tommy’s desk, and given Tommy a much closer view of her pins.
“The policy is in place to prevent conflicts of interest among staff members,” Tommy told Kara. “The concern is there would be favoritism and conflict if staffers had relations with the TRU inmates.”
Kara rolled her eyes dismissively. “We think you should have more faith in the professionalism of your staff. We don’t understand why we can have a relationship with an inmate, but not with a staff member,” she said.
Her words angered Tommy. First, she had labelled some of the transgender females as sex workers. Second, it appeared she was trying to sow discord among his staff. He decided to cut the meeting short. With a sly smile, Kara shook his hand as she left, letting her leather glove linger.
“What the fuck was that?” Tommy asked Lauren after making sure Kara had descended in the elevator.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” she replied. “She has a lot of nerve. I’d recommend you be careful around her.”
Lauren spoke confidentially with her sources on the staff and among the inmates. The word she got was a rumor and a vague one at that. Kara had a surprise for the prison’s leaders but no one knew what it was or when it would happen. Lauren’s contacts warned her to not underestimate Kara.
A few weeks after Tommy met with Kara, Lauren received an envelope at work with a thumb drive in it. She took it to the Information Technology department, which found one file on it. It was a video of a couple having sex. Lauren watched it and called Tommy out of a meeting.
“We have a problem,” she said urgently.
The 93-minute video was a romantic and sexual encounter between Kara and Dr. Hal Zinn, the prison’s transexual surgeon whom Tommy had hired six months earlier. The quality was high; it had been videotaped in her bedroom and it looked like multiple cameras were used.
“I’m confident that Dr. Zinn knows there are blind spots in the surveillance system,” Lauren told Tommy. “This sex tape is intentional. Now we know why Kara wanted to get rid of the Forbidden Fruit policy.”
Tommy was skeptical.
“Is there any way the footage could have been doctored? Does that body on Dr. Zinn match up with real life?”
Lauren said she would have the tech people check.
After she left, Tommy watched the entire video. For some reason, he didn’t recall Kara being so petite. She looked about 5’4, 110 pounds – maybe less. Her brown hair was pinned up to highlight two flowers, one violet and the other green. Her pretty face displayed a mixture of elegance and innocence.
Dr. Zinn’s body was almost unrecognizable. It became apparent to Tommy that he usually wore oversized, shapeless clothing to conceal another side of him. In the video, he possessed the muscular body of a man who was obsessive about working out and weight lifting. At one point toward the end of the video, he picked up Kara and fucked her derriere-pussy with such force that Tommy thought he would break her in two like a matchstick.
A graduate of one of Canada’s most prestigious medical schools, Dr. Zinn was 33 years old. He had impeccable references and an unblemished record as a transsexual surgeon. His wife, Sarah, was a special assistant to President Piper, in charge of collecting votes in Louisiana and other southern states.
A few days later, Lauren advised Tommy that the video had not been doctored. They discussed whether to call Dr. Zinn in for a meeting. Tommy said he thought it was a bad idea. It was predictable that Dr. Zinn would push for a change to the “Forbidden Fruit” policy. Lauren agreed.
Tommy considered telling Lauren that they should meet with Kara, but he thought better of it. When the phone rang, Tommy said he needed to take the call. Lauren returned to her office.
The Rev. Jones was on the line.
“We haven’t talked in a while. How are things going?” the pastor inquired.
“Oh, hanging in there.”
“Anything in particular? How’s your girlfriend? Her name is Nova, right?” the Rev. Jones asked.
“You have a good memory. She’s great. She’s in China for a month, doing bikini shots for a calendar celebrating the 20th anniversary of the government taking the South China Sea.”
“It is. I miss her dearly. Hey, some shop talk; you had asked me about whether there would be a rule prohibiting the staff from having relations with inmates in the Transgender Residential Unit. That issue has come up recently.”
“Is it Kara?”
Tommy didn’t say anything at first. How the fuck would he know that? “It is. How do you know that?”
“Do you remember Mac Walters?”
“The good ‘ol boy who inherited his father’s cotton farm?”
“Yes, that’s him. Kara is his daughter. She got busted for forging documents to get a bank loan. That’s why you’re her landlord.”
Tommy didn’t like Mac Walters. When Tommy was a senior in high school, Mac was a freshman. Mac drove around in a pick-up truck flying a fascist flag, which at the time was a felony offense. Ignoring several court decisions, President Piper had rescinded the law shortly after her inauguration. The image of a crimson hammer against a white backdrop flew all over the U.S.A. now.
Mac had a bad habit of boasting about “nailing” some of the high school cheerleaders. He had married the prettiest one. They had a son, who now was a daughter. The farm had made Mac a millionaire, but he didn’t flaunt his wealth.
The Rev. Jones said Mac recently had called him, saying his daughter was trying to change the policy that prohibited TRU inmates from dating staff members.
“Talked about some guy with a last name that starts with Z.”
“Zinn,” Tommy offered.
“That’s it. Mac said she’s fallen in love with this guy. He asked if I could speak with you about it. Said you had hired Zinn.”
“I did. I don’t like Mac. He’s a redneck and a fascist.”
“He denies being a redneck; just the opposite. He said he’s unifying poor whites and Blacks under a nationalist banner. You’re aware he has contributed a lot of money to President Piper.”
Tommy asked the Rev. Jones what he told Mac.
“That you’re a close friend and I’m not going to lobby you. I told him the prison is your domain and that I trust your judgment.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” Tommy replied.
Putting the phone down, Tommy decided to meet with Kara.
He decided to not tell Lauren or anyone else.
Tommy had played an integral part in developing the prison’s security system. The buildings and land were divided into thousands of grids, with video and audio surveillance.
There were 10 ‘black boxes’ – areas that were invisible to the system. They were designed for interrogations. In addition to Tommy, the only others who knew about them were Lauren and the head of Information Technology, a small circle.
It was not unusual for Tommy to appear on the surveillance system and then disappear, usually for half an hour or an hour. Lauren always was notified, because the practice was a security threat. An inmate could attack Tommy and there would be no warning or evidence. However, the value of the information that Tommy would elicit, usually through torture, outweighed the potential danger. It kept the prison safe.
The challenge was how to get Kara into one of those “black boxes” without Lauren or the head of Information Technology seeing her enter or leave.
Tommy’s solution was to create an 11th “black box” that only he would know about – in a hallway within her room. It wasn’t easy. It required almost a week of reprogramming, late at night when Information Technology was distracted by tracking “walk outs,” inmates who would simply walk out of their housing. Without prison fences, they could do this as long as they returned, but the security staff had to document their departure and return.
On a routine visit to the TRU, Tommy dropped by Kara’s room and pressed a note into her hand saying he needed to meet with her the following night. The note said she should not talk about their meeting.
The next day, Tommy repeatedly played out how their encounter should unfold. He called it “war-gaming,” but he also knew that everything he anticipated could go awry.
Tommy walked into her room at 1 a.m.
“Follow me into the hallway,” said the note he slipped into her hand.
“No one can see us. This entire hallway is a black box,” Tommy told her when they arrived in the hallway.
“This must be a new one,” Kara said. “I’m honored, Warden Tuber. I thought you always played it by the book.”
“You can call me Tommy.”
He watched her enigmatic smile. He was desperate to fuck it off her face.
“So Dr. Zinn told you about the ‘black boxes’ in the surveillance system?” Tommy asked.
“Yes, but he said he didn’t want to use one for our little fling. He wanted to make a statement,” she replied.
“Did you too?”
“No, Tommy. I’m careful about the statements that I make. You only get a limited number.”
Kara wore another vintage outfit -- a royal blue peplum dress that cinched her waist and enhanced her hourglass curve. The dress was made of polyester and cotton with a hem four inches above her knee, a V neck and a back zip closure. Kara wore a white flower in her hair, which she wore up; six pearl necklaces of various sizes, a pearl bracelet on her left wrist and a white diamond split bar bracelet on her left. Her pumps matched the color of her dress.
She also wore a short pair of black leather gloves with bows.
“Your father says you’re in love with Dr. Zinn,” Tommy said.
“Who told you that?” Her eyes flared anger for a moment.
“I can’t say.”
“It’s not true.”
“I’m not changing the Forbidden Fruit policy,” Tommy told her firmly, “it applies to everyone – except for me.”
Kara smiled and lowered her eyes. In high heels, she was taller than Tommy and her eyes locked in on his growing erection.
“I was trying to get your attention with that video with Dr. Zinn,” she said.
“It worked, Kara. May I have your consent to kiss you?”
She nodded and he kissed her softly on the lips. They made out for half an hour. He couldn’t get enough of her lips and her dark eyes.
“This feels like high school,” Tommy told her.
“We grow up after high school and become adults who know what they want,” Kara replied.
She undid his belt and unzipped the top of his pants. He was wearing a black leather brief. His bronzed body was toned, with black hair covering his chest and stomach. Kara knelt in front of Tommy, removing his shoes and socks. He urged her to stand up and when she complied, he kissed her, intent on more foreplay. She responded by unbuttoning his shirt and lowering the zipper the rest of the way so his pants fell to the floor. He stepped out of them.
Kara explored his body, running her leather gloves over his muscles and abs as the bulge between his legs grew. She reached back to caress the black leather that covered his sexy butt.
“You like leather, like me,” she said.
Tommy managed to say yes. His entire body ached with anticipation.
Excited by his luscious chest hair, Kara kissed his right nipple. She licked slow circles around it. He began to sigh, welcoming her tongue as she moved to the left nipple.
After feasting on his chest, Kara again lowered herself to the floor. The black leather briefs that Tommy wore had studs on the front and a zipper. She undid the zipper to free his erection. Kara licked the tip of his cock, which she estimated at about nine inches.
“Good girl, Kara,” Tommy whispered, as she licked the pre-cum off his cockhead and then slid the leather brief down his legs and tossed it aside. She took his shaft between her lips and deep-throated him, managing not only his length but also its thickness.
“Oh honey, that’s good,” he said. She grasped his cock with her left hand, gradually taking more of him inside as she swirled her tongue around his shaft. She looked up into his eyes. Kara sucked him harder, her lips pressing against his shaft. He wasn’t ready to come, though.
Kara stood, running her hands again over his tight ass. Tommy stepped behind her, raising her right leg so it rested on the railing of the staircase. He unzipped her dress, which slid to the floor, and lowered her white silk panties. After expertly lubricating her, he slid his cock into her derriere-pussy, spearing her deeply. Kara moaned as his powerful cock pumped in and out of her, her breasts swaying from his force. Tommy came, pulling out his raging cock and sending ropes of thick, hot semen over her back. She came seconds later.
Tommy found his handkerchief and mopped up the cum on her back. They kissed, not wanting to part.
When Tommy said he had to leave and departed soon after, Kara slipped off her white silk bra. She had felt some of his cum splash on the back strap. She placed the bra in a plastic big.
She needed the DNA -- just in case.
Dr. Zinn sensed there was something wrong. He had met Kara shortly after he had begun to work at the prison. She had expressed interest in undergoing transsexual surgery. They had become lovers and Dr. Zinn had become attached to the transfer of power during their sexual encounters.
Now, she seemed somewhat distant.
“Is there something bothering you, Kara?” Dr. Zinn asked. They were chatting in one of the “black boxes,” located in a stairwell near his office. Dr. Zinn had just finished giving her a physical. A week had passed since Kara and Tommy had fucked.
“Warden Tuber said he’s not going to change the Forbidden Fruit policy,” she said.
Dr. Zinn had grown to detest Tommy. He referred to him as “Napoleon,” a reference to Tommy being short and his endless pursuit of positive publicity for his work.
“Did he say why?”
“No, he did not.”
Dr. Zinn was puzzled. It seemed strange to him that the Warden would take time to tell an inmate about something he didn’t plan to do.
“When did he tell you this?”
“A few days ago.”
Dr. Zinn thought Kara was lying. She had struck him a few times as cagey, scheming, and deceptive. Her father, Mac, was a character. He visited her once a week and Dr. Zinn had accessed, with the help of an Information Technology staff member, video files of their discussions. They usually talked about money. Both had an insatiable desire for it.
After undergoing transsexual surgery, Kara was planning to leave the prison within a month or so and wanted to go to law school. She thought becoming an attorney would help her avoid any legal troubles in the future. Her father thought that was a smart idea.
Dr. Zinn never had considered an extramarital affair with a patient until he met Kara. He had kicked a heroin habit as a college undergrad. His desire for this transgender female made him feel like he was riding the tiger again. Kara, he felt, would not be able to resist him. He would seduce her by building a scaffold of dominance over her.
He could tell she hungered for intimacy, but it took almost three months for him to get her out of one of those vintage dresses. She even had resisted, as a last resort, him taking off her panties. He told her to lower them. She did. His tongue and lips on her little clitty ended any thought of not giving herself to him. She told him he had revealed her submissive side. He celebrated by lovingly taking her virginity and treating her like a Queen.
Now, he suspected she had betrayed him with a man that Dr. Zinn hated intensely.
Shortly after Kara told Dr. Zinn that he would not revise the Forbidden Fruit policy, Dr. Zinn’s wife, Sarah, opened a bottle of white wine and invited her husband to talk on the back porch of their home.
As an assistant to the President, Sarah was privy to all sorts of information. She shared it with her husband sparingly.
“So the President says we’re putting the prison walls back up, with the barbed wire, and reopening the guard towers – and those guards will have rifles and shoot-to-kill orders for escapees,” she said.
Dr. Zinn was intrigued. He asked why.
“President Piper’s re-election campaign begins in earnest next month. The theme will be law and order. The President thinks it’s bullshit that prisons don’t have walls. She wants to start with Tommy’s prison,” Sarah said. “And then she’ll do the rest of the prisons.”
“I think she’ll have some issues with Warden Tuber.”
“Oh, I think he’ll have a change of heart.”
Sarah sent the image to her husband in a text. It was shot from the side, Kara looking up at Tommy as she performed fellatio on him.
Dr. Zinn saw the grin open on his wife’s face.
“I thought that would get your attention. There’s also video.”
Sarah pulled a Smith & Wesson Model 29 revolver in .44 Magnum out of her purse. She pointed it at her husband’s head. She knew he occasionally would wear a bullet-proof vest at the prison.
“The Warden fucked her, just like you did. He thought he was invisible, but no one is really invisible these days. Hal, you need to leave this house and never return. I’ve filed the divorce papers in the Circuit Court. I know it’s abrupt, but it’s the end of our marriage. This is not your home any longer.
“Tommy isn’t going to say a word about the President’s plans to put the prison walls back up. And the President can’t afford the bad publicity if it gets out that my husband fucked an inmate.”
Dr. Zinn watched his wife’s finger on the trigger. He stood up and did what Sarah thought he would do. He drove to the prison.
It was not unusual for Tommy to work late. With his girlfriend in China, he tried to get ahead of the crush of work.
A message appeared on his screen.
I’m outside your door
It was from Dr. Zinn.
Opening the door, Tommy didn’t see the syringe until it was too late. Dr. Zinn pressed the needle into the top of his right hand. It took 10 seconds for Tommy to fall unconscious.
Dr. Zinn texted Lauren, who was at her home.
There’s been a medical emergency. Tommy has suffered a heart attack. I am transporting him to Bethesda General. I will provide you an update as soon as I can.
Dr. Zinn picked up Tommy. The elevator took them to the roof, where Tommy’s self-flying helicopter awaited. He placed Tommy in the back and set the course for Crystal City, a 10-minute flight. Dr. Zinn ignored the stream of texts from Lauren asking for more information.
Landing on top of a 200-story condo tower in the bourgeois district, Dr. Zinn checked the time. He only had about 10 minutes. He had rented an office on a sub-floor for his clinic. He carried Tommy to the elevator, which whisked them 10 stories below ground.
Dr. Zinn undressed Tommy and placed him on the operating table. He quickly restrained him, attaching 20 straps which made it impossible for Tommy to move.
“Where am I?” Tommy asked, his words slurring as the drug began to wear off.
“You’re in surgery,” Dr. Zinn replied.
“What happened to me?”
“The better question is, ‘what is going to happen to you?’” Dr. Zinn said, studying Tommy’s breathing and pulse rate.
The room was small, the walls painted a soothing light green. There was a table for Dr. Zinn’s surgical tools and provisions for anesthesia.
Tommy was having problems with focusing his eyes. The voice sounded familiar. When he saw the large nose and the bushy black eyebrows, he knew it was Dr. Zinn.
“It’s you,” Tommy said, his words clearer now.
“Yes, it’s me. Did you fuck Kara?”
“No, I did not.”
“You’re a goddamn liar. Now, you’ll face the consequences of fucking my girlfriend. You’re undergoing gender reassignment surgery. It was so smart of you to hire me. Thank you, Warden. You will love your labia and vagina.”
Dr. Zinn watched Tommy struggle under the restraints.
“There’s no point in doing that,” he told Tommy, “Lauren and your security team will find your helicopter, but they’ll never find us. We’re 10 stories below ground.”
As Dr. Zinn grasped the scalpel, Tommy screamed and everything went black.
When Tommy regained consciousness, Dr. Zinn explained that he would be administered estrogen to stimulate breast growth, widen his hips, inhibit the growth of facial hair and increase his voice pitch. It would take a while. Dr. Zinn said Tommy would live in the apartment, 10 stories underground, with him.
“You won’t remember any of this transformation once it’s over,” Dr. Zinn said in his most tranquil voice. “I will report you as a missing person; that you absconded after the helicopter landed on top of the building, that you were fearful of undergoing heart bypass surgery.
“You will live in another city. You will have a new career. You won’t remember anything about your previous life. No one will know, except me, that you used to be Warden Tommy Tuber.”
Dr. Zinn turned on some music, an old song he often would play for Tommy during his transformation to Tomi.
“Step inside/walk this way/you and me babe/hey hey.”
One year later
The sunshine woke Tomi. She looked over at the bed-stand. There was no clock. The white bed and nightstand were the sole contents of the large bedroom, which also was painted white.
One wall was entirely glass. The morning sun poured through it, rays of orange and yellow. She slipped the white sheet off of her and basked in the sunshine. Tomi wore a white lace corset with garters attached to white silk stockings, and matching panties.
There was a knock on the door. Tomi got up and walked to the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Tomi, it’s your doctor,” a male voice replied.
Tomi opened the door and Dr. Bill Yallow entered, introducing himself. Like Tomi, Dr. Zinn had a new name and a dramatically different appearance.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
“No, I don’t. I don’t even know what my name is or where I am,” she said.
“Your name is Tomi Lungren. We’re in your house in Benedict Canyon in Beverly Hills.”
“What happened to my memory?”
“You were in a horrible auto accident. Your Ferrari literally was cut in half. It’s a miracle you were not killed. You were in a coma for almost a year. There is no chance you will recover your memory, but I am here to help you rebuild your life. You’re an intelligent and beautiful young woman.”