Chapter Two
Tomi Lungren wondered why she did not feel self-conscious in her revealing lingerie as she chatted with Dr. Bill Yallow. The white lace corset beautifully accentuated the cleavage of her 34C breasts. Her matching panties were skimpy enough to confirm Dr. Yallow’s supposition that her natural blonde pubic hair was trimmed, not shaved. Her white silk stockings glistened in the bright sunlight.
Like everything else, Tomi had no memory of the man in front of her. Struggling to summon even a fragment of her life before today, she came up empty. The date was June 1, 2067. What happened on May 31? Tomi had no idea, having been in a coma.
He must have dressed me. If so, he sure has great taste in underwear.
Dr. Yallow – known as Dr. Hal Zinn before his own physical transformation and name change -- stood at the foot of the bed. She appreciated his compliment that she was an “intelligent and beautiful young woman.” Tomi wanted to know more about her life, the memory of which Dr. Yallow said was gone forever, wiped away by an auto accident that nearly killed her.
“What did I do for a living?”
“You were a singer, just getting started at local clubs. You have a great voice and natural stage presence,” Dr. Yallow replied. “I own a few clubs around town. That’s how we met. I became your manager. I hope I can play that role if you decide to resume that career.”
“What kind of music did I sing?”
“Multiple genres, but mainly what was known a century ago as ‘rock and roll.’ It hasn’t been marketed that way for decades. You were building a following in L.A., especially with the heavy metal and revivalists.”
Tomi asked if there were any recordings or video footage of her performances. Dr. Yallow said no, she hadn’t reached that point. He said shortly before the accident, he had been recruiting musicians for a band to back her full-time and cut some demos.
Dr. Yallow’s statements were lies, intended to prevent Tomi from recovering any memories. Regardless, he didn’t want to overload Tomi with too much information. He was cautiously optimistic that he had surgically removed the memory of the former Tommy Tuber, the warden and his former boss at the Louisiana State Reformatory. As Dr. Zinn, he had been a transsexual surgeon at the prison.
But he couldn’t be sure – yet. More time had to pass. He noticed Tomi checking out his body. That might be a clue. A heterosexual guy transformed into a woman likely wouldn’t do that if she had even a scintilla of memory. But who knows? Perhaps the former Tommy Tuber’s sexuality was more complex than that.
“Tomi, I have to run to a meeting,” Dr. Yallow told her. “There is a guard shack at the end of your driveway. Paul handles security for the grounds and your home, and he also is your driver. I’ll be back tonight to introduce you to a friend who has a business proposition for you. Until then, please acclimate yourself to the house and perhaps cool off in the pool later. I bought you a new swimsuit.”
Tomi stood up and gave Dr. Yallow a peck on the cheek. When he was gone, she decided to explore the rest of the house, wondering if that would resurrect anything familiar, anything that might spark a memory.
The home was stunning, the modern architecture focused on the dramatic view of the “Hollywood” sign on the southern slope of Mount Lee. All four walls were made of glass, framed by support beams. Tomi walked through a glass-enclosed hallway to a stairway with metal railings, leading to the living room. The beams above were painted white. In the center of the room was a white leather couch, about ten feet wide and 15 feet long.
Tomi reclined on the couch, her head resting on a single row of pillows. Her mind couldn’t move beyond Dr. Yallow. She knew he had noticed her checking out his impressive body. She wanted him to catch her stares, to know of her interest in him.
Early 30s. Brown eyes. Longish brown hair, a bushy beard and full mustache.
Tomi undid the swing hooks of her corset and placed it on the side of the couch. Her hands swept over her breasts, aching for a man’s confident touch or the soft wetness of a tongue. She licked her index finger before pushing them together. Her nipples were hard and she slipped off her silk panties, damp from the arousal had been building since she had met Dr. Yallow that morning.
Black form-fitting shirt. Jeans, a brown leather belt, a silver chain attached to a belt loop and to a pocket of his well-worn jeans.
Tomi lowered the silk hose so that she was nude. Her hands followed the trail from her tits to her pussy. She spread her folds as images of this hunk continued to flood her mind.
Tattoos on his fingers, hands, wrists and forearms. Beautiful ones in color. Where else are they? On his torso? Perhaps even the spot right above his thick, brown pubic hair?
She smiled, realizing that her first memories of her new life centered on sexual desire. She had listened to Dr. Yarrow intently as he told her she had been a singer, but her attention had been fragmented, like a loud, piercing tone interrupted by silence. His face and body demanded her attention, scattering all other thoughts from her mind.
Tomi spread her legs wide. With her left arm resting across her breasts, she used two fingers to probe her pussy, which throbbed with thoughts of him; the sound of his voice, the way he walked, his calm bedside manner as they had chatted earlier. She masturbated slowly, her fingers moving in and out of her vagina as she fantasized about how he would make love to her.
She didn’t think she could last long this way, her left hand joining the right as she arched her back, her head moving from side to side, her long blonde hair askew. As the powerful orgasm washed over her body, she heard an electric guitar, which gave way to a drum beat, and then the guitar lick resumed.
“Love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on
Livin’ like a lover with a radar phone
Lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp.
Demolition woman, can I be your man? (your man)”
Confusion swept across Tomi’s pretty face.
Where did that song come from?
***
State-owned media didn’t report on the disappearance of Warden Tommy Tuber.
Rich Smith, the prison inspector general known as “Big and Rich,” had advised against it, questioning whether Warden Tuber supported the first openly fascist President of the U.S.A., Pam Piper.
“We have no idea what happened to him, whether he’s gone underground or has been disappeared by someone,” Big and Rich told the head of state-owned media. “Politically, it’s wise to say nothing until we know the facts. Let’s not do anything that could jeopardize Pam’s re-election.”
The Piper administration moved quickly. An extreme right-wing supporter was appointed to replace Tommy. The new warden asked for – and received – the resignation of Tommy’s chief of staff, Lauren Mustafa.
Within a month, a 30-foot-tall fence topped with rows of barb wire would be installed around the Louisiana State Reformatory, along with towers manned by guards with rifles. TRU, the Transgender Residential Unit, would be shut down, the transgender female inmates transferred to a facility off the coast of Costa Rica. It was among the Central American nations that, along with Mexico and Canada, were part of the U.S.A. following a rash of civil unrest.
President Piper learned about these criminal justice plans from one of her high-ranking aides, Lucy, the 22-year-old woman who briefed her.
The President was spending the weekend at her residence in Atlanta, known as the “Southern White House.” She regularly travelled there for a few days at a time to get away from the regular White House, which she considered a pressure-cooker. Plus, in Atlanta, which she referred to as “hot-lanta,” she had more privacy.
And as Lucy rattled off more information about law-and-order issues, President Piper knew she needed some private time with Lucy.
Behind her scholarly black glasses, Lucy was pretty in a plain way, with black hair she usually wore in a neat ponytail. A political savant, she also was considered a genius when it came to public policy. Her style was a bit edgy. She routinely dressed down, often in untucked, men’s style, button-down shirts; khakis, and flats. That’s what she was wearing as she delivered her daily briefing to the President.
For reasons she could not explain, President Piper found Lucy’s shabby style highly erotic.
“The final item I need to discuss is the Pornography Initiative,” Lucy said, looking up from her notes.
“The what?” President Piper set her coffee mug down and leaned forward in her chair.
“The Pornography Initiative. Your plan to re-introduce porn on a new commercial channel as a way to re-educate people who have not embraced fascism as the best way to practice capitalism and democracy.”
President Piper smirked. She had floated the idea in her first successful campaign. But it was supposed to be a thought experiment, not a plan. But one of her longest-serving assistants, Harold Hemp, had picked up the idea and run with it.
“Do you want me to get Harold on a video conference?” Lucy asked. “He’s the one who has fleshed out – pun intended – your idea.”
President Piper smiled. “Fuck no, I can’t burn that amount of time listening to Harold. Just give me the condensed version.”
“As you know, there has been a ban on porn in place since you took office. We’re trying to determine how the resumption of porn can be used to build support for you. Harold’s proposal is to supply erotica, not porn. The distinction, he says, is one of quality. A girl being fucked is porn. A man making love to a woman after a discussion about the positive attributes of fascism is erotica.
“Harold’s idea is to develop a television program to explore this erotica concept, aimed at those who have not voted for you yet. He’s working on the details now and should have something for us soon. And that’s the end of my briefing,” Lucy added.
President Piper nodded, then motioned for Lucy to walk over to where she sat. Lucy settled on the edge of the large wooden desk. There were several books on the desk, including President Piper’s book about fascism, which spoke eloquently about how true fascism had no link to racism, antisemitism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, or any other evil.
“What does fascism mean to you, Lucy?”
It wasn’t the first time Lucy had answered the question. She had been one of President Piper’s lovers for six months and the question always prefaced their trysts.
“It means everything to me, Madam President.”
President Piper unbuttoned Lucy’s shirt. She wore a white cotton bra. President Piper kissed Lucy’s nipples through the soft material.
“You’ll be wearing latex tonight, Lucy.”
Lucy asked about the color.
“Black,” President Piper said. “Because you’ve been a bad girl. Do you want to go to my boudoir, Lucy?”
“Yes, Madam President,” Lucy said, her voice barely audible.
President Piper kissed Lucy, from the front of her neck to her full lips. She released the buttoned sleeves and removed Lucy’s shirt, unhooking the bra deftly and flinging it aside. Lucy sighed as she felt President Piper’s teeth graze against the end of her right nipple.
Lucy was President Piper’s favorite female plaything -- currently. The President had a large appetite for sex. She had demonstrated patience when Lucy expressed ambivalence about experimenting with bisexuality. The President was openly bi, had talked about it publicly to gain support among the intelligentsia and others who were skeptical about her.
President Piper led Lucy down a flight of stairs to her bedroom, instructing her to wait on the couch. An hour or so later, President Piper returned. She was entirely in black; a latex bustier that buckled up the front and stopped right below her breasts; her nipples covered by electrical tape in the shape of an X; latex stockings attached to the bustier and matching panties; and black leather pumps with a five-inch stiletto heel. She wore blood-red lipstick; heavy under-liner, and violet eyeshadow.
Told to get on all fours on the small couch, Lucy felt President Piper unzip her khaki pants, and pull them and her white cotton panties off in one movement. She slipped the black latex bra on Lucy, along with a garter belt and stockings of the same color and material.
“Spread your legs wide,” President Piper told her.
Lucy screamed as she felt President Piper spank her with the leather paddle.
“Have you been watching porn with that old degenerate, Harold Hemp?”
“Yes, Madam President. I apologize.”
President Piper knew that Lucy wouldn’t lie, but it didn’t lessen her punishment.
The paddle was large enough to strike both of Lucy’s ass cheeks at the same time. Within ten minutes, those cheeks were pink and Lucy felt the sting intensify. President Piper admired the contrast between Lucy’s pale skin and her worked-over ass.
Moving to a large chair near the couch, President Piper strapped the black rubber dildo around her waist.
“Come over here Lucy, and suck my cock. I need it wet.”
Lucy knelt in front of President Piper, wrapping her lips around the dildo and sucking the tip into her mouth.
As Lucy sucked, President Piper bound her arms – directly right above her elbows -- and her wrists behind her back.
“Tell me about your recurring dream, Lucy.”
“I dream about a hammer, covered in purple velvet. The hammer crushes everything in its path, except for me. And then it turns into your face. You kiss me and fuck me all night long with your strap-on.”
***
After visiting with Tomi, Dr. Yallow took the hyper-loop to downtown Los Angeles. He had to grab a rickshaw to get to the blighted section. His destination was the office of the only person he totally confided in – a friend known by his small circle of associates as Texas Pete. They had known each other since they were six years old. Pete wasn’t from Texas. He had picked up the nickname from one of his most effective personas – that of a wealthy Texas oil man.
Texas Pete referred to himself as a consultant or a fixer, but Dr. Yallow knew him as a first-class con man. He never had been caught.
Naturally, he didn’t recognize Dr. Yallow as he strolled into his office. Texas Pete fingered the knife he had strapped to his lower left leg.
“Pete, it’s Hal Zinn. I’ve changed my appearance. And I’m going by a new name – Dr. Bill Yallow.”
Texas Pete handed Dr. Yallow a cup of water and told him to take a sip. He used the cup to verify that Dr. Yallow’s DNA matched that of his boyhood friend’s. It only took a few seconds.
“It’s great to see you, but what the fuck is going on with you?” Texas Pete asked.
“I don’t know where to begin,” Dr. Yallow replied.
“Give me the thumbnail version,” said Texas Pete, ushering Dr. Yallow into his cluttered office. A sawed-off shotgun rested on the desk, along with a red rubber bra and pair of panties.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Hal or should I say, Bill? My secretary is a bit needy.”
Dr. Yallow laughed. A little levity didn’t hurt before he rolled out his tale.
“I was working as a transsexual surgeon at a prison in Louisiana. The warden’s name was Tommy Tuber. I was involved in a relationship with a transgender female inmate by the name of Kara. Warden Tuber fucked her, and my wife also found out that I had fucked her. She filed for divorce and threw me out of the house.
“I was enraged by what Warden Tuber had done. Out of my mind with jealousy, I kidnapped Warden Tuber and against his will, I performed surgery on him, transforming him into a woman. I induced him to go into a deep coma and deleted his memory – permanently through another operation. The new Tomi – spelled T-O-M-I – has no memory.”
“You did all of this because this dude, the warden, fucked your girlfriend? Isn’t that straining credulity? You’d never get that bullshit past an editor if this were fiction.”
Dr. Yallow leaned back in his chair. “That’s true, but we’re talking non-fiction here. People learn that they should not fuck with me, but that’s not the only reason I did it. I have plans for the new Tomi, but I want you to meet her first before I tell you what they are. You would play a key part in all of this if things go well.”
Although Texas Pete had not seen his friend for a while, he had trusted his instincts several times and never been burned. He didn’t try to pry more information out of him. It wouldn’t have worked, he knew.
***
In a bedroom down a hallway from the living room, Tomi found a closet full of clothes and shoes. And as Dr. Yallow had told her, a gift – a gold string bikini. There also was a gold waist chain inscribed with her first name written in script – Tomi.
In 2067, people had the option of turning off the internet in their brain. Dr. Yallow had chosen that option when he transformed Tommy into Tomi. As a result, his message appeared on the wall of the bedroom where Tomi stood -- instead of in her mind.
<Hi Tomi! I told you this morning I’ll be back tonight to introduce you to a friend who has a business proposition for you. We’ll drop by at 9>
<Thank you for the bikini and the jewelry. Love them!!!!!>
The two men were punctual. From the guard shack at the end of the driveway, Paul studied the results of the retina scan of Texas Pete, whose real name was Peter Peterson. Paul enjoyed parents who had a sense of humor in naming their children, but he didn’t see any red flags to prevent Texas Pete from gaining access to Tomi’s home.
Paul had been on the job for only a week, and Dr. Yallow had hired him because of his reputation for vigilance. Nodding to Dr. Yallow, Paul waved the black, four-door Mercedes Benz past the gate.
“How much did this place set you back?”
“Every cent I received from the settlement with Sarah,” said Dr. Yallow, referring to his ex-wife, the assistant to President Piper. “This car also is mine from the divorce.”
“I’m surprised she left you anything.”
“I know too much,” Dr. Yallow said without elaborating. He changed the topic. “So when you meet Tomi, I want you to study whether she’s telegenic.”
“Whoa, I haven’t heard that word in, like, ages. If video killed the radio star, then the web obliterated television.”
“When I just said I know too much, I wasn’t exaggerating. One of the things I know is that President Pam Piper wants to bring back commercial television – in a very limited way,” Dr. Yallow said.
“And why would she want to do that?”
“Well, my ex said President Piper is well aware of the dirty secret that no one watches state-owned media. She wants some entertainment for the masses and I need your honest assessment whether Tomi is telegenic. Do not tell me what I want to hear. I have a Plan B and C and D if she doesn’t work out.”
“Fine,” Texas Pete said, straightening his tie as they approached the front door of Tomi’s home.
Tomi greeted them at the front door. She wore a long-sleeve black latex dress with a miniskirt hem. There was a red zipper on the front. It was unzipped enough to reveal her cleavage.
When Texas Pete saw Tomi for the first time, his first reaction was that she was among the most beautiful women he had ever met in person. It wasn’t easy to impress him. He had met a lot of women and in his line of business, he heard a lot of hyperbole. He noticed right away that Tomi was not wearing any mascara. She didn’t need any.
Tomi’s blonde hair hung a few inches below her shoulders. Her eyebrows drew attention to her brown eyes. Her nose was in perfect proportion to the classic shape of her face. Her lips were a light shade of pink, not needing gloss or lipstick.
Dr. Yallow introduced Texas Pete to Tomi, and they shook hands. Her hands were graceful, with long, slender fingers topped by French nails.
“You’re not wearing make-up, are you?” Texas Pete inquired.
He had blurted out the question, and was immediately embarrassed by it. The question, however, stemmed from genuine curiosity, fed by his need to confirm what he thought. He wanted to touch her face, to feel the skin that looked so soft. Knowing it would be wildly inappropriate, he settled for an answer to his question. Tomi said she was not wearing mascara.
“I apologize,” said Texas Pete. “It’s just, please excuse me, but you are a rare beauty.”
“No need to apologize and thank you for such a nice compliment,” Tomi said. She turned her attention to Dr. Yallow.
“And how are you tonight, Dr. Yallow?”
“Doing great – and please call me Bill.”
Tomi invited them to join her in the kitchen, where she opened a bottle of red wine.
“I have to apologize. Zinfandel is all I have,” she said.
“Sounds good to us,” Dr. Yallow replied. He was dressed formally, in a dark blue suit with a red power tie.
He touched Tomi’s wrist for a few seconds, just long enough to show there was no need for her to apologize. The gesture doubled as a small flirtation.
“I thought we’d sit on the veranda,” Tomi said, handing the wine glasses to Dr. Yallow and Texas Pete.
After several rounds of small talk, Texas Pete asked Tomi if she planned to return to singing.
“I think so, but I’m not sure.”
“Have you considered television?”
Tomi looked to Dr. Yallow. He shook his head no.
“I haven’t. Why do you ask?” she said.
“I work in the entertainment field and I’m putting together a concept for a talk show. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details right now, but it will feature a woman with a rare combination of intelligence and beauty. You could be that woman.”
Dr. Yallow added: “I’ve known Pete for many years. I can vouch for his integrity. I believe that what Pete is asking is simply whether you have an interest in hosting a television talk show.”
“That’s correct,” Texas Pete said.
“So if you are, Pete would move to the next step, which would be auditions.”
Tomi asked if she could speak with Dr. Yallow privately for a moment. “No problem,” Texas Pete said.
Tomi and Dr. Yallow walked into the house and stood in the kitchen.
“Where is this coming from?” she asked.
“I heard Pete was cooking up a concept for a TV talk show. I initially thought it would be on state-owned media, which does not have a large audience. But this would be a new television channel; the first since the last economic depression.”
“Should I say I’m interested?”
“I don’t see how that would hurt, do you?”
Tomi shook her head. “It’s just happening so fast.”
“I know, Tomi. It’s just an opportunity. You can ultimately say no if you don’t want to do it.”
Texas Pete was pleased to hear Tomi’s positive response when she and Dr. Yallow returned to the veranda.
As they drove away from Tomi’s home, Texas Pete asked Dr. Yallow about his idea for the television talk show.
“Very basic. The female host interviews an unmarried businessman for one hour – and then the viewer will have an option to watch her have sex with him – for a fee.”
“Pay-per-view? Talk about old school,” Texas Pete chortled.
“Some of the best new ideas are old ones,” Dr. Yallow replied with a wolfish smile. “I learned from my wife a few months ago that an aide to President Piper is developing a television talk show that would somehow combine porn. The talk show would subtly speak to those who didn’t vote for President Piper in the last election. Her re-election campaign is getting into full swing.”
Texas Pete asked how political the show would be.
“That I don’t know,” Dr. Yallow said.
“What are the chances of Tomi saying yes to this?”
“That I do know. Zilch – right now. We’re talking about a woman without any memory. Making her a porn star would be too much, too fast, don’t you think? My plan is to do this in two phases. See if she passes the audition for the talk show. Then we’d dangle the potential to make tens of millions of dollars through the pay-per-view porn – tastefully done of course,” Dr. Yallow said.
“Of course. So what’s my role?”
“All you need to do is sell President Piper on giving Tomi the talk show,” Dr. Yallow said. “I know you can do it, buddy. There’s a big pay day for you at the end of this rainbow.”
“And what about you?”
“I need to get to know Tomi much better.”