The Gender Lottery Read online

  He laughed at his own joke while I tried to move my hand to strangle him.

  It didn’t move more than a few inches before it flopped down onto the cold, white sheets.

  “After you heal and give the hormone treatments a chance to work their magic, I think you will be quite pleased with how everything turned out. Dare I say, I believe you are my most perfect creation yet.”

  He grinned with pride as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and strolled out of the room.

  I couldn’t bear to think.

  At all.

  I was a man.

  Trapped inside a woman’s body.

  FIVE

  Six months of hormone treatments wasn’t the worst part of my transition. Anti-androgen shots to block the testosterone my body produced. Estradiol shots to flood my body with estrogen. Six months as I watched in horror and disbelief as my outer shell morphed into a woman.

  My surgically augmented breasts hung full and round. My hips and thighs softened and grew fatty. My skin smooth and supple. Muscles that had grown hard and strong over a lifetime in the fields got softer and weaker. My hair grew longer and, though still short, was cut to attractively shape the softened features of my face. Stinging electrolysis across my face, arms, legs, and private areas sped the feminine transition.

  And none of that was the worst part.

  The heavy cocktail of drugs they kept me on couldn’t fully treat the depression, the anxiety, the loss of self and interest in living.

  I continued only because there was routine and the teachers pushed me through it.

  Each new day was a depressing blur with the last.

  And none of that was the worst part.

  Dilating was the worst part.

  Above my small bed, a dark half globe stuck to the ceiling with a camera hiding inside. A camera that was always watching.

  Measuring.

  Grading.

  Judging.

  The speaker in the ceiling crackled to life.

  “Hanah, darling, you must insert the cavity tool all the way to the green circle around the shaft. We can’t have you losing any depth. You need to be capable of nurturing a variety of men.”

  My hand was already cramping from holding the number three cavity tool for twenty minutes in place. They had restraining harnesses to keep the tools inserted to the correct depth, but I never used them. I’d tried one time and broke down sobbing.

  So I did it manually with my hands, trading off back and forth when one got too tired.

  I glanced down and noticed the tool had slipped out a couple of inches.

  “Hanah. We don’t want to have to strap you down again to complete this exercise, do we?”

  I winced as the terror of that memory came back clear as day. No, I definitely didn’t want that.

  “No, Ms. Farrow.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  A grimace of rage slipped across my face before I could control it. I switched hands and pushed until the green ring met my skin.

  Electric pain inside my pelvis radiated outward. My jaws clenched tight as my lungs pumped through short quick breaths.

  This number four cavity tool, thicker than the number three, was too much.

  “That a girl. I’m adding an extra five minutes for your lazy effort. Now, keep it there for another fifteen minutes or I will be forced to add more time.”

  I bit my lip as much from the pain as to stop from screaming at the voice behind the speaker and the eyes behind the camera.

  I hated her.

  I hated all of them.

  And worst of all, I hated myself.

  Because I wasn’t me anymore.

  And this body that wasn’t mine would be required to perform its first nurturing in another six months.

  My first nurturing.

  Just not the one I’d always dreamed of before winning the lottery.

  SIX

  Those six months passed with horrifying speed.

  Not while it was happening. While it was happening, every minute was unending torture.

  But now that it had passed, it seemed a blur.

  How had I come to this?

  To be here?

  To be this thing I see and despise in the mirror?

  I sat on a cushioned stool in front of the mirror and table at the end of my bed. On autopilot, my hand moved the brush through long, black hair that fell like a curtain over my shoulders. The extensions had doubled its natural length. The eyelash extensions did the same. I stared in numb shock at the silk nightgown draped in a revealing way over the curvature of full breasts.

  My breasts.

  My stomach clenched tight with disgust.

  Breasts that I would’ve longed for when I was a man on the outside. But now that I viewed with loathing.

  Lips painted ruby red set off against amber skin.

  Dangling gold earrings. A slender necklace tucked between cleavage that drew the eyes downward.

  I tugged the hem together to hide this chest that wasn’t mine.

  A knock at the door.

  It opened and Ms. Farrow marched inside without bothering to wait for my invitation to enter. She stood behind me and took the brush out of my hand.

  Our eyes locked in the mirror and she smiled warmly like I was a beloved pet. “Aren’t you just a vision? I know you had doubts about your suitability for this important role, but I’m pleased to see you’ve accepted what I always knew was inevitable.”

  I didn’t respond as she began brushing my hair.

  “You are simply stunning and I know you will perform wonderfully this evening.” She set the brush down on the small table. She reached both hands around me and pulled my gown apart a few inches. “There is no reason to completely hide the merchandise, my dear. We want the men to look forward to their nurturing. Do you understand?”

  I stared into the mirror and couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

  Ms. Farrow grabbed a locket of my hair and yanked down hard.

  “Owww!”

  “Do you understand me, Hanah?”

  “Yes, Ms. Farrow. I do.”

  Her demeanor brightened instantly. “Good,” she said as she brushed through the hair she’d grabbed. “And once you’ve proven you can adequately nurture a man, you will be another proud graduate of our school. You’ll get to move to a real nurturing center where all of the luxuries you could ever imagine await you.”

  Her eyes glossed over with remembered glories. Things she must’ve left behind long ago when she got too old and too ugly to be a suitable nurturer. She carried the responsibility of being a teacher with a zealous passion.

  As did all the other teachers I’d met at the school.

  I sometimes wondered what happened to the women who were too old for a nurturing center but didn’t make it as a teacher.

  What happened to them?

  No one discussed it, and I’d been beaten horribly the one time I’d brought it up.

  Ms. Farrow wiped a tear from her cheek and sniffed. “You make me so proud, dear. Now do your duty tonight and perhaps we will talk of chocolates and a glass of wine afterwards. I absolutely adore details.”

  She giggled at the shocked look on my face. “Oh dear. Your innocence makes you twice as lovely!”

  Another knock at the door and a woman popped her head inside. “Ms. Farrow, Hanah’s first nurturing has arrived.”

  Ms. Farrow squeaked with excitement. “Wonderful! How exciting! I’ll be right out.”

  The door closed and she turned back to me in the mirror. “You behave and treat your first man as I’ve instructed you. Do you understand, Hanah?”

  I nodded.

  “I’d like to hear that y0u understand.”

  “Yes, Ms. Farrow. I understand.”

  “Splendid!” she said with grin. “You are so fetching, darling. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were in for a very short nurturing indeed!”

  She laughed as she patted me on the shoulder and then left the room.

  A minute later, another knock and the door opened.

  Again without waiting for my response or invitation.

  My agreement was unnecessary.

  I was a vessel that performed a function.

  My eyes dropped to the clasped hands in my lap. I couldn’t bear to see the man that had just entered my room.

  The man who knew that I would do whatever he required until he was well satisfied.

  He approached and stood behind me. His hands rested on my shoulders and then squeezed gently. “You are a looker. I knew it from the start.”

  Something about the voice.

  Something familiar.

  I glanced up and almost screamed in dread.

  Dr. Sauer!

  The surgeon who’d cut my old self away and turned me into this abomination.

  Hate erupted in my belly.

  He slipped his hands down in front and cupped both of my breasts. He squeezed them together while staring in the mirror with wide eyes. “Oh, you are nice. Very nice.”

  The revolting pig.

  I slapped his hands away. I couldn’t stop myself. “Don’t touch me!”

  A look of surprise crossed his face. An evil smirk replaced it. “So you want to do it that way, huh?”

  He grabbed my hair and yanked me to my feet.

  I tried to resist but he was stronger. In my old body, with the muscles and strength I once had, I could’ve thrown him to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  But I couldn’t now. Not with these weakened limbs.

  He grabbed my flimsy gown at the shoulder, digging his fingernails into my skin, and ripped it away, revealing my bare chest.

  “Yes, yes,” he said through hot, panting breaths.

  I panicked.

  Even with
all I’d been through, a terror like I had never known took hold.

  He grabbed one of my wrists and wrenched my arm behind my back.

  I screamed at the pain in my shoulder socket. With my other hand, I grabbed the brush from the table.

  Before I knew what I was doing, before a single thought burned through my mind, I whirled around and stabbed the handle into his eye socket.

  The handle buried into his head as he screamed in agony.

  He stumbled back and tripped, falling onto the bed. Blood gushed from his destroyed eye, through his fingers as he howled and clawed at the wound.

  Shouting came from outside the door.

  “What in the name—“

  The door opened and I bolted.

  I crashed through Ms. Farrow, knocking her backwards out into the hall.

  I didn’t stop.

  I kept running.

  Because I knew what awaited me if I stopped.

  If they caught me.

  SEVEN

  As the lights of the training school faded into the night, I knew I was free.

  And then I heard the baying of the hounds.

  The trackers were after me!

  Sharp pebbles on the dirt road jabbed into my bare heels making me cry out, but I dared not stop.

  My breasts bounced painfully as I ran. I hated them. Hated them so much that the memory of my old self and his infatuation with them felt utterly foreign.

  Ridiculous and ignorant.

  The tattered gown hung from me by the narrow string cinched around my waist. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks and I hated myself for being so weak.

  So domesticated.

  How had I become this thing in only a year?

  The new moon cast the road and surrounding fields in darkness. I prayed it would keep me hidden.

  My long hair flowed out behind me from the speed of the wind I created as I rushed along.

  The baying of the dogs grew louder!

  Closer!

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw a dozen glowing beams of light swinging and waving through the air. A dagger of terror plunged into my chest.

  My chest.

  My real chest.

  The weak and withered thing that hid beneath the inflated female form.

  A vehicle must’ve traveled over the road not long before because a light dust hung in the air. It coated my tongue causing me to choke as I gasped for breath. The cloying sweet scent of the floral perfume Ms. Farrow had dabbed along my collar bones made my head swim.

  There were trees ahead.

  A line of dark shadows that promised cover within. The dogs would still come, but it was better than being so exposed on the road. There was a stream I’d passed when I first came to the training school one year ago.

  But had it been in this direction?

  Wild panic welled up in my chest. I fought to keep control. To think, instead of surrender as the cornered animal.

  And then my foot landed, or rather didn’t land, where I expected it to.

  An unseen depression in the road.

  It wrenched to the side as my weight came down.

  The ankle popped and fire ripped up my leg as I collapsed.

  I threw my hands forward as the road rushed up and punched the breath out of my lungs.

  Searing agony jolted through my jaws and teeth. Sharp pebbles tore my face as I skidded to a stop.

  I rolled over and tried to breathe.

  Nothing but fire burning my chest.

  And the weaving lights coming closer!

  Embracing the fear, I pushed up and tried to stand. A sickening grinding in my angle sent lightning up my leg, and I fell to the dirt again.

  Sobbing shook me like an earthquake.

  And then the dogs were on me.

  Biting and tearing at my feet.

  I covered my face and rolled into a ball, but their teeth found my flesh again and again.

  One stood off baying and howling, letting the trackers know that their quarry had been caught.

  The lights and the voices came next.

  Men.

  Triumphant voices.

  Shouting and yelling in victory.

  The boots came next.

  A blow to my back and then another to my belly.

  Someone grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head up.

  A flashlight shone in the air as the face of a demon appeared out of the night. The face moved to within inches of my own.

  “You filthy Ungrateful. You killed a man and now I got you.” He wrenched my neck around and displayed me to the other men gathered round. “Look here, boys. We just did our good deed for the day.”

  One of the others spoke. “Nice tits on her. Without all that blood and dirt, I bet she’d be a real looker.”

  The man holding my hair wrenched my head back around to face him. The muscles in his jaws flickered as he stared at me with contempt. “She ain’t gonna be much to look at after they find her guilty.”

  The thought of admonition should’ve terrified me.

  But another thought crowded it out of my head.

  The man.

  The face.

  I recognized both.

  My best friend.

  Thest.

  “Gag her and bag her, boys!” he said.

  Someone smashed thick tape over my mouth. An instant later, a thick hood swallowed my head.

  And there was nothing but torment and darkness.

  EIGHT

  I stood on a small platform on the left side of the court room. Thick leather straps bound my wrists to a ring on the metal pole that was secured to the ceiling and roof. The brown and purple bruises of my failed escape two days ago marked my face and arms. With the piercing aches in my legs, standing was torture all on its own.

  After my capture, I’d received no medical treatment. No care. No nothing. Only a dark cell and a jug of filthy water.

  Before the trial this morning, they’d given me a red rough spun dress to wear. Red. The provocative color of infamy and betrayal.

  It replaced my mostly non-existent silk gown. Presumably so my nudity wouldn’t offend their sense of propriety. Not that that would count for much if I was found guilty.

  When I was found guilty.

  The trial was a show for the public, nothing more.

  Across the room, ten of my supposed peers sat comfortably on padded chairs inside the jury box. All were respected elders of this community. Mostly white hairs with a few of the younger ones sporting white speckled with gray.

  All men.

  Not one of which had remotely experienced and survived what I had.

  I scanned their faces. There was nothing reassuring reflected back. Their expressions ranged from cold disdain to sneering hostility.

  My trial would go one, and only one, way.

  To my right, rows of chairs at the back of the room were filled with people lucky enough to be selected to witness my trial. They all sat as if about to watch their favorite play or past time.

  Which was probably accurate for many of them.

  I remembered my old self and how he longed to be sitting where they are now. To witness the majesty of swift justice. That boy and his astonishing ignorance disgusted me now.

  The judge sat behind a wide desk on a raised platform to my left. He wore a ridiculous white wig that draped down over the black robe working hard to cover his enormous belly. He banged a mallet onto the desk and cleared his throat. “The assumed stands trial for murder. And worse, for refusing the honor of nurturing our precious and fragile society.”

  The crowd at the back hissed and hurled obscenities my way.

  The judge slammed his mallet down over and over until the crowd quieted. “I will have order in my court room! If anyone is to name the faithless harlot for what she is, it will be me!”

  He glared at the crowd, daring any of them to challenge his word.

  None did.

  “Good. Then we will proceed. I will first call Ms. Farrow, an esteemed and trusted teacher at the Meadowlake Nurturing School.”

  The doors at the back of the room opened and Ms. Farrow entered. She walked down the center aisle and stopped at the waist-high swinging door separating the public from the participants in the trial. She glanced at me with seething hate flashing in her eyes.