by Rick K. Reut
“It was also believed that this sort of behavior would eventually endanger the process of procreation of human kind, or rather unkind, judging by the behavior of most of them back then. And again, as if it hadn’t been already possible to procreate people by virtue of biotechnology,” the Director added with a soft scoff, studying the students’ reaction, which was, just as It had expected, pure astonishment.
Meanwhile, the group had advanced along an alley in the direction of the garden’s center marked by a marvelous-looking fountain. The fountain resembled a pornographic statue of a couple of copulating, stone-carved, surrealistically stretched she-male shapes. One of the shapes held the other in the air by the widespread hips from behind, impaling its partner on its rock-hard erected phallus, while the other was ejaculating a powerful jet of foamy water at the right angle about fifty feet up into the deep-blue summer sky. The twosome stood towering on top of a twenty-foot-tall T-shaped column that rose from a shallow round bathing pool fringed by a circle of twelve more similarly stone-carved shapes. Each one of the twelve shapes was squirting a similar sudsy spurt at the copulating couple in the center with the water bouncing off their bodies back into the bubbly bathing pool.
“The only argument the bigoted antagonists of biotechnological progress presented to support their position was that it wasn’t decent. Or even worse – ethical or moral. Which, if you come to think of it, is no real reason at all,” resumed the Director. “After all, it was profoundly proved in the times of the First Coming that nothing can stray farther away from reason than most moral practices. Besides, even if they were right, what point was there to procreate in a world where there was as much pain, sorrow and suffering, and overall unhappiness as there was before the First and even on the eve of the Second Coming? The most reasonable solution for such a world would be to commit a collective suicide, which was exactly what some of them did.”
Having approached the pool, the Director stared at squirting statues in thoughtful silence. It stood like that for some time, then turned to the students and told them to take their seats on the surrounding silicotton-upholstered settees. As soon as all the students were duly seated, the Director went on.
“These suicidal tendencies were what came to be known as the Savage Syndrome. It was called that way after the first man who killed himself during the First Coming, thus confuting the all-accepted thesis that everyone was happy in the Old World State back then.”
The Director stopped for a second to eye the students who were all ears.
“To be totally true about the whole thing, however, one has to say that Mister John Savage was really only a savage. Born in one of the Old World State’s numerous reservations, and, as a result, lacking the necessary conditioning and guidance, he was utterly unprepared for the perfect life the social system of the First Coming provided. And so, instead of enjoying it, he decided to die one of the most painful, shameful and stupid deaths imaginable. It was all the more shameful and stupid cause it could have been easily avoided had he at least once bothered to give the whole situation the benefit of his thought.”
The Director took another pondering pause, shifting the weight of Its genetically perfected body from one infinitely long, shapely leg to the other.
“But, on the other hand, I don’t think it would have mattered that much. The thing is that his horrible, completely careless conditioning, being a brutish blend of barbaric practices, poetic plays and practical instructions for beta embryo-store workers, carried out by his utterly incompetent biological parent had rendered him incapable of any consistent rational reasoning. That type of irresponsible rearing was exactly what we now call Chance Conditioning. It happens when a child’s upbringing, instead of being performed in a way that leaves the child no other choice but the correct one, thus keeping it out of any possible psychological as well as physical harm’s way, is surrendered to blind chance or, to put it plainly, the way the wind will blow. No wonder that it blows away all positive thoughts, leaving nothing but weed. After all, to give good crops, a good garden’s got to be gardened, guarded and guided by a good gardener. Otherwise it will inevitably turn into a dark, dreary forest, where no fruit of pleasure will ever grow and no sun of joy will ever shine. A domicile of delusion, despair and death, which was exactly what Mister Savage suffered, and, what was worse, did it willingly. He chose to be unhappy his own way instead of being happy like everybody else. For you see, my dears, – and some wise men mentioned it long before the First Coming – there is only one way to be happy and many and many miscellaneous ways to be miserable. And this one and only way of happiness is precisely the one Our FordorFreud teaches us now, in the time of the Second Coming.”
The Director drew an invisible “T” sign on Its bulging bosom, which all of the students instantly and as compliantly copycatted.
“It is true that in the times of the First Coming,” It continued, making Itself comfortable on one of the couches, “many people’s problems were indeed solved. But alas, only partly and certainly not all of them. Even despite the drill of constant conditioning, some people somehow still managed to stay miserable. The most extreme examples of such ungrounded misery are the cases of Bernard Marx and Helmholtz Watson. Both of them were, of course, men, since, frankly speaking, only these biological freaks of nature are capable of concocting reasons to be unhappy when they have everything they can only dream of. Supposedly, all that is due to the excessive quantities of testosterone in the organism of most males.”
Suddenly the Director stopped speaking and stared at the students, slyly. “By the way, does any one of you know what testosterone is?”
There was a whole row of raised hands. The Director pondered over which one to pick first and finally chose the exquisite-looking, red-haired lady-boy with an especially long and fat phallus It had paid some extra attention to during the Trans Time. It was the same lady-boy that had answered the question about two sexes in the fertilizing room.
“Yes, Judith.”
“O,” tittered the tranny, “testosterone is a typical steroid hormone that stimulates the development of the male secondary sexual characteristics. Produced mainly in the testes, but also in the adrenal cortex and, in case of women, in the ovaries, it is responsible for their sexual arousal and aggression, and also for hair and muscle growth. This is exactly why most men are so abhorrently unmannered and barbaric.” It added the last piece of information directly from Itself. “I know it, I’ve seen them on the Animal Planet Channel on TS TV. And on the T-Net, too. They are beastly, absolutely beastly!”
“You’re absolutely right, my dear,” grinned the Director, “beastly is exactly the word for them. Luckily for us, though, these beastly freaks of nature are now almost totally extinct. The few remaining places where they can still be seen are the state’s reservations. Such as, for instance, the Isle of Man, where they still roam and mate like apes or worse. These monsters… Yes, Judith? ”
The Director interrupted Itself, seeing that the student wanted to say something.
“But… but…” stammered the poor lady-boy, anxiously, “Director Downing, why do we still keep them there?! Isn’t there any danger that they… that they…”
“Might break loose?” the Director deduced the end of the question and with it the reason for the student’s unease.
“Yes, yes!” Judith nodded with clear concern.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” smiled Director Downing. “I assure you that there is absolutely no reason for alarm. They’re all kept under constant control by certified government agencies. The reason why we still keep them there is the same why we keep all other tame animals alive. And that is for scientific, research and educational purposes. Once in a while we even send one male or female sample to the mainland for demonstrations at various lectures and seminars to students like you. Those who aren’t totally repelled by these animals are even allowed to engage in communicative or – if you really want it – sexual acts with them. But only under the condition of u
sing ultra-strong condoms, for venereal diseases on the islands, usually self-run by the stupidest of males, are still as active as ever,” the Director explained.
“And even though our today’s technology allows us to cure these ailments in no time at all,” It added, “it is always sager to stay on the safe side. Who knows what kind of new viruses or variations of old infections can emerge in an environment that’s not totally controlled by technological progress. Though, as I’ve said, if you really want to, there is always a chance to find it all out for yourselves.”
On hearing these last words, almost all the students, and especially those who had seen typical males on transsexual television, cringed and shuddered with disgust.
“Please remember that all that is purely facultative,” Director Downing hurried on to clarify. “Your compulsory curriculum doesn’t include fornication with naturally born humans in any shape of form. And if that doesn’t satisfy you, I’m ready to swear on my own phallus to Our Omnipresent and Omnipotent Prophet FordorFreud that none of the students will be compelled to do anything that goes against their desires,” the Director concluded by crossing Its crotch with another “T”.
On seeing the most sacramental oath of all being taken, a tremendous sigh of relief wafted through the students like a warm summer breeze, reaching the Director in form of the following question:
“And will we also get to see a man?”
It was coming from the same hyperactive student who had asked and answered all the previous questions and was unable to conceal Its excitement asking this one. Director Downing saw the spark of sexual arousal in the student’s eyes, saw the swift rise and fall of Its slightly underdeveloped but already alluring breasts, the bulge of the skin-tight shorts, the long, shapely legs… But, It thought with regret, it isn’t Trans Time just yet. There’s still a class to conduct.
“But of course you will, my dears!” Director Downing decided to dissipate the desire by switching Its attention from one single member to the entire set, even in spite of the member’s more than seducing size. It must have had it upgraded at the Local Cell Surgery Center. They say they can now grow them up to any size and shape they want. Got to go and check it out after the class is over, It made a mental note to Itself.
“Of course you will,” Director Downing beamed at all of them at once. “In fact, it should happen fairly soon. Within the following few weeks or so.”
There were more cheers from the students.
“We were actually planning to surprise you, but I simply couldn’t hold it. So, now I might as well spill you the rest of the She-male Cocktail. By the way,” It exclaimed, interrupting Itself, “I completely forgot to tell you what She-male Cocktail was! But you probably already know it.” It added, in an attempt to switch the students’ attention to another subject.
“No! No, we don’t! Tell us, tell us!” came the cries.
“All right,” the Director smiled slyly, “I should have done it in the fertilizing room, of course. But it was so hot in there, and I got so horny, and then…well, I guess you all remember what happened next.” A lascivious grin sprawled across the Director’s face. “However, in the helter-skelter of the Trans Time, some of you might have noticed those tiny bottles of kissel-like liquid?
“We did! We did!” some of the students quickly nodded their perfectly shaped heads.
“Well, that was it. The Cocktail! We pour it into your protoplasm in the process of embryo development to make sure that you grow up to be so unbelievably beautiful. But the most marvelous thing is that even if some man, some beastly animal man started taking this special hormone mixture enhanced by certain chemicals and assisted by a couple of cell surgeries, within only two or three weeks he would be transformed into a first-rate transsexual like you or me. Who knows, we might even try it on the man who will soon be sent to us from one of the Isolated Islands.”
“Yeay!” the class erupted with energetic cheering.
“But first, we’ll have to ask for his and the European Chief Caretaking Continent Controller’s consent, of course.”
The cheering instantly changed to disappointed booing.
“But the Continent Controller is so hard to get in touch with!”
“It’ll take years before we manage to do that!”
“What nonsense?!” exclaimed the Director, indignantly. “Who told you that?! Our Continent Controller is as accessible and openhearted a creature as you and I. And It belongs to everyone else, just like we all do. In fact, it was the Controller’s own idea to expand your course curriculum by introducing a real man to the class. I wasn’t supposed to say this till due time, but, considering the circumstances, I seem to have no other choice.”
The Director held a meaningful pause meant to entrap the students’ attention even further.
“The truth is that Its Freudship, the Great, the Grand Gianna Globe, who, as you all ought to know, is one of the ten current Chief Caretaking Continent Controllers of our New World State, is going to personally conduct the class, at which the man will be introduced. This class is to take place on…O my Ford!”
The Director suddenly sprang to Its feet as if stung from behind. For a second, It stood still, staring straight ahead at the building of the Conditioning Center cooling in the cloudy background.
“It is Its Freudship Itself.” It whispered worshipfully.
All the pupils’ eyes instantly darted to the point of Director Downing’s stare. There, treading towards them along the same alley they all had just come to the center of the garden along, they saw a truly fabulous figure.
Somewhere between six and seven, or even eight, though some said nine and nobody knew for sure – for one could easily change the size and shape of one’s body whenever one wanted these days – so, somewhere between eight and nine, but seemingly all ten feet tall and getting taller with every next step, with sumptuous, crow-black hair cascading down Its shoulders to Its huge bulging breasts, wearing a two-piece silicotton suit with endlessly long, perfectly shaped legs flowing from under its short skirt, there came one of the most wonderful creations of transsexual genetics in this part of the New World State. And the name of this creation was none other than Gianna Globe.
Apart from being one of the ten current Chief Caretaking Continent Controllers, Gianna Globe was also famous for having a fantastic-sized phallus that could, when erected, extend to no less than twenty inches in length and no less than five inches in width, which most citizens of the state longed to see. So did the curious set of students. So did even Director Downing, who had, by the way, not only seen, but touched, licked, sucked and done only Freud knew what with it by then, but still longed for more and more and more and more and more…
But the most wonderful thing was that Director Downing had such a chance. The curious set of students had such a chance. Everybody in the New World State had such a chance. Everybody except men from the Isolate Islands, whom Gianna Globe wholeheartedly abhorred as the root of all evil, but whom It also assiduously studied in search of a way to eradicate this root by transplanting it to a type of soil, which would grow the only part of the male body believed to be worth growing.
With a platinum T-shaped pendant dangling between Its enormous, estrogen-full breasts Controller Globe approached them just in time for the next official orgy. Without a word, the Controller nodded to the group and, to the students’ great surprise, started to strip off Its clothes.
The only one who wasn’t surprised was Director Downing. Knowing the Controller quite well, It was also well aware of this law-maker’s rule-breaking habit of mixing business and pleasure, sometimes preferring to skip the former in favor of the latter.
Chapter Four
The street winding back to the old man’s house was dead-still. Dreary and desolated, it dug deep into the dusk-covered distance like a frontline trench, scarring the face of earth. In a way, it looked like any other street on the island, especially in the evening, when the daylight was dying and the old power line w
as so bad it seemed to be made of curse words. They thought it was because the Isle of Man was self-managed, managed by men, and men had never been able to manage anything with enough sense to make it last. At least not according to one of the latest New World State’s adages alleging that “all that man age meant was awful management”.
Meanwhile, someone looking exactly like a man from that awfully managed age was slinking along a poorly lit alley paved with tombstone-gray slabs. He stopped for a second to scan the area, and then slunk on, sticking to the shadows of the skeleton trees, withered shrubs, crosses of crooked lamppost and road signs that mingled with the smoking trash cans and carcasses of corrosion-chewed cars, punctuating the sinuous sentence of the street with hasty footsteps.
As he came closer, one could tell that the man was no other than Adam Marx. And he had every reason to be cautious. Over the past couple of years the crime rate in the reservation had shot through the roof. This part of the island was particularly perilous. Showing up in any of its streets at this time of day was no different from committing the most savage suicide imaginable. But Adam did not want that. At least not yet, for he still harbored some hopes for a better life. Most of those hopes were concentrated in his own shaking hands, or rather in what he was carrying them.
Clutching it tight to his chest, he held onto it as fast as he could, feeling his own heart break through the rib cage like some wild, freedom-craving bird. And this thing, this big idea he feared to let go so much was Brave New World, the book Helmholtz Watson had written under the pen name of Aldous Huxley and presented to him the night before. Adam had spent the whole next day reading it and was now ready to know the rest of the truth the old man had vowed to reveal on his return.
