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July 31, 2009 “I ain’t no woman!” “I beg to differ,” Sharkey wisecracked. “Why if it weren’t unethical, I’d invite you to dinner.” “This isn’t funny! It’s sick!” George’s eyes were wide with fear. “How could you get away with this? I don’t even feel like no damn female!” “That’s just a temporary condition,” Sharkey opined. “Your first session with Doctor Lynn Quarles is in fifteen minutes. I suggest you keep an open-mind about this, or you will never see the light of day.” “I don’t care! I’d rather be dead than…than this!” “That will change with time.” Sharkey came off not as smug, but one certain of his assessment. “The sooner you fall in line, the sooner you’ll accept this as your fate and that you can and will begin a whole new life.” “How can I do that behind bars?” “You go through with this, Fellows,” Mann said. “And I can assure you early parole.” “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Sharkey shook his head. “Just prepare for your first session with Doctor Quarles.” At that moment they were interrupted by the sound of keys and the jiggling of the door knob. Seconds later the door swung open and three more individuals entered. Entering first was Dr. Lynn Quarles, a tall blonde with friendly green eyes and a willowy figure hidden beneath a white lab coat. She was followed by a uniformed security guard, a red faced man in excess of three-hundred pounds and who was winded from their walk. The final entrant was a black man with salt and pepper hair, a white handlebar moustache and who wore a brown, tailored suit. His name was Quentin Perry, a once-widely published behavioralist and neurosurgeon whom no one in the mainstream medical establishment had heard from in more than five years. “Greetings Doctor Quarles and Perry,” Sharkey said. He shook hands with both, as Mann and the security guard looked on. The black gentleman smiled toward Mann. When he spoke, it was with a hint of a British accent. “Warden, how nice to be able to finally place a face with the name.” Mann and Perry shook hands. “I’m pleased to meet you, Doctor Perry. I have to admit, when I first heard about your program I had doubts, but when you sent me the data from the trial in New Zealand , I have to admit that I became obsessed with your work.” “Thank you,” Perry replied. “And my colleague is Doctor Lynn Quarles, a behavioral specialist.” “Pleased to meet you,” Mann said, shaking her hand. He was surprised by the strength of her grip. Sharkey asked Perry, “Will you be assisting Doctor Quarles?” “I will serve as a consultant. You, Doctor Sharkey, are here to observe. Of course you will be given access to our research. This trial will also include other doctors from the penal system. I believe the doctors are from Soledad , Atascadero and Pelican Bay .” “So this is the first U.S. trials?” Sharkey asked. “Yes, and I must inform you that this study has not been presented before any authoritative medical board, nor the Food and Drug Administration. This trial is being funded with the blessing of the one agency that counts. The CIA, with an assist from overseers from the Centers for Disease Control.” Quarles elaborated. “As you know, if word of this is leaked to anyone else, those not directly related to the research will be terminated.” She looked over at George. “Including the test subject.” Spittle flew from George’s lips as he responded. “How can you people talk about me as if I’m nothing more than a freaking lab rat?” Dr. Quarles knelt so that she and George were eye-to-eye. “Miss Fellows—” “Dammit, stop calling me that! My name is George Fellows! I am a twenty-one- year-old-man.” “We are conditioning you so that your transformation from male to female is easier. Get use to us calling you not by your birth name, but by what we call your re-birth name, Cassandra Fellows.” George hung his head and then began to loll it from side-to-side. “God, I hope this is some freaking nightmare I will someday waken from. I pray that I’m just in a coma. Hell, I’d rather die than endure this.” “You are very much awake, Cassandra.” Dr. Quarles’ words made George’s flesh crawl. “You are a beautiful and vibrant young woman.” Her smile made George think he was in a fun house located in the Twilight Zone. All that was missing was Rod Serling and that strange burst of horns as the story unfolded… Dr. Quarles turned to the security guard. “Carl, I will need you to uncuff Miss Fellows.” George came over and squatted next to George. Seconds later, George stood and stretched, but because of his ankle chains he nearly lost his balance, but quickly recovered. He rubbed his wrists, but not without issuing the guard a heartfelt, “Thank-you.” “You’re welcome, ma’am,” the guard replied. He took a step back and unbuttoned the section of his belt that held a small can of pepper spray. Dr. Quarles smiled at Carl. “That will be all. I will call for you if I need you.” Carl nodded and left the room. Dr. Quarles then turned to Sharkey. “Doctor Perry will escort both you and Warden Mann to the observation booth. I would like to talk with Miss Fellows.” “What if he attacks you?” Mann asked, flashing a fierce look toward George. “He’s in ankle shackles, and I am much stronger than my appearance suggests. I also have been extensively trained in martial arts, and Carl is right outside the door.” * * * * Perry, Sharkey and Warden Mann walked down a dimly lighted hallway into a viewing booth where six desks were placed facing a window. When they settled into their seats, Perry began to explain what he hoped to achieve beyond their earlier discussion. “This is about more than remorse, responsibility and rehabilitation. It is science in its rawest form, the experiment.” Sharkey spoke up. “While much of this is theory, surely such procedures such as hormone therapy will expedite our desired result, right?” “It will help with his physical transformation, but we’ll need to keep him under the watchful eye of a doctor, for such a medical regimen is not without physiological and psychological risks.” Sharkey nodded. “I’m aware that under more conventional circumstances, a period of psychological counseling is required, and the HRT isn’t instituted until the patient has spent some time living as the opposite gender.” “Exactly, but this is not a conventional SRS.” Sharkey turned to Mann, since he was certain that Sharkey could understand what he was saying. “In most cases, two letters of approval are needed from psychotherapists who must adhere to certain standards. This involves three months of psychological testing. As you can see, we skipped these steps. We could not add more persons to the inner circle, for fear of betrayal.” “I still don’t understand how you will get him to accept it when Fellows was an unwilling participant.” “We will establish a policy of ‘Thought reform,’ or as some ineloquently call it, ‘brainwashing.’ We must assume a patriarchal paradigm, and convince him that we know what is best for him.” “How do you do that?” “We gain complete control over him by interfering with his sleeping and eating, and depriving him of most basic needs. This will break down Fellows’ identity to the point that it doesn't work anymore. We will convince him that his beliefs, attitude, and behaviors are all wrong by constantly criticizing and punishing him for what he does, no matter how trivial—from the way he eats to the way he walks. When he believes what he is doing is wrong, he’ll become confused. He will be unsure as to who he is and what is his role. We then convince him that we can help and we begin to show him leniency. If we are successful, he will reciprocate our perceived kindness as a means of relieving his guilt. By this time he is like a new computer, one that can be programmed the way we want.” “From what I’ve read, many in your field argue that those willing to have such surgery suffer from a mental illness and that surgery will do nothing to cure it,” Sharkey stated. “Admittedly, follow-up studies have shown that while many transgender people are happy, their psychological state shows no improvement,” Perry countered. “I am not willing to dub these individuals insane.” Again Sharkey sought clarification. “Even men who qualify outright for such a medical procedure can suffer depression and other psychological maladies.” “The aforementioned stage we are certain will prevent that from happening to Miss Fellows. Nonetheless, in the final analysis, there is a presumed negative outcome for her.” Mann smirked and replied, “Even if it leads to his suicide, I think justice will have been served.” “That is my thinking, too,” said Sharkey. * * * * For the first three months after arriving at CIW, Dr. Quarles and a staff physician were the only people who saw Fellows. During this time, he was given the hormone therapy and at the same time, being deprived of sleep and oftentimes food, until he learned to answer to the name “Cassandra.” He also agreed to undergo voice training in order to make his tone and manner of speech more womanly. The resignation shined in his sad, green eyes as he moved slowly from his private cell to the offices of his overseers for their daily thought reformation sessions. When Dr. Quarles believed Cassandra was ready to be placed into the inmate general population, her argument was based on the idea that, “It would enable her to pick up and develop little idiosyncrasies that will make her transformation all the more complete.” Cassandra was then brought into the room for Mann to observe. The Warden was flabbergasted by the sway in her walk, the softness of her voice (“She could be a telephone sex operator,” he gushed), and how much more feminine she looked. “No Adam’s apple, moderate breasts…” Mann shook his head. “But what about his mental outlook?” “Ah, ah—remember he’s a she,” Quarles said. “Now to this point, she accepts the fact that living as a man was wrong. The patient appears comfortable in her new environment and both actions, attitude, and psychological testing shows parallels to conventional transgender persons.” “What about her sexuality?” Sharkey asked. “Initially she masturbated with some regularity and was able to achieve orgasm.” When Dr. Quarles saw Mann’s bug-eyed expression, she elaborated. “Though the prostate serves her in much the way the G-spot would serve a woman, and it provides lubricant to her vaginal area, the patient did complain of soreness and stopped her self-pleasuring for weeks at a time.” Perry was nonplussed by it all, content in his smugness. He boasted that he knew all along that the program would work. Meanwhile, Sharkey was an avid student and asked for a greater role when the next such project was undertaken. When Perry invited him to come aboard, Mann agreed to give him a one-year sabbatical. “Might we speak to her alone?” Mann asked. “You may.” Quarles and Perry left the room, leaving Cassandra to face off with them. Mann started off. “Fellows, what you have gone through is remarkable. Do you understand why this was necessary?” Cassandra smiled. “Warden, I cannot thank you and Doctor Sharkey enough. I can’t bear to think about what I put poor Missus Benson through. I feel filthy and ashamed of my actions, and I realize that it is a part of my past. Sometimes it’s still hard to work through it.” “What do you plan to do when you are paroled from here?” “Excuse me?” Mann leaned forward and clasped his hands. “I told you I would speak to the parole board. They were so touched by your rehabilitation that they are willing to meet with you six months from today, to see for themselves if you are eligible for immediate parole.” Cassandra gasped and put her hand over her mouth, palm facing the men. Tears welled in her eyes. “Warden, I don’t know what to say. If I get early release, I promise to come back here as a volunteer to work closely with the female prisoners.” “Let’s not put the cart in front of the horse, Geor…er, Cassandra.” Sharkey spoke up. “Upon your release, all we ask that you do is go back to being a civilian. We will set you up in your own apartment and will contact an employer on your behalf. Now granted, you will be on parole for at least three years, but we don’t think you will have a problem with that. Furthermore, you will need weekly counseling sessions so that we can monitor your progress and stresses.” “I’m grateful,” Cassandra sobbed. She stood, and on colts legs staggered over to the two men and kissed each of them on the cheek. Mann reacted by failing to hold off a grin. Sharkey was taken aback, cringed and took note of the goose bumps on his arm. As Cassandra made her way back to her seat, Mann leaned over and whispered to Sharkey, “Out of curiosity, if a man wanted to…” “He could,” Sharkey whispered hurriedly, frowning at hearing Mann’s half-finished question. He noticed Mann staring at Cassandra’s burgeoning derriere and shook his head. By this time, Quarles and Perry returned to the room, and they threw their looks of amusement in Mann’s direction. “I take it your questions were answered?” Sharkey nodded his head. Mann replied, “Yes.” Mann stood, walked over to both doctors and shook their hands. “In six months the parole board will meet with Miss Fellows to discuss the likelihood of her immediate parole. That will be sometime around late October, the first of November.” He looked back at Cassandra, and as she wiped her eyes, Mann felt a burst of pride that he had been part of the embryonic stage of behavioral modification history. He imagined his face gracing the cover of TIME magazine, with a header that read, “ America ’s Warden.” “…Mister Mann?” Mann whirled in Quarles direction. “You said late fall?” “Late fall for what?” “The Parole Board hearing.” “Oh, yes. Yes, it’s in the book.” Sharkey rose, bid adieu to his colleagues and both he and Mann left the room with a more enthusiastic stride than when they entered. ------------ About the author: Timothy N. Stelly is a poet, essayist, novelist and screenwriter from northern California. His novel, HUMAN TRIAL, is the first part of a sci-fi trilogy and is available from Amazon.com, allthingsthatmatterpress.com and in e-book format at mobipocket.com. website: http://stellbreadO@tripod.com Email: stellbread@yahoo.com 
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