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Island of Circe, part 3(Transgender Archives)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Island of Circe -- Part 3
author unknown
*****
modification of your own free will?". "Do you understand what has been
said here?". Then he asked the two critical questions. "Do you consider
yourself a person?" and "Is it your wish to be legally regarded as an
animal rather than a person from now on?" To which I emphatically shook
and nodded my head.
Latimer then made a simple closing statement. "Whatever we may think
of the morality of these two and their relationship is irrelevant. There
is no evidence for a breach on imegration law except for technical
annomolies which were bound to happen under the circumstances. Either
this is a returning citizen or an animal. In neither case is his entry
illegal. The possition that he should be treated, under law as an animal
seems common sense since he clearly cannot function as a human being
within our society."
The retired briefly. On her return she said. "On the matter of entry I
find
for the defendants. On the matter of whether this creature is a person or n
ot
I am not competent to make a decsision. That matter I will refer to higher
courts. I'm releasing you two weirdos on the understanding that further
action will almost certainly follow and that you, young lady, had better
not assume rights over your 91pet92 that haven't been established."
I jumped off the bench and ran over to my lady, nuzzling her gleefully
until she called me to order. For the time being, at least, we had won.
Fortunately my lady has an estate car with enough room in the back for
the sky kennel. She put the crate in the back and made me climb into it, my
enthusiam for getting home slightly tempered by the fact that this meant I
had to enter head first with the door closed against my backside. This
added to the former discomforts of the crate in that I could not see out
and that my head was now only inches away from the leavings of my last
stint in here. There was, alas, no room to turn arround. Still I settled
as best I could and these physical discomforts could not really dent my
opertermistic mood though the journey seemed longer that it had in the
other direction.
Eventually I heard the sound of garage doors closing and the engine
stopped. The entry tone on the alarm told me she was openning up the
house. Then I heard the suitcases being taken from alongside the crate. I
smiled, used to being fairly low on the list of priorities in these
matters. At long last she let me back clumsilly out of the crate and down
from the tailgate but instead of leading me into the house she called me
to heel and walked through the small door into the small but secluded
backyard, sadly overgrown at the moment. As I had feared she led me
straight to the wooden kennel which stood against the back fence and
clipped the chain which was attatched to it to my collar. She patted me
then went and fetched the large waterbowl which she put, briming, next
to the entrance hole. She patted the bleached wood of the kennel. "Now
you have a proper fur coat you don't need much protection except from
really extreme weather. So this kennel can be your home from now on.
Here is where you will eat, sleep and shit. I'll probably often invite
you into my home, the house, but I want you to understand that you will
be there on sufferance and only when I'm there to keep an eye on you.
It's a priviledge to be earned. Now I'm going to shower and unpack and
you are going to stay here and wonder if you'll be invited into the house
today."
We've often played with the kennel and I've stayed the occasional night
there, though it is generally too cold to sleep naked out of doors. As a
man it was too short for me to lie full length in but now I found it was
a fair fit. As our lifestyle had developed I had a corner of the basement
assigned to me with sawdust bedding and a chain tether. This had actually
been my own idea. I had found those times when my lady was out or asleep
to be full of temptations. It was the boredom that had been the hardest
thing to learn how to handle. I dare say boredom is an occupational
hazzard of all pets but I think I felt it more than most of them. An hour
after being left alone in the house the thoughts would come... she'd
never know if I watched the T.V. for a bit or made myself a snack. I'd
succumb to these thoughts occasionally and then feel misserable and
guilty until, often days later, I'd confess and ask for punishment.
In the end I had begged her to save me from these temptations by tetheri
ng
me whenever I was in the house alone. What surprised me was that being
out of the reach of temptation actually seemed to assuage the bordom to a
considerable extent as if much of the feeling was caused by my temptor
trying to drive me to insubordination and, since he was no longer able to
do so, he no longer made my life so misserable.
Accordingly what she had said about the kennel being my new home did
not really upset me. My real home had been for some time not the house but
a
corner of the basement. Of course I no longer had a job to go to but that
didn't seem any great loss anyway. It had come to seem unnatural and
onerous playing the role of a person for my collegues. Though alone I did
not feel abandoned here. The longer she stayed away from me the greater
my joy when she came at last.
The sun had set when she came out of the back door with my leash and
muzzle. I stood up immediately walking carefully to the end of my tether, t
he
consequences of pulling too hard on it clearly in mind. She patted me on th
e
head and I licked her hand. Then she fitted the muzzle and leash and walked
me out of the side gate. It felt strange going out through that gate like
this. We've never gone "walkies" in public before other than on the
island and I was a little nervous.
As we emerged from the gateway I froze for a moment in shock until she
spoke sharply to me, mercifully not jerking the leash. The road in front
of the house was packed with reporters. A fusillade of electronic flash
units went off a second later and all the reporters started talking at
once. I realised I wasn't understanding a word. Their yelled questions
were just a noise to me. My lady had considerately turned off my ability
to understand speech. I think without that the verbal barrage, which of
course I could make no response to, would have been very unpleasant. It
is almost painful to be bombarded with more speech than the brain can
handle. As it was it was simply a loud noise.
My lady spoke a few short, calm answers but did not stop walking. Soon
we were walking down the street with the pack in pursuit. Basically we
ignored them. We went to the local park and we went for a jog which had the
newsmen puffing. She did not let me off the leash and I wouldn't
willingly have left her side anyway with all those people about. As we
returned home I saw that this was the strategy most likely to get rid of
the newshound pack in the shortest time. Had we remained in hiding it
would have just provoked their nosiness. This way most of them would lose
interest fairly quickly.
And so it proved. Over the following days the number of press people
declined markedly. Meanwhile I began to accustom myself to my new
lifestyle, and in particular to the long hours when my lady was away at
work. Those hours wore on me and yet they served to throw the time I
spent with my lady into high relief. Sometimes during the quiet hours I
would think back to my job, and to my previous life but not with any real
nostalgia. It was as if that life belonged to a different me and I
suppose in many ways that was exactly the case. I had changed more than
physically, and I was still changing.
As the press interest declined our walks became freer and I was able to
run freely in the park. Of course we attracted a great many odd looks and
at first the ordinary park users pointedly avoided us. Their dogs were,
of course, another matter. When we met them off the lead most of them
were naturally curious about me and would sniff around me and
occasionally try a little horseplay to which I responded as well as I was
able. This kind of thing very much embarrassed their owners who needed to
retrieve their pets but wanted no contact with either my lay or myself.
They would try calling their dogs from a distance but the animals did not
always respond and they would have to approach far closer than they
wanted to. Increasingly they started to put their dogs on the lead as
soon as we appeared. I was about used by now to being treated as if I had
a new kind of infectious disease that might be contracted through and
incautious look. Still, I felt it would be nice, just once, for someone
to look straight at me other than through a viewfinder.
Once the last of the press people had given up we took to going further
afield. She would put me in the back of the car and drive me to the coast o
r
into the national park. It was on one of these trips that someone finally d
id
look straight at me and we met Edward. Edward didn't just look straight at
me. After asking permission he stroked and, at the same time examined me. H
e
and my lady started talking, initially about me and we sat down together.
The novel thing was that whereas he was openly curious about the
technicalities and the legalities of my conversion he never once enquired
about its motives. Nor did he question the way I was treated.
Since then we've seen more and more of Edward. I am ashamed to say
that I still suffer boughts of jealousy. Of course what I feel and think
has no practical relevance. And yet, though his visits mean my lady has a
little less time to spend with me I now have a master as well as a
mistress and I am starting to value his attention too.
It was Edward that came up with the idea. Sooner or later my legal statu
s
will have to be resolved and, to win, we will need money. So why not, he
pointed out, sell my story to a newspaper. There where technical
difficulties, of course, but they proved easy enough to overcome. It was
easy enough to tap into the voice synthesiser with a computer. The main
problem has been to edit the repetitions and irrelevancies out of this
account.
Well, there it is, perhaps the end of the story. We seem to be destined
to
settle down to a fairly conventional form of domesticity. Assuming, of
course, the law doesn't radically interfere. Well shall see.
FIN
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