Aphora's Mission Ch. 05

Six out of twenty. Six able-bodied men, including Will and myself, who’d agreed to go trans, who’d agreed to become chicks with dicks. Six men willing to go to Aphora, with all its potential adventure and danger. Six men willing to kiss Earth goodbye forever. Six men looking forward to passionate kisses in a strange country.

We saw no evidence of where the other men were -- those who had turned down the offer.

Now, we six were housed together in a new, less rustic building. Besides Will and myself, there were Robin, Doug, Dick (the butt of many jokes, and half Hispanic), and Kevin (who was black). We could hardly object to our continued wearing of panties and dresses now …. Some of us even began wearing our cute, lacy nighties to bed.

Our compliance collars were removed. It felt like an initiation when our ears were pierced and we chose earrings to wear. I favored an elaborate, hippy-like pair. It was both strange and exciting to be walking along, feeling them seductively brushing my neck and noting their little tug on my earlobes.

There were more meetings, usually attended by Ah-lahnaya, and I had a hard time (pun) keeping my eyes off her. We learned we were leaving for Aphora in three days and the trip would take about five weeks.

Five tasks would occupy us before we arrived: the beginning of the biological transformation to women (with penises), a crash course in behaving as women, training to acquaint us with Aphoran culture, choosing a wardrobe, and learning the Aphoran language (assisted by an artificial information transfer).

In the meantime, we all wrote letters to our families and friends following a script given to us, expressing our love and the difficult decision to part ways.

At night in our common room, the six of us tried to rationalize our decision. We were on new ground, and our old male customs, humor and sports talk were no longer our stock in trade. We did manage some talk about our feminine sides, and did manage some bravado about being studs in dresses while repopulating a planet. There were some jokes about the future male population of Aphora looking like the six of us. Kevin, our token black guy, wondered if there were black women there (a question he later asked at a meeting, with an affirmative response).

Then, the conversation turned to living as women. “I can remember in high school,” said Dick, “seeing really sexy girls who were out of reach, and wondering how it would be to be one of them -- goddesses with sexy figures and boobs, eye makeup, and so on. I thought if I were one of them, I’d just look at myself in the mirror, with nice tits and lingerie, and masturbate.”

Will couldn’t help but pop up and say, “Well, when you get your wish and are let loose on Aphora, you gotta figure that beating off and wasting jizz will be verboten!”

Since we were getting so familiar and revealing ourselves more, I lay down a few hints that I was beginning to enjoy going en femme. But I didn’t want to reveal how deep my fascination and arousal went.

Over the next several days, we had more meetings in which we signed formal contracts, and learned a little about the Aphoran language and about Aphoran history. It all seemed a bit stuffy and formal.

We also met with the women who would manage our transformation while en route. We were again reassured that being morphed into women wouldn’t reduce our libidos or our sexual satisfaction; they were quite sure we could have the best of both worlds.

Taking pictures of us in the nude, they then (one on one) showed us computer-generated options of what we could become.

As for myself, it was like entering a candy store with every variety of chocolate and fillings -- square, round, rectangular, nutty, caramel, dark and light, and so on. If I could only choose seven different womanly versions of myself, and take on a different body every day of the week! Realistically though, I needed to choose just one delicious, ideal version of myself.

I stand five-foot eleven, on the tall side for a woman, but obviously they thought not outlandishly so. My body layout is average for a man (I don’t have one of those flat asses some men have where their trousers fall down) and I have always kept in shape so I don’t have a beer belly. I weigh 160. However, my face has always been on the angular side -- that is, defined cheekbones and chin. People have said over the years that I have slender pianist’s fingers.

I chose a version of myself, obviously, with more curves and less muscle. I added a little soft flesh over my entire body.

Starting at the top, I added abundant hair in my natural dark brown color. My face would fill out nicely, becoming a little more round, and my lips would be fuller. My arms would be softer.

The most looked-forward decision was breasts -- I chose a 38B cup (I’ve never been one for huge mammaries and a size B might stay pert longer). I became distracted, imagining looking down upon my sexy rack, but my advisor brought me back on track again, mentioning the breasts would be natural, not implants.

I chose to enlarge my hips and my derriere (OK, ass), creating a somewhat high-waisted look, and yet with a narrower waist. Finally, I asked that my legs be fuller.

I also chose to darken my skin color a little, because my English/Norwegian ancestry left me with skin that always seemed too pale.

Overall, my estimated weight dropped by five pounds, because, as my woman advisor mentioned, I would have less muscle and more soft-flesh areas.

“Will my beard continue to grow?” I asked through the translation device.

“No, your skin will soften and you will lose your male body hair in the usual places -- on your chest (her eyes checked out that area, and lingered there a while), under your arms, on your face, and along your arms and legs.”

I signed the pictogram of my final choices and received a copy to take with me. We guys-about-to-be girls then compared pictures and had a blast rating each other. Robin came out on top -- he’s a 5-2 specimen, and his result didn’t display a trace of manhood. In fact, he looked stunning.

As for me, the tallest one, the others called me “statuesque,” and “slender.” That’s funny, because I thought I’d picked a more rounded version of myself. Oh well.

Finally, we were down to our last day on Earth.

Early that day, Ah-lahnaya stopped me in a hallway and took me aside. Despite the awkwardness of using the translator, she looked into my eyes and said soulfully, “Stevan, tomorrow you leave.”

“Yes. It’s a big day. The big adventure.”

“I will miss you.”

“And I really mean it when I say I will miss you a lot.”

“I know. You keep looking at me.”

She ran her hand along my arm and then grasped my hand. “I’m sorry. I have to stay here on the island. That’s my job. It’s an important job. But will you remember me? Because on my planet you will have relations with many women, and some will be much more attractive than me. I’m so jealous! I’ve come to like you a lot and when this mission is over …. “

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“Six or eight months,” she answered. “When this mission is over I will come to see you on Aphora and see if you still remember me and want to be together.” A tear ran down her cheek.

“Thanks for thinking of me this way,” I answered, trying to remain buoyant. “I would like that. And I promise, every time I have sex with another woman I will only be thinking of you.”

At first her face froze, then she couldn't prevent herself from laughing. Then: “Stevan, would you like to spend tonight with me before you go?”

It was all very forbidden, of course, but I snuck out of bed around midnight (no more collar!) to meet my love and be led to a little private cabin in the jungle. The stars were out, and I imagined I could hear the distant roar of waves breaking on a beach.

As we were walking, hand in hand (she was shorter than me), with my swaying earrings reminding me of my upcoming womanhood, I asked, “Ah-lahnaya, what will happen when I begin feeling and acting and looking like a woman? Like, are you interested only in me as a man, or could you adapt?”

“The central part of you is what I love,” she replied, “whether that's inside a man or woman. But (she laughed) I do absolutely want you with a penis, oh yes I do. And, you know what?, because I’ve only been around women my entire life -- until this visit here -- I prefer that you look like a woman. That’s best, Stevan.”

We dropped our womanly attire on the floor, lay down, held our naked bodies tightly together in the warm, humid air … and … fell asleep.

As the first light of dawn began to show, I had to quickly dress and leave.

“I can’t wait to see you as a woman on Aphora, when you speak the language,” said Ah-lahnaya, with a goodby kiss. “And oh yes, before I forget, I have taken the liberty of choosing your Aphoran name, in the hope you will like it.

“It’s Pora-tarne.”

“Pora-tarne,” I repeated. “Does that symbolize anything? Does it mean anything?”

“Pora means ‘From the heavens’ and tarne means ‘Graceful and thoughtful’.”

“Thank you. I don’t have time to hear about the derivation of your name, but I would guess it means ‘beautiful, calm, and loving’.”

And I was gone. When I tried to sneak back into my bed in the dorm room, I didn’t fool anyone. When they were up and about, they all had to hear about our little tete-a-tete. They absolutely didn’t believe we didn’t have sex.

I suggested they might receive their female names before leaving.

“You can now call me Pora-tarne,” I bragged. “It means something like 'gift from the heavens'. Just call me Tarne.”

They all broke out in laughter, but I knew that inwardly, they wanted their new female names too. Along with all the right curves.