Yes

“I can do that,” you say after a moment's silence.

“You'll cover me, then? You'll log in?” John asks.

“Yes, of course, but I mean - I mean I can do that,” you say, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. “I can be submissive. Your - your sex ****. God knows I've fantasized about it enough,” you mutter.

John smiles down at you. “I'm really glad you feel that way, Soph.” You start a little at the name. “That is your name now, Sophie, isn't it?” he says, grinning. “It suits you. You know, I'm a little surprised that in all this time we've been dating, I never had an inkling you felt this way.”

“I would never have let on. Besides, you're a bit self-centered, you know?”

John chuckles. “Not one of my better traits, I'll admit.”

“It's an attractive feature in a man, actually,” you say.

“How so?” he asks.

“Well,” you answer, thinking aloud, “this is a totally lopsided thing to say, probably misogynistic or something, but, you know, consider the source - you were a handful as Sophie. I always had to make sure you got what you wanted, or you bitched and moaned and made life hell. You had a tendency to pussywhip your boyfriends, whether you wanted to or not. I mean, I know you were submissive too, but that never really came through. Things were always about you.”

“Now, that always really annoyed me. But you know, in my fantasies, I'm always a young girl at the mercy of a man who always makes sure he gets what he wants. Everything's about him, not me - and that's part of the turn-on.”

You're both silent for a minute. Tension builds.

You wonder if you've said too much, and just what you've done. In the space of a quarter-hour, you've managed to completely feminize yourself, and confess your deepest, most **** secrets to the man who used to be your girlfriend. You realize you have very little idea of what this person is like without the memory and hormonal adjustments - never mind the body.

“Well, then,” John says, “Let's start off on the right foot, shall we? As you know, I didn't much like dressing femininely - except for lingerie, which was a compulsion brought on by conditioning.”

He looks you up and down. You follow his gaze. You're wearing Sophie's green high school sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Not the sexiest thing in the world.

“Sophie, please go through the apartment and collect each and every item of clothing that can conceivably be worn by a man, put it in a trash bag, and bring the bag to me. I realize that won't leave you with much in the wardrobe department, but we'll go shopping later for more appropriate attire.” He smiles. “And you can start with what you're wearing.”