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Subject: New TG - from Waldo - Death Row 2 - 4 of 9
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Chapter 4

Warning - not for reading by minors.  Story deals with 
transgender and sexual themes.  All rights reserved.  This 
story may not be sold or distributed by anyone unless it 
is distributed free.  Copyright must remain with the story.  

Death Row - Part 2

By Waldo

Chapter 4 - Time never flies when....

A much slenderer John Augustus waited until the guard escorted 
prison trustee removed his half-full lunch tray, then ceremonially 
marked another day off, on his personal calendar. Today was day 
sixty-eight. Since the onslaught of his illness, John hadn't eaten 
much. That combined with the other side effects of the medicine 
had greatly reduced his weight. The medicine stopped the pain but 
it also had other side effects. Since the first day of taking the 
medicine, John had been impotent and constantly felt like he was 
drugged. He recognized that he was in a drug-induced haze where 
it felt like he was inside a big bubble where he moved and thought 
slowly.

He had discovered the impotence during his normal bedtime ritual 
that first night and tried to quit the medicine, but two days of 
increasing pain and discomfort made him change his mind. The 
choice had been simple - either spend a lot of time with his head 
next to the steel commode or give up his only sex partner of the 
last three years - his right hand.

So now, he felt very mellow and relaxed - even with his cock's 
maximum hardness being similar to the hardness of a fresh 
marshmallow. Looking at his calendar, he knew that he only had 
fourteen more days until the first day that he could take the herbs 
that were hidden in his pepper shaker.

Squatting on the floor in the corner of the cell where he had spent 
so many hours talking to Robert Williams, he wondered what the 
bastard was up to. He hadn't heard anything since the day that 
Robert had strolled in to the prison visiting area, in his new cunt 
body. That one-hour of private discussion with the innocent 
appearing and very attractive woman, had raised John's spirits. 
The old man's magic clearly had worked for Robert and would also 
work for him. The big question was, could he hold on to the 
slender thread of life still left in his body while he waited for the 
start to get into the right position. Gone was his reluctance to 
transfer into someone else's body - a woman's body. In its place 
was a desire to live.

The sounds of a guard's shoes clicking on the floor, closely followed 
by the sounds of a mop bucket on wheels, pulled John from his 
reverie. He knew each guard's shift and the unique sound of their 
steps. This was Officer Mahoney walking down the corridor. The 
last several days, there had been something different about 
Mahoney's steps and his general attitude. He seemed so relaxed 
and at peace with the world. Gone was his pent-up frustration and 
occasional bouts of observable anger. John had recognized the 
change immediately and had teased the guard about finally getting 
some pussy. Instead of the guard's normal anger at having to 
respond to personal questions from John, there had been some 
friendly but vague answers. Over the last several days, the 
normally recalcitrant guard had been unusually friendly to 
everyone.

As John listened to the approaching footsteps, he could tell that 
something had occurred. The fast pace of the guard's steps 
indicated an urgency that wasn't normal. John didn't move or turn 
his head, keeping his back to the bars, staring at the steel 
commode and the taped photographs of Candy above the 
commode.

The footsteps stopped just behind John's back. There were several 
seconds of silence then the guard announced "I'm not satisfied 
with the way that you're keeping your cell clean. I've arranged for 
your cell to be cleaned properly and then I expect you to maintain 
the same high degree of cleanliness."

John's head jerked up and a momentary rage roared through him 
as he glanced around his neat and clean cell. He always kept it 
clean. While Williams had failed the daily inspections on a frequent 
basis, this had never happened to John before. Jumping to his 
feet, he glared at the guard, immediately noticing that there was 
something wrong with the guard - Mahoney was almost shaking 
and his face was very pale. Standing behind the guard was a 
prison trustee that John had never seen before, holding a mop and 
the handle to a filled mop bucket.

John wasn't sure what was going on, but recognized that he didn't 
have any say in the matter. Nodding acceptance, John turned 
around and put his hands behind his back, pushing his hands 
through the bars, so that the guard could secure his hands with 
handcuffs. The guard clicked one handcuff on, then pushed John's 
hands back within the bars before securing the other handcuff - so 
that John's hand were handcuffed behind his back but he wasn't 
locked to the unmoving jail bars. This was unusual because they 
usually secured the death row prisoner so that the prisoner's 
hands were locked behind his back and secured by the bars.

The guard unlocked the cell and motioned the trustee to enter. 
After the trustee was in the cell, the guard turned and walked 
away so that he was standing in the corridor, but wasn't looking 
directly into John's cell. The trustee looked at John and smiled, his 
smile missing half of his teeth, then whispered "We don't have 
much time for romance or foreplay. I'm supposed to give you a 
blowjob."

"What?" exclaimed a confused John.

"My contractor got paid by someone - some bitch on the outside 
named Andrea - so he paid me to blow you. The guard that 
escorted me knows why I'm here and got me back here in this high 
security area, but he said I've only got twenty minutes. Do you 
want to lie down on your bunk or want me to do you standing up?" 
asked the trustee as he pulled off his prison cap, staring at John's 
crotch.

A big smile lit up John's face "Where were you last month when I 
could get it up? This medicine the doc gives me, takes the iron out 
of my dick. I can't get it up and I've tried."

"Shit. If we don't have sex, then I don't get paid. My contractor told 
me that I've got to give you a sexual experience that you'll never 
forget. I was hoping to blow you and get out; but it looks like we've 
got to figure out other ways for me to get paid. How tight is your 
cherry ass?"

******

The scruffy looking middle-aged man with a three-week-old salt 
and pepper beard and full head of uncombed hair was sitting at 
the desk; looking like a homeless person or a mad professor who 
didn't like to bathe. Drumming his fingers on the desktop, he 
leaned back in his chair and stared at the monitor, studying the 
words that he had just typed into the PC's word processing 
program. Satisfied with the progress so far, the man saved the 
draft document and turned off the PC, pocketing the floppy disk 
with the only copy of the draft document in his shirt pocket. 
Standing up and stretching his wiry body, the man said simply 
"Bathroom."

A young muscular Chinaman standing in the doorway nodded and 
stepped aside, being careful to keep a little distance from the 
unkempt man. The man marched through the doorway and down 
the hall to the bathroom, followed at a respectful distance by his 
guard. As he walked into the bathroom, he slammed the door 
behind him, keeping the guard outside.

The man rushed into a stall and produced a small adjustable 
wrench that he'd stolen earlier from the toolkit where he'd been 
allowed to work on the PC. The guard had been more interested in 
controlling the sharp screwdrivers than the other blunt tools. 
Placing the wrench on the two nuts holding the toilet seat, he 
quickly removed the solid wood seat. Previous visits to the 
bathroom had resulted in the commode tops being removed before 
he could use them for the same purpose that he removed the 
wooden toilet seat. Then he grabbed several handfuls of paper 
towels and began stopping the drains of the three bathroom sinks. 
When that was finished, he turned the bathroom faucets on wide 
open and stepped back watching while the sinks started filling up 
with water. 

As soon as the first little river overflowed the sink and splashed on 
the floor, the man picked up his solid wood toilet seat and stood 
beside the closed bathroom door, holding the toilet seat over his 
head while his beady eyes watched the water accumulate on the 
floor. A light sweat formed on his head as he kept his arms raised 
and stared at the rising water level, waiting for the second when 
the water would have to flow under the bathroom door. Forcing 
himself to take deep, regular breaths, ignoring the hammering of 
his heart,  he waited for his guard to rush into the bathroom.

******

Andrea was wearing a blond wig to camouflage her normal 
appearance, blue jeans, sunglasses and a loose sweatshirt. Under 
her loose sweatshirt, her pistol was tucked into her jeans. As she 
walked through the liquor store aisle, she waited for a couple of 
customers to clear out. Her plan was simple - she would approach 
the cashier, pull the pistol, grab the cash from the drawer and run. 
Over the last two weeks, she'd spent a fortune on clothes and 
bribing people at the prison, and she could use this extra money.

Greg was home and sleeping. He came home after his shift and 
told her about how he had followed her orders. About how he 
escorted the trustee then waited while the trustee had sex. Only 
the trustee hadn't blown John. Then Greg discovered afterwards 
that John was now impotent and the trustee couldn't get him 
aroused. So the trustee had pushed John onto the bed face down, 
pulled down his trousers and butt fucked him. John didn't resist 
or cry out. When the trustee had signaled to Greg to let him out, 
John's naked white butt was still sticking up in the air.

Greg told Andrea how he had cried while he unfastened the 
handcuffs, while John stared straight ahead, his face buried in the 
pillow. The next time that Greg made his rounds, John was 
dressed and sitting in his corner on the floor, smoking his cigar 
although it wasn't smoking hours; his strong cigar smoke filling 
the corridor. Neither of them said a word although one of the other 
prisoners complained about the obvious smoking violation.

Andrea recognized the hurt that Greg was experiencing and quickly 
pulled him into her arms, using sex to make him forget and to 
sleep. And as he slept, she packed her car with her clothes. This 
game was over, the trustee had fucked up and it appeared to be 
the time for her to move on.

It was too bad, but there was no way they could continue with 
their living arrangement now, not after what had happened. She 
would miss living with Greg, he'd been a great lay, and had really 
known how to make a woman cum multiple times. Andrea shivered 
slightly as she thought about going back home and climbing back 
into bed with him, but she knew that living with Greg much longer 
would be similar to marriage. And she was too young, beautiful, 
sexy and had a full life ahead of her, to let herself get married now.

She watched the last customer pick up his purchase and she 
timed her approach to the cash register. Placing a bottle picked at 
random from a shelf, she watched as the cashier rang up her 
purchase, then picked up the twenty-dollar bill she laid on the 
counter. As his cash drawer opened, she reached under her loose 
sweater and pulled her pistol out of her jeans.

******

Balancing himself on the limb, Jeff Conway leaned against the tree 
and wrapped the rope around his waist, tying himself to the tree so 
that he couldn't accidentally fall out. He was experienced with 
finding "comfortable" branches and sitting in trees for hours, 
waiting for the deer to wander within range of his hunting rifle.

But tonight was different. He was using the equipment and ropes 
that he purchased for deer hunting, to support him as he sat in 
the upper branches of a tree staring in the upper bedroom 
windows of the old farmhouse. He was two hundred feet away but 
his powerful binoculars made it look as if he was only thirty feet 
away from the window. He opened his bag and removed the new 
camcorder from his hunting bag. Focusing on her bedroom window 
and using his knees to support the camera, he zoomed in on her 
bedroom windows.

She was sitting at a makeup table, wearing only panties as she 
brushed her long, golden hair. He zoomed in so that he was filming 
her from the tip of her head to the curvature of her butt as she sat 
on the stool. She was using the brush with her right hand, and 
raising her left hand to tease and fluff her hair as she brushed it. 
Those simple motions frequently exposed her left boob's profile and 
her quick motions were causing her exposed boob to jiggle as she 
brushed her hair.

A smile lit up Jeff's face as he thought about what Scotty would 
think when he got out of jail and saw these pictures.

******

The bartender poured another drink for his customer - someone 
that came in every Friday evening and sat for about three hours 
before leaving - Mickey somebody. The customer looked like one of 
those overpaid guys who had been a sports jock for a couple of 
years after college then switched into public relations when their 
career went downhill. Classical handsome face, solid wide 
shoulders, body still kept in shape, expensive suit, manicured 
fingers, and a company credit card to pay his tab. Wiping a glass 
as he stood in front of his customer, he asked "How's the job 
going?"

The customer looked up from his glass, then picked up the glass, 
holding it up in the air, as he declared "Don't ever sign a contract 
based upon product delivery We're two months behind schedule 
and my wife is on the east coast in a rustic farmhouse and I'm 
sitting here. I've decided to start scheduling a flight home every 
weekend so I can spend a couple of days with her every week until 
this job is finished. It'll be expensive, but my wife is worth it."

******

The unkempt, scruffy-looking man carried his new bag of charity 
clothes back to the bunk bed that'd been assigned to him by the 
charity. The room was a bay full of bunk beds filled with homeless 
men. Men that looked very similar to this man with their charity 
provided clothes. The man selected a pair of jeans, a shirt, some 
underwear, and the toilet kit, knowing that the other people here 
in this shelter would probably go through his meager belongings 
while he was in the shower.

Marching straight to the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror 
staring at the heavy salt and pepper beard that covered the 
unkempt face staring back at him. Glancing into the small toilet 
kit that the charity workers had just given him, he selected the 
razor. Holding it up as he stared at it, he mumbled to himself 
"Andrea Bell, you've shaved your legs before so shaving a face can't 
be any worse."

******

The restaurant was a small, family type Italian restaurant. Outside 
the private dining room, stood two men in suits, watching everyone 
that approached the entrance to the private dining room. Inside 
the room, the air was thick with cigar smoke as three men sat 
around a table cluttered with dirty dishes that were being removed 
by their waiter. The men chatted as the waiter cleaned the table 
and wheeled his cart out of the room. As soon as it was just the 
three of them alone in the room, the man sitting at the table head 
asked "So what else does my brother want to do to me?"

John Augustus's lawyer glanced at the bodyguard sitting next to 
Herbert Augustus, feeling reluctant to have witnesses to his 
betrayal of his long time client. Hesitantly he responded "I've 
prepared papers to cut you out of the will."

Puffing on his large cigar, Herbert asked, "I expected him to do 
that. And what would happen if those papers were never filed?"

"The old will would still be in effect - the one where you inherit half 
of his money."

"Then rest assured that if something happens to my dear sick 
brother and the old will is the only will that's presented to the 
judge, that I'll remember your faithful service to my brother and to 
our family. I rely upon you to make the right decisions, knowing 
that I've got a long memory and take care of my friends. Thank you 
for coming by to share my meager supper with me and my friends."

Recognizing that he had been given an order and dismissed by the 
mob leader, the lawyer nodded and left the room. After the door 
was shut, Herbert turned to his bodyguard and asked "So, Big Al, 
do you think that this body transfer is going to work for my 
brother?"

"I saw it work for the other convict. If it worked for one, it should 
work for the other."

"Hmmm. I agree that it's possible. So let's see what could happen. 
My brother could escape his death sentence and wind up in a 
cunt's body. A young, beautiful cunt from what I've seen in the 
photographs. Knowing my brother, he'll check on the processing of 
his will and when he discovers that his last wishes weren't carried 
out - he'll come looking for someone. And my brother will want 
revenge. I don't want to spend the rest of my life, hiding out, 
waiting for the bullet from the darkness to strike me down. Take 
some of your men and go back to that little town - blend in with 
the natives as much as possible."

Herbert paused for a second thinking about his burley bodyguards 
trying to blend in with the general country lifestyle population and 
smirked at the mental image of Big Al wearing bib overalls and 
chewing tobacco as he held a pitchfork in one hand and a pistol in 
the other. The only place that Big Al blended in, was in police 
lineups.

Glancing back, he resumed "Find some boys that my brother 
doesn't know to go with you. You remember Frankie Yarzenbac - 
he's Mack's boy -I paid to send young Frankie to that fancy college. 
Tell Mack that I want to see his son - that I've got a job that can 
use his special talents. He's one of those psychologists that know 
how to mess with people's minds. We're going to help my brother 
with his transformation into a healthy, vibrant woman, who keeps 
her body fit, and is attentive to her appearance instead of messing 
in my business. We're going to correct his personality and outlook 
so that he's deferential, affectionate and caring, and incredibly 
enthusiastic in bed. My new whore brother might need help in 
finding his true calling to make sure that he doesn't become a 
feminist bitch. When we're through with my brother and his new 
cunt body, he'll be too involved with his new life to bother me. I 
want my brother to enjoy keeping the house clean, and planning 
and cooking the meals. He'll either be a happy wife to a Virginia 
farmer with a kid sucking on his new boobs or a two-bit prostitute 
hooked on drugs, working in one of my houses to pay for her drugs 
- or he'll be dead."

******

John Augustus lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling. The guards 
on the midnight shift had confiscated his cigars because of his 
refusal to comply with the smoking rules. But he didn't care what 
they did to him. Nothing mattered anymore except to find some 
way to live as he waited for that day when he could take the herbs 
that he had hidden in his pepper shaker. He would escape this 
prison - the prison with the bars holding him in this cell and the 
prison of his dying body.

The drugs had to be the reason why he'd let that man fuck him. He 
couldn't stand the idea of being laughed at or being thought queer 
for allowing that rape during a moment of weakness.

The additional shock of having an opportunity to have sex and 
then being unable to perform had something to do with it. Loosing 
your manhood can shake up your thinking patterns. Looking back 
in retrospect, John decided that the real reason he allowed it to 
continue, was because he was bored and it was something out of 
the ordinary - something to make yesterday different from the 
many days before.

It hadn't been painful - there was a lot of discomfort then a 
moment of pain followed by a weird sensation of being full. Then 
the pause in the humping as the trustee's cum flooded deep inside 
him. Thirty seconds later, there was the sound that he would never 
forget - the sound of the trustee's zipper being shut. John 
remembered that he lay on his bed, his butt still up in the air as 
the trustee waited for the guard to open the door. Then the guard's 
hands had shook as he removed the handcuffs. Then John rolled 
up into a fetal position, his trousers still down around his ankle, 
and stared at the wall.

The guard had been Mahoney. Why did he participate? It was 
something that John never expected from him.

******

The big truck slowed as it approached the exit and pulled over to 
the side of the road. A moment later the passenger door opened 
and a man climbed down. As the truck pulled back out onto the 
Interstate highway, the man walked down the exit ramp, knowing 
that he had a long walk ahead of him before he got to town.

Anyone who knew the former Bob Williams wouldn't easily 
recognize this hitchhiker. In addition to shaving the gaunt face 
clean except for a very David Niven thin mustache, Andrea had 
also shaved the head ala Yul Bryner.

She knew that her former captors would be expecting her to return 
to the farm and would have the place covered. But she was in a 
dead convict's body with no other place to go.

******

Scotty Walsh drove his rusting pickup up the farm lane, taking his 
time, looking around as he drove up to the farmhouse. He pulled 
up beside her little Camaro and shut off his truck's noisy engine. 
Stepping out of the truck, he walked toward the back door as if he 
was a man on a mission - purposeful and his attention focused 
straight ahead at the back porch's screened backdoor. From the 
corner of his eye, he saw some movement behind the kitchen 
curtains and tried to hide his smile as he thought about what he 
was considering doing today.

The door opened and Scotty's smile disappeared as a tall, 
muscular man stepped out on the porch; asking, "Can I help you?"

The local bad boy paused as he sized up this unanticipated 
obstacle, immediately determining that this was probably her 
previously unseen husband. Nodding to the bigger man as he 
rubbed his three-day-old beard, Scotty smiled his normal shit-
eating grin as he asked "Howdy. Lost a dog back in the woods a 
couple of days ago. Have you seen a black coon hound with a white 
throat?"

"No, I haven't. Let me ask my wife." He instructed, turning toward 
the door, he said, "he's looking for a lost dog. Black with white 
throat missing for the last two days."

The husband nodded his head to something that Scotty couldn't 
hear. Turning his attention back to Scotty, the man said, "No, we 
haven't seen him. Leave me your phone number and if we find 
him, we'll call you."

Scotty's smile faded into the contemptuous set that his mouth 
usually displayed "It's 555-1219. Say, would you need any extra 
help around here? I'm a good handyman and don't mind swinging 
a paintbrush."

"No, thanks. I'm here now and can take care of anything that 
needs to be done."

Scotty nodded acceptance of his dismissal and walked back to the 
truck. After he backed up the truck, he noticed that the man was 
still standing on the porch watching him drive away. Reaching for 
the plastic jug of moonshine on the floorboard, Scotty started 
thinking about how he was going to spend his day now that his 
original plans had been changed.

******

"Amen."

Ralph raised his head and smiled at his dinner guests that were 
seated at his dinning room table "Dig in. Martha's a good cook and 
I've been known to make a fool of myself by eating too much."

Candy smiled at the friendly neighbor as she held her plate out to 
accept the meat that Martha had just sliced for her. She winked 
across the table to Mickey who was making himself at home as he 
matched the older man on filling up his plate.

As they ate their meals, Mickey said, "Something strange happened 
today. Some disheveled man in an old green pickup truck came by 
the house looking for a lost dog. Or so he said. I didn't believe him 
and turned him away."

Martha and Ralph looked at each other's face - she had a look of 
obvious concern on her normally calm face. Recognizing his 
responsibility, Ralph cleared his throat and responded as he stared 
at Candy.

"Sounds like Scotty Walsh. He's a local bad boy. While he's never 
done anything to Martha or me because of our friendship with his 
father, he's got quite a record of brawling and minor disturbances. 
I'd suggest that you lock the door and keep it locked if you're the 
only one around."



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