After I had received my mysterious sex-change, I had been sent to a special psychiatrist who had gone through the same kind of unwanted sex-change himself, some years ago. I figured that it made sense, since he would understand what few others did. And, until someone figured out how to use the same process to undo the sex-change, people like me had to adapt to it.

    The psychiatrist proved to be a friendly and trustworthy person. He had a lot of amusing stories from the time when he had been adapting his own sex-change. In fact, some of the stories were used as examples for how he had managed to cope and adapt. He recommended some of the methods to me, so I could cope and adapt, too.

    One such method involved sex. He said that one of the biggest obstacles for most patients was the acceptance of their new equipment. Because so many avoided the sexual use of their equipment, they couldn't use the experience to accept their new sex. And by accepting their sex, they could therefor learn to accept partners of the opposite sex and have normal, healthy relationships with other people.

    So I took up masturbation, and it didn't take me long to enjoy it. How that eventually led to sex with the psychiatrist is a long story that I'd rather not get into, but I found him to be pursuasive and I had had enough of being estranged from people. I guess it was easy because he was always so nice and really seemed to care.

    However, one day I suddenly wondered why it had to be me. I mean, he must have had a bunch of other female patients in the same position as myself (on the couch, not necessarily on their backs), so what did I have that the others didn't?

    The doubt began to nag at me more and more, but I didn't do anything until I realized that I had morning sickness. Once I knew that I was pregnant, I had to make sure that he was being faithful to me, and only me. So, in the months that followed, I managed to track down some of his female patients. I talked to them about the doctor, heard them speak of their relationship with him, and then revealed my own relationship with the doctor. They were understandably upset, as I was, so we worked together to contact some of the other female patients.

    When we thought we had more than enough women accounted for, we called the police before we approached the man who had been responsible for our rehabilitation, but who had in fact taken advantage of us. We caught him eating lunch, so I took his meal and threw it on him. From then on, until the police arrived, we unloaded a great many things that we wanted to say to him, none of them nice.

    And that's the end of my story. There's probably a moral in there somewhere, but there's one thing that I'm certain of: same-opposites don't attract!