The Mask

By Carmenica Diaz

One of the first transgender romance stories written by Carmenica Diaz. A scientific accident changes the life of one man as he is changed into a woman. Although, initially she thinks it is a nightmare, things change! Romantic and slightly corny, a popular story that was first released in 2004.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781471067518

Book preview

The Mask

The Mask

Carmenica Diaz

EPUB Edition 1

Copyright © 2012 Lulu Press

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4710-6751-8

Introduction

This story was one of the very first transgender romance stories I wrote, way back in 2004.

The theme is familiar and one that I have expanded often in the years that followed. Second Chance, Searching For Jim and, more recently, The Searchers are examples.

Even though I think this is not as good as my latter works (like to think I have improved over the years) it is still a reasonable read, even though it is clearly corny. I also boldly set in America which, at the time, knew nothing about! Ah, what innocence!

It does begin in a dark place but the sun does come out.

Part 1 The Mask Virus

‘Goodnight, Professor Rhodes.’

‘Goodnight Lois,’ I replied without looking up from the monitor screen as the last lab assistant finally left. I was always the last civilian to leave the complex; I guess the others had families to go home to, and I didn’t. I have been married to my work ever since I left medical school.

Watching Lois through the glass as she walked down the corridor, I shook my head. Women had always been a mystery to me, a mystery I didn’t bother to unravel. It wasn’t that I was a misogynist, I admired many a female scientist. I just couldn’t understand their thinking or their preoccupation, so I steered clear of any relationship.

Honestly, it also helped that I had a low libido and never possessed the sexual drive than many of my male colleagues had, a drive that had led them into disastrous relationships, acrimonious divorces and then mid-life crises. If I saw another fifty-year-old male in a red sports car, leering at women young enough to be their daughters, I’d puke.

Let’s face it, the statistics for marriage and long-term relationships are not great and I don’t understand why there is this romantic notion of a relationship that lasts forever. The bottom line is, if I had taken the time to engage in a relationship, I wouldn’t be where I am now, head of this research complex and receiving buckets of money from the Pentagon. Of course, there were a few times when I felt a twinge of regret at not having a family, but those times were few and I knew it was for the better. I was much too selfish to be a parent of any description and I thoroughly enjoyed the research projects I had worked on over the years. That was enough for me.

Currently, the research complex I led was focused on virus warfare, and the manufacturing of a discrete virus that would completely immobilise the enemy. General Buchanan had joked that the perfect virus should be able to be used on civilian populations as well, but none of my team found that particularly funny.

For me, the all important quest was for the cure of cancer. It was always something that remained at the back of my mind, but recently I had developed a new urgency to find a cure, as I had diagnosed the cancerous disease that had grown within me.

Determined that the disease I had fought against for all of my life would not defeat me, I had worked on the research in secret, completing the work that had taken me twenty-five years of part-time focus to compile, and now I was ready to test it.

I called it the Mask Virus, although, strictly speaking, it was not specifically a virus.

It attacked cancerous cells by using the genetic codes within the patient’s body to build and replace the ‘bad’ cells with healthy ones. The virus applied a ‘mask’ to the cancerous cells, isolating them and then finally eliminating them while rapidly replacing them with new cells that had been created from the optimal ‘healthy’ genetic codes. Any old cells that did not merge satisfactorily with the new cells were also replaced.

It should be tested for ten years or so before release but I didn’t have ten years; in fact, I believed I had, at the most, ten hours before the cancer within my body reached the point of no return and the virus would not be able to apply the mask. I had to inject myself tonight!

I left the complete research notes on my desk, along with the last will and testament of Jack Rhodes, and a detailed letter explaining what I had done. If I died, future scientists would be able to work through it, rectify my mistake, and defeat cancer. It would be a posthumous victory, but a victory nevertheless.

Slowly, I lay down on the small examination table in my office. This was it, I thought, this could be the end of Jack Rhodes, or the beginning.

I tightened the rubber strap around my arm, pumped a fist to bring up the vein and gave myself the first of three injections. The injections had to be fifteen minutes apart, a device against accidental infection, and I lay back on the table, waiting.

Waiting was something I was good at. I had learned it at an early age as I waited for meals and for foster homes when I was at the orphanage. The meals always came, but I never found a foster home and when I finally walked free of the orphanage, I vowed that I would never depend on anybody for anything. I was on my own, I told myself I liked it and that was the way it was going to be.

The second injection slid in, and I felt a slight burning in my arm so I quickly wrote a small observation note for those who would come later.

Then it was time for the last injection, and without hesitation, I gave it. Within seconds, I felt a strange feeling sweep through my stomach, and I tried to write another note but my fingers wouldn’t work properly. My head felt incredibly heavy, and I reluctantly let it sink to the small pillow, staring up at the glaring tungsten lights. This is it, I thought, this