Hi, my name was Chris. I was the son of Gene, the white supremacist cult leader. Leslie gave him his just desserts in turning him into a black woman named Genevieve. See the story entitled “Gene Therapy”. You see he wasn’t just a racist but was a male chauvinist as well. So, his change from a white he into a black she was truly fitting. It was just sad that after a week as an Ethiopian woman, she totally forgot who she had been. Up until that point she was totally revolted by what she had become and was in absolute terror of being killed by her cult followers. I was forced to be in the cult by my father. It started when I was five years old and continued until I was ten years old and ended suddenly when Gene became Genevieve.

Gene was my handler. He programmed me. I became multiple as a result of his sexual abuse, his threats, both to me and to my mother and sister, his torture, both electric shocks and waterboarding. He learned the mind-splitting techniques, breaking me into parts or alters, from an institution that used MK Ultra. You would recognize the institute. They, among many institutions, had been chosen by an intelligence arm of the government to perfect what had once been known as Project Bluebird, then as Project Artichoke, and finally as MK Ultra or Mind Kinetics Ultra. I was programmed to not only be a sex machine for the cult, but to be a duplicate of my father to carry on the cult, and to be an assassin. I know that sounds unbelievable.

My father was of Scandinavian descent. He formed a Nordic white supremacist cult devoted to the fertility goddess, Frigga, who was the consort of Odin. It may seem strange that my father chose to be a follower of Frigga, being a male chauvinist, rather than being a follower of Odin. There are lots of things that I understand about my handler, but this one is a mystery to me. Odin is portrayed by Marvel Studios’ movies as being a decent guy, but he has a dark and malevolent side. A significant number of prison inmates across the USA are Odinists, and they aren’t drawn to him because of his charm. Frigga, his consort, was of the same ilk. Therefore, the cult rituals were a powerful mix of sex and violence, all too like horror movies.

I have parts or alters that hate my father and some that are loyal to him. But I definitely hated the men in the cult who also abused me, and I hated their bodies. I hated my own body because it was too much like theirs. I was female inside and, at the age of five, I erected a female idol in my heart that I worshipped. She was fashioned after the likeness of Frigga, as I had seen her in the cult ceremonies. There was another good reason why I was a girl inside. My mother had lost her first child, a daughter, and was not allowed to see or hold her during the four days that she lived. When I was born, my Mommy dressed me in girls’ clothes, let my hair grow long, and called me by my older sister’s name. We bonded in that formative way.

There were nine nights through the year that the cult would meet in a clearing on a wooded mountainside. Four were on the equinoxes and the solstices, one on All Hallowed Eve, and the other four between the five. My father would begin the ritual ceremonies by invoking the name of Frigga. She would appear as a naked woman, hovering above the flames of the firepit in the center of the clearing. Frigga, an exquisitely pretty woman, would speak mellifluous words, turning slowly to face each naked family grouping, all ten. Then she would turn the meeting over to my father and disappear. He in turn would elaborate on her words and then lead the assembly in an hours-long sex orgy, ending the late night or early morning with violence.

I spent four decades cross-dressing, dreaming of going through transition, always imagining myself as a lesbian. But I never saw a healthcare provider and a mental health professional with expertise in gender-affirming care. At eighteen I got married and had three children. I could not bring myself to do what would lead to our separation and divorce, hurting my wife and our children. I also feared the church leadership. I know it doesn’t make any sense that I would have anything to do with God after sexual and ritual abuse in the home, the church, and the cult. So, I eventually found myself at the age of 71, total frustrated, but still fantasizing about being a girl, a woman. Little did I know that my life was about to take a drastic turn.

When I was middle-aged, the suppressed memories of the abuse and the cult began to surface. I was in the process of seeing a counselor about my cross-dressing and fantasies, when the words just popped out of my mouth, without any forethought, “My father abused me!” That was the beginning of over two decades of suppressed memories coming back. It was eight years in that I finally broke off relations with my parents, because they would not admit that the sexual abuse had occurred. My father controlled my mother, so that she would not acknowledge anything. It was two months later that memories of the ritual abuse began to surface, and I had to contact the county sheriff. Nothing came of it. That was seventeen years ago.

Then about six months ago, I couldn’t sleep, so I finally got out of bed and went downstairs. I sat down in my rocking chair in the living room. The only light was coming from a kitchen nightlight. I said out loud, “If only I was young again, I would do it.” Suddenly, Frigga was standing in front of me, the same exquisite beauty that she had been in the clearing 61 years before. As then, she was naked, and a soft glow came from her body, so that she was completely visible. I said, “Are you Frigga?” She replied, “I am.” I asked, “Why are you here?” She said, “I have come in answer to your statement. I can bring it to pass, if you fall down and worship me.” I replied, “You mean that if I worship you, you will make me young again?” “No.”

“You say no. Does that mean you won’t make me young again?” She said, “No, I mean that I will both make you young again and make you a female.” I immediately remembered the command, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” I rationalized, “This isn’t a god, but rather a goddess.” The temptation was too great for me. I immediately left my chair and fell down at her feet, grasping her ankles. They were soft and warm. “Your heart’s desire is granted.” I suddenly felt long hair about my face and weight on my chest. I sat up and put my hands inside my bathrobe. There I cupped two ample breasts that had to be D in size. “Oh, thank you …” I stopped short. My voice was higher and feminine. I looked up at her. She smiled and vanished.

I instantly got up and went into the half bath. I switched on the light. There, staring back at me, was a young lady. She had to be eighteen or thereabouts. She was blonde with blue eyes and beautiful. But the look on her face reminded me of the smile I had seen on Frigga’s face, just before she vanished. She had had a smirk on her face. This girl staring back at me had the same expression. She smirked. I could feel the twist in my mouth. What was this all about? And suddenly I had the thought, “I’m a damned good assassin.” Oh no! I thought. But suddenly the memories of carrying out several hits came into my mind. I knew how to use a handgun with a silencer. I was horrified, but, at the same time, proud of my accomplishments.

I tried to divert my thinking. What was I going to tell Carolyn, my wife? What was I going to tell my children, grandchildren, and friends? How was I going to get a driver’s license, birth certificate, and social security number? Suddenly I had thoughts of exactly who to contact to get all these forms of ID made, including a passport. Then I came to the realization that Frigga would want this sort of violence out of me. It was the sort of thing that my father, Gene, had programmed me to do. Why I had never acted on it before, I couldn’t say. But the desire to make another kill was getting stronger. Suddenly the thought popped into my head to knock Carolyn off. I couldn’t follow through on that. I had to fight the urge. I had to get out of the house fast.

I went back upstairs and quietly got undressed in the dark. I hung up my bathrobe. Before grabbing my sweats, because I knew nothing would fit my new figure, I felt inside my shorts. Yes, my male equipment was gone and in its place was a vagina. I tried putting on my sweatpants, but the legs were several inches too long. I must be shorter than my 5’-9” in my former body. I rolled the cuffs up to my ankles. With what I thought were size D breasts, I would not fit in Carolyn’s bra, a size B. I found my sweatshirt and pulled it on. I had to pull my sleeves up. The thought to go get a knife was strong. I pushed it down. I tried Carolyn’s sneakers, and they fit loosely. I then got all the cash out of the safe. Then I quietly went out the front door.

It had to be 1 or 2 am. What was I going to do? It couldn’t be safe for a young woman, even a teenager, to be walking the streets in the middle of the night. Then it hit me. I knew martial arts, Muay Thai and Jiu-Jitsu. How on earth did this young girl know how to do so much? Then the thought came that I had been trained by a black ops paramilitary organization. The black ops program that I was a part of was called Crescent Moon. I headed out of the suburbs towards the shopping mall. It wouldn’t open for eight hours, but I could get a cup of coffee and a croissant at one of the 24-hour fast-food places. When the mall opened, I would get a bra, panties, a couple changes of clothes, and some shoes. Then I would head to Chicago.

Amber, that was my name, was on a mission. I was planning on going to Chicago, first, to meet with Mr. T to get new IDs, and second, to meet with Mr. M to obtain new weaponry. But before that I needed to contact New York so that they could wire me some money and also give me a new target. The location of the target would tell me which passports and visas I would need, if any. It would also tell me whether I needed to obtain the weapons here or abroad. I now knew that I was Amber Ambrose, and that I was 21, not 18. How was I going to keep myself from carrying out my next assignment? The inner drive was strong, and I could not tell if I had enough willpower to resist my inner urges. Why did I lay all this groundwork and not resist?

Once I got to Chicago by bus, I took a taxi to theWit Hilton Hotel. Once I was checked in, I went shopping for nice clothes, cosmetics, and luggage. My target was a Middle Eastern head of state who was standing in the way of progress for the little country. Instead of flying to Washington DC, I went to the consulate in Chicago. I was able to get my passport and tourist visa all in one day. I flew out of Chicago via New York’s JFK and arrived at my destination in Dubai of the UAE. I checked into the Hilton. I then contacted a certain advisor to Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, who was standing in the way of progress there. By way of introduction, I represented myself as an unofficial representative of the State Department. Yes, I was in.

Because of the tight security there, a handgun was out of the question. I opted instead for a poison-tipped hatpin that I carried on my person. It was everything that I could do to keep myself from actually killing this advisor. Instead, I represented the basic facts to him, albeit if he did not arrange the appearance of his own assassination, and quietly disappear, he would be assassinated. His own government had ordered the hit. He was quite upset, to say the least, but he took my words at face value, since I gave him very specific details. If he did not follow my instructions to the letter, I would be a very dead assassin, but thankfully he carried out his “assassination” perfectly, and I was free to live yet another day or two at the least.

I continued to live on the edge, denying myself the satisfaction of a hit, for several months, until, with the help of a target, I arranged my own death. With the aid of my own training and resourcefulness, I dropped off the grid and took up the profession of teaching martial arts. I was quite successful at it and lived very comfortably. I still had to sit firmly on top of my urges to kill, but I valued human life, and so it was not too hard. I found a soul mate in a girl my age, Laura. She and I became good lovers and began a wonderful life together. I still keep expecting another visit from Frigga, but so far she has not appeared. I can only imagine that she is not very happy with me for resisting the urges that she placed within me. My fingers are crossed.