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A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change
by Tigger
Copyright 1998
Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted
provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly
(this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that
this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are
maintained.
Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of
Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is archived
in its entirety at:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Joel_Lawrence
This story represents an alternative ending to Mr. Lawrence's
story. It is essentially a parallel universe story where
things start out the same, but follow a much different path
than the one portrayed in the original story.
This is my second inspiration from this story. My first
derivative story, "A Second Season" starts where the original
author's work stopped. That story is archived in its entirety
at:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/
This story takes place following the day described in Chapters
VI and VII of Joel Lawrence's Seasons of Change. Essentially,
it is a darker vision than the one I wrote of in "A Second
Season".
Setting: The lead male character, Michael Nash, has been
suspended from his very elite private school, St. Andrews
Academy. With the concurrance of the school dean, he has been
sent by his mother to live with her old friend, Jane Thompson
who will attempt to teach the young man (late teens) control
and self discipline.
"Aunt" Jane employs a "Victorian" type training program to
tame undiscipline boys. She does this training by means of a
delicately balanced regimen of humiliation and enforced
feminine deportment. She is assisted in this program by her
housekeeper (Maria) and several business women including the
owners of a beauty salon (Carolyn and Sandra) and the
proprietor of a combination dress and lingerie shop (Mrs.
Franson). The other key player is David/Beth, one of Jane's
feminized boys who is still living with her and who is
required by Jane to "guide" (and setup) the new student.
Michael knows nothing about this, and is slowly "trapped" into
Jane's program of petticoat dominance. Jane forces him to
accept her program or lose his chance to return to St. Andrews
because the dean will only readmit him after Jane certifies
that he has been reformed.
As we begin our account, Aunt Jane, David/Beth and
Michael/Michelle have returned to Jane's house from Michelle's
initial public outing disguised as a girl. They have visited
Carolyn and Sandra at the Marisha Chalet where he was
humiliated by their taunting and terrorized during a make-up
session as Carolyn's training subject, and at Mrs. Franson's
"The Style Shoppe/MiLady's Closet" where he had to maintain
his tenuous disguise in the presence of the young female shop
clerks while dressed only in lingerie.
Each member of this unlikely trio is flushed with different
emotions at the end of their long day of shopping for dresses
and lingerie, and of feminine primping at the beauty salon.
Michelle has been ordered to go up to her room and put away
her new dainties, cosmetics and clothing while Jane and Beth
retire to her study.
This story departs from the original tale at this point in
time.
A Losing Season
by Tigger
Chapter 1. Escape Attempt.
Jane relaxed in her favorite chair, sipping a celebratory
brandy as Beth daintily nibbled at the low tea Maria had
provided for her and Michelle. The day was well worth
celebrating in Jane's view. While not yet a major
breakthrough, she was certain that this day's excursion would
prove to be a significant milestone in Michelle's maturation.
Sandy had gleefully reported Michael's involuntary erection
and spontaneous ejaculation from the humiliating treatment and
teasing at the Chalet, and then Jane had seen him try to hide
a similar reaction while being exhibited in his cute new
undies at MiLady's Closet. From Jane's perspective, if not
from Michelle's, both were extremely positive reactions. It
meant she now had the opportunity to really get into her
charge's head sooner rather than later. As her more direct
minded sorority sisters used to say, a hard-on does not lie.
Something deep inside Michelle was beginning to be touched by
her unwilling immersion in the feminine condition. More
importantly, she was starting to become aroused by her current
condition. That gave Jane one more effective tool in addition
to humiliation with which to guide her little girl. After
all, women had been leading men around by their smaller head
since Eve first shined up that juicy red apple and offered it
to Adam.
Speaking of Michelle, Jane thought, what is keeping her so
long? She should have been back by now. A darkly mirthful
grin lit Jane's face. Maybe she was trying on her new things
in the privacy of her room. Well, if that was the case, then
she'd give her little sissy just a bit of a jab by providing a
likely-to-be *very* unwelcome intrusion. Michelle'd be
mortified to be caught doing something so femme as primping
and preening over new clothes. Even by . . . "Beth?" Her
charge looked up from the newspaper she had been perusing.
"Go up and see what is keeping Michelle, would you please?
Her tea is getting cold."
Nodding, Beth rose and curtseyed before hurrying to the
stairs. Jane took in the aroma of the fine aged brandy
swirling in her crystal snifter as she plotted how she'd play
out this little humiliation scene if, as she strongly
suspected, Beth found Michelle modeling her new things in the
mirror.
"JANE!!! MARIA!!! COME HELP ME!!! HURRY, PLEASE!!"
The scream was not in the least feminine, but it was definitely
David/Beth calling for help. Jane was up and running before
the word "hurry", but found Maria already ahead of her as she
reached the stairs.
The two women followed the sounds of yelling and scuffling to
Michelle's room. What they saw momentarily stunned them into
immobility. Michelle and Beth locked in a vicious struggle,
with Michelle trying to kick or throw the other girl away as
Beth grimly clung to one of Michelle's arms.
"Help me, Dammit." Beth screamed at the two gawking women.
"He's trying to slit his wrists!"
Jane and Maria leapt to Beth's assistance, Jane grabbing
Michael's other wrist and Maria trying to restrain his
flailing feet. The furious boy/girl's surprising strength was
almost a match for other three until Maria reared back and
slammed a spinning heel kick into Michelle's solar plexis.
Michael collapsed to his knees, wheezing and gasping for air.
Jane finally succeeded in getting the blade from a broken
disposable razor from his clenched fist. Moving quickly, the
threesome bound the now hysterically sobbing boy spread eagle
to his canopied bed using nylon stockings from the large
bureau.
Only then did Jane get a good look at *him*, for there was
nothing remotely feminine about the completely nude figure
straining against the tightening nylon bonds. His newly
curled coiffure had been ruthlessly hacked away, taking pieces
of his scalp in the process. Even the painstakingly tweezed
and shaped eyebrows had been shaved away. Blood trickled down
one cheek and across his forehead where he'd nicked himself
with the razor. His hands and wrists also bled, from his
attempts to get the blade to his veins and from whatever he'd
used to rip away the lacquered-on fingernail tips.
The room was also bore the ravages of her ward's rampage.
Ragged swatches of color were strewn all about the room, as if
a confetti bomb filled with shredded bits of brightly hued
silk, cotton and satin had exploded. Instead of trying on her
new things, Michelle had been destroying them, evidently in
the throes of an uncontrolled rage.
Nothing of this day's supposedly successful adventures
remained intact.
"David, go call Nurse Bedford. Her number is in the organizer
on my desk in the study. Tell her I have a boy-girl
emergency. Then go wait for me in your room, please."
Beth started at hearing her "boy-name". "You will be all
right, Jane?" Jane knew that was not the question Beth wanted
to ask, but she nodded as she looked at the still struggling
Michael.
"He's strong, but the nylon is stronger. He won't be able to
hurt himself further, but I want the Nurse to make sure he
didn't do any real damage. Now go and do as I asked."
Jane turned to Maria. "Get some towels, hot water, bandages
and antiseptic, Maria. Let's get him cleaned up as best we
can."
Suddenly she was alone with him. Gradually, he stopped
struggling, and the soul deep, racking sobs diminished to
silent tears. Gathering her courage, Jane moved over to take
a seat beside the bed. When she finally spoke, all she could
think to say was "Why?"
Michael's hairless brows rose in feigned surprise, and then he
turned his head away from her. "You will tell me, Michael."
she said with a calm she was far from feeling.
Anger flared in the eyes that turned back to lock on her own.
"Or what, Jane? What do you have to threaten me with? I will
tell you - nothing."
"Are you so certain of that?" she asked, hoping to bait him
into keeping talking.
"When you have decided to die, Jane, there is not much else
you have to fear, is there? It's not like your threat to pass
around those damnable photos at St. Andrews has any bite if I
don't intend to live long enough to return there, does it?"
was his emotion-hoarse response.
Jane swallowed, trying to control her fear and give some
semblance of her normal command presence and confidence.
"They say that suicide is a very permanent solution to
temporary problems, Michael. This," and she waved her hand
about to indicate the still feminine surroundings of the
bedroom, "*will* pass. My little girls *do* graduate and go
back to their lives."
"Do. . . they . . . really?" he flashed back, sarcasm dripping
off each deliberately spoken syllable. "Are they *really*
living *their* lives, Jane? Or are they merely existing in
the lives that *you* have dictated for them with your . . .
program?" The last word came out with a loathing that made
Jane wince. "Well, I don't want that life. I want the life I
had, the life I had planed for myself, and today I realized
that I never would have it again. Some of your changes are
just as irreversible as you promised they'd be and I will
that last word was a shriek of pain and rage. He fought for
control and then continued. "So I decided that I would do the
only thing you'd left me. I would at least die like a man."
"I take exception to that, Michael." Her voice became hard
again as she rose to defend her students and herself.
"*Every* . . . *single* . . . *one* of *my* boys have gone on
to lead happy, productive lives. I keep in touch with all of
them. Most of them even remember my birthday and send me
holiday gifts. They have become doctors, teachers, scientists
and police officers. Does that sound like they are so
diminished by their experiences with me?" Keep him talking,
she told herself. Maybe he can talk himself out of this.
"It is not going to work, Jane. I am getting out of this the
only way I can. You can't keep me restrained forever.
Eventually I will succeed and I will destroy you in the doing
of it. Some agency ought to get you for abuse of a minor.
Maybe I will even get *really* lucky and some of those bitches
who aid and abet you in your vicious little games will go
down, too."
"You will hurt Beth, I mean David - that's his real name -
very badly as well if you do that." she said softly.
"Personally as well as professionally. He cares about you so
his unwilling part in this will be emotionally devastating for
him. Even if he manages to recover from that trauma, the
truth about how he has lived for the past months will destroy
whatever professional future he might have had. Not to
mention what it might do to the other boys I have trained over
the years, none of whom have ever done you any harm."
"Go to hell, Jane. If she or *he* cared so damned much about
me, he'd have warned me about what you were planning. Had I
known what you were *really* going to do to me, I probably
would have actually taken you up on your offer to leave here,
even dressed in those damned petticoats of yours."
"He had no choice, Michael, perhaps even less than you had. I
hold his freedom in my hands. One word from me and he goes to
jail."
"Maybe he'd be better off there. At least there, he'd be
treated like a man! Learn how to be a *man* again instead of
the wimpy caricature of a man *you* envision." was the sharp
retort.
Jane closed her eyes in pain, knowing the boy was really
attacking her and not Beth/David. "Even if we undid
everything we have done to him to the best of our ability,
he'd still be very feminine looking when he arrived at prison,
Michael. Do you know what happens to effeminate young men in
prison?"
She hoped he would relent under that threat, but he quickly
dashed those. "That is your decision, Jane, not mine.
Besides, that seems to be the ultimate expression of your so-
called method. Why *not* get the kid raped? Isn't that the
ultimate feminine humiliation experience?"
Stunned in shock at his words, Jane's mind failed her. She
could only stare in helpless confusion at the once again
struggling young man before her. Her mouth opened and closed,
but no words formed in her mind, no sounds issued forth.
A hand gently shook her out of her fugue and she looked up to
see Maria with a tray of medical supplies. "Let me take care
of this, Jane. Beth needs you now." she said in her matter of
fact voice as she set the tray down on the bedside table.
Slowly, painfully, Jane rose from her chair and went to check
on the other casualty of this suddenly terrible day.
A Losing Season: Chapter 2. Damage Control
Jane found Beth in her room, sitting rigidly erect on an
antique straight back chair, her hands busily crumpling a
hankie, her face a frozen mask of fear and worry. Jane moved
to the chair and clumsily pulled her up into her arms.
Clumsily because, as she suddenly realized in a flash of pain,
it was the first time she had ever comforted one of her
petticoated charges. Maria or the other sissy in residence
had always had that duty, freeing Jane to be the "bad one".
Even the young man whose mother had died during his stay at
the large Victorian mansion had not turned to her for solace.
Fortunately, he'd been at the end of his time with her,
anyway.
"David." she said firmly, using his masculine name to cut
through his misery. "Come downstairs with me. We need to
wait for Mrs. Bedford."
The boy with the girl's face looked up at her use of the name,
the mascara and other cosmetics streaming down his cheeks. A
trickle of blood from her nostril and the beginnings of a
bruise on her cheek bore testament to the physical damage that
had accompanied the emotional trauma suffered by this young
person given into her care and keeping. "All right, Jane." he
said softly, hiccuping back an incipient sob.
The doorbell rang as they reached the bottom of the staircase.
Jane opened the door and directed the nurse to her unwilling
patient. Then she led her other charge into the study and
poured two snifters of brandy, offering one to the slowly
calming Beth.
Beth hesitated before taking the snifter. "That stuff is a
big part of why I was sent here, Jane." she said uncertainly.
Jane snorted. "That is all you will get, David, so that won't
be a problem here, but you need something. I know I do." and
she took a swallow of the dark amber spirit. Hesitantly,
David followed her example and started coughing as the fiery
liquid burned to his stomach. "It is a little strong, dear.
Try sipping it until you get used to it." Jane said kindly.
Beth watched her, somewhat warily. While he hadn't heard all
of Jane's part of the "conversation", he had heard Michael's
end of Jane's abortive attempt to "talk him down". That
comment about "learning to be a man" followed shortly by
"rape" and "Isn't that the ultimate feminine experience. . "
had David/Beth badly shaken. She could only think of one
subject of conversation that could have led to that exchange.
He really did not want to go to jail, not after already having
spent almost five months under Jane's petticoat tyranny.
Hadn't he already paid enough for that childish stupidity?
"I take it, Jane, that you told Michael part of my story?" she
asked, very softly.
Jane nodded and moved to the desk where she picked up the
telephone. "Yes, I did, and now, I regret having done that."
She punched out a number from memory. It wasn't difficult to
remember the number she'd called several times in the past few
days. "Hello, Caro? Yes, it's me. Look, I need you and
Sandra over here immediately. I have a major emergency and I
need your help." She paused, obviously listening to the other
person. "I understand, Carolyn, but this is truly an
emergency. No, I cannot discuss it over the phone, but I am
not exaggerating when I say it is life or death." Another
short pause followed by Jane saying "Thanks, Caro. Bring your
tear down kit, please. See you soon."
Just then, Mrs. Bedford came into the study, her face grim.
"I gave him a sedative I am not supposed to have, Jane, and I
have patched him up as best I can. He's asleep now with Maria
sitting with him for the moment. Now what the hell happened?"
Jane offered her a brandy which the nurse declined.
"Obviously, Michael, my newest project, snapped. We went out
today for his first feminine day at the mall - beauty shop,
clothes shopping, dodging boys - you know the drill. We got
back home and I sent him up to put away his new things and to
give him a little time to deal with what had been a very
emotional, very humiliating day. Then he did not return
immediately and I sent Beth up to fetch him down. She caught
him trying to slit his wrists after he had finished the other
damage to himself and to the new clothes you saw up there. If
she'd been two minutes later, he'd probably be dead now."
No one spoke after that dreadful statement. Then Jane looked
over and saw the blood still weeping down Beth's cheek and
asked the nurse to check her over.
"She'll have a bit of a shiner by tomorrow morning. Doubt
even Maria's artistry will be able to hide it, but otherwise,
she'll be fine."
"Thanks, Nora." Jane said. "As to hiding it, by tomorrow,
that won't be a problem." she finished with a sad sigh.
Now, Nora did go over and help herself to a brandy before
turning back to face Jane. "What now? That boy needs
professional help. I have a few more sleeping pills, but what
I saw up there is not something that is going to fix itself
after a good night's sleep. Unless he wasn't really trying to
kill himself and it is just an attempt to get cut loose from
here?" The last was a question.
Both Beth and Jane shook their heads. "Maybe he will, after
some time, see that as a mistake, but he would already be dead
if Beth had not gone up when she did."
"He was serious, Mrs. Bedford. He was fighting me so hard,
that if I had let go of that arm, he wouldn't have been able
to stop himself from plunging the blade into his wrist. I
don't think he was faking it." Beth added somberly.
"Then he needs help, Jane. Where does that leave you?"
"In great trouble, Nora. If I take him to the hospital in
that condition, social services will become involved at the
very least, and they will surely call in the police. Who
knows where it will go from there? I have temporary legal
guardianship of him, but who knows what will happen when they
see him in that condition and hear what he has to say?"
"Too bad he did not say it to you first." the nurse mused as
she took a sip of her drink.
Beth snorted derisively. "As if she'd have listened."
Jane paled at that direct hit, but then nodded her head, her
eyes closed against the hurt. "True, Beth. I probably would
not have heard her complaints as anything beyond what any of
my other students have said for effect and not really meant."
Moving slowly, as if burdened by a huge weight, Jane reached
in and pulled out what appeared to be a photo album or scrap
book. Idly, she began flipping through its pages, stopping to
read a note here or to enjoy some little memory there. When
she looked up, she saw the other two looking at her strangely.
A weary smile crossed her lips. "My rogue's gallery." she
said holding up the book. "My little black book of former
students. I will have to warn them of this pending breach of
my security so that they can distance themselves from me as
much as the press will allow. I will then destroy this book
and hope, but the way things happen in the tabloids these
days, I suspect that more than a few of my girls will find
themselves plastered across the front page of the National
Inquirer right along side of me."
She opened the book again, and then set it down. She looked
at the entry on one page and then began hastily punching out
numbers on the phone. A woman answered. "May I please speak
with Dr. Davis, please? This is Jane Thompson calling and it
is very important. . . . .Yes, I would say it was an
emergency. Please interrupt the Doctor." There was a long
pause before "Eric?!? Oh thank God. Dear, I really need your
help. . . .Yes, one of my girls attempted suicide and I don't
know what to do. She needs help, but you know what is likely
to happen when I take her in. You can? Oh thank you. Yes, I
will have someone meet you at the airport."
She hung up and said. "One of my students is now a clinical
psychologist in Chicago. He is going to come and see if there
is anything we can do for Michael short of putting him into a
hospital."
"And if he can't help him?" Nora asked.
"Then, Michael goes into the hospital and I, in all
probability, will go to jail. He is still a minor and someone
will decide that my treatment of him constitutes abuse."
"Even though other students of yours may not agree?" Beth
asked, quite surprising Jane with her near championship.
She could only shake her head sadly. "By the time the press
is done with this, dear, you will all be brainwashed puppets
and I will be the most perverted, vicious bitch this side of
the German Gestapo. Nothing any of us have to say will stand
against the pictures of Michael that are sure to make the
nationwide news services."
Just then, the bell rang and Beth rose to answer the door. It
was Carolyn and Sandy. "Damn, Beth" was the irreverent
Sandra's greeting, "What the hell have you done to all of my
excellent work? You look like hell."
"And that is not half as bad as what Michael looks like,
Sandy." was Jane's response to her friend.
"What did he do? I know we were a little rough on him today,
but hell, Jane, he asked for it." was Sandy's complained
defensively. "Is that why we are here with the tear down
kits? You've decided he is a lost cause and are shipping him
off home in disgrace? Never heard of you giving up on a kid
before, Jane."
"No." was the simple one word answer. The chill in the room
brought even Sandy up short. Quickly, Jane told the
increasingly horror-stricken women what had happened.
"And he is going to try to force what you do into the open
with his suicide?" Carolyn asked, speaking for the first time.
At Jane's nod, she wilted into a chair. "It will pull us out
into the open, as well. We probably won't have a business
after that happens. What Newport society type is going to want
such evil people doing up their hair or teaching their
daughters?"
Jane nodded. "I know. I have always known that there was a
possibility of such a happenstance, but never thought it very
probable. The boys always saw public exposure as a far
greater threat to themselves, never seeing the threat it could
be to me, so I have always discounted this ever happening."
"Until now." Caro responded tonelessly. "Well, you had better
warn Betty Franson, too, because I know you were taking him
there today, and she enjoys playing her little games as much
as we do. Or as much as we did." she added ruefully. "Doesn't
seem like much fun, right now."
Jane nodded her agreement and then Sandy asked. "Well, why
are we here, then, if not to undo Michael, Jane?"
"To undo Beth, Sandy." Jane said firmly. "He, and my other
students, are the really guiltless ones in this debacle.
Tomorrow morning, Eric Davis whom you may remember as Erica
when he was with me . . ."
"The slim, green-eyed redhead who we punished by turning her
hair carrot orange?" Sandy asked gleefully before she recalled
the problem at hand.
"Yes, that is her, I mean, him. He is coming in on a flight
from Chicago tomorrow morning. I will get David tickets home
and he can drive my car up to the airport, give the keys to
Eric and make his own escape."
Carolyn nodded her understanding. "Okay, where do we set up?
The usual place?" Jane nodded.
"Ummm. . .Jane? Could we do this tomorrow? I am beat and I
don't feel well. If I have to face Sandy and her noxious
chemicals, I am liable to get really sick." Beth asked
plaintively.
Jane shrugged and turned to Sandy and Carolyn. "It will have
to be early because the flight arrives at eight am, and it is
a one hour drive to the airport."
"I'll stay the night, Jane." Sandra offered. "The tear down
is mostly my end of the shop anyway. Caro can come here in
time to do the brow thickening and the other little cosmetic
touch ups."
"Thank you." Jane said. "Well, since Maria is watching
Michael, I will go see about some dinner."
"If it is all the same to you, Jane, I am going to go up to
bed. I am not very hungry." Beth said firmly.
"All right, Beth. Please be up by five so that Sandy will
have time to do what must be done." The feminized male
nodded, and then made his way haltingly up to the top of the
stairs and then to his room. The four women heard the door
close.
A Losing Season: Chapter 3. Acquaintances.
The room was dark when the sedative finally wore off. As
soundlessly as possible, Michael checked his circumstances and
found he was still restrained in bed, although the stockings
that had been cutting off his circulation had been replaced
with some type of chain and leather cuff arrangement.
As the last vestiges of sleep cleared from his brain and his
eyes focused, he saw that he was not alone in the room. A
female was dozing quietly in a chair next to his bed. He
tried to lift his head to get a closer look and was surprised
to see that is was "Sandy?"
The sound of his voice roused the lightly sleeping woman and
she sat up quickly. She reached over a cool hand to his brow
before turning on the bedside light so they both could see.
"Awake, are you?" was the soft reply.
For her part, Sandy did not want to be able to see him any
better. She had been shocked and appalled when she'd first
glimpsed the ravages he'd inflicted on himself, trying to free
himself of the feminine tyrannies that she had helped impose
on him. She still had a hard time looking at the hairless
face and the scruffy, scraggly patches of fuzz that remained
where hours before tight, thick curls had bounced.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded angrily.
Sandra did not answer immediately, instead choosing to sit
back down and simply look at him. "Jane called me in to help
with Beth. She and Maria were exhausted, but refused to leave
you alone so I volunteered to sit with you for a few hours."
He thought about that for long moments before part of what she
said caught his attention. "Beth? What is wrong with Beth?
Why did she call you? What can you do for her?"
A tired smile curved the woman's lips. "Turn her back into a
boy so that she can escape the coming holocaust."
"Huh? What?"
"Jane wants him as far away from here and as safe as possible
when she takes you to the hospital, Michael. She figures that
her entire setup will come out once social services gets hold
of you and she is trying to distance as many folks as she
possibly can away from the fallout. Particularly her boys.
Tomorrow . . ." she checked her watch and grimaced, "Well,
today, actually . . .This morning I will cut Beth's hair,
relax the permanent curls, clip her nails and generally undo
everything I did to make him into a her. Then Jane will put
him on a plane for home where he will hopefully avoid being
out-ed in the press along with the rest of us."
"It is only what the lot of you deserve." he snarled back at
her.
"I'm sure that from your perspective, Michael, that is only
the truth. Although I have to wonder how your Mom is going to
take all this."
That drew a snort. "She's the reason I am here. Has Jane
even been able to reach her?" Sandy's hesitation was too
obvious. "I didn't think so. She's always been somewhere
else when I wanted to talk to her. Why should it be any
different now?"
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence that spanned several
chimes of the large grandfather clock in the downstairs
hallway. Sandy finally broke the uneasy peace. "Michael?
What were you really thinking? Surely you know that Jane has
done this with many young males. You are smart enough to know
that she would not still be doing it if she wasn't successful
at helping them find balance and meaning in their lives. At
least one of her boys would have found a way to come back and
hurt her if they were really unhappy with their lives after
Jane."
"As if you care."
"Believe what you will, but in fact, I do care. If I am going
to see my reputation in tatters and my business destroyed over
this, I would at least like to understand."
"Do you have any idea what it is like at an all male boarding
school, particularly an Ivy League level school like St.
Andrews?
The question startled her, but Sandy managed to answer. "I
can't say that I have, Michael."
"It is a purely all-male, *very* male society. The traditions
date back to 19th Century English public schools and those are
only a little more civilized nowadays. Reputations made in
those schools last your entire life, particularly in the
business and financial worlds. Any weakness that might be
construed as unmanly, any hint that you might lack the
essential toughness, gets magnified and is remembered forever
by the people who really count in the business world."
Michael's voice broke as he recalled how he'd feared being
labeled a wimp because of his small stature. How many of his
clashes with authority resulted from carrying "manliness" to
extremes?
Grimly, he fought back the tears and glared at the woman who
had humbled and humiliated him mere hours ago. "Today, when
we got back, I came up to put away those damnable clothes Jane
forced on me. I actually caught myself holding one of the
dresses in front of me while I examined myself critically in
the mirror." Michael's voice then dropped, very low. "And I
knew."
Sandy waited for him to finish, but he showed no signs of
going on. Finally, she could stand it no more. "You knew
Despite his best efforts to the contrary, tears began to flow
unchecked down his cheeks. "That I could never go back to St.
Andrews. Jane would never let me go until all her little
lessons were second nature, instinctive. Shaking hands with a
loose wrist, curtseying without thinking, making extravagant
hand motions, batting my lashes or tossing my hair coyly. I
would be a pariah within the first week back because by then
being male would be the masquerade. Hell, even with only the
short time here I don't know which is the mask and which is
me. Preening before a mirror in my new finery." the words came
out dripping with a savage self disgust before Michael was
able recover his control again. "The life I had planned for
myself is over."
"And so you decided to end your life for real?"
The honestly incredulous disbelief in Sandy's blurted out
question stopped him for a moment, making him more pensive.
"I can't say it was really a decision. Everything just seemed
to go red and next thing I know, Beth is on top of me,
screaming for help."
Motion from the doorway interrupted the interlude. Both
turned to see Maria, still clad in her nightgown slipping into
the room. "Sandra, Beth is up and ready for you downstairs."
~-------------~
The sun was up when Michael next woke up, this time finding
Jane seated in the bedside chair. He had to relieve himself
and was surprised when Jane produced a bedpan and helped him
aim without any snide remark or disparaging comment on his
male parts. She then produced a glass of orange juice with a
straw and some breakfast bars which she silently fed him until
his hunger pangs had been dulled.
"What happens now, Jane?" he asked quietly.
"Well, a great deal of that is yet to be determined. Someone
is coming to talk to you today. I guess we will need to
hospitalize you, but I promise you this, Michael. We will do
what ever is best for you, regardless of the consequences for
me."
"Right. Like I believe that."
Jane did not rise to the bait of his impertinence. She simply
shrugged. "Whatever. Believe what you will."
"If that *is* true," he challenged her in a tone of strident
disbelief, "Then tell me what has changed? The fact that I
tried to slit my wrists and bleed all over your pretty satin
comforters?"
"Nothing's changed, Michael. As I've told you before, my
methods have had, until you," she amended quickly, "an
unblemished record of success in helping boys with problems
and bad attitudes become productive, upstanding young men.
You may not like my methods - you may not even choose to
believe me, but my commitment to helping you remains
unchanged."
This was a very different Jane, one that Michael had never
seen before. Gone was the innuendo-laden, sarcasm and
derision that, up until now, had cut him down at every turn.
All he heard and saw was a quiet determination that seemed to
buttress every word she'd said.
"From what I can gather from Sandy, you feel that my vision of
masculinity gentled by your feminine side would serve you ill
at St. Andrews." Jane became quiet and introspective for a few
moments as she tried again to absorb that alien concept. She
visibly shook herself and turned back to Michael. "Perhaps
that is true. I have never considered anything like that
before. You are the first student I have ever had who was so
committed to that Ivy League old-monied aristocracy business
world." She frowned tiredly as she lapsed into thought again.
"Sandy said she was here to change Beth?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Beth is once again David and he is now on his
way to somewhere west where none of this can touch him
further."
They heard the doorbell ring and Maria hurrying to open the
door. Voices spoke, but the words were not intelligible in
the upstairs bedroom.
Moments later, a person entered the room. The first thing
Michael noticed was not the tall, slender elegantly turned out
redhead, but rather was the disbelieving look of shock on
Jane's face.
"E. . .E. .Eric?" she stuttered out.
The female looking person standing in the doorway smiled
gently and opened her arms to Jane who ran jerkily to her. "I
still go by Erica when I am all done up like this, Jane." was
the softly inflected answer.
Michael watched with growing envy at the tight, loving embrace
shared by the woman and by the person he strongly suspected
was another of Jane's "boys". When had anyone ever hugged him
like that? Another question that did not bear asking, he
reminded himself, but the answer still slipped through.
Never.
The two finally separated. "Is this the lad you told me
about, Jane?"
Jane took the redhead's hand in her own and led her over to
Michael's bed. "Erica, this is Michael. Michael, this is Dr.
Davis. He. . .ummm. . She is the one I told you was coming to
speak with you."
"Jane?" the light voice suddenly deepened causing her to turn
in surprise. "Go for a walk and let us talk. I think we need
a little guy-thang time, okay?"
A bubble of laughter escaped from Michael. "Right, like you
can hold up your end of that?" he asked sarcastically.
Dr. Davis grinned cheekily at him before shoo-ing Jane out of
the bedroom and closing the door. "I see she still has these
doors rigged so they can only be locked from the outside. I
guess some things just never change, but I don't think we will
be disturbed." said the incongruously male voiced female.
He returned to the bed and pulled off the auburn wig to reveal
an equally bright, but masculinely trimmed head of hair. From
his bag he removed a ragged Chicago Bears T-shirt, a pair of
faded jeans and a pair of running shoes. The entire
transformation took minutes, but in the end, the person in the
room with Michael was obviously a male, albeit with the
unusually fine eyebrows of the true redhead.
After carefully laying out his femme clothes, he took the seat
Jane had just vacated and looked at Michael. "You see, it
does come off, Michael. Eventually. Life goes on, provided
one is still alive to live it." He reached down and unsnapped
the closest wrist restraint. "Now, why don't you tell me just
what the hell went on, okay?"
A Losing Season: Chapter 4: Reflections
Michael was again asleep, this time freed of the restraints.
Maria was again watching him as Jane entertained a now
masculinely dressed Eric. "Well, changing from Erica to Eric
in his presence seemed to help him."
"What happened, Eric? I have never had anything remotely like
this happen with any other boy."
The lithe psychologist took a sip of his coffee as he
considered his answer. "Part of it is exactly what he said.
There is a great deal of research that indicates the private
school environment he wants is exactly as he describes it. I
think it is unlikely he could manage the transition from your
program back to St. Andrews with any degree of success.
Another aspect was his desperation at finding himself falling
into your feminine world with no way out. His whole world,
his entire self image were crumbling around him and there was
nothing he could do about that because he was partially
responsible. The conspiracy had won, and the Michael he
thought he wanted to be was dying, anyway."
"It never affected any of my other students like that. Look
at you. You went to Harvard and you did not run into any such
problems."
"True, but Harvard is a university renowned for its
eccentricities and moreover, I was a psych major. We're
supposed to be weird. As Michael was quick to point out when
I tried to make the same point, if I slipped up and gave a
little swish, most folks wouldn't even notice, and the rest
would figure I was just another off-the-wall psychology
student. St. Andrews is another story altogether. Its as
conservative as Harvard is liberal and Michael wants, or
rather, wanted to go into Business Administration."
"Oh." was Jane's defeated response.
"Even showing off pictures of my wife and kids did not satisfy
that there is virility after skirts. He is quick, this lad of
yours, Jane. He asked me, point blank, if I would want one of
my boys going through your program. I am afraid I was caught
somewhat off guard and hesitated." he said sheepishly.
A tired grin curved Jane's mobile mouth. "So, I am not good
enough for your sons, Eric?" she asked with a touch of her
usual caustic tongue.
"What I should have said was that I hoped my boys would grow
up with the type of family and support that would make a shock
treatment like yours unnecessary. I am afraid Michael is
convinced that I would never condemn my poor babies to your
evil clutches under any circumstances."
"I don't suppose he'd believe you if you pointed out I am Eric
Junior's Godmother?" His rueful grin was all the answer she
needed. "Forget I asked." she muttered dejectedly. "You said
that was only part of it."
"Well, not knowing all his background, he seems to be . . . I
don't know, playing a role. He wants to be tough, to act
hard, and yet, he'll ask if "Jane's other victim got away all
right." That is really not very consistent."
Jane nodded wearily. "No, actually. That dichotomy is
completely consistent with what I was told by his counselors
at the prep school and from others. What he said earlier
tonight, about the school essentially being an entre into the
good old boy network of high finance, that evidently
exacerbates his behavior. The school psychologist wrote that,
in trying to be one of the gang, he was overdoing the macho
act and was actively repressing anything behavior that might
be construed as gentle or sensitive in nature."
"Yes, that *does* fit." Eric murmured as much to himself as to
the others in the room, then he forced an encouraging smile on
his face. "On the bright side, I don't think he is really
suicidal anymore. That was his initial rage and desperation
talking. The rage is over, and for whatever reason, he no
longer considers himself hopelessly trapped in a situation
beyond his control. Right now, he is more depressed than
anything else, as well as humiliated. That's not a good
combination, either, but it is not what almost drove him to
take his own life."
"So what do we do? What *can* we do?"
"My recommendation is that his parents come in and take him
off someplace quiet and nonthreatening to heal. Get a good
therapist in on the program and help him find a new way in his
life. I don't think institutionalizing him will help him."
Jane's face contorted in an emotion that might have been
sorrow or anger, and was probably both. "I finally reached
his Mother in Europe last night." Jane chose her next words
with great care. "I do not believe that is an option."
"Well, that does put a different face on it. He can't go back
to that school, Jane." Eric said emphatically. He's too raw
and wounded. Besides, he's already started responding to your
training program. I could see the femme mannerisms for all he
tried to control them. Those high born, arrogant little
bastards would crucify him inside of two weeks. What he might
do to them or to himself in retaliation does not even bear
thinking about."
Jane stood and walked to the window. "Hospitalizing him won't
help. His Mother isn't a solution. And now you say he won't
survive back in the school he supposedly wants to return to
more than life. What the hell option does that leave us,
Eric?"
"Have him stay here, with us." came a soft voice from the
doorway.
Jane spun on her heel to see David entering the room. David,
once again in his skirts as Beth. His hair was nowhere as
intricate since Sandra had cut much of it off to remove the
permanent curls that refused to lay flat. He wore only the
barest minimum of makeup, but it *was* Beth.
"What are you doing here, David? I sent you away from here."
was Jane's furious demand.
"And I came back. You need me, as does Michael although he
doesn't know it and certainly won't admit it, yet."
"We don't even know what to do, yet. We can't proceed as we
were before. Even if it might have worked before, he knows
too much now. He's met Eric, and he knows I was sending you
back to your life as David."
"Jane, I talked with Sandy while she undid my Beth persona
this morning. I think another very big part of Michael's
problem is that he was starting to *like* parts of the game.
Sandy got him aroused and excited, even though she was being
absolutely cruel to him the whole morning. Then he got home
and started mooning over Michelle's new clothes. He likes
it, but he doesn't *want* to like it."
Jane looked to Eric who nodded. "That fits with what I
learned, Jane. If that is the case, he is going to have to
confront that internal self-conflict between his need to be
superman and his enjoyment of being feminine in order to get
past this."
"And just *how* do you propose we do that?" she asked,
throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you really think
she is going to just give in and let us put her back in skirts
so we can help her confront a problem she refuses to admit
even exists? And it is not just me at risk here. Everyone in
my little cadre of helpers stand to lose a great deal if she
goes off the deep end again. He's already decided that my
threat of exposing her as a boy doesn't have any teeth, and
not because he knows about what lengths I go to in order to
prevent such an occurrence. No, he's decided that it simply
doesn't matter to him anymore."
Jane realized she was shouting and took several calming
breaths. "And several very good, very nice people stand to
lose their reputations and their livelihoods if he decides to
run to the nearest social worker. It would be like juggling a
time bomb."
Beth looked Jane directly in the eye. "Is sending him away to
a mental care facility any safer for any of you. . . errr. .
any of us?" Both looked at the slender psychologist.
He shrugged. "No. He needs support he won't get in a
hospital. Everything will eventually come out and it may not
even help him all that much. Let me talk to him some more
when he wakes up. I need to explore what . . .Beth? yes,
what Beth just told us. That bears a deeper look. And Jane?"
she turned to face him. "Go get some sleep yourself. We'll
figure out something."
A Losing Season: Chapter 5. Reflections Two
Michael wandered about the locked bedroom listlessly. The
house was cool and he had put on the least offensive things he
could find - the terry cloth robe, a pair of white cotton
panties and some white socks. That doctor-student of Jane's
had made a careful sweep of the room, and had removed several
things that might be used as a weapon before removing the
restraints. They'd even turned off the water to his bathroom
so he could not try and drown himself.
The second interview had been much more uncomfortable for
Michael than had the first. He'd been at least partially in
control during that exchange. This time, however, Dr. Davis
had a clear idea of what he wanted to talk about and it was
something that Michael preferred not to discuss.
He did not even want to *face* those questions. Did he really
like dressing up and pretending to be a girl? Even though he
knew it was wrong? Even though he knew it was dangerous, if
not fatal to all of his future plans? Here, in the dimly lit
room, alone with his own thoughts, he could admit that parts
of it were . . . . well, not *too* bad. But he could never
admit that to anyone else in a million years, and he had tried
very hard not to let that on to Jane's psychologist.
He opened the door to his closet and found all the dresses and
shoes were also gone. He wondered why but decided that a high
heeled shoe or a coat hanger could be made into nicely lethal
little weapons. Of course, there was one weapon that no one
thought about because it was so obvious. Michael hefted one
of the books they had given him to read. It was heavy and
would do the job just fine, he mused. He could be dead before
they got the door unlocked.
It just did not seem that important now.
Nothing seemed all that important now.
A Losing Season: Chapter 6. Options
"Well, Beth and Sandy were right." Eric reported later to
Jane, Maria and Beth. "He tried to con me in the interview,
but a part of him is fascinated with the masquerade, even
though it is diametrically opposed to his public, super-
masculine persona. It's not so much that he hates it as he
hates *not* hating it." Then the young man grinned faintly.
"On top of that, he's also competitive as hell, and there is a
part of him that, if he is going to do it at all, wants to be
able to do it very well. Your little digs really bugged him,
Jane, because he thought he was trying as hard as he could."
"He was, actually, I just felt I needed to press my advantage
when I had one to press. So where does that leave us? What do
we do?" Jane asked.
"Convince him to stay, somehow, and give him into a less
trying version of the program." Eric started to say
something, but hesitated. Jane caught it and gave him a "give
it to me straight" motion of her hands. "We talked at length
about what he has been through here, Jane. I have to tell you
that I think you may have pushed too hard, too quickly with
this one. With his over emphasis on being perceived as a
'man's man', you did not give him enough time or distance to
allow him to deal with what your program was making him feel."
"It was the timing of it all, Eric. Unlike boys like you and
like David/Beth who came to me knowing there was no time limit
on your stay, he thought he'd be leaving after only staying
for a relatively short period of time. I felt I had to get
him broken down quickly so that he would stop thinking of
escape, so that he would feel that escape was not possible.
He had to believe I would carry through with my threat to
expose him or to abandon him still in his skirts. If he did
not believe my threat, he would have been gone in the first
two weeks, and damn the consequences." Jane shrugged. "Water
over the dam, I guess. Do you have any ideas how to get him
to stay and how to structure a program for him?"
Eric shook his head and then yawned. "Not just now, but then,
I don't think there has been a whole lot of basic research on
the behavioral advantages of forcing recalcitrant young males
to cross dress. Lets go to bed and get some sleep. We are
all shagged and we will think better in the morning." He rose
and gave both Jane and a surprised Beth a hug and a kiss on
the cheek. "Rest well, you two."
Beth looked at Jane after Eric had gone up to bed. "Has
Michael had his dinner?"
Exhausted from the stress of the past thirty six hours, Jane
seemed to wilt under the weight of one more task. "No." she
said resignedly.
"I'll take care of it, Jane. You are feeding him those diet
bars, sliced fruits and juice, right?"
Relief flashed across Jane's worn features. "Yes, and use the
unbreakable plastic cup for the beverage."
"Get some sleep, Jane." Beth said with gentle affection.
Beth got a second surprise when Jane pulled her into a tight
embrace, kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Thank you for
coming back." Thoroughly bemused by the unprecedented show of
affection, Beth wondered what, if anything, she could or
should say. She was saved by the timely chime of Jane's
private phone.
Jane answered the phone, and sighed. Beth wasn't sure if it
was in relief or resignation, and momentarily hesitated to see
if Jane might need her. Jane noticed and waved her out the
door. "Beth, please close the door behind you." she said,
holding her hand against the phone's mouthpiece.
A Losing Season. Chapter 7. Confrontation - First Contact.
Michael was back on the bed reading one of the books Maria had
brought him. Conan-Doyle's Sherlock Holmes was not his usual
choice in reading material, but it wasn't a teenage fashion
magazine and it wasn't a romance novel. Still, he was
immediately alert to the first scratch of a key being inserted
into the door lock.
"Hello, Michael." was the oddly familiar, yet unfamiliar
voice.
The face was the same, but the hair and the voice were oddly
different. "Beth?!?"
A smile lit the feminine face as Beth carried a tray into the
room and set it on the night stand. She saw him staring at
her, and grinned broadly. "It's a wig. My own hair was too
short to pass muster after Sandy finished with me earlier."
She swept a hand down to show off the smart knit skirt and
sweater combination. "The color is not quite right but it is
the only hair piece Maria had available on such short notice."
"But. . .but why??"
Beth's voice dropped back into the more familiar, more
feminine range as she laughed softly. "Why what, Michael?
Why am I here? Because I told Jane I would bring you your
dinner. You are hungry, aren't you?" Beth teased.
"No, I mean, yes, I am hungry." and Michael matched deed to
word by snatching up one of the candy-like diet bars, the cup
of orange juice and then stuffing the bar into his mouth.
"But why are you here, dressed in those. . . those damned
clothes?" he choked out as soon as his mouth was able to form
the words around the food. "Jane told me she'd set you free
and sent you away as . . .as David? For God's sake, David,
why aren't you as far away from here and from *her* as you
could get?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full. It is impolite." Beth
chided primly before smiling at herself. "Well, given where
you sit right now, I can see how that might surprise you. I
am here because I want to be here. However this comes out,
Jane is going to need someone and I have discovered that I
care about her."
At Michael's look of stunned disbelief, Beth became very
earnest. "Whether you personally like her or not, Miche " and
here Beth started to call him 'Michelle' "I mean, Michael, the
simple fact is that she stood up for me and gave me a chance
when no one else would. Without her, I would be in prison for
what was a stupid juvenile mistake made when the law said I
was too old to be treated as a juvenile. Okay, so maybe her
methods and her lessons were tough, even harsh - especially
with you - but they helped *me*. I have learned self control
and I have gotten myself sober. As for why am I dressed like
this? Well, that is because I am Beth here, and this is how
Beth dresses." and then her voice became very soft. "And
also, because I have discovered that I enjoy it."
Michael nearly choked on the chunk of the apple he'd just
bitten off. "You *like* being forced to dress like a girl?
Being a sissy? Putting up with all of Jane's sadistic little
games? What is wrong with you? You are a man. You were out
of here, away from *her*."
Beth picked up the napkin from the tray and handed it to
Michael. "I am not being forced now, Michael. In fact, I
have discovered that I really enjoy having that special secret
inside my panties and fooling everyone from horny teenage boys
to starchy old ladies with my disguise. More than that, I
really like the way women's clothes feel. The silky underwear
against my skin, the sleek tight grip of the hosiery, the
taste of lipstick and the smell of perfume - they are
pleasurable to me in ways that I never experienced before
coming here to live and learn with Jane."
"I don't understand. You are giving up being a guy?"
A hearty male chuckle answered him. "No, stupid. For one
thing, I like girls and have no interest in boys, apart from
teasing the hell out of them from time to time. I am David,
but I am Beth, too. Both are part of who *I* am, and I will
find a way to live my life so I can have and be both. As for
Jane, I am past being bothered by her games. I'll let you in
on a secret, Michael. She can't expose us without exposing
herself and her friends. If she is exposed, she won't be able
to do it anymore. She might even get arrested. Besides, no
one will ever believe her girls aren't guys after that and
she'd lose the fear factor that forces us to try to learn her
little lessons. Not to mention the world of hurt it would
bring down on folks like Mrs. Franson, Caro and Sandy. She
needs the anonymity as much as we do. Her threats are and
always were empty."
"You *really* like it? You're not just saying that because
Jane ordered you to? Like when you set me up those times?"
Michael asked again, feeling stupid.
"Don't *you* like it, Michael?" the boy-girl responded in
Beth's voice. "Really, down deep in your heart, don't you
feel special when you are all dolled up and pretty?"
Open mouthed, Michael could only shake his head from side to
side in denial. Beth shrugged, a funny little frown on the
delicate features of her face, and then stood. "Well, only
you can answer that question, my friend. I think you really
do, but what do I know? I just hope you are not letting the
biases of other people - small minded people at that -
influence you. Dressing like this hurts no one and if it is
something you enjoy, why shouldn't you do it?"
Then she picked up empty tray and walked to the door. She
knocked twice and left him alone when it opened.
The key turning in the lock was the last sound he heard for
the rest of the night, but it was a very, very long time
before his racing mind calmed enough to permit sleep to take
him.
A Losing Season: Chapter 8. Abandonment.
Maria had just taken away his breakfast dishes, more of the
funny, dry bars and a cup of chocolate flavored something.
She had remained rigidly formal with him, and had refused any
overtures he made at conversation. The only remotely personal
thing she had done was check him over to see that his injuries
were healing and were not infected. Her fingers did linger on
the bruise that stained his mid drift, shaped like her foot.
A very sad look crossed her eyes as she ran gentle fingers
across the blue black mark, but she had said nothing.
Alone again, he'd picked up the discarded detective novel and
tried to pretend he had not already figured out the ending
when the key scratched the door again. This time the door
opened to admit Jane. She was carrying a telephone which she
placed on the bedside table and hooked into the wall socket.
She then pressed a button on it and spoke into the speaker on
the phone. "Barbara, are you still there?"
Michael went instantly alert. Barbara was his Mother's name.
"Yes, Jane." came the sound of his Mother's voice, made
somewhat tinny by the distance of the overseas call. The
utter lack of interest those toneless words conveyed was her
responsibility alone.
"Barb, I have Michael here. Would you please repeat what you
just told me?" Michael heard and then saw the barely
restrained emotion rippling beneath Jane's reserved and
autocratic facade.
"Oh, very well, but you could have told him." was the bored
reply. "We are late for the opera. "Michael, Jane has told
me that you have not responded properly to her treatment. I
don't want you to end up like your father, a hard-driving
bastard who died of apoplexy while furiously bullying an
overworked underling for some trivial error. I have told her
to do as she feels she must. Put you in a hospital, send you
to a military school, whatever. If you have any brains at all,
you will do what Jane says. She knows what's best."
Michael's face became a mask of pain as his Mother's voice
became cold. "This time, you have gone too far and endangered
the family name. I will pay for whatever Jane deems necessary
since you cannot possibly go back to St. Andrews now - not in
your current condition. But you won't see another cent from me
beyond that, Michael. Your trust fund won't be released until
you reach twenty one. I suggest you get your head screwed on
and stop making a nuisance of yourself." She paused a moment
for effect. "Jane, is that all? I really am frightfully
late."
Jane's control snapped and she slammed both hands down hard on
the night table, causing the phone to bounce. "No, God
dammit, it is NOT enough. Don't you want to hear *your* son's
side of this? Don't you think you owe it to him to hear what
he has to say?"
Michael merely rose and walked away from the phone, and stared
out the window. The response to Jane's query was "Jane, I am
late and I have no time to deal with this. If you don't want
to be involved, you know what to do. Good bye."
The phone clicked, and for a long time, Jane could do nothing
but stare at the buzzing speaker. When the phone began to
chirp "If . . you . . wish . . to . . make . . a . . call. .",
she finally pressed the disconnect button and turned to look
at her ward. He had not moved a muscle since leaving his
seat.
Jane quietly moved over to stand behind him. "I am sorry
about that, Michael. As badly as things have gone between us,
I did not think you would believe me if I told you that." she
paused momentarily trying to gauge his response. "And . . I
had hopes that talking to you might remind her that you are
her son and that maybe you are more important to her than
hearing Luciano Pavarotti at the Vienna Opera."
He gave a bark of humorless laughter followed by what might
have been a sob before flinging himself back onto the bed,
staring at the ceiling. "Why should she change now? She almost
got her fondest wish - no son. She hasn't been interested in
me since my father died. It's as if she looks for reasons not
to be with me."
Stiffly, Jane returned to the chair, apparently uncertain what
to do next. Turning back to face his guardian, Michael noted
her worried expression and smiled darkly at her before saying
softly. "I won't try to kill myself over this, Jane. I will
live if only to deny her what she really wants."
"Eric assures me there is nothing in here you could harm
yourself with, anyway, Michael."
Michael reached for the heavy volume of the complete works of
Conan-Doyle and hefted it. "He's wrong, Jane." and tossed the
book at her.
She caught it awkwardly and examined it closely before tossing
it back to him. "Doesn't seem very deadly to me." she said
with a forced lightness.
"No, but those windows are old glass, as old as this house.
Old glass shatters really easily and that book is heavy. I
could heave it through one of those windows and impale myself
on one of the shards before any of you could have stopped me."
Jane paled at the thought, but forced herself to ask. "When
did you figure that out?"
"Last night, after Dr. Davis left the second time." he said
diffidently. "I don't think anything could ever make me that
stupidly angry again. Now, I have to figure out how to deal
with what is left of my life." He thought for a moment more
and then looked at Jane. "I guess that means starting with
you since my maternal parent abandoned her parental
responsibility to you, just as she has always abandoned me."
"Maternal parent?" Jane asked with a bubble of semi-hysterical
laughter.
"She sure as hell hasn't been a Mom to me in years." Jane had
to agree with that, but held her silence. "And something else
before you decide, Jane. I won't turn the cops and the press
loose on you, regardless your decision. I don't think you
have any more reason to trust me than you said I have to trust
you, but you have my word of honor on that score. I don't
want to hurt Beth, or any of those other men you have. . .
treated?" He could not bring himself to say 'helped'.
". .yes, *treated* over the years. I wouldn't cry if
something nasty happened to Sandy, but I can't get at her
without possibly hurting others."
"Or me." Jane added.
"Or you." Michael added with grim finality. "So, do you have
contacts in some nice concentration camp style military
school? Or am I going to become a ward of the state as a
patient at one of the mental hospitals?"
Jane thought she heard a touch of dread hiding behind the
bravado, and so she took her time answering. "I really don't
know, Michael. The Doctor said a home environment would be
best for you, but obviously," she said, looking pointedly at
the now silent phone. "Your Mother won't be providing that for
you any time soon."
A knock interrupted their conversation and Dr. Davis stuck his
head in the door. "May I come in?" he asked. When Michael
shrugged, the slim doctor glided in. The graceful, almost
feminine walk reminded Michael of his first glimpse of the
man, rigged out in his Erica outfit. He'd been striking in
that severely tailored, forest green skirt power suit that had
perfectly complimented the flashing auburn tresses and lightly
freckled complection. Striking, if not precisely pretty - and
certainly not as pretty as Beth, or even as Michelle, he
thought smugly. Then he realized just where that line of
thought was heading and almost groaned.
"Michael," Jane's firm voice called him back from that
shocking thought. "Eric does not want me to say this, but I
have decided I will tell you anyway. He is here right now
because I had him listening in on that phone conversation with
your mother. ."
"Maternal parent." Michael corrected angrily.
"Ummmm. . . yes. Well, he was listening in on what *Barbara*
had to say to you. He's here because we felt you might want
to talk to someone who understood what you've been through
here. . . what *I've* put you through here, and who is
otherwise a disinterested party."
Michael considered that for a moment. Obviously, the Doc
lived, how did Beth put it, with both identities as part of
his life. And he was a psychologist. He nodded. "Thank
you." he said tiredly.
Jane rose. "Then I will leave you two to do just that." she
said a tad too brightly, and then hurried out the door.
Michael looked up at Eric and offered him the chair. The
words were out before he realized he was going to say them.
"Do you really dress up still? By your own free choice??
With a wife and kids?!?"
A Losing Season: Chapter 9. The Plan.
"It has the advantage, Jane, of killing two birds with one
stone." Eric offered earnestly.
"Please, don't use that metaphor, Eric."
"Sorry." he grinned. "But seriously, Jane, of the three
options open to us, it is the only one that would get him to
confront his festering inner conflicts about cross dressing.
Also, given his intensely competitive nature, being very good
at it would give him a goal to focus on."
"But what can we possibly use to motivate him to choose that
course of action? Even though he has promised not to go to
the authorities, I cannot take the chance of trying to force
him back into skirts against his will. Not again, by God. I
won't endanger my friends like that again."
The young psychologist grew very serious. "No, I agree that it
must be his own choice. Well, as I said earlier, he is very
intelligent. Maybe he would buy into the resolving his
internal conflicts as a motivator." At Jane's disbelieving
glare, Eric shrugged."I didn't say it would be easy, only that
it was the best solution to all of his problems."
"I agree with you that he needs to accept his more sensitive
self and get rid of that macho-chip he carries around on his
shoulder. But how do we get him to recognize that?" Jane
complained. "When he has already nearly killed himself
because of his experience in skirts?"
"It is not at all the same thing, Jane. It wasn't only the
cross dressing that did him in, it was realization that the
life he had been planning on wasn't possible for him anymore."
The psychologist thought for a few moments. "The only other
thing that is nearly as critical to his emotional and mental
makeup is his utter ambivalence toward his Mother. Not too
surprising after her little performance on the phone. Maybe
you could find a way to make that work to your advantage."
"What? Tell him getting into skirts will help him get back at
his Mother? For heavens sake, Eric. She *sent* him here, and
he knows she is fully aware of what I do to my young men."
"Its just a possibility. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot
of time to pull this off."
"I think it will work, too, Jane." Beth added quietly. "You
can be very persuasive when you care about something. Michael
will respond to that. I think he is looking for something,
some*one* to fill some very big holes in his life."
Jane scanned the small circle gathered in her study. "All
right. We can only try. Maria?" she looked at her long time
friend and co-conspirator. "Go upstairs and get him a
complete, skin out set of his male clothes including shoes and
underwear. I want him to make this choice on his own, fully
understanding what he will be giving up as well as what he
might be gaining if we proceed down this path. He will eat
with us at dinner and we will discuss his future afterwards in
the music room."
"Jane?" Beth asked as they rose to leave the room. "What will
you do if he doesn't make the choice you want him to make?"
The older woman sighed. "Exactly what he chooses, Beth. I
don't see how we can chance trying to trick him, or changing
our minds about what we will do with him. No, I will
scrupulously abide by whatever decision he makes."
A Losing Season: Chapter 10. Choices
After three days of finger foods, Michael found the simple
pleasure of feeding himself with such civilized implements as
fork, spoon *and* knife deeply satisfying. Maria's food
wasn't bad, either, and included just about every dish she'd
seen him particularly enjoy during his stay with them. It
made for an odd meal, but if anyone thought it curious to have
Maria's authentic fajitas served alongside her spicy Chinese
stir-fried vegetables and candied sweet potatoes, no one
commented on it. Beth did give him a very sly grin and a wink
when the german chocolate cake was served for desert.
All of this was made all the more special because he was
eating the meal in the dining room wearing his own *male*
clothes again. Earlier that afternoon, shortly after Eric had
left him, Maria had arrived to tell him his bathroom water had
been turned back on. She'd offered to try and do something
with what was left of his hair, but the damage done was beyond
even her ability to repair. In the end, she'd shaved him
bald.
Michael privately thought he looked like a young Yul Brenner.
Beth, however, disagreed and had called him Uncle Fester when
she'd checked to see if he needed anything before dinner.
When he'd finished his shower, he'd found his clothes laid out
on the bed - an open collared sport shirt, slacks, shoes and
real men's jockey shorts - complete with a *fly*.
For a brief moment, he wondered what the catch was, but in the
end decided that there was not much else they could do to him
and had put on the clothes. Precisely at six, Jane had
arrived to escort him to dinner.
Now that the meal was over, Michael wondered if he had slipped
into one of those classic Rod Serling Twilight Zone episodes.
Had aliens from another time and place kidnaped Aunt Jane and
taken her place. My God, he thought grimly, she'd actually
been pleasant to him. She'd even *smiled* at him, more than
once, without looking like a hungry shark ready to pounce.
So it was with more than a bit of trepidation that he now
walked with the rest of the "family", including Maria who had
been told to leave the dishes, to the music room. Was this
where the other shoe fell on his innocent head? Had he just
been fattened up for the slaughter?
Inside the classically decorated room, a coffee service had
already been laid out. Jane walked over to the small
sideboard that served as a bar and offered after dinner drinks
to Maria and to Eric. Then she turned to Michael and Beth.
"Would either of you care for something? Some wine, perhaps,
or something stronger?"
Beth accepted the wine, but Michael, already nervous, decided
that he should try to keep what wits he still had. "No, thank
you, Aunt Jane. Some coffee would be fine, though." He must
have been mistaken, he thought. Was that actually approval he
saw in her eyes?
The drinks were passed out and then Jane had every one settle
on the various couches and chairs, but she was particularly
careful to seat Michael and herself directly opposite of each
other.
Thoroughly spooked now, Michael's mouth engaged. "Is this the
time, the walrus said, to speak of many things?"
Everyone chuckled, but Jane's brow went up in that frightening
way she had. "Am I to assume that you think I look like a
walrus, Michael?" Then she laughed at his comical, open
mouthed look of terror. "Oh, calm down. Yes, we have to
talk, but nothing will happen tonight or as a result of
tonight that you do not agree to enter freely and of your own
will."
Now she quotes Bram Stoker to me. Is she Vlad the Impaler, or
Van Helsing?
"We have to make some decisions about your future, Michael.
You have some choices to make. First, let me say that I
cannot, in good conscience, let you return to St. Andrews. At
least not now. Maybe in a year or so, if you still want to
return there, that can be arranged, however, Dr. Davis feels
that is not a good situation for you just now."
Michael made a noncommital shrug, but said nothing.
"I have also, again with Eric's concurrence, decided that you
are not going to be sent to a hospital or to another boarding
school. What you need is stability and people who want to
help *you*. We are afraid that you won't get either as just
another patient or just another student. The best solution
would have been for your Moth. . . that is, for Barbara to
take you away to a nice private home and let you deal with
this in a supportive family setting, which simply isn't going
to happen." Jane let her voice become icy-cold. "If she even
thought about it now, I would contest her revocation of
guardianship in court to keep her away from you."
Michael was astounded to see the anger in Jane's eyes, and
more, to see that it was directed at his Mother, not at him.
"So, here are the options you have, Michael. First, Eric has
said that you can live with him and his wife in Chicago. His
wife is familiar with my program and although she is a
supporter of my methods, she understands you have had a
particularly bad experience. While you are there, you will be
free to live as Michael. More importantly, Eric will be there
to help you deal with whatever you need to resolve in order to
get on with your life."
Jane took a sip from her wine glass. "Your second option is
to stay here with me, living as Michael. I would enroll you
in the local school system this fall instead waiting until
after Christmas as your Mother and I had originally planned.
For your part, you will allow me to act in loco parentis. I
will expect you to agree to follow my rules and regulations,
Michael making a comment, "I promise will be neither out of
the ordinary nor unfairly enforced. In return for this
agreement, I will promise to defer any future . . .er. .
.special students" and here her eyes fell on the elegantly
dressed Beth, "until you reach your majority and can move out
on your own."
"Your third option is also to stay with me, but living as
Michelle." At the shocked look in his eyes and the coiling of
his legs to bolt, Jane held up a restraining hand, and Eric
caught him by the elbow, effectively keeping him in his seat.
"Hear me out, Michael, please."
The soft entreaty in her voice did more to stay him than
anything she had ever threatened him with. "First of all,
Eric and I both think the experience would be good for you
from the perspective of personal growth. Thanks to your . . .
to Barbara's sending you to all those male-only, all year
boarding schools, you have had an almost complete lack of the
feminine influence and outlooks in your life. Michelle might
give you some balance in your perceptions."
Michael could keep silent no longer. "But that would mean
taking the chance I will be exposed publically as a sissy.
And the probability of that happening sometime in the next
four years has to be nearly one hundred percent." He shot an
angry glare at Beth. "You said she couldn't, wouldn't do
that." he accused hotly.
Intervening, Jane resumed. "I know what Beth told you, and
she is correct, as far as that goes. All my little ploys and
lessons are *always* aimed at protecting my girls from real
discovery all the while making them feel as vulnerable and as
threatened as possible. However, experiences such as that
would not *our* objective for you. *Our* goal would be to
make you, while dressed anyway, indistinguishable from any
other young woman your age. To make you into a *lady*, not a
sissy."
Michael was no longer able to contain his fury and disgust.
"Little ploys and lessons? *Little* PLOYS? Is that what you
call what you do to people? What you did to me? And just
what the hell good do you think that cockamamie idea would do
for me, anyway? Besides, the very last thing I want in my
life is to give you that kind of power over me again, to
suffer your sadistic "little ploys" again." raw anger spewed
from him, and furious tears ran down his cheeks. "Do you
think I am crazy? Or just stupid?"
Jane quietly struggled to keep control of herself. When she
finally spoke, Michael could see the pain apparent in her
face. "You are neither of those things, Michael. Just
someone with a far more resistant masculine self image than I
anticipated, someone I pushed much too hard, someone I did not
read correctly, someone I hurt very badly. A great deal of
what happened to you must be laid at my door, and I am
suffering from my errors in judgement, my failures. That is
part of the reason that I am willing to foreswear any new
students during the term of your stay with me - I, too, must
deal with this before I can once more take on the
responsibility of tearing down a personality in order to build
him back up again."
She paused to take a shaky sip of her wine. The interview was
going much as she expected with Michael not willing to give an
inch. She'd give him his pound of flesh if that is what it
took to get him to stay here and let her help him. It was
time to try another tack. "Michael, those failures are my
share of what ultimately has brought us to this point, but
another important piece of the puzzle is inside you. You know
that your reaction was completely beyond anything in my
experiences with the nearly fifty other young men who have
come to me over the last twenty years I have been . . .
treating them."
"I still don't see where this is going, Aunt Jane." Michael
snapped, impatience dripping from each clipped word.
"Simply this. If you decide to try living as Michelle, I will
in turn promise to forego my "little ploys" and, as I said
earlier, to teach you how to be a real lady, not a sissy."
"Michael," Eric gently broke in, taking the pressure
momentarily off Jane. "You have some deep seated issues that
Jane's humiliation games and her program of enforced
femininity ignited. You have to deal with those problems or
this episode will haunt you for years to come. What this
option will do for you is to permit you to deal with part of
the problem, your mixed feelings about feminine dress without
the humiliation aspect of all this."
"Mixed feelings, Eric?" Michael asked, turning to glare at the
older man. "And just *what* is that supposed to mean?"
"Simply that a part of you really does like the dressing, the
masquerade, and another part of you is afraid, and maybe
ashamed to like it. Be honest with yourself right now,
Michael, as you were with Sandy that morning. You knew that
you were accepting Jane's training, and in part, because you
were enjoying some of it."
Michael did not want to admit his own misgivings on that
subject. Damn Eric for confusing him with his infernal
questions. "And you think dressing as a female for Jane will
help me deal with those "mixed feelings"?" Michael asked
skeptically.
"We shrinks call it "confrontation", Michael. Make a reasoned
decision to face, on *your* terms, whatever it is that
frightens you. Understand it so that you can, in turn,
understand why it frightens you . . .so that you begin to
desensitize yourself to that fear."
"That sounds kind of fishy to me, Eric." And then his eyes
became very suspicious. "Does she still have something on
you? Are you supporting her because you have to? Just like
Beth supported her against me before?"
Green eyes burned furiously. "Michael, you may choose not to
believe me, but do not *ever* insult my personal and
professional ethics. You are my *patient*, and I would
interests. Not for *any* reason. If you feel that this
option is too much for you," and here Eric's voice became
subtly challenging, "Then don't do it. Take either of the
other options Jane has offered you."
Michael was stung by the anger in the therapist's tones, and
sat back both to think and to gain some distance. Finally, he
asked, "If I go with Eric, will he be my guardian?"
Jane shook her head. "No, your Mother signed your custody
over to me. I do not have the authority to transfer it to
Eric, and I don't suspect your Mother will oblige us.
However, for whatever good you consider my word, I *promise*
not to force myself into your life if you go to Eric."
Not knowing what to say or think, Michael took a sip from his
rapidly cooling coffee. He really wanted to be away from
Jane, away from here, but he did not really know Eric all that
well and he did not know his wife at all. Except that Jane
said the woman approved of Jane's methods of treating problem
boys.
"But suppose I agree to that third option, Jane, and discover
that I really do hate it. That, even with you not playing
your games with me, that it simply makes me miserable? What
am I agreeing to, time wise, in that option? You gave it to
me separately from the one where I live with you as Michael
until I reach my majority and gain access to my trust fund.
Is it all or nothing? Do I live out the remainder of my
teenage years as a female with no option for parole?"
Jane did not know quite how to answer that question. If
Michael became Michelle, she did not want a time limit other
than staying with the program until Michael got better.
However, she knew that response would make Michael reject the
third option, which she was absolutely convinced was the best
for him. Still, he *was* asking, and not rejecting the
Michelle option out of hand.
"If you are going to be Michelle, it would be best to commit
to being her. Particularly if you are going to overcome your
private demons on this score. If you are going to do it, I
think you need to make a commitment so that I can coach, and
yes, correct you without fear of you changing your mind on me
every day."
Michael obviously did not like that answer and was on the
verge of refusing to try that route when Beth spoke up for the
first time. "How about a trial period, Jane? Suppose Michael
commits to a specified period of time, regardless how he feels
about the masquerade. During that time, he would promise to
do his very best to be the best Michelle he can be. At the
end of the trial period, you sit down, discuss the situation,
and he makes a decision whether to continue as Michelle or to
revert to being Michael without consequences."
"How long?" Michael and Jane asked almost in unison, and then
both answered. "One month!" "One year!"
Giggling at the two of them, Beth again intervened. "Jane, if
you aren't going to send Michael back to school until after
Christmas, you have time in hand for a reasonable trial
period. It is early July. Why don't you agree to three
months. That way, you will have time for Michael to
completely undo Michelle, like growing back eyebrows, working
the curls out of his hair and relearning all his male gestures
and speech patterns. If he decides to stay with Michelle,
that will give you time to figure out what to do to get her
into school somewhere."
The responses were predictable - from Michael's "Three *whole*
months?!?" to Jane's "*Only* three months?!?" Beth gave a
dainty shrug and let the two antagonists try to stare each
other down.
A piercing whistle made both jump back in their seats and turn
their glares on the cause. Eric simply laughed and made a
'time out' signal with his hands. "Why don't you sleep on it,
the pair of you. Michael has not even agreed to be Michelle
yet. Heck, he might even decide to live with me, although. .
." and he batted his eyes at the young man, "It *would* be
nice to have company for Erica at times." Michael's blank
look set Eric off again. "Just kidding, Michael. Trust me, if
you come live with me, you can set up a "no-dress" zone around
yourself if that is what you need. Go to bed and think about
it, okay?"
Michael was still struggling with Jane's obvious preference.
"Suppose I goof up, Aunt Jane - get unmasked as a sissy boy in
girl's clothing?" He knew he'd never be able to hold up under
the humiliation of such a calamity.
Something of the old, hard Jane came back into her eyes. "So
don't goof up." she ordered caustically. "Besides, you've
already told me that such an exposure no longer threatened
you. Right?" She said silkily as she cocked her brow at him
in challenge. Let him remember *that* statement, she
thought. Then she gentled her tones. "And I will say this
just once more, Michael. You won't *be* a sissy, subject to
and molded by my carefully orchestrated lessons in
humiliation. I will teach you to be a *real* lady who will
pass muster anywhere, in any company and under any
circumstances."
Before Michael could find the wit to respond to that, Jane's
stern look incongruously softened, and then, wonder upon
wonder to Michael, Jane *actually* blushed and stammered.
"Well, maybe not quite *all* circumstances. You will still
be. . . ummmmmm. . . entire, as dog breeders speak of their
fully male animals."
Michael quickly understood precisely which circumstance Jane
could not guarantee his disguise would pass muster, and
blushed furiously himself. Well, he was NOT going to go to bed
with a guy. Nor was he going to become . . not entire,
either.
No one spoke for several moments, and just sat quietly, warily
watching the emotions flit across Michael's face. Finally, he
shook his head. It was just too much to absorb all in one
sitting. "All right. Maybe Eric has the right of it. This has
been an awful lot to take in and I am bushed. May I be
excused, Aunt Jane?" She nodded and he rose to leave.
"Michael?" It was Aunt Jane's voice. He turned around just
in time to catch a large brass key that nearly clipped him on
the nose. "That is the only key to your door. Make sure you
don't lock yourself in tonight. We'd have to take the door
apart to get you back out."
Michael clutched the key in his hand, its implications running
wildly through his head. No more locked doors. And he had his
male clothes again. There was nothing to keep him here
anymore. He was, for all intents and purposes, free. Dazed,
he looked back to his Aunt Jane. "Go to bed, Michael. We
will talk in the morning."
He left the room quickly as the others quietly watched his
retreat. "About as well as we could have expected, Jane."
Eric said softly.
"But suppose he doesn't choose Michelle, Eric, what then?"
"You already answered that question, Jane. We will keep our
promises, and try our best to help him within those
limitations. We knew coming into this that his tough-guy,
"man's man" persona was going to resist strongly what his more
sensitive side might prefer to try. And I think Beth's idea of
a trial period is a good one. It will give you a chance to
get him into skirts and gentle him for a bit. It will also
give a chance to just enjoy the feeling of wearing nice
feeling clothes and being pretty without worrying about your
"little ploys". I think that, if he takes that option, by the
end of three months he will be likely to choose Michelle for
the long term."
A Losing Season: Chapter 11. Deliberations in the Night.
In fact, sleep was a long time coming to Michael. Any thought
of sleep had been squashed when he'd gone to his closet to
hang up his precious male clothing. Inside he found all of
his male outfits hung out and arranged . . . side by side with
what was left of his Michelle-clothes after his rampage. Even
his suitcases were there.
The message was not very subtle. He could leave, or stay -
and if he did stay, he could be either Michael or Michelle.
The choice was purely his.
Therefore, he was more than a little bit surprised to realize
he did not know which choice to make.
Michael spent several unproductive moments trying to resolve
his confused thinking, but to no result. He finally resorted
to writing down the pros and cons of his options on paper.
Certainly, the easiest way out was to stay Michael. Live with
Jane or Eric until he got control of his trust fund and then
go live his life as he chose to live it from then on. He
could work or not, travel or stay in one place, whatever best
pleased him. His trust fund represented more money than he
could spend in four lifetimes.
Of those two options, Eric's wife was the unknown. He did not
like the unknown very much anymore, and he certainly did not
Jane Thompson had met him at the train station.
Would Eric's lady really let him be Michael, or would she, as
a believer in Jane's methods, try to push him back into living
as Michelle? At least Jane was the devil he knew. Besides
that, for some odd reason, Michael felt he could trust Jane's
word, *if* it was given to him and not to his Mother.
That left the third option, and God only knew why he was even
considering it at all. Probably because he had come to trust
Eric and because the doctor really seemed to think it was the
best way for him to go. Still, that did not seem to be a very
strong reason to put himself back in Jane's clutches *and*
back into skirts. God, how his Mother would laugh at that.
Or would she? A random thought wound its way through his
fatigued, overactive mind. Obviously she did not want a son.
She had not shown him a whit of attention or affection since
his father died. Was that why she had sent him to Jane? Was
it a daughter his Mother *really* wanted? It would really
show her, Michael mused, if he gave her what she seemed to
think she wanted. He could do, for all intents and purposes,
what he'd tried to do after that abominable day at the mall.
"Kill" her son, and replace him with a daughter instead of a
ghost. Maybe *then* she'd pay attention to him. . . err. .
.her. Maybe *then* she'd find out what she had been missing
out on all these damnably lonely years.
For this to work, though, he'd have to be *very* good at being
Michelle. Moreover, Michelle would have to be completely
convincing and utterly beautiful. Refined, too - can't forget
manners and deportment. Could Michelle regain the love and
attention Michael had lost, if he ever had really had it? Did
he want his Mother's love that much?
The answer was probably yes. He'd have to show her, then, and
when she saw Michelle, maybe, just maybe, she'd regret the
loss of Michael.
Still, he sighed to himself, the price was probably more than
he could bear to pay. Once it came out what he'd done (and it
would come out if he knew his Mother), he would never be able
to show his face in society again. Not only that, in order to
accomplish this goal, he'd have to let Jane put him back in
girl-clothes again. *And* give her the authority to, how did
she put it? Oh yeah, correct him. He'd had just about enough
of her corrections for one lifetime. Particularly if he was
going to give her almost four years, until he turned twenty
one, to "correct" him . . . only it would have become
correcting *her* by then. There would be, very probably,
damned little left of *Michael* after all that time living as
Michelle.
On the other hand, he'd never been out in society anyway -
he'd always been at one all male boarding school or another.
What would he really be losing if his Mother's society cronies
snubbed and shunned him? Nothing he'd ever really had.
And hadn't he already taken Jane's worst? If nothing else,
she had promised him that she'd leave all her nasty tricks in
her bag. He would need her help to pull this off, and
besides, hadn't she promised to be fair? Or was that promise
only if he chose to be Michael and not Michelle?
Which leads to another question, he thought. What about
had told him about Caro and her husband and what Eric told him
about his wife, there were women out there who found Jane's
students attractive. Like David and Beth, Michael and
Michelle were both committed girl lovers, and he wanted to
enjoy being a man with a lovely woman. Caro was gorgeous, and
could have had just about any man she wanted, so she must
really love her husband to have chosen him. And what about a
family of his own?
God, he was so tired, and no closer to an answer.
"Michael?" he looked up to see Jane standing in his doorway.
"Can't you sleep?"
"No. Too much to think about."
"Any conclusions?" Michael looked down at the pages of
scribbled notes he'd spent the last few hours writing and
could only shake his head. "Then let it rest for now."
With that, she closed the door and left him alone and even
more confused. She had said nothing one way or the other
about his choice. No little attempts to influence his
decision? No barbed words to shame him into making the choice
he knew she favored? Jane?
A Losing Season: Chapter 12. Decisions
Michael slept late the next morning, and it was almost
lunchtime when he made his way downstairs. The house was
quiet, but he knew his guardian's habits and made his way to
her study. The door was open and he slipped in without
announcing himself.
Jane was there, seated at the desk where she had planned so
many torments, so many tests and humiliations, asleep with her
head resting on her forearms. The chair that Michael had come
to think of as "his chair" was still in front of that desk. He
repressed a shudder as he took his seat in that chair,
remembering each painful session of "instruction" received
from Jane while sitting there.
A random sound broke the silence and Jane jerked awake.
Momentarily confused, she did not immediately realize she was
no longer alone. Then she saw her guest for the first time.
"M. . . Michael?" she asked, still sleep dazed.
"Michelle, Aunt Jane." he answered in the soft inflection so
painfully learned at this woman's decree. Jane looked across
the desk and saw her ward decked out in one of the skirt and
blouse sets that were still intact, and wearing a skull-
hugging, close-cropped auburn wig. He'd obviously borrowed
that from Eric. With or without his permission, she wondered.
"So you've decided?" she asked, unable to keep a quaver of
hope from her voice. When, she wondered amazed, had his
decision - this particular decision - had become so very
important to her?
"Yes and no, Jane. If we can agree on a couple of items, I am
going to go with the three month trial period as Michelle
option."
"Things, Michelle?" Jane prompted and then gestured for
Michelle to continue.
"I don't think I can do this, all or nothing - Michael only or
Michelle only." He frowned as he realized what he'd just
admitted. Michelle evidently *had* become a part of him, just
a Beth was part of David, or Erica a part of Eric.
He pushed that realization back and pressed on "I will do the
three month trial as Michelle, living the entire period only
as Michelle provided that, regardless of my final choice, I
can still have both in my life if that is my choice. How we
do that may take some planning, but perhaps if I choose
Michelle, we could plan some short vacations where I could be
Michael. Or the other way around."
"All right. I can understand and agree to that stipulation.
May I ask why you have decided to try out Michelle again?"
"Because I think I am going to go after my Mother as
Michelle." was the calm reply.
"What did you say?" Jane asked in a hoarse whisper. "Go after
your Mother? As Michelle?"
"If she wanted Michelle badly enough to send me to you, then I
am going to kill her son by becoming Michelle. I will show
her precisely what she seems to want, become what she seems to
want. Maybe Michelle can have the Mother that Michael was
denied. At least, maybe it will show her what she has missed
and will be losing."
"And you want me to train you to that end? She is my friend,
Michelle. Don't you think that is just a little cruel?"
"I have more than a passing acquaintance with cruelty of late,
Jane." he answered with heavy irony leaving no doubt as to
who had made that introduction. "*Cruel* would be if I may
unmasked myself and let her social circle know what she'd done
to me. She'd never be able to hold her head up in society
again and that would matter to her." the boy-girl frowned
pensively for a moment. "I don't think I want to go that far,
but it is an option."
Michelle seemed to steel herself and looked Jane squarely in
the eye. "In any case, Jane, you said you would teach me to
be a lady. What I do with what knowledge you impart to me
should not concern you. Or will you withdraw your offer now
that you know why I want choose Michelle? In that case, I
will go to Chicago with Eric as Michael."
Jane sat quietly, watching the feminine creature seated
opposite her. She knew that the boy resented his Mother,
almost hated her with a fervor that led Jane to think he had
once loved her almost as much. She'd just never considered
him wanting to Michelle in quite that way or for such a
purpose.
"Suppose your plan does not succeed, Michael? Suppose she
doesn't react the way you hope? Suppose Michelle doesn't make
a difference to her?"
"Then I won't have lost anything, Jane, because I have nothing
of her as Michael. Maybe it will show her what she's lost,
maybe not. Right now, this seems the only option that will
let me reach her at all, and I am still angry enough, and hurt
enough that I need to take that opportunity. Now, are you
going to help me or not?"
"I won't withdraw my offer, Michelle, even though I find your
stated goal demeaning to both of us. However, you do realize
that your commitment in all of this is even greater than it
would have been if you had simply decided to live with me as
Michelle? You want to be beautiful enough, feminine enough
and refined enough to carry off this masquerade under very
demanding circumstances. You have to understand how
difficult, how demanding achieving and sustaining that level
of perfection will be for you, Michael." she said using the
masculine name intentionally.
"I understand completely, Jane. I will do, with one exception,
whatever it takes, short of actual surgical or hormonal
modification, to become what I need to be."
"And what is the exception, Michelle?"
The finely featured face went crimson. "While I know that
this is a huge commitment that will require my full attention
and best effort, I still want some things as Michael, too.
Like a family. I'd like to meet girls as a guy from time to
time. And while I don't think you'd have too much trouble with
Michael trotting out Michelle from time to time, I am
concerned about how you would react the other way around."
That was a fair evaluation, Jane thought. Above and beyond
the program she laid out to humble then mellow each new
student, she liked having her boys in skirts. She could see
herself resisting Michelle wanting to be Michael from time to
time. "How about one weekend a month and a whole week during
major school holidays. We can go somewhere Michelle is not
known, but you must recognize that if you do, in fact, give
this project your best effort, you will go on these holidays
as a very effeminate young man."
Michael nodded. "Understood, Jane. I'll just have to find a
girl like Caro or Eric's wife who like men like that." He
paused before continuing. "College is the other thing. How
would Michelle go to school? I don't want to spend the next
four years vegetating."
"I have contacts who can help, depending on where you want to
go and what you want to study."
"I'd like to stay locally, and live here so I can continue my
studies with you. As for the course of study, I have begun to
think about pre-med with an eye towards maybe becoming a
research psychiatrist."
Ah, Eric has been more a role model than we had originally
thought, Jane mused to herself. "The local university has a
good program, and I know several women in the administration
who should be able to help. Is that all? If I agree to these
issues, do I get Michelle back?"
She could practically see *him* become instantly more
feminine, see him become *her*. "We do, Aunt Jane."
Jane was out of her chair in an instant and Michelle was
suddenly enveloped in the first maternal hug he or she could
ever remember since the death of Michael's father. "Welcome
home, Michelle." then Jane pulled back to look down at her
ward. "And your first lessons will be on how to select your
own natural colors. Trust me, darling. You were not meant to
be a redhead."
A Losing Season: Chapter 13. First Challenge.
Michelle sat in Jane's library mesmerized by the telephone as
if it were a snake waiting to strike. Jane had already
assigned to him his first girl task, and he was struggling to
find the will to get on with it. Truth to tell, *she* was a
little overwhelmed at the response that *her* (Jane had told
him to start working very hard at thinking in the feminine
whenever dressed - it wasn't easy) decision elicited from the
other members of Jane's household. Demure, feminine Beth gave
her a thoroughly *guy-thing* thump on the shoulder and a high
five, nearly knocking Michelle off her still-not-quite-steady
high heeled feet.
Eric, on the other hand, talked to him that confident, quietly
supportive way of his. He wanted to make sure Michael
understood the full ramifications of that choice, but he also
wanted to assure Michelle that *Michael* would always have a
safe place to turn to with his family in Chicago.
Maria had surprised everyone, including Michelle, by breaking
down into tears and nearly crushing the young boy/girl in a
fierce hug, all the while apologizing in at least two
languages. Not for her part in the original cross dressing
treatment which she told him had been absolutely necessary,
but for having to kick him so hard to subdue him. Maria was
distraught over the size and tenacity of the bruise across
Michelle's midriff. Michelle, although looking quite female
on the outside, still was a young male on the inside. He'd
been helpless in the face of Maria's tears, but Jane just
chuckled and shook her head as he begged for help with his
eyes.
Michelle shook herself slightly to refocus her mind on the
task at hand. It would not get any easier if she waited. She
picked up the phone, took a deep, cleansing breath, and
punched out the number Jane had made her look up.
The phone was picked up on the third ring, dashing Michelle's
hopes that they had already gone for the day. "Marisha
Chalet, Carolyn speaking."
Fighting the incipient tremble of fear that threatened to make
her voice crack, she responded, "Hello, Carolyn, this is
Michelle Nash."
"Mi. Mi. . miCHELLE???" There was surprise, uncertainty and
perhaps even a touch of fear in that stuttered response.
Michelle stifled a grin of pleasure at the thought, but it
affirmative. "Ummmmm. . .well.. .this is a surprise. Wh. .
What can I . . we do for you, Mi. . you did say this was
This time Michelle did allow a slight laugh to bubble through,
but it was not malicious. "Yes, Carolyn, I have decided to
stay with Aunt Jane for the foreseeable future."
"Oh!" The relief in that one syllable was almost palpable
across the phone line. "Well, then, what can we do for you,
Michelle?" There was considerably more confidence in the
voice now.
"Well, you are aware that my recent . . .illness . .resulted
in the temporary loss of most of my hair, including my brows
and nails?"
Carolyn had not seen the boy, but Sandy had and her vivid
descriptions of what he'd done to himself, after *she* had
been so rough on him at her shop, had made Carolyn physically
ill. She swallowed loudly enough for Michelle to hear it over
the phone. "Yes, dear. Sandy told me."
"I can't very well walk around looking like "Aunt Fester",
Carolyn, and Aunt Jane doesn't have any wigs suitable for my
coloring. I was wondering if you might have something
appropriate, and if I could come in and have you show me how
to wear it and care for it. Maybe we could fix my nails and
you could show me how to hide my lack of brows until they grow
back?"
"I have a couple of nice wigs that should work for you,
Michelle. When would you like to come in?"
"I'd like to come as soon as I can, Carolyn, but if its
possible, could I come in very first thing, so that your other
customers don't have to see my hairless head? I'd really like
to be under a dryer or off in the corner before anyone else
can see me." she paused. "Aunt Jane said that was okay with
her." Michelle injected a hopeful note.
Carolyn consulted her appointment book. In the past, she
might have toyed with one of Jane's students. She might even
had someone who could be trusted there at the shop when Jane's
student arrived, but that was before a boy had tried to kill
himself after a session in her shop. "Michelle,
unfortunately, I am booked every morning this week right at
opening time." She heard the sigh of disappointment in her
ear. "Tell you what. I will open an hour early tomorrow, to
work with you so that the worst of it will be over when my
other girls and customers arrive. Be here at 8:00 A.M. and we
will go from there, okay?"
"Thank you, Carolyn. Very much. Oh, can I bring Beth? She
needs a little help, too."
A chuckle answered her. "Sure, tell her to come, too. I'll
tell Sandy to get up early and be here. See you then."
As the two hung up, both feminine creatures felt greatly
relieved - one for having survived a difficult first test, the
other for having been granted a reprieve.
A Losing Season: Chapter 14. Facing an Old Nightmare
Carolyn and Sandy were surprised when the Jane's girls showed
up the next morning without Jane. "Where's Jane, girls?" had
been Sandy's question as Beth and Michelle both exited the
taxicab.
"Oh, she told us to just come and have a good time, Sandy."
had been Beth's smiling response. "We're big girls, now." she
teased.
"But. . but. . .but how will we know what to do to you without
Jane here? Unless," and she turned to face her partner. "Did
Jane call you with orders for these two, Caro?"
Carolyn's and Michelle's "No." came out in unison. Both shop
owners returned their eyes to face the two young women at
their door. "What you will do *for* us, Sandy, is what you
would do *for* any other regular paying customer." Michelle
said with only a hint of smug arrogance. "That is, what we ask
you to do and what will make us look our best."
"Jane agreed to that?" the disappointed Sandy asked. She'd
hoped that Michelle's return to the fold meant that everything
was back to normal. Of the two partners, she'd always enjoyed
her little games with the helpless boys far more than Caro who
felt like she was dispensing bad tasting, but necessary
medicine.
Both Beth and Michelle nodded, smiles splitting their lips.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
16 July - Day 1
Dear Diary
God, I don't think I am ever going to get used to writing
that, but Aunt Jane says it is part of the drill. I have
never been much of a journal keeper, so this may be a bit
spotty. Eric says that good psychological research starts
with good self reflection and that journals are a useful way
to do that. Jane says I might want a record for the future,
so I can remember more clearly and more objectively what
happened in this oddball period of my life. I also think Eric
wants some sort of reference as to what was happened if I trip
off the deep end again. Anyway, I promised to try.
Well, I am sitting here, rigged out in one of two new blond
wigs. The one I am wearing is the shorter of the two, falling
only a bit below my shoulders. It is long enough for dress up
and short enough that I can be active and athletic in it. The
other one is almost waist length and is suitable for braiding,
or for as Sandy said in one of the evil teases she still can't
quite resist, for "big hair". She looked much too pleased
with that idea. I don't think I want more than an
intellectual acquaintance with "big hair".
My nails are and will continue to be a problem for some time
to come. I did such a number on the last ones that a couple
of them may not have enough real nail for the acrylic to bond
to. Caro thinks I may have to come back soon for another
treatment. And they are shorter than last time. Still longer
than Michael ever wore, but not so long and sharp that I might
have to register them with the police as lethal weapons. But,
they still catch on EVERYTHING. I have ruined two sets of
nylons since returning home to Jane's today.
Tomorrow, Jane is taking me back to Mrs. Franson's place to
replace the clothes that I, or rather, Michael destroyed.
This time, however, I will be treated like a customer, and not
like an impromptu lingerie model. Jane already has that set
up since she needed to pick a time when the girls who helped
us last time won't be working. Hard to explain two such
blowout shopping trips in less than two weeks.
Eric is looking for a dressing-friendly psychologist in the
area for me. Not to deal with dressing aspects of this since
he thinks I will respond well on my own to whatever decision
is right for me. No, he's worried about the fallout from
Michael's breakdown, and helping me to learn to deal with such
anger before ever it gets to that point again.
Well that's about it for tonight, I guess. Except to say that
this thinking of myself in the feminine tense is a bitch. . .
oops. . .pardon me. This feminine self perspective is highly
unnatural and I am having a great deal of difficulty with that
dictum of Aunt Jane's at this time. Sigh. . .she also told me
I needed to "feminine up", as in clean up, my language. She
is going to keep track and assign demerits for each failure to
speak in "a pleasing feminine voice and with feminine
sophistication" 100 demerits and yours truly gets 10 minutes
sucking on a soap bar and I won't be able to rinse for the
remainder of the 100 minutes. I tasted Aunt Jane's soap
tonight, just as a precaution.
It is not an insignificant threat on her part. Unfortunately,
I figure it won't be the last time I taste the vile stuff. I
have lived in all male environments far too long, dammit.
Ooops, I mean, Golly!!
Somehow, "golly" lacks for something in expressing my
feelings. This going to REALLY hard.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 15. Fond Farewells
Eric stayed on for a couple of more days after the second
great shopping expedition and his quiet good humor helped to
ease the transition for both Michelle and for Jane.
Michelle was upset by his imminent departure when she, Jane
and Beth accompanied him to the airport, but Eric promised to
visit. "I will even bring Sylvia, my wife, the next time.
I've told her about you and she is very anxious to meet you."
then he gave that quirky grin of his. "Although, if you want
to meet her as Michael, you'll have to come to Chicago to
visit us, but bring some Michelle clothes if you do, please?
Erica's stuff is too mature for you, dammit, and the coloring
is all wrong."
The comment bothered the girl, he saw. For all her strength
of will and commitment to the goal of becoming Michelle, of
going beyond a mere masquerade, *this* Michelle was still
essentially Michael in skirts. He had a long way to go before
not want to make these first days any more difficult than they
needed to be for her. "Michael," he said very softly, "My
wife *will* welcome you as Michael, and she won't press, but
she *would* truly like to meet Michelle. But that is and
will remain your choice. No one will try to pressure you one
way or the other, nor will you be made to feel guilty about
whatever decision you make. Sylvia is not the Aunt Jane you
had to deal with your first few weeks here, okay?"
"Okay, Eric." Michelle responded, unwilling to make any more
commitments so soon after the one that had him back in skirts
and wondering about his sanity. "I will miss you."
The young psychologist reached into his wallet and pulled out
a calling card. "My home, work and emergency phone numbers
are on that card. So is my email address, although you don't
have a computer here."
"Jane said she'd get one since I will be going to school for
real and will need one for school work." Michelle giggled at
the memory. "I think she is a bit cyber-phobic. Jane turned
a lovely color of puce at the mere thought of having such a
technical monstrosity invade her lovely Victorian home." They
both glanced over at Jane, who did look just a little ill at
that. Michelle dropped her voice down to a conspiratorial
whisper "I promised to hide it in my room and to keep it
covered in a pretty chintz throw when it's not in use."
"See how well you are progressing, Michelle? How many boys
would even know there *was* a color called puce or a material
called chintz, let alone know what either one actually looked
like?" teased Eric.
She did a fairly good job of blushing that color herself.
Eric stood and pulled the resisting boy/girl into a hug. He
just held her against her instinctive reaction to pull away,
surprising her with his strength. "You are going to have to
get used to things like this, if you are going to pull off the
grand plan, Michelle." he whispered softly. "It's just a hug
between friends. Now, kiss me on the cheek like a good girl
and wave good bye as I board the plane."
He wondered, as Michelle pulled back and stared at him in wide
eyed disbelief, if he had pushed just a little too hard. Then
she scrunched up her face, closed her eyes, leaned over and
planted a very brief, very prim peck on Eric's cheek. Because
her eyes were still tightly shut, she couldn't dodge when Eric
returned the compliment. "Be well, Michael-Michelle, and be
sure to call me if you need to or even if you just want to."
Jane and her two wards waved as Eric entered the jetway and
boarded his flight. When she turned to look over at Michelle,
she saw a single track of mascara, marking a dark rivulet down
her flushed cheek. She nodded, pleased with the response, and
handed her ward a tissue.
"Thank you, Aunt Jane." she whispered as they turned back
toward the main terminal.
As they walked down the corridor, Jane spied a sign, thought
for just a moment, and decided that an opportunity not taken
was an opportunity lost. "Beth." she said aloud, thinking
that the first such lesson should not be *too* daunting. "Take
Michelle into the ladies room so that she can fix her face.
She looks two-toned where the mascara streaked across her
blusher."
The look of abject horror on Michelle's face was only slightly
more terror-stricken than the matching one on Beth's. She
grinned, thinking that this was a lesson she had never really
dared pull on her students before, but this was a special case
and Michelle would need to learn her way around what Jane
thought of as the "Secret Society of the Powder Room."
They made no motion toward the open door, so Jane gave them
both "the look" she'd used to such effect in her days as a
petticoat disciplinarian. Shoulders drooping, the unhappy
pair slowly turned. Jane caught Michelle's arm and put her
lips to the girl's ear. "Now, just fix your face, dear.
Don't let that crude boy Michael try and peak at any of the
ladies who might be, shall we say, en dishabille in there? It
is so crowded here today, there might not be enough stalls for
all the women who want to get out of their travel clothes."
She almost laughed at the color that flamed her ward's face,
but the little jab did the trick as Michelle started moving
more resolutely toward the ladies room. Jane only smiled, and
hoped that there was at least one reasonably attractive lady
changing where her girls could see her. They'd be so
disappointed otherwise.
When the twosome exited the restroom, Jane thought they might
be walking just a bit funny, as if something was making it
difficult for their upper legs to move quite as freely as
normal. Well, one took lessons and rewards for jobs well done
where one found them.
A Losing Season: Chapter 16. First Discipline
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
21 July - Day 5
Dear Diary
Less than one week into the trial period and I have already
achieved my first 100 demerits for unladylike discourse and
language. Seems like every time I turn around, there is Jane
with that blasted green pocket notebook, noting down some
indiscretion or miss-speech, (perhaps that should be mister-
speech on my part). Today, she caught me cursing when I ran
yet another set of hosiery with these damned, err. . . darned
fingernails. So tonight, after dinner, I will present myself
in her master suite, wearing my nightgown, for correction.
As far as the rest of it, the new clothes are okay. Beth is
absolutely jealous about one of the new dresses, or at least
she says she is since for the most part she is still wearing
the stuff that Jane bought during the punishment phase of her
stay. I tried loaning it to her, but she is just enough
different in size and coloring from me that it does not work
for her.
Its odd, but I am beginning to recognize when something, like
a dress or a make-up job, are wrong, but I have trouble
visualizing ahead of time what would be right. I wonder if
the other women in Jane's little circle would work with me,
too. Sandy would, if only to get her clutches on me, again.
Caro is a little more reserved, but I think she'd let me into
her Wednesday group once I know enough not to mess up with
those other real girls around. Maybe I can be her make up
dummy again, just to get in with the other girls. OMIGOD. . .
did I just say *other* girls? Oh my.
Mrs. Franson is another story altogether, and one of those
frightening unknowns that I have learned to approach very
cautiously. She is still very reserved around me - did not say
even a single unnecessary word to me the entire time Jane and
I were there. Guess she was afraid I would shatter all over
her shop if she teased me in the slightest.
Another downer, for me at least, is that Jane gave Beth, or
rather David his acceptance letter today. Evidently, she had
been holding it until the last moment. He is going off to
college at a university in Illinois in the fall semester. I
am going to miss my big sister, and I am more than a little
nervous about being the only sissy in the house. Jane has
promised to tone down her games, but what if she starts
feeling deprived? Oh, well, I will have about a month and a
half without David before I have to make the final decision
after Michelle's trial period.
I am also getting antsy. It's summer and I really feel the
need to go out and get some exercise, to run and go play some
tennis or something. Most of these early lessons in the
feminine mysteries have been pretty sedentary, unless you
count high heeled endurance walking as exercise. It hurts
like exercise, especially in my arches and in my shins, but I
don't think it does much for my cardiovascular fitness. Guess
I need to talk to Jane about this. God. . .err, goodness
knows what she will come up with this time.
Michelle Nash
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
21 July - Day 5
Dear Diary
SHIT! GODDAMN HER! BITCH!! SLIME GODDESS OF THE WESTERN
WORLD!!
There.
All the things I wanted to scream at Jane but did not deem
wise given the circumstances of our meeting.
The god damned soap was in the shape of a man's cock! And it
was HUGE - half again as long as Michael's and almost twice as
thick! I could barely get my mouth around the thing. Jane
was at her very best at being her very worst, too. Telling me
how this particular discipline was also practice for when I
started going out with boys. "A girl who can't let a boy in
her panties needs other skills, dear. Now see how deep you
can get *him* before you gag too much."
She even made me touch up my lipstick before she started the
punishment, telling me that I would always be properly made up
and coiffed for correction. "To emphasize and affirm our
goals, dear even in your times of greatest stress."
Right.
And it had absolutely *nothing* to do with the fact that she
took a picture of me with that damn thing in my mouth with her
instant camera, either.
Did I mention that the thing tasted absolutely vile? Even
worse than the bar soap? The ninety minute wait was awful. I
must have used a half a bottle of mouth wash and most of a
tube of toothpaste getting the taste *almost* out of my mouth.
When I told Beth, the little bitch *laughed*. She nearly fell
off her chair and when she finally stopped laughing for a few
seconds, she actually had the gall to ask if she could see the
picture. I have only one thing to say to that, which of
course, I did not say to her.
Pay backs are hell, sister.
As for the root cause of my problem, I am going to start
keeping track of my own little curses, just as a reminder to
myself not to do them. Also, to make sure that Jane isn't
padding the count. I think she enjoyed my little trial just a
bit too much tonight. Its not that I don't trust her, but I
guess I don't trust her. Not when she is plotting her little
tests, I don't.
I am going to brush my teeth again and go to bed. It has been
a long day and a longer evening.
Michelle Nash
A Losing Season: Chapter 17. First Confrontation
As if the previous night's punishment had not been humiliating
enough, Michelle awoke to find her panties soaked from a very
heavy nocturnal emission. Not wanting that fact known by
Maria, which was the same as telling Jane directly, she
hurried into her bathroom and carefully rinsed the sodden mass
free of the thick, viscous fluid. Michelle decided that, if
asked, she'd claim she'd had an "accident" during the night.
It had the advantage of almost being the truth - she certainly
hadn't done that intentionally - but hopefully anyone hearing
it would assume she'd gotten urine on them.
"A fine thing when you'd rather folks think you pissed your
pants than know the truth, Nash." she said with a touch of
humor.
What was worse for the boy/girl, was the dream she'd been
having that precipitated the involuntary climax. Aunt Jane
had been "correcting" him again, only this time with a real
penis - a real penis that had been connected to Aunt Jane. A
real penis that had been *part* of Aunt Jane. Throughout the
dream, he'd felt again the strain of keeping his jaws open to
admit the phallus, and had heard again the ringing taunts of
his Aunt. But *this* time, he'd been excited, and the onset
of Jane's orgasm had triggered his own.
Michael had still been a virgin on his arrival at Jane's home
over a month ago. Young men at all male boarding schools do
not get much opportunity to deal with young girls except in
very tightly controlled situations. And unlike his peers,
Michael did not have real vacations in which he could have
dealt with them in anything remotely resembling uncontrolled
situations. Oh, he'd learned to masturbate, and he'd had a
fairly active relationship with "Merry Hand and her five
sisters" since he'd turned thirteen. He also understood the
mechanics and the societal expectations of sex. But Aunt Jane
with a penis? And in the dream Michelle had enjoyed it? That
was scary.
Did that mean Michelle *wanted* to be a girl, or at least, to
assume the feminine role in the sex act? Did that mean she
wanted to be with another guy? Michael, and here it
definitely *was* Michael thinking, did not think he could
handle that. Maybe this was one of those times he should call
and talk to Eric. He decided to wait until later, when Eric
would be home. This call might take a while.
Michelle spent the rest of the day in isolated, melancholy
thought, often frowning, looking disturbed. After a couple of
attempts to involve her in conversation, Beth had finally
given up and had gone off without her. Jane kept an wary eye
on her ward for several hours and finally decided she needed
to do something.
She caught up with Michelle in the English Country Garden
where the girl was sitting on a bench under the arbor, staring
at a rose bush. "Do you want me to apologize?" Jane asked.
Michelle started at the unexpected voice and then gazed up at
her aunt in surprise. "Whatever for, Aunt Jane?"
"For the way the correction went last night, of course. I
realize now that I may have gone too far with that particular
soap toy. So, do I owe you an apology?"
She watched as Michelle seemed to consider that, before she
shrugged. "Probably not. I wasn't expecting it, but I
suspect that the experience will help me clean up my language
all the quicker for it."
"Then what is bothering you, girl?" Aunt Jane asked in some
exasperation. "We agreed that we would be honest with each
other throughout this trial period so that no unexpected or
unintended slights would fester to affect your final decision.
If that wasn't the problem, what is?"
"It's not that, Aunt Jane." Michelle answered with a deep
sigh. "Well, maybe part of it, but not the whole of it."
Jane thought about what Maria had told her earlier, and
suddenly put it all together. "Does this have anything to do
with the stains that Maria found on your bed sheets this
morning, Michelle?" The girl's eyes went wide with dismay and
then she turned away, her face flushing with heat. "So, you
came in your panties last night after we finished." Jane said
with certainty. She got her answer when the girl's complexion
took on an even darker shade of red and then tried to leave.
Jane caught her and eased her back down. "Do I have it all,
now? C'mon, now, give me the whole of it, girl. Don't let
this fester."
Still, Michelle could not bring herself to say anything.
"Please."
That was the most shocking word Jane had yet spoken to her,
and it opened the floodgates. Slowly, haltingly, Michelle
began to speak. She told of the dream, of the hermaphroditic
Jane and of Michelle's willing compliance and Michael's
orgasm. She spoke of her fears about her sexuality and how
this little play might affect it in the future.
Understanding now, Jane nodded, swallowing just a little bit
hard herself. The child did have some . . . very interesting
dreams. "All right. I am calling a trial period time out.
Michael and I need to talk, Michelle. Be in my study in
thirty minutes. If Michael wishes to be dressed in male
clothes for this, he has my permission to do so without
penalty." With that, she turned on her heel and walked back
to the house.
A Losing Season: Chapter 18. Interlude - Jane and Michael
Unsure what Jane had in mind, Michael took her hint about male
clothes, up to a point. He did not really feel like going
through struggling back into all his girl clothes again,
particularly that instrument from hell, the body shaper. So
he merely stripped off his skirt and blouse, pulled on a Nike
exercise suit over his lingerie before pulling on white socks
and sneakers over his stockings. He barely remembered to
remove his wig, and saw he still had cosmetics on when he went
to straighten the fuzz that had started to grow back on his
skull. For a moment, he considered not cleaning that off,
either, but in the end, decided to wash it all off. Besides,
it didn't take him all that long to do up Michelle's face from
scratch in any case.
Jane was waiting in the study with a pot of tea and some
cakes. She was not behind her imposing desk, either. Rather,
she had set the tea up at the little conversation grouping.
near the fire place. He would not be seated in "the chair"
looking at her across her desk of power.
Jane personally poured the tea, and Michael wondered if she'd
done that was because he was Michael and not Michelle. She'd
always made Michelle pour, and expected her to know exactly
how each of her guests took their tea, so it came as a further
surprise when, without asking, Jane added his preferred amount
of honey and lemon before offering him his cup. Jane knew
something so inconsequential about him? He'd have sworn she
never paid any attention to him, or rather Michelle, during
these little tea ceremonies.
His face must have conveyed that because Jane chuckled softly.
"I make you remember how those you pour for take their tea,
Michael. Do you think me less genteel in my decorum than what
I demand of my girls? Of course I know the proper way to
serve tea. I *am*, first and foremost, a *lady*."
She sat back and sipped her own tea. "I have never done this
before with one of my boys, Michael. Pulled them out of their
feminine finery for a few minutes in order to speak with them
without the barriers of the masquerade on their part, and
without the persona of the harsh taskmistress on my part to
inhibit the free exchange between my student and me."
"So why is this different with me?"
"Because this whole situation is different, Michael - very
different, and I don't want to mess it up before we even get
started. First of all, I want you to understand that Maria
was not intentionally invading your privacy when she found the
semen stains on your bedding. Checking the sheets for such
things is something we have always done with our little girls.
That is the reason we never made you make your own beds."
"Why?" the incredulous tone in Michael's voice made her smile.
"Michael, silk, satins, fine lingerie, all those pampering
little feminine rituals are really very sensual experiences.
They look nice, and more importantly, they feel nice. My
young men are, like you, young *men*. Virile, potent, and
excitable. One of the key signs that I am finally starting to
reach inside the heads of my students is when the sensuality
begins to overwhelm their reticence and repugnance. Young men
being what they are, they need relief from such pressures,
either by . . . ummm, taking things in hand, or by having wet
dreams. In the past, I have always needed to know when that
happens so that I could adjust what I am doing. Ergo, Maria
made the beds."
"And in my case, she just did it because she always does?"
"Yes, because it has become a habit." Then that wicked grin
returned and Michael felt a cold chill run up his spine. "In
your case, I already knew Michelle had been reached because
Sandy told me about you ejaculating spontaneously at the
beauty shop." She became serious again. "But that is not
what happened last night, is it? The dream you had? It was
just as you described it?" He nodded. "And now, you are
worried about your sexual orientation? That your experience in
skirts might make you want boys and not girls? Because you
dreamed of having me force you to suck a penis and you had an
orgasm because of it?" Michael nodded, again, his eyes firmly
focused on the floor.
Jane stood and walked over to her window before turning to
face Michael again. "Are you a virgin, Michael?"
She had her answer in an instant, but held back, hoping he
would speak first. "When would I ever have gotten the
opportunity, Jane? Dad is gone. Mom keeps me imprisoned in
all boy schools and camps. The closest I have been to more
than one girl my own age in the past year was at Caro's,
during the make up lesson, and then I was *one* of the girls."
"Not much you could do to plight your troth in that situation,
was there?" she said cheerfully. "Michael, I don't think you
need to worry. You reacted to a highly charged, highly sexual
situation that I forced on you last night. Now, if you'd
dreamed about a guy in your mouth, well, even that wouldn't
mean anything, but you dreamed about me, a woman, doing it.
That I had a penis was probably just a reaction to what I had
done to you. If I had stuck a soap carving of a woman's vulva
into your mouth, you probably would have dreamed of me in a
more realistic form, but just as dominant over you." She
considered for a moment if she really wanted to take this any
further, and decided it was necessary. She'd promised honesty
to him, just as he had to her. "Have you ever heard of
bondage and discipline? Sadomasochism?"
Michael surprised her by nodding almost immediately. "At
school. One of the guys had a father who sent him bootleg
copies of Penthouse and Playboy. The readers letters sections
were full of that stuff."
"Liked those magazines, did you? Well, in their milder forms,
those variations can be a very exciting way of having sex, or
if you prefer, of making love. As long as the participants
really care for one another, there is really nothing very
wrong with acting out those games, and certainly nothing wrong
with having fantasies about them. Instead, if they excite you
and your partner, you should try to enjoy them as you would
any other mutually pleasurable games. If it doesn't hurt
anyone, why not?"
She saw him mulling that over and decided to continue.
"Michael, last night, I probably went too far. My original
goal, as you surmised, was to make the correction so
embarrassing that you'd work all the harder to avoid a
recurrence. Unfortunately, my darker nature got the better of
me and I said and did some things that were over the line.
For that, I am sorry."
"Thank you, Jane, for that. I am okay with that. The dream
did bother me, and I spent a great deal of time today trying
to come to grips with that dream and what it meant. What it
implied about me. I am still not sure I do understand all of
that, but one thing I am surer of today than ever before.
Even in skirts, I still like girls. I still *want* girls."
"Well, if you spend four years as Michelle, you may find that
many little feminine touches are creeping into your mind set.
I expect that you will continue to like and want girls, but
you can expect to be in the company of men as a very
attractive female on a fairly regular basis, and they will
respond to you as they would any pretty girl. Don't be
surprised if you start responding back. It is neither wrong
nor evil, okay?"
Michael considered that and then shrugged. "I am going to
have to do a lot more thinking about that, Jane. At this
point, I cannot even imagine being physically attracted to
another man."
Jane smiled, a strangely gentle smile that Michael had never
seen before. "I know, but then, many of the things you will
face and do are going to require and impose major changes in
your thinking. Just keep your mind open and keep on
thinking." That earned her a smile and nod. Jane wanted to
cheer, but contented herself with a little smile of her own.
"Now, anymore questions?"
"Just a couple. You did say that the soapy vulva thing would
have been more realistic? I mean, you . . . ummmm. . . aren't
like Michelle? You, yourself, I mean." and this was Michelle
asking, and in such an sweetly curious voice that Jane was
momentarily speechless.
Then she burst out laughing. "You . . . you . . ." words
momentarily failed her. "That was the bitchiest, cattiest
thing I have heard in weeks." Then she fought to regain
control. "Well done! And if you *must* know," she said in
measured, aristocratic tones, "The only way a penis is ever
inside *my* panties is when one is attached to a male I
impertinent question, Miss Nosy-britches?"
"Yes, Aunt Jane." was the prim response. "Thank you *very*
much. I am sure I won't have *that* bad dream again."
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
22 July - Day 6
Dear Diary
The time-out thing worked well. It helped to meet with Jane
as near equals. She even apologized to me for going to far
last night. Oddly, after the dream last night and the talk
with Jane today, it doesn't seem all that bad. Actually,
thinking about it causes certain male parts of my anatomy
stand up and be noticed. A very uncomfortable experience in
this too-small all-in-one body shaper. Erect cocks are not
meant to be bent that way.
Still, I am glad Aunt Jane saw the problem and cared enough to
try to fix it. Almost makes me believe she meant what she
said about really wanting to help. And it gives me a whole
new perspective on what she calls her "dark side". Aunt Jane
is a very attractive lady, in a mature sort of way. Kind of
like that woman, Joan something or other who was a star on
that old late night soap opera. What was it called? Destiny?
Dynasty? Can't remember. The dorm senior would turn off the
TV whenever we tried to watch it back in seventh grade.
What was it she said? As long as it feels good and doesn't
hurt anyone, eh? Well, I suspect that Aunt Jane is going to
play a role in the dreams of the part of me that remains
Michael for quite a while to come.
On another issue, she understood my need for some exercise,
and will look into it. Her concern is that I not build up too
much muscle mass, so that I can continue to look slim, elegant
and feminine. We are not trying for Cory Everson here. I hope
we can do something. She says she has a friend who is a
dietitian and a fitness instructor who might be able to help
and who knows about Aunt Jane's . . .hobby.
I am tired, and I am going to go to bed. Who knows? I might
dream again. Just in case, tonight I won't wear the bottoms
of my sleep set. The stains from this morning don't seem to
want to come out of the gusset of the ones I tried to clean.
Oh well.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 19.
Not much happened for the next few days. Michelle and Beth
spent a great deal of time together with Beth helping impart
what she'd learned over her time with Jane to her friend. Of
course, she'd tried to do that before, but the key difference
was that this time, Michelle had become a willing student.
Neither Jane nor Michelle brought up their 'time out'
discussions. Perhaps just as well, Michelle mused, since
parts of that had been as embarrassing as anything Jane had
done to her in their earlier dealings. Still, she *really*
wanted to burn off this excess energy. Walking back and
forth, up and down the long front hall, wearing progressively
higher heeled shoes (she was up to two and half inches), while
balancing Conan-Doyle on her head was NOT enough exercise.
It still came as something of a surprise when, at dinner two
weeks after Michelle's commitment to the trial period, Jane
said that they had an appointment the next day. "She is a
certified nutritionist and personal trainer, Michelle. Nora,
that is, Nurse Bedford, found her for me. This lady works
with gender dysphoric men who are considering sex reassignment
surgery . . you know what that is?" she asked.
"Is that what they do to guys who want to become women, Aunt
Jane?" Michelle had asked wide eyed with anxiety.
"Close enough for our purposes, Michelle. Anyway, this woman
helps them with diet and exercise programs designed to help
them sculpt their figures and still keep healthy. Evidently
many such people do really stupid things, like starve
themselves to fit into their idealized concept of womanhood.
The result is that they become very ill, lose bone mass, and
sometimes need medical care."
"What will she do to . . .I mean . .for me, Aunt Jane?" was
the somewhat quavering question.
"She will look you over, Michelle, and come up with an initial
program of diet and exercise for you. She will also evaluate
you physically. Whatever we do in this, Michelle - and I am
telling you this as Michael, too - I *insist* that we not
damage your health in the process. If we can't make you over
into the drop-dead gorgeous creature that you wish to present
to your Mother in lieu of her son, well, that is something you
need to know so that you can make an informed decision at the
end of our trial period."
Michelle considered that and finally nodded. "What will we
tell her? About me, I mean?"
"Excellent question, Michelle." Jane said approvingly. "Keep
thinking like that, dear. I think we will play this by ear
for now. I think she will probably believe without being
told, that you are another man thinking about SRS. If she
doesn't ask, we won't tell. If she does ask, I will try and
lead her to the conclusion that you wish to live as femininely
as possible, but won't be making any other permanent changes
in the near future. Later, when we know more about her,
perhaps we will bring her in on the scheme. All right?" she
asked, watching her charge very closely and smiled inwardly as
Michelle finally sighed, and nodded agreement.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
31 July - Day 15
Dear Diary
Well, I met Sonja Bjornson today. Only one word adequately
describes the impact of this woman on the unsuspecting.
Wow.
This is one very big lady. Not unattractive, but BIG. . . and
TALL! Everywhere. VERY big. Overwhelming, even. I am not
used to looking up at ladies, even one as lovely as this
Viking warrior princess. Not that much, anyway. She was
wearing heels, which my now-trained eyes put at about three
inches tall, but then, my own heels were that high, too. She
still topped my own relatively-short-for-a-guy-5 feet 5 inches
by a good five or six inches.
And every part of her is just as big. Not fat, god no - she
is shapely and has a very nice smile to go with long, almost
white-blond hair and stunningly blue eyes. Still, I bet she
is pushing two hundred pounds and is not a tenth of a percent
over the minimum recommended percent body fat for women.
She was very nice and very professional. The first part of
the consultation involved me having to strip.
Naked.
In front of Brunhilda, queen of the Valkyries.
I resisted - she insisted. I still resisted - she still
insisted and finally, Jane ordered it.
I sort of embarrassed myself during the examination because I
had one of what Jane refers to as an "uncontrollable male
physiological response". Sonja's only comment to that was to
say to Jane, "Well, you weren't lying when you said she was
not on hormones, were you?" That made us all laugh and that
helped ease the tension a bit, if not my physiological
response.
She proceeded to measure me all over, in places I have never
been measured before. She took callipers and pinched skin on
my arms, belly, thighs, calves, buttocks and my back. She
asked me what type of physical activity I was used to and I
told her long distance running, tennis and swimming. She
asked when I had gone through puberty and I told her almost
six years ago.
Her only response to that was that I wouldn't need to worry
about a growth spurt so long after the onset of puberty.
Great!
Then she let me dress before she began the interview phase.
She asked what types of things I ate and what I liked to eat.
She approved, mostly, of the diet that Jane had me on, but was
appalled by my preference for that fine French cuisine,
burgers de junk a la Macdonald's. Whereupon, I was told,
quite firmly, that there were sacrifices that must be made to
be beautiful. Jane was listening, too, dammit.
Anyway, Maria is now clucking over the new diet plan, and I
have been given the go ahead for an exercise program that will
not prevent me from accomplishing my goal. It involves some
swimming (breast stroke preferred so as to not build up the
pectorals) power walking to build up the pelvis, a very
special kind of crunch that will tighten the tummy and help
give me a figure, and dance - both aerobic for cardiovascular
fitness and modern dance - for flexibility and grace.
She also recommended that. . "Since she is still. . .
excitable around other women, Ms. Thompson, you might want to
invest in a gaff for her?"
Jane laughed aloud at that, and it was NOT one of her nice
laughs either. I tried to get her to tell me what a gaff was
all the way home, but she'd just start laughing again before
telling me that I'd find out soon enough. That, and the fact
it has something to do with my "male physiological reaction"
does NOT make me happy.
Tomorrow, we go shopping for exercise clothes and bathing
suits. Since I cannot wear the body shaper in a bikini, I
suspect that means one-piece suits. That is fine with me.
One of those women's racing suits that goes up to the throat
is even more better!
Michelle Nash.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
1 August - Day 16
Dear Diary
I know what a gaff is now - the jockstrap from hell, only its
purpose is not to protect me from injury as to protect me from
discovery. It is designed, as Jane so succinctly put it, is
"To give you a nice smooth feminine profile, dear. After all,
you can't very well exercise in petticoats."
My immediate response to *that* was "Thank God!", which
brought out Jane's damned green book. However, now that she
and Maria (it took BOTH of them) have shoe-horned me into this
'ahem' unique item of apparel, I'm not quite so sure if I want
to thank ANYONE.
Basically, it is a belt affair, that forces my dick and balls
between my legs and then pulls them up, hard. My balls have
retreated into the cavity from whence they came, and that HURT
when it happened. Jane assures me they will come back down
where they belong. Eventually.
There is no way I am going to get hard wearing this thing.
Gotta run. Time to go shopping. Oh Joy.
Right.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 20. Pain is Good, Coach
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
1 August - Day 16
Dear Diary
I am back from shopping, and if there is any part of this
masquerade that is going to send me screaming into the night,
it is too many more of these "little shopping trips" of
Jane's.
We went to Ms. Franson's place for the swimsuits and we bought
two one piece suits, both with relatively high necklines so
that I can wear the breast inserts I use with regular clothes
(good thing they are plastic and therefore water proof). I am
almost embarrassed to say that even the A-cup bikini tops
bagged on me - so much for bikinis. Jane has that martial
look in her eyes, however, so I don't think the bikini has
faded into the sunset just yet.
That was the easy part. Work out clothes are as much a pain
in the rear as regular clothes. I cannot believe how many
different outfits Jane insisted were absolutely necessary. I
even asked her to come into the dressing room with me and
swear to me that this was not another of her evil little games
and she gave me her word that every single item was required.
I now have six or seven different outfits for aerobics (they
remind me of my old wrestling singlet from junior high school,
only they are even tighter and much more brightly colored)as
well as four or five running outfits - all with matching hair
ribbons. I swear there are even different types of shoes for
different types of aerobics. Finding room for all this stuff
is going to be difficult. I guess some of Michael's stuff
goes back into the attic. Sigh.
It sure was easier for Michael, though . . . pull on a pair of
shorts, the oldest t-shirt he could find, a ratty old pair of
running shoes and then hit the gym. Just getting ready for my
first aerobics class tomorrow is probably going to take at
least three quarters of an hour. Jane said I even need to put
on make up so I will look my best with all the other women.
Which reminds me, we also bought some special cosmetics
designed for working out. It is not supposed to run when I
break into a good sweat. . oops, I mean when I begin to gently
glow.
What was it Linus used to say in Peanuts? Oh yeah.
AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!
Michelle Nash
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
1 August - Day 16
Dear Diary
Small postscript here. I just reread the previous entry and I
realized that I talked about Michael in the second person
throughout. Does that mean I am getting closer to thinking as
Michelle and in the feminine tense? I wonder what that will
mean for me in October if I decide that I can't or don't want
to proceed with the plan? Will I have to work just as hard to
be Michael again? I certainly HOPE not, but neither am I
willing to bet the ranch that I won't.
Michelle Nash
A Losing Season: Chapter 21. Exercise Aftermath
Jane entered her home by way of the garden door at the side of
the house. She'd been meditating in her favorite spot of the
garden, beneath the grape arbor, overlooking the small pond
garden. It was about time for Michelle to return from her
first aerobics class, and Jane wanted to be there in case
anything had gone wrong. She'd really wanted to go along but
both Sonja and Michelle had rejected that idea. A non-
participant watching over one particular student simply drew
too much attention. And, unlike Michelle, Jane had *no*
interest in participating in such an exercise in masochism as
a step aerobics class.
The first thing she heard was laughter, then an outraged voice
raised in furious, if somewhat breathless denial. She located
the sound as coming from the front parlor and slipped quietly
to the room door.
"Dammit Beth!" came the out-of-breath voice. "It is not
funny!"
The answering chuckle Jane heard was much more "David" than
"Beth". Actually that was a good sign. David was sensitive
enough to the situation and to its dangers that he would not
be reacting this way if Michelle's problem was truly serious.
In that case, she thought, I'll just listen in for a bit. She
pulled out her little green book, carefully documented the
"Dammit", and then settled down for a little productive
eavesdropping.
"That woman Sonja is a sadist, I tell you. She damn near
killed me in the first half hour and that was only the warmup.
I thought I was in shape, but I guess all of this time spent
being dainty for Jane must have done me in."
Another peal of laughter. "And what did you call it?
Jiggling? Tell me, Michelle, did you get to enjoy watching
the other women jiggle?"
A different laugh answered that. Jane was pleased to note that
Michelle had still managed to laugh in her feminine voice.
She'd forgive the "damn near" as a reward. "Heck, Beth, after
the first fifteen minutes, it was all I could do to keep up
without tripping over my own feet."
"Damn, I wish I could have seen that." Beth laughed heartily.
"Well, sweetie," and Jane heard that sly, catty voice that
Michelle had picked up somewhere and held her breath. "Jane
did buy me two gaffs, and I do have so many outfits, I am
more than happy to take you with me tomorrow, then you could
see it all, first hand. Besides, darling, it would do you
good - a girl does need to keep her figure."
"Bite me, Michelle." was Beth's sharp retort.
"No need to be crude, darling. But in that case, I'll just
eat your desert tonight, so you won't be tempted."
Deciding enough was enough, Jane walked into the room.
Michelle was sprawled over the fainting couch looking very
much like she *had* fainted. The pastel patterned workout
suit was dark with perspiration, and the ponytail she had
worked her wig into was looking very frazzled.
"Aunt Jane!" she yelped as she jumped into a more lady like
position.
"Michelle, Beth." she calmly acknowledged the pair. "And what,
pray tell, was the cause of all that unseemly laughter?"
Beth swallowed, and looked sheepishly at Michelle who just
shrugged. "Beth was just teasing me a little about the
aerobics class, Aunt Jane."
"Did it go well?"
"Not as well as I had hoped; not as badly as it could have
gone. You did not tell me that Sonja herself taught that
class. She is an animal!"
"I believe I heard you use the word 'sadist' earlier."
Michelle flushed bright red at being caught. "Too tough for
you, Michelle?" she challenged deliberately.
She fought a grin as the girl/boy's spine snapped straight,
her shoulders went back and her stomach sucked in. "No, Aunt
Jane, she's not. Besides, if she leads the class, she knows I
am in it and I expect she will tell me when an exercise is not
appropriate for me."
"I am glad you realize that, Michelle. In fact, as I
understand it from Sonja, there are at least four more of her
special students in that class. She told me about that one
because she tailors it for men who are working at maintaining
feminine figures through exercise."
Michelle thought about that bit of news, and recalled one
particular woman at the class - a tall, slender redhead - who
kept looking over at her throughout the class. At the time,
Michelle had thought it was just because she was new to the
class, but now. . . Well, if that redhead was a male, he was
very, very good at the role. Maybe Michelle should make a
point of watching her a bit more closely next time. She must
might learn something useful.
"Beth?" Jane's voice broke into Michelle's revery. "Please go
out and weed the flower beds around the grape arbor before
dinner."
"All right, Jane. See you at dinner, Michelle. If you aren't
too stiff to make it back down the stairs."
Michelle threw a pillow at Beth's retreating back, for which
she earned a scowl from Jane. "Michelle, I was listening in
on your conversation with Beth before I entered the room."
Michelle's face fell as she recalled a few curses that would
now have to go into her diary. Jane smiled her dangerous
smile that still chilled Michelle's blood. "Calm down." she
ordered. "For the most part, you did quite well. David broke
character, but you did not. Yes, I heard the "Dammit's", but
you kept your feminine tones throughout. Now, why do you
think I am bringing this up?"
Michelle thought about it for a long moment and then sighed.
"Because there is never going to be a time when I am not on
stage?"
Nodding her approval, Jane continued. "As long as you are
dressed, you need to stay in role. You never know who is
going to be coming around the corner, or who will be listening
just outside of your field of vision. If you are going to
pull this off, you must *be* Michelle whenever you are
wrong place or at the wrong time, and it is all over. When
you were here for my regular program, I very carefully
selected where you were seen and who was in a position to see
you if your cover was broken."
Jane paused to let that sink in. "But I can no longer do that
for you, Michelle, because you are going to have to live a
normal life, at least normal for a young woman, and go places
that are not preselected for your safety in the event you slip
up. You will have to do all that, my dear, and the only way
you can hope to pull it off without being discovered is not to
let Michael slip past Michelle's guard. You cannot let down,
even here at home because if you get sloppy here, with Beth
for instance, you might forget and get sloppy at the mall in
response to the same type of stimuli from Beth. Do you
understand?"
She watched as the girl mentally chewed on that before nodding
slowly. "Yes, Aunt Jane, I do understand. It is going to be
very difficult, though. I am just beginning to understand how
difficult."
"Still game, kid?" Jane asked cockily.
"Yes, Aunt Jane. I am still game." Michelle answered
demurely. "And thank you for this lesson. I had not
considered things quite that way."
Slowly, painfully the girl rose to her feet to leave. Her
obvious discomfort made Jane wince in empathy for her.
"Please excuse me, Aunt Jane. I am going to go soak in a hot
tub so that I don't get any stiffer. No way am I going to let
Beth have the last laugh on this."
Jane managed to hold her own laughter until she heard
Michelle's bedroom door close behind her.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
5 August - Day 20
Dear Diary
Jane has asked me if I would consider working with her circle
of confederates on this project. As Jane pointed out, Caro,
Sandy and Mrs. Franson are really the experts in their part of
the game, and Jane has always relied on them for the complex
stuff. Maria is pretty good at the day to day makeup and
dress up, but when Jane wants something special, like when she
wants a boy to pass in close quarters, she gets out the big
guns.
She went so far as to hint, and not very darned subtly, that
since she is not going to be taking on any of her "special
students" while she is supervising me, the least I could do
was let her "dear friends in on the fun."
Yeah, Right! Like being nice to that pack of . . . .I don't
even want to think of a word for them because it might slip
out. I am just a too close to the magic 100 curses again.
Anyway, to state it elegantly and with proper feminine
restraint, I do not believe that the pleasure of those
upstanding members of Jane's acquaintance stands very highly
on my list of personal priorities.
On the other hand, I guess I will probably need the big guns
to help pull this off. Which means I am eventually going to
agree to this proposal of Jane's, but I can't say I much like
the idea.
I wonder how they will really feel about working with me, now
that I think about it. Since the start of the trial period,
my relations with them all have been a bit strained. Mrs.
Franson was very reserved with me the two times I have been in
her store. As for Caro and Sandy, I just don't know. Sandy
was just so evil to me before and she was still pretty rough
the other day when I went in for my first voluntary treatment.
Caro was better, but she was very wary around me, like she was
afraid something was going to go badly wrong any second.
That is probably it. They are afraid because of the suicide
attempt. They don't want to be around if I lose it again.
Heck, they might even be feeling somewhat responsible and
guilty about it. Plus, they have to be worrying for
themselves about the potential repercussions for them and
their shops if word got out about: A. what they were doing and
B. that one of the boys attempted to kill himself after one of
their sessions.
Its odd that I am writing about that . . .event now. Odder
still, it *feels* like I am writing about someone else or
writing ancient history. I can't even imagine doing what I
most assuredly tried to do. I can't seem to remember what I
was feeling or what I was thinking then, either. All I can
see in my minds eye is like something out of a dream - out of
focus and indistinct.
I am seeing a therapist in Providence now, twice a week. Eric
referred me to her. She, like Sonja, works with a lot of
gender dysphoric people. I don't think that is what I am. I
am not confused about who and what I am. I am a male who is
working to perfect a disguise as a female to achieve a
distinct and specific purpose.
Still, Dr. Spinelli understands the conflicts I feel, and she
seems to be able to get to the heart of things that bother me
a whole lot quicker than I can on my own. She hasn't been at
all judgmental about my reasons for doing this, either. She
sure does ask a lot of questions, though. Problem is, I don't
much care for a lot of the answers. Well, if what I do with
my Mother is wrong and a mistake, I am just going to have to
learn to live with it.
Well, I guess I will go tell Jane to bring on the Committee on
the Feminine Arts. Of course, if Sandy gets too nasty, we can
always get into a cat fight now that I am not quite so
terrified of Jane. Heck, if we get into a hair pulling
contest, I will win that one hands down. Mine's still too
short to pull and the wig will just come off in her hands.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 22. The Committee
"More tea, Carolyn, or perhaps another cake?" Michelle asked
as she reached for the elegant Limoges tea pot on the tray in
front of her. She was in the front parlor of Jane's house,
seated in an antique, straight backed chair. She was under
the microscope, knew it, and strangely enough, was beginning
to enjoy it.
"No, thank you, Michelle. I am fine for now." said Carolyn.
She, along with Sandy, Jane and Brenda Franson were seated
across from Michelle on the large sofa and love seat.
Michelle had spent the last thirty minutes acting as hostess
for this small tea party, as Jane explained the purpose of the
meeting and what she proposed for them to do for her ward.
Brenda set down her cup and looked first at Jane, and then at
Michelle. "Well, that is a remarkable story, Jane. As to
what you want us to do, well, I am not sure about that. I
have some concerns about this undertaking and I think I need
to talk to you privately about those."
Before Jane could respond, Michelle interposed herself into
the conversation. "You are worried, Ms. Franson, about me . .
.about the fact that I tried to kill myself." she said flatly.
It was not really a question, but Michelle got her answer when
the woman went white and looked away. "It is something I am
trying to face myself. In all honesty, I don't know what to
tell you, except that I am getting professional help in that
arena, and that my therapist does not think I am at risk. If
you like, I will call her and tell her to discuss my case with
you openly, the same as she does with Aunt Jane."
Brenda stared at the person her mind told her was a seventeen
year old boy, but whom every sense told her was a beautiful,
elegantly turned out and poised young lady. Finally, she
spoke. "If you don't mind, Michelle, I would still like to
talk to your Aunt, but I will say that your offer has relieved
me somewhat."
Michelle nodded, smiling her understanding.
"Well, I for one, don't see the big deal, Jane. Aside from
playing such a dirty trick on another woman, getting this one
to pass that way shouldn't be any trouble at all as long as
she doesn't hit a growth spurt. I told you I thought she was
the prettiest, most passable sissy you ever brought in to the
shop."
"*Not* a sissy, Sandra." was Jane's quelling response. "We
are going far beyond the simple disguises that were enough
when the goal was to tease and torment an overblown adolescent
male ego. Michelle is going to become a female impersonator
who can pass in any company, any situation."
A lascivious smile crossed Sandy's lips and she slanted a
thoroughly mean look at Michelle. "*Any* situation, Jane? I
know some guys who. ."
"Sandra!" Jane snapped. "If you cannot or will not help with
this then you may leave. We are here to help. I asked you
here because you are the best at what you do, and because we
might have gone too far and contributed to what Michelle went
through that night. Do you want to help or not?"
Sandy looked disappointed at the no-nonsense tone of Jane's
rebuff, but finally agreed. "Although I cannot promise not to
forget and slip in a little jab every now and then. I'm gonna
know who you are under all the satin and lace, and my teasing
is just something I've always done." She sighed.
Michelle thought about that and nodded. "I can handle that,
Sandy."
Jane spoke up. "As long as they *are* only slip ups and only
every now and then, Sandra. Too many, too often and we will
have to reconsider the project. Now, can Michelle count on
you?"
"All right, count me in. Just smack me along side my head if
I get out line, Chellie."
Eyebrows lifting in surprise at the nickname, Michelle
grinned. "Why I would absolutely *love* to, Sandy." and then
her voice slipped in the sly tones she had learned by
mimicking Jane at her sweetest and most insincere. "Almost
makes me wish you do slip up every now and then."
All of the women gawked at the femininely garbed young man.
Caro almost choked on a swallow of hot tea. Sandy, however,
burst out laughing. "Well, I guess that shows me, girl. I
think I will be even more careful around you now than I would
have after Jane's threats."
"Oh, don't bother to go to any trouble on my account, Sandy."
Michelle responded sweetly.
"Well." Caro interjected, trying to regain her composure. "I
am in, too. And I have a suggestion. I think Michelle should
become a regular at my Wednesday classes for the local girls
on grooming and cosmetics." Michelle's frown as she recalled
her last experience with that little gathering. Regardless of
the fact that she herself had been thinking this might be a
good idea, returning to a situation that had been so. . .
frightening was more than a bit daunting. Still, she settled
herself to listen with an open mind and said nothing. She just
kept her full attention focused on Carolyn.
"Well, I think it would have several positive effects. First
of all, although you have learned that last lesson very well,
that particular style is not always appropriate. You need to
know how to tone it down for looking professionally competent,
or how to lay it on without looking cheap when you are going
out on a date or to a party."
Now it was Michelle's turn to gawk. "Date?" her voice rose an
octave. "Party? Who said anything about dating and
parties?!?"
"Males are a very big part of any near-adult female's life,
Michelle. If you avoid them, that will be noticed. You won't
be cloistered in Jane's house any more; taken out only on
specific excursions that are carefully planned to help you
remain undetected as a cross dressed male. You will, as I
understand it, be learning to be a lady, a woman. That means
functioning on your own, among other people who are not in on
the game. And people *will* notice you. As Sandy tried to
say, you make a very attractive girl and I suspect you will be
beautiful before we are done. If you don't seem to do the
things that girls your age do, it will start gossip. The
kindest of which would be that you are repressed and frigid.
They might even decide that you and Jane have a same sex
relationship and that could make life very difficult,
particularly if someone calls in social services since you are
still a minor."
Jane nodded. "Girls do tend to make friends with other girls,
and girls date boys, Michelle. Men are something you need to
learn to deal with if you are going to present yourself to
your Mother. When David leaves, we can have him come back as
himself by times to give you an "older man" boyfriend so that
you don't have to get *too* intimate with the boys you date.
You can always claim you are in a committed relationship.
Caro nodded. "That works. One thing we need to deal with is
why our young miss is not in school when we get into the
fall."
"I have been thinking about that, Carolyn." Michelle said
quietly. "I have an idea that should explain both that as
well as why I wear wigs, in case I am ever seen without one
until my hair grows back. Suppose I was ill before I came
here. I don't know, some type of parasite that required a
treatment like the chemotherapy they use for cancer. Right
now, I am on a carefully managed program of diet and exercise
to help slowly get my stamina back, but it looks like I will
return to school after Christmas. That way, it can be
Michelle leaving for boarding school so Michael can come back,
or Michelle going to school here."
"That will work." Jane said, a touch of admiration in her
voice. "And I can make the cover story even better. I know a
couple of doctors and someone in social services who will help
us with such documentation. I have had to do something like
this in the past to keep my girls out of the truant officer's
clutches. And since I am a certified teacher, we can home
school you during the remainder of your "recovery"."
Everyone seemed pleased with that solution, although Michelle
remained a little dubious about the dating-boys thing. Still,
she had to agree with Caro's and Jane's rationale, as much as
she would have liked to be able to punch holes in their
arguments.
Defeated, Michelle shrugged and forced a smile on to her face.
"Guess I will see you Wednesday afternoon, Caro."
A Losing Season: Chapter 23. Making Up with Caro and Sandy
Michelle hesitated outside the door to Marisha Chalet. The
odors of shampoo, hair coloring and hair dressing assailed her
nostrils. It was not a pleasant smell and it brought back
even less pleasant memories.
Michael really wondered if he really wanted to try to pass in
the company of a gaggle of real girls. Michelle cursed softly
under her breath. This was the first time in weeks that she
had slipped up, even in her mind, and thought of herself as
Michael, or in the masculine tense. It probably had a lot to
do with knowing that all the girls in there have been girls
since birth, while Michelle had not. Unconsciously, she was
comparing herself to them and finding herself lacking in some
way - hence the backslide in self imaging. He'd. . . .dammit,
And she had decided it *was* important to come here, although
her reasons were not precisely those given by Jane and Caro.
Michelle needed to observe girls her own age so that she could
learn to act more them. On careful reflection, she'd come to
the conclusion that her Michelle persona might be too mature
for her age, given that Jane was her principal feminine role
model. That was certainly all right for tea parties and
formal events, but not for being out and about in less
structured situations.
A gentle hand came down on Michelle's shoulder making her jump
away, ready to scream. "Easy, Michelle." came the quiet voice
of Carolyn. "I saw you standing outside as I was returning
from my lunch." She guided the girl away from the door and
walked her down the street a few blocks. "Having second
thoughts?" she asked kindly.
"Try third, fourth and fifth, Carolyn." Michelle answered with
a self deprecating laugh. "I did not think it would be so
hard, but I keep thinking that if anyone is going to see
through my masquerade, it is likely to be another girl."
"That's probably true, but I think I can help there. Last
time I put you in the spotlight. Of course, before I did that
to you, I made very sure you were looking very feminine *and*
feeling very submissive. You were so terrified and
circumspect that was never any real threat of exposure. I
won't be putting in the spotlight today."
"Thank god!"
Carolyn laughed. "I will have to tell Jane about that little
outburst for your green book, darling. Now, what we'll do is
let you just be in the class, around the edges. You won't
have their attention focused on you. You'll be able to get
used to them and they will get used to thinking of you as a
girl. Once they've accepted that mental image of you, you
will be able to take a more active role . . . . . again." she
added with a wicked twinkle in her eyes.
Shaking her head, Michelle refused to rise to the bait.
"Sounds like a plan, Caro." she answered with a relieved sigh.
"Ready, now?" the kindness was back in Caro's voice and that
was what decided Michelle as much or more than her other
arguments. She nodded, her eyes closed, making Carolyn
chuckle. "Okay, c'mon. They really are a good bunch."
Michelle fervently hoped so as she let the older woman lead
her into the shop.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 19 - Day 34
Dear Diary
Well, I have survived my first *voluntary* class on feminine
grooming at the Chalet. It was . . . okay. I guess.
Actually, what it was . . . was damned uncomfortable. For a
variety of reasons.
The first is the most obvious. Regardless of Caro's help and
comments to the contrary, I was still certain that I'd be
unmasked at some point during the afternoon. That does not
tend to make one feel very serene.
The second reason is that Caro was not quite square with me
when she talked me into the shop. You see, while she did in
fact let me sit in the background during the demonstration
phase, she neglected to tell me that she had added a practice
session. So I got to make up another girl after she made me
up. Which means that I spent the better part of an hour in
very close quarters with Anna, a very striking girl of Italian
descent. And the lovely Anna was looking at me, practically
through a microscope, trying to find the slightest of
imperfections. I suspect that since she was concentrating so
closely at my face, she did not notice the *key* imperfection.
Which is the third reason. These are all very pretty girls,
and the part of Michelle that is definitely Michael wants to
date (among other less gentlemanly behaviors) them.
sigh. . .I guess this means wearing a gaff to Wednesday make
up class. Ouch.
Still, on the bright side, once we got to the show-and-tell
portion of Caro's session, Anna and Michelle and the rest of
the group had all become friends. We got to laugh with each
other as Caro pointed out our little failures and helped us
fix them. The other girls loosened up when they saw Anna take
to me. I think that, up until then, they thought I was more
than a bit snooty because of the way I did not chat or stick
around after that first time when Caro used me for a
demonstration dummy.
Actually, I did quite well on Anna. Caro only pointed out a
couple of minor things that needed to be fixed. I don't think
that it will be quite that easy to put on myself, however.
But I will practice and I will master this, too.
I wonder, though, if that was the truth or if Carolyn had
another motivation.
You are sounding suspicious and paranoid, again, Ms. Nash.
Yup. I am.
Michelle Nash
~------------~
"You're kidding me, Carolyn. Tell me you did not really do
that." Jane said into the phone, a gleeful smile on her face.
"I most assuredly did, Jane. There was absolutely no way she
was going to be read in this group, so I decided to help her
get past this shyness around other girls. Thought the poor
dear was going to jump out of her panties or make a mad dash
to the door when I told them to split up into twosomes and
practice this style on each other."
"I don't doubt it for a minute. How did you keep Michelle
from bolting?"
A smug chuckle came across the line. "Paired her off with the
prettiest girl in the class. Michelle was quite enamored of
her, too. I think she got uncomfortably excited by having
Anna so close and fussing over her."
"Any ramifications? Did she give you hell afterwards?"
"No, not really. I think she was still too smitten by Anna to
be very angry or upset with me. And she did hang around the
shop for a few minutes after everyone else had left.
Personally, I think she was dealing with some unsightly
swelling and had to wait for it to go down."
"Poor Michelle." Jane chuckled. "So, besides your little
victory over her shy reticence, how did Michelle do in the
class?"
"Very well. Surprisingly well, in fact. She has a knack for
being able to physically reproduce precisely almost any
technique once she has seen it done, so she got the basics
down quickly. She also has an unusually good eye for color
and made some substitutions more suitable to Anna's skin tones
than the ones I had used on the girl I demonstrated on. And
she did not even ask if she should."
"A natural, eh?"
"Well, I don't think we will have to show her how to do
anything more than once. Jane, I have to run. See you
later, okay?"
"Bye, Carolyn, and thanks."
~--------------~
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 21 - Day 36
Dear Diary
I just get my pulse rate back to normal after Caro's little
stunt of putting me nose to nose with the lovely Anna, and now
this.
Anna just called. Seems she is having a party tomorrow night
at her parents house, and she wanted to know if I could come
on such short notice. Sort of a last fling before school
reopens. She even tried to entice me by promising that some of
the best looking guys in the area would be attending.
Joy, oh Joy.
I didn't think I could say no, but I did dutifully ask Aunt
Jane hoping for assistance from that corner. Of course, she
let me down and told me to have a "wonderful time".
Joy, oh Joy, again.
Well, fortunately, Anna's parents will be home, which means
that things should not get out of hand. Ought to be a safe
first introduction.
Oh, and this reminded Jane that I was supposed to be getting
dance lessons. So next week, I am enrolled at a dance studio
downtown to learn ballroom style dancing. Cripes, I don't
know how to dance like a guy leading the girl, and now I am
supposed to learn to dance the female part.
This has not been one of my better days. The one bright side
is that I don't need to go shopping. I already have a very
nice party dress that will work just fine.
I wish I had thought to ask if Beth could come, but it is too
late now. Besides, she probably would not want to go anymore
than I do, and Jane would side with her on this. Jane has
really eased up on Beth since the incident and the acceptance
letter. I am not looking forward to being here alone with
Jane, either.
Darn.
Michelle Nash
~------------~
Jane stood in the front foyer, all but tapping her toe in
impatience. Where *was* the girl, she fumed silently. They
were going to be late getting her to this party.
And Jane was determined that Michelle was going to attend.
She needed interaction with people her own age. More than
that, she needed to learn how to deal with young men her own
age if they had any prayer of achieving their aims. It would
not be a much of a problem except for one small point. As
Sandy had said, Michelle was the prettiest student she had
ever had. Although she might wish to deny it, the girl was,
quite literally, a head turner, and she was going to attract
boys. This party, particularly since it was going to be
tightly chaperoned (Jane had called to check), was a
relatively safe first step.
Another check at her watch and Jane was striding up the
stairs. She came to Michelle's room and was about to knock
when she noticed the door was open. Upon entering, she saw no
sign of her ward, other than the fact that the light summer
weight party dress was still hanging on the door of the
armoire. A quick check of the hallway revealed a light
peaking out from under the bathroom door. As Jane approached
the door, she heard a gagging, retching noise coming from the
bathroom.
Jane had learned early in her career of reforming young men
that locks on the doors of her students' rooms and bathrooms
were a nuisance. Particularly when one of the little dears
would lock themselves inside and refuse to come out after or
before one of Jane's little scenarios. She could always get
in, of course, but that often required tools and time. The
easiest solution had been to reverse the doorknobs, so that
the rooms locked from the outside, but not from the inside.
This had the additional benefit of keeping a recalcitrant
sissy where Jane put him until Jane was ready to deal with
him.
Although Jane had given Michelle back the privacy of her own
room, she had neglected to do the same with the bathroom she
shared with Beth. Another bout of retching noises had Jane
opening the door and rushing in. There was Michelle,
outfitted in her party lingerie, kneeling in front of the
toilet trying to vomit. "Trying" being the operative word
because it was patently obvious her stomach was empty and she
was suffering from a bad case of dry heaves.
The spasms passed and Michelle's body relaxed. She sat back
on her heels and then realized she was not alone. "Oh, no!"
she moaned. "On top of everything else, I have to deal with
knowing you saw me like this."
Without responding, Jane filled a glass with water and handed
it to her. Michelle started to rise, but Jane stopped her.
"Stay there a minute. Rinse your mouth and then sip the water
slowly. Even if it doesn't stay down, it will give your poor
stomach something to send up."
Cautiously, Michelle did as Jane had bid and tried to rinse
the foul taste out of her mouth. It took almost half the
glass before she was willing to try a tentative sip. "Thank
you, Aunt Jane." she said after that first sip had made it all
the way to her stomach without bouncing.
Jane settled on the edge of the bathtub and reached out a hand
to gently stroke her ward's hair. The girl had not even
gotten her wig on yet, Jane mused. It must be worse than I
thought. Michelle sighed and leaned into the soothing caress.
"Nerves, dear?" Jane asked finally. "Butterflies in your
tummy?"
"More like B2 Stealth Bombers, Aunt Jane, only they're not
being very stealthy."
Grinning at that, Jane tousled the soft fuzz on Michelle's
head. "Well, if you can make a joke, you are feeling a bit
better. Time for another little time out, Michelle. Meet me
in your room as soon as you collect yourself."
Her ward arrived moments after Jane had seated herself on the
bedroom chair. She motioned her over to the bed. "All right,
Michael." Jane began. "Is it the party itself, the danger of
discovery, or the danger that you might not be discovered and
have to deal with horny teenaged males as a lovely teenaged
female that has you trying to heave your intestines into my
toilet bowl?"
"All three, Aunt Jane, but mostly the third. This is very
different than anything I have done since I came here. There
won't be anyone there to help me. I will be alone at that
party. Heck, even at the makeup class the other day, Caro was
there to make sure I didn't foul up too badly. As for the
last two reasons, well, those are pretty obvious. I just
don't know what I'd do if some guy got fresh with me. My
inclinations are to knock his head off, but that would be out
of character for Michelle."
As she had thought, Jane mused, but it was obviously much
worse than she had thought it would be. Maybe it was too
much, too quickly. How long had Michael actually been giving
his best effort towards being Michelle. . . Just over a month,
actually. Of course she'd be a bit anxious. "All right,
Michael. We can do a couple of things. The first is that you
don't go to the party. I will call Anna's mother and tell her
that you are ill - unable to keep anything down - and I am
keeping you home. That has the advantage of almost being the
truth."
"Okay," Michelle murmured, "What is my other option?"
"You go to the party, of course." Michelle started looking a
little green again, so Jane hurried on. "Look, you don't have
to do anything at the party other than make a little small
talk. If you don't want to dance, beg off. Act shy and
uncertain. Tell Anna you are having cramps and don't want to
dance. That will be a non-confrontational way to avoid that
aspect of the party. Make sure you are always with several
other people so no boy can get to you one on one. Go home
early. I can be back there at eleven. Blame me. Tell them I
have you on a curfew because I don't want to be out driving
late."
She watched Michael consider all these things. "Okay,
obviously you want me to go. What would I gain if I went and
avoided the guys the way you say?"
"I did not say avoid them, dear. I said avoid being alone,
one on one, with any of them. As to what you'd gain? Maybe
some friends. And you could watch the other girls there deal
with the boys. Maybe find some strategies that you could
borrow to help you deal with them. So, Michael, what do you
want to do?"
"I want to pull the covers over my head and make it all go
away, Jane." came the reply in Michael's voice. "But," and now
it was Michelle speaking, "what I am *going* to do is get
dressed and go to the party."
Smiling, Jane rose as Michelle did. "Good girl. I will wait
for you downstairs." and then her face became stern. "And
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 22 - Day 37
Dear Diary
Well, I don't feel like singing "I could have danced all
night" like that woman in the musical, but I have survived my
first party as a girl.
Anna was all solicitude when I hinted that I was in a very
feminine condition and did not know if it was wise to go
bouncing around on the dance floor. I don't know what she
said, but that was sufficient to keep all but the densest of
the male set from pestering me for dances.
Actually, once I had been there for about an hour, I figured
out that no one was going to see me as anything other than
"one of the girls". After that, I was able to relax and even
began to enjoy myself. I liked chatting with the girls I had
met Wednesday at Caro's. Most of them are pretty nice people
although a couple of them seemed to want my blood. I didn't
know what I had done, so I asked Anna. Turns out neither of
them currently have a steady guy, but saw the guys they wanted
giving me the eye. God, I never even noticed, but Anna
thought that the boys had been pretty obvious in their
attentions.
I think that is one of the things I learned tonight. Girls
are much more sensitive to what is happening in the periphery
about them. Guys are more direct and focused, and tend to see
what is directly in front of their faces. Whereas women, or at
least these women, just soak up information from all around
them. I don't know if I can learn to do that effectively as
the real girls do, but I am going to make an effort to see
more than just what is right in front of me.
As Jane had suggested, I watched the other girls handle the
guys. Most of it I have been on the receiving end of, but
never recognized before. The half smiling, gentle retreating
brush off, the "aren't we friends?" deflection all the way up
to the "looking down my nose at something yucky stuck to the
sole of my shoe" disdainful departure. I saw them done to
great effect, but somehow, I don't think doing them myself
will be quite as easy as a couple of the girls made them seem.
I also met a guy - his name is Dennis. He's about six feet
tall, and athletically built with black hair and grey eyes.
Yeah, I know what I said to Jane, and I meant it. Its just
that this guy sort of snuck up on me. He never pressed, and
he always let me move off when the group we were in dwindled
to the pair of us. It did not help at all that he was funny
and was able to make me laugh. Before the night was out, I
was happily chatting with him and never even realized we were
alone on the couch.
When it came time to go home, he asked if he could call on me
at Aunt Jane's, which caught me completely by surprise. What
the heck could I say? In a short lived burst of rationality,
I told him I would need Aunt Jane's permission and he should
call me first, so I could ask her. He *promised* that I'd
hear from him.
Then, he took my hand in his and *kissed* it. I got all
flustered and basically *ran* out to where Jane had the car
waiting for me.
Dammit, I promised myself that I'd be honest in this damn fool
diary if nowhere else in this crazy life of mine, so . . . .
My hand tingled when he kissed it. Hell, *I* tingled - I even
started getting hard, for heavens sake. I *don't* like this.
Not one little bit do I like this.
And to make matters worse, Anna called me today to
congratulate me on hooking the guy most of the other girls
wanted for themselves. Evidently, good ole Denny has not been
very easy to land, but he is very good at nibbling at the bait
without getting caught on the hook.
Great. Just what I need - a guy, that every other girl wants.
Maybe I need to practice those "make the guy go away"
maneuvers I saw last night? Wonder what Anna will say if I
just toss him back into the sea, or just cut the line and let
him swim off?
Michelle Nash
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 25 - Day 40
Dear Diary
Well, Jane was as good as her word. Dance classes started
today - two evenings a week - Tuesdays and Thursdays.
And guess who else is in my class? You got it - Dennis. He's
also my practice partner, although I cannot figure out quite
how he managed that. So now, I spend about 2 hours twice a
week up close and personal to him.
Fortunately, when you are simultaneously trying to count and
remember where to put your feet without falling down, you can
ignore other things. What will happen if I ever actually
start getting good at this stuff is another matter.
He kissed my hand again at the end of class. Same reactions
as when he did it to me at the party. I had hoped that first
time had only been a one time thing because the sensations was
completely new to me and because he'd caught me unawares.
Nope. Definitely not one time only.
And I am scared to death.
Michelle Nash
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 26 - Day 41
Dear Diary
I went to make up class today and saw Anna. While we were
chatting, she asked how things were going with Dennis. I
shrugged and told her that I wasn't trying to push anything,
but had been surprised when he'd been in the same dance class
as me.
Anna had burst out laughing at that. It took me several
minutes to calm her down enough to find out what was so funny.
Then she told me that Denny's mother *owns* that dance studio,
and the last thing he needs is dancing lessons.
It does not feel quite that funny to me. In fact, while I am
not sure quite what I feel, it definitely is not amusement.
I am all jumbled up inside. Oddly, a part of me is rather
flattered that he would pursue me quite like that. Another,
larger part, however, feels something like what the fox must
feel like during the bugler sounds assembly for the hunters
and hounds.
What next?
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 24. Fond Farewell
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 28 - Day 43
Dear Diary
Well, tomorrow we drive to Providence to put David on the
plane for Illinois. God only knows why, but he's decided he
wants to go to the University of Illinois at Urbana. I know
this is right for Beth/David, but I am going to miss him.
Sandy just left. She undid most of David's "beth-i-ness" - at
least everything that can be undone. It was easier and more
effective *this* time since Jane hasn't made him get a
permanent since before. . .well, since before he left that
earlier time. Anyway, most of the curl came out when Sandy
cut his hair this time. It seemed very strange looking across
the dining table and seeing this male stranger with the shadow
of Beth's face. My first instinct is to call him Beth, and I
know that I have to school myself to stop that. Particularly
anytime in the future if and when we are around anyone who
knows or knew Beth.
Since David does not have any family to speak of, he's asked
if he can come visit here at Jane's home for holidays and
such. Jane said that since she wasn't taking in any new
students for the foreseeable future, she'd love to have him
come visit. Then she added that, perhaps, I could use David
as my "away at college boyfriend" for after the New Year when
I go back to school, assuming that I do that as Michelle.
Having a college age boy friend may help deflect a lot of the
unwanted male interest.
Unfortunately, I don't think that ploy is going to discourage
Dennis. He hugged me today before he kissed my hand again.
I *don't* want to think about that now. I am too busy being
sad about losing Beth.
Before he goes, there is something I have to do, something I
should have done a long time ago.
Michelle Nash
~-------------~
No one in the house slept well that night. David was excited
about starting his new life and going to school. Jane,
Michelle and Maria contemplated the loss of someone who had
become to Jane and Maria more than just another student, and
to Michelle the sister neither she nor Michael ever had.
They were all up before dawn since David's flight departed
Providence at seven am. Breakfast was a somber affair with
none of them having very much to say. The sun's first weak
rays were peaking over the horizon as they got into the
Lincoln for the trip to the airport.
The paperwork at the check-in desk went without problem, and
soon they were in the waiting area of David's departure gate.
"Damn, David, but I am going to miss you." Michelle said when
the call came for his flight to board.
"I am going to miss you, too. You have my new address,
Michelle, and I will call you just as soon as I have a phone
number so you can reach me that way, too."
Michelle reached out to take his right hand in hers. "David?"
she said, her voice rough and shaky.
"Yes, Michelle?"
"Thank you for saving my life all those weeks ago." Michelle's
grip on his hand tightened spasmodically. "I know I'd be dead
if you had not come in there and fought me for my life. And
thank you for coming back when you had every reason to run as
far from me as you could get."
"I'm . . I'm glad I was there in time, Michelle." David choked
out against the emotions welling up in him.
The two young people stood transfixed, their hands together,
their eyes locked. This moment would almost have been funny,
Jane thought, if it wasn't so sad. If they had both been here
as males, they could have shaken hands, thumped each other
heartily on the back, perhaps even hugged. If they had both
been here as females, they would have hugged, and maybe shared
a kiss on the cheek. But this situation was neither of
those, and they did not seem to know how to get past the
gender roles they were both fighting against.
Suddenly, Michelle shuddered. "Oh, Hell!" she growled and
moved in to wrap her arms around David and hug him fiercely.
David's arms came around Michelle and the two friends held one
another until Jane had to intervene.
"David," she said, putting a hand on each young person.
"They're almost done loading the plane." Reluctantly, David
and Michelle broke apart. David turned and went into Jane's
arms for a hug and a quick, awkward kiss. For all the
progress they had made in the past month and a half, Jane
still had trouble showing affection to one of her students,
and just now, she deeply regretted that.
"Thank you, Jane, for everything. I love you." David said
through his tears. Embarrassed, he turned to the gate, only
to almost run over Michelle.
Michelle went up on her toes to whisper in her friend's ear.
"Be safe, David/Beth. I will miss you, big sister." and then
planted a kiss of her own on his cheek.
"I have to go." was all David could get out.
Michelle and Jane watched in silence until the plane with
David disappeared into the western skies. "Ready to leave,
now?" Jane asked.
Michelle dug about in her purse and pulled out a pair of
tissues. She handed one to Jane. "I guess, Aunt Jane,
although if I look as raccoon-eyed as you do, I think we both
need to make a quick trip to the ladies room.
Jane nodded and then led the way. She paused just before
entering, and turned to Michelle. "By the way, remind me to
add two more demerits to the green book, dear."
"Two?!?!?" she sputtered, before beginning to laugh softly.
"Yes, Aunt Jane. I promise to remind you."
"Always on stage, pet." Jane reminded gently. Michelle nodded
and then moved past Jane into the restroom.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
August 29 - Day 44
Dear Diary
David just called to let us know he got there safely. I am
glad he's safe, and happy for him that he has made it through
Jane's program. As I understand it, the Judge will now seal
all of the records and it will be as if he had been tried as a
juvenile, effectively giving him a clean slate. He deserves
it. He is a wonderful guy and Beth was a wonderful sister.
I've even forgiven her for helping Jane to set me up all those
weeks ago. Before the incident, that is. It is not like Jane
gave David/Beth any choice in the matter.
Dinner was strange. Must have been a half a dozen times one
of us turned towards Beth's chair to say something to her.
Heck, Maria even forgot and set a place for her, just like
always.
I don't know what possessed me today, to hug him like that and
then to plant one on his cheek. It just happened. It was
like that I simply *needed* to express the depth of what I was
feeling for him and those were the only things that came close
to expressing that.
As I said, I don't know why I did those things, but I am glad
that I did. I know now that I would always have regretted not
doing them.
It is going to be hard without Beth. I am still afraid about
developing really close friendships with any of the girls at
Caro's, and Denny is making me increasingly nervous. I feel
more isolated and more alone than I have in all the days since
I left St. Andrews.
Another downer is the two demerits Jane assessed me at the
airport. By my count, that puts me somewhere over the magic
hundred, so I guess I'm a little surprised Jane did not tell
me to report for my well earned mouthful of soap tonight.
Maybe she has just decided today has been bad enough and is
letting it go until tomorrow.
At least I lasted longer this time than last time.
Yuck.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 25. Just Showin' Off
Michelle had hung back after the other girls had all rushed
out of the Marisha Chalet following Caro's class. She really
needed to talk to someone and after a great deal of thought,
had decided that Carolyn might be the best person to start
with. She could have tried Jane, but it was just so
embarrassing and Michelle still remembered her times with Jane
before her thankfully unsuccessful suicide entirely too well
to completely trust the other woman with something so personal
and so potentially humiliating.
Having finished collecting her cosmetics and cleaning up after
a dozen girls, Caro looked up and noticed Michelle was still
in the shop for the first time. They had been working on eyes
today, complete with false eyelashes. The girl's eyes looked
huge, haunting - it was just incredible. She had to stifle a
momentary spurt of envy, and wished that such sexy eyes had
not been wasted on a boy. She sighed and began arranging the
tubes, bottles and boxes on their storage shelf. "You waiting
for Jane, 'Chell?" Caro asked, using the nickname both she and
Sandy had taken to using.
For her own part, Michelle could not decide whether she liked
the nickname or not, but now was not the time to quibble about
something as minor as that. "Not until I call. . . ummmm, . .
Carolyn, could I talk to you for a few moments . . . out
back?" Out back was the private room behind the main salon.
Out back was where Sandy and Carolyn worked their evil magic
on Jane's boys, at least until the lads became sufficiently
lady-like to pass the scrutiny of the outer salon.
Surprised by the request, Carolyn nonetheless agreed since she
had no appointments the rest of the afternoon. Once they were
behind closed doors, Caro asked, "What's up? Problems? One
of the girls looking at you too closely?"
"No. . .nothing like that. Caro. . . your husband,. . . ummm,
he was one of Jane's students, wasn't he?"
"No harm in telling you that. Yes, he was. And since I knew
him before Jane and loathed him as a real jerk, that is one of
the reasons I elected to help Jane."
Michelle nodded. That was what Beth had said. "Carolyn,
forgive me for asking this, and don't answer if it offends
you, but I don't know who else to ask. Did your husband ever
mention. . . feeling really feminine. . " and here the girl's
face went scarlet under her new makeup job. "Ummm feminine,
around guys." it all came out in a rush.
Momentarily taken aback by both the question and the manner,
Carolyn could only stare at Michelle for several agonizingly
long moments. Then she cleared her throat. "Not that he ever
mentioned to me, dear. Am I to infer from this that you are
feeling . . .or have felt feminine that way?" There was no
mockery or sarcasm in Carolyn's voice - only concern.
"Last night. . . after dance class. Jane was a little late
and Dennis walked me to the door. When Jane wasn't there, he
. . well, he pulled me into a corner, away from the front
window. . and . . .and" tears started to form little black
rivulets down her cheek.
Fear clutched at Caro's throat, afraid of what she might
learn. "What did he do, Michael?" she asked firmly, hoping
the use of his male name would bolster him.
"He kissed me. . . with his tongue, Caro. . . and I *let* him.
How could I just let him do that? I mean, I am a guy, too.
Aren't I?"
The relief that it had not been worse washed over Carolyn and
she was hard pressed not to laugh. "I take it that the
experience was not unpleasant?"
"No." was the soft response. "I actually got . . .well,
excited."
"As in you became erect?" she asked, already knowing the
answer. Michelle nodded again. "Okay, luv. Look, we need to
talk to Jane about this, and probably to that psychologist you
are working with. I don't know if my darling hubby ever felt
that way, but then, Jane never allowed him to be in
uncontrolled situations where something like that could
happen. Until you, Jane was always scrupulously careful to
protect her girls from things like boys and sex. Even when it
didn't seem that she was."
"I am so scared, Caro. It is all . . . so outside of anything
I have ever had to deal with before."
"I expect that it would be, dear, but then, isn't *everything*
you've experienced with Jane outside of anything you've ever
had to deal with before?"
"Well, yes., but. . "
"But, nothing. Look at yourself. You are totally immersed in
an intensely feminine experience. I don't think it is
unrealistic to expect that you might respond to many
situations the same as a born female would." At the darkening
of Michelle's face, Carolyn held up a hand in restraint. "Let
me ask you something, dear. What does Michael think of Anna?"
The answer was immediate. "She's the prettiest, nicest girl I
have ever met."
"And what would *Michael* like to do with her?"
The smooth forehead above the finely shaped brows wrinkled in
concentration. "I'd really like to get to know her better. .
.maybe go out together. . .that sort of stuff."
"What does Michael think about maybe kissing Anna."
She almost laughed when a look of sheer masculine anticipation
flitted across the very feminine face. "Oh, yeah." he
breathed, and it was definitely Michael who'd responded.
They sat there quietly for a few minutes as Carolyn gave
Michelle/Michael some room to deal with these new and
uncomfortable ideas and emotions.
"So, this is part of being - really being Michelle?"
"Maybe it is part of *you* being Michelle, dear. I don't
think you have to worry about it, dear. Just talk about it
with Jane and the doctor, okay?" and she reached over to help
the girl to her feet and begin walking to the door.
"Okay, Caro. Thank you. You have helped. A great deal." and
she stopped and planted a soft kiss on the older woman's
cheek. "Thank you very much." she said again.
"My pleasure." she replied, showing Michelle back into the
main salon. A chiming bell caught their attention and they
turned to see the shop's outer door opening to admit Brenda
Franson - a very harried looking Brenda Franson.
"Caro. . . are any of your girls from your Wednesday class
still here? One of the models for tonight's fashion show is
ill, and there are just too many outfits for the others to
handle in the scheduled time. I need someone else."
"Only Michelle, Brenda. The others were out the door like my
place *was* school and not a beauty salon."
The other woman's face fell. "I don't know what to do. This
is a very important show. Several of the Newport matrons are
bringing the daughters to see gowns for the fall Harvest
Ball."
"Well, then, how about Michelle?" Caro offered. Both Michelle
and Brenda just gaped at her. "Well, she is the prettiest of
the lot, you know." she added defensively.
"But she is not very tall, and besides. . .*she* is not really
a she." Mrs. Franson protested.
"And how would I change, Caro. . .all the other women would
see that I am wearing falsies, and I couldn't take off my
panties. . .they'd see the gaff."
"That's no problem. . . we could say you are very shy, and
since you agreed to help at the very last minute, Brenda is
going to let you change in her office. We'd have to pick
outfits that are not cut too low in the bodice, or that are
designed not to show a lot of cleavage, but I don't think
Brenda would be showing too many outfits like this to the
royal mamas anyway. Would you, Brenda?"
The other woman's eyes became pensive as she weighed the
options and considered the possible consequences. "How are you
in heels, Michelle?"
"Okay in anything three inches or less, but who said I would
do it?" Michelle asked indignantly.
"Would you? Please?" Brenda asked softly. "I really am in a
bind, and it would be a great favor."
Having this woman owe her a favor appealed to Michelle. "I
could use your office to change in?" she negotiated. Brenda
nodded immediately. Then Michelle turned her eye on Caro.
"And since *you* got me into this mess, it is only fair that
you come with me and make sure that my makeup, hair and
disguise are all perfect, don't you think, Carolyn of Marisha
Chalet?"
"I'd give your shop a plug during the show." Brenda added
quickly to the other woman. "All those women with all that
money to spend on their darling daughters." she cajoled. "You
could even come out and take a bow afterwards."
"Okay, okay." Caro laughed. "Let me get my tools and we'll be
there in a few minutes, Brenda. Meanwhile, you select the
right dresses for the second coming of Miss Christy Brinkley
here and get them into your office."
Michelle was shocked speechless when the formerly cold Brenda
Franson pulled her into a tight hug, saying "Thank you,
Michelle, I really appreciate this." She just stood there,
staring, as the dress shop owner hustled back to her store to
do as Carolyn had directed.
"Oh my god. What have I gotten myself into now?"
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
September 2- Day 48
Dear Diary
My feet are *killing* me. Unfortunately, when I said I would
help Brenda Franson at her store tonight, I didn't know that I
would have to choose between only two sizes of shoe. Too
large and too small. And since I probably would have walked
right out of the larger ones, we had to use the too small
pairs. They were only a half size too small, but when they
are high heels, that half size is quite a bit. And oh by the
way, I measured the heel on those darn things after the show.
Four inches, easily. Every frippin' one of them.
Still, it actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I got quite
a bit of teasing from the professional models, over my
"shyness". I mean, they just rush into the main room, pulling
stuff off as they run to where the next outfit has been laid
out for them. Since they did not know my "shyness" is spelled
p. .e. . n. . i. .s, they did not realize what kind of show
they were putting on in the dressing room. Good thing I have
been wearing that damned gaff to Caro's classes. It *hurt*
like a . . .. well, you get the idea.
And the dresses were neat. Having Caro come to help was
inspired on my part, even if my initial motivation had more to
do with fear than with a desire for success. Caro made
getting into each outfit a lot easier and her skill with
makeup gave me a whole lot more confidence than I would have
had if I'd had to do up my face all by myself.
Brenda let me miss the first rotation and just watch what the
professional models did when they strutted down the walkway in
front of the assembly. When that first set of dress showings
was about half done, I went back into the dressing room and
tried to mimic some of their movements and gestures while
having Caro critique me. Moving like that is NOT easy. I
think the too small shoes may have helped, though. It is
practically impossible to over stride when your toes are
screaming.
Caro literally had to push me out onto the stage that first
time. God, I was as scared then as I ever can remember being.
The funny thing is that I was not really afraid of being
unmasked. Somehow, I knew I was beautiful and all anyone was
going to see was a pretty girl in a lovely dress. No, I was
just afraid of messing up. Like tripping over my feet in
those infernal heels and ending up in the lap of some society
matron.
Finally, Caro whispered at me to "MOVE!" and I moved. I am
still surprised my legs did not give out on me during that
first pass down and back. All I could think of was keeping my
head erect and steady so I would not drop Conan-Dolye on my
toes. I was shaking all over, but once I made it back to the
top of the runway, I started feeling a little better.
By the finale, I thought I was actually doing a rather good
job of it. I was certainly moving more freely, more
confidently, and so what if my hand movements and
presentations were not quite as practiced as those of the
professionals. Caro said I was the perfect little
exhibitionist. I don't know about that, but it sure was fun
struttin' my stuff and showing off - frantic, but fun.
In fact, after the show, Caro said she'd overheard one of the
audience tell Brenda that the "little blond one was perfect.
Now I know just what my daughter will look like in that dress
and won't have to worry that what I liked was the professional
model and not the dress." Made me feel pretty good inside.
What made me feel even better was having Brenda come running
into the office and practically squeeze the stuffing out of me
after the show was over. She had gotten several immediate
orders from the show's attendees, and three of them were for
dresses I had modeled. She *even* offered to pay me - and
then was offended when I told her she did not need to because
I already owed her for her help on the Committee.
She finally told me that was okay, but the next time, she was
paying me at the going rate for models.
The *next* time? Well, I guess there will be one. . . maybe
more. Brenda is thinking of having the girls from the
Wednesday afternoon class take over a lot of her modeling
work. Particularly if it involves teenage fashions. I sure
would have liked to see Anna in that low cut, off the shoulder
blue satin sheath one of the models wore.
I have also talked to Jane about Dennis. She said she'd speak
to his Mother if I thought that might help, but she felt that
my feelings about being kissed were natural and not a problem.
Like Caro, she pointed out that I still was aroused by girls.
I am relieved, but it is as much for that almost hard-on
through the gaff when those models went down to bare skin in
front of me as for anything else. Hard physical evidence,
don't you think?
I am beat.
Michelle Nash
Jane sat in her garden, enjoying the silence of the warm
September night. Brenda had called to ask Jane to thank
Michelle again for stepping in and helping her, and to see if
Jane could not convince the child to accept at least a modest
payment. Jane wondered idly if Michelle fully understood what
she had done this day. Probably not. She was probably
glowing over the compliments and the attention, and pleased
that she had managed to pull off the deception under those
conditions.
First, the girl had begun to learn real poise under pressure
today. Carolyn had said that it was like you could see the
girl's confidence in her personal power growing with each new
dress and with each trek down and back on the runway. That
confidence would pay real dividends in a month or so when her
girl had to decide which path she would take - Michael's or
Michelle's.
But it was the second aspect of today's rite of passage that
pleased Jane the most. Even as afraid of being quite so
publically under the microscope as Jane knew she was, her girl
had been willing to help Brenda. The old Michael, the
troublemaking instigator of St. Andrews Academy, would not
have been so willing. He certainly would not have turned down
payment for his help afterwards. Hell, he would have held her
up for every cent he could squeeze out of her, even though he
had absolutely no need for the money. No, she had simply
decided to help a person that she had reason to hold a grudge
against, and had not given the matter another thought after
making the decision.
That made Jane very proud of her Michelle.
A Losing Season: Chapter 26: Just Deserts
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
September 30- Day 76
Dear Diary
Well, it is less than a week until yours truly must make a
decision - whether to stay Michelle and proceed with my plans
vis a vis my Mother. Or to let go of that anger and hurt,
revert to Michael, and simply get on with my life.
I'd rather expected this to be an easier choice, but that is
not the case. I feel very at odds with myself over this.
For starters, one thing that I thought would push me towards
abandoning this charade was living *as* Michelle. I figured
it might be difficult and humiliating. With the exception of
my three bouts of soap in the mouth syndrome, my life as
Michelle has been neither of those things. I guess I have a
talent for the role, because I seem to have picked up on most
things pretty easily.
And of course, I must admit that confronting my Mother with
the loss of her son as Michelle still holds a great deal of
appeal. I am not so sure I particularly *like* that little
home truth about myself, but it remains a fact that I want to
do . . . something to her. What Jane and I have planned seems
somehow less malicious than showing her up in front of her
friends.
On the downside, if I stay as Michelle, I am going to have to
do something about good old Dennis. The guy will simply not
give up. I have tried everything, short of endangering his
ability to father future generations, to discourage him, but
he just keeps coming on to me. Even when I showed him the
"pre-engagement ring" Jane gave to wear, saying it was from
David, he still tried to kiss me in the dark corners at his
Mother's studio. When I told him that was not very honorable,
making a move on another man's girl when he was not around to
protect what was his, he just laughed. Said that David was a
fool, and a pre-engagement ring is not an engagement ring, so
I was still "fair game".
Makes me sound like a damned rabbit trying to scurry away and
into my rabbit hole.
Part of the problem is that I really do like him. He makes me
really laugh, and I enjoy laughing. Never did much of it
before I came here - not real laughing, that is. Mostly at
St. Andrews, the laughter was *at* someone else's expense, and
that cheapened the pleasure of it, although I did not know it
then. Now I do know, and that is in part due to Dennis.
He calls me on the days we don't have dance class. We just
talk about stuff, and before I quite know it, we've been at it
for almost an hour. It makes Jane smile - one of those smiles
that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.
For the past few days, he has been bugging me to go with him
to his school's Harvest Festival Dance. The dance is in
October, a few days after Jane and I are scheduled to be back
from Nevada on my "end of trial" holiday as Michael. The
scariest part of all this is that my first inclination is to
say *yes*.
If I went back to being Michael, none of this would be my
problem anymore. Michelle would go back to her "home" and
Michael would come to stay with his Aunt Jane. Or maybe it
would be safer to stay with Eric. Michael is going to look a
lot like Michelle for several weeks, and I suspect that my new
friends, particularly the Wednesday makeup class, will see
through Michael to Michelle instantly.
Well, I have again filled pages arguing with myself, and still
have come to no conclusion. If this keeps up, I may just stay
Michelle because I don't know what else to do. Not a very
good reason for a life altering decision, is it?
On another issue, by my count, I should have been eating a
soap bar days ago. Now, my numbers are usually a bit higher
than Aunt Jane's , since I count all my verbal foul ups and
she counts only the ones she hears. Still, she should have
hit one hundred over a week ago.
When Aunt Jane does not hold true to form, that usually means
she is up to something. And *that* always makes me very
nervous. *VERY* nervous.
Michelle Nash
Jane sat at her study desk, and stared at the calendar on her
desk. October third was circled in wide red marker - the day
when Michelle's trial period closed. Only two more days
before she found out if she was going to have a niece or a
nephew staying with her for the foreseeable future.
Jane wasn't sure she knew what she wanted the choice to be,
any more than her ward knew. On one hand, it was probably
best for the child to see this thing through to the very end,
no matter how painful its consequences might be for everyone
concerned. And for herself, Jane admitted, she *liked* having
this Michelle around the place. She *liked* Michelle.
Conversely, Michelle would be showing a great deal of maturity
if she abandoned her spiteful quest against her Mother. *If*
she abandoned it because she had decided that she no longer
wanted or needed to get even.
Jane's fear was that Michelle might decide to abandon the game
because of the continued attentions of Dennis. She had to
hand it to that young man, he certainly was tenacious. It was
a good thing he lived locally or Jane's monthly phone bills
would be whoppers given all the time the two teens spent
talking with each other on the phone. Jane's little Michelle
had developed quite a crush on that lad, only she was afraid
of what she felt for Dennis and therefore refused to admit or
acknowledge her feelings. She might just become Michael again
to end that fear. And that would be the worst possible
reason.
Jane had already made preliminary inquiries on a scheme she
had developed to help Michelle and Michael get some needed
emotional distance and balance. Unfortunately, they needed to
be on their vacation for her plan to work, and again
unfortunately, that came after Michelle's decision date.
"Aunt Jane?" The quiet voice shook Jane out of her reveries,
and she looked up to see Michelle peaking around the cracked
open study door. "May I come in?"
Jane beckoned her in, and then was somewhat surprised to see
that Michelle was wearing one of Michael's exercise warm up
suits. "Aunt Jane, I'd like to call one our timeouts,
please." her ward said in the deeper tones of Michael's
speaking voice.
Jane did not want to grant this request because she was afraid
she knew what he wanted to say. Still, she motioned him to
one of the easy chairs and came over to join him. "All right,
Michael. What is it you wish to discuss?"
Michael opened a book that Jane recognized as the diary she
had given Michelle at the beginning of their trial. "Aunt
Jane, according to my figures, which have been running only a
few counts ahead of yours until now, you are overdue in
calling Michelle to accounts for unfeminine language and
behaviors."
Momentarily speechless, Jane could only stare at her ward.
"You. . .you want to be disciplined? You want me to wash your
mouth out with soap like a naughty bad mouthed little child?"
"Hel. . . I mean, heck no, Aunt Jane. I hate that, but it was
part of the deal we made, and a reminder I have decided I need
if I am going to learn to overcome Michelle's bad case of
potty mouth."
"Why should you care, Michael? Two more days and you can take
off the skirts without breaking your word, and then it does
not matter, beyond basic courtesy, what you say."
Michael sat very still at that moment, his grey-green eyes
locked on Jane's. After a few moments of this, Jane found she
had to consciously refrain from fidgeting under her ward's
intense gaze. "So that's why." he finally said in a very soft
undertone. "You aren't doing it because you don't want my
mouth filled with soap bubbles at the moment I have to open it
to tell you my decision."
Jane broke eye contact with Michael and looked away. "Isn't
that the reason, Aunt Jane?" Michael pressed.
Finally, she sighed deeply, and then nodded. "You might still
have demons, Michael, that only Michelle can help you
exorcize. I did not want you making a poor decision because
you were reacting angrily to one of my disciplines. Whatever
decision you make, I want it to be made rationally, not
emotionally."
"I understand now." Michael looked down at the book and Jane
thought he might be reading some passage in the book. She
wished she knew what it said and what he was thinking at that
moment. "Suppose, Aunt Jane, I told you that I have already
made my decision - that I am absolutely certain what I am
going to do. What would you say to that?"
His aunt gave him a resigned smile. "I would say that it is
completely in character for someone with the iron will I have
seen in both you and Michelle. Knowing you both, I expect
that there is no way your mind is going to change?" Michael
only shook his head, his eyes firm. "Well, why don't we just
end the trial here and now, then. I don't think there's any
sense delaying for another two days. If you want to discard
your skirts, I will have Maria go up and move all the
fripperies out this afternoon."
"You mean that, don't you?" he asked wonderingly.
"I gave you my word, dear. I don't see much point in
continuing another two days just to keep you as Michelle for
that length of time. I am going to miss having her around,
but I look forward to getting to know my nephew, too."
"Well, that is a shame." Michael muttered. "Because I am
going to stay as Michelle. I haven't finished what I set out
to do three months ago, and I am not ready to give up on that
goal just yet. I am not so sure of what I am going to do as I
was back then, but one thing I do know - only Michelle can do
what must needs be done."
Jane rose and went back over to stand by her desk. "I see.
You are sure?" Michael nodded. "Very well, Michael. We will
continue as we have, then. Are we finished with this timeout,
then?" she asked.
"Yes, Aunt Jane, thank you." and this time the voice that
responded was Michelle. She rose and turned to leave the
study.
"Oh, Michelle?" Jane called as her ward reached the door.
Michelle half turned back to her aunt, a single brow lifted in
silent inquiry. Jane lifted a familiar notebook and glanced
at the pages. "You have accumulated sufficient demerits since
your last discipline for two sessions. I will expect you in
my room at 9:30 tonight for the first session. We will take
care of the second one tomorrow evening at the same time."
She watched, amused as first surprise, then anger and finally
resignation flitted across Michelle's mobile features. "We
still do need to smooth out your rough edges, dear." Jane said
softly, but without a hint of apology.
"Nine thirty. I will be there, Aunt Jane." she turned away
only to stop one last time. "And thank you." She left before
Jane could even frame a response.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 3- Day 79
Dear Diary
I am sitting here, my mouth full of suds, waiting for the
final minutes to tick by so that I can go rinse the soap out
of my mouth. Aunt Jane told me she trusted my sense of honor
to follow the rules and not to cleanse my palette before my
sentence is completely served. So now I am the instrument of
my own punishment. And all I need to do in order to get
relief is to break my promise. Sometimes, honor stinks - or
as in tonight's case, leaves a very bad taste in your mouth.
sigh.
In the end, I made the decision to stay Michelle because it is
the only choice that leaves my options open. Frankly, I
cannot decide what I want to do. Once I reach that decision,
I will know what path to take. All I know is that changing
back to Michael permanently ends the plan. I cannot quit and
then go back and say, I want to do it again - let me be
Michelle again. That is not fair to Jane. Besides, if I am
going to do this thing, I need all the practice, all the
learning that I can get. And if I finally decide that I no
longer want to show my Mother the error of ignoring Michael
and then creating Michelle, then having lived another few
months as Michelle, or even a few years as Michelle will not
have hurt anyone. The only one who loses anything by that
decision is Michael and he. . .that is, *I* don't mind being
Michelle all that much any more.
I mean, I have more friends as Michelle, in the girls at
Caro's, and especially Anna, then Michael could have laid
claim to in his entire life B.J.T. (Before Jane Thompson).
Real people who like *me* and not the size of my father's
fortune. And it is not as if I cannot go to school as
Michelle, because Jane assures me that I can - We just have to
find a way around the School Nurse and physical education.
Both of which Jane has promised me are not really obstacles.
I am relieved to have that decision done and over with. Now
if I could just figure out what I am going to do about Dennis
and that infernal school dance.
I guess this is where I play Scarlet O'Hara and say I will
worry about it tomorrow. Or more correctly, after I get back
from Tahoe. I really need the break!
Michelle Nash
A Losing Season: Chapter 27. Vacation in the Mountains
Michael and Jane slipped out of the house before dawn for the
trip to Providence where they would catch their flight. Jane
had decided on the early morning departure primarily to ensure
that her ward was not seen by any of the locals as Michael now
that he was well known as Michelle. The return flight was
also chosen to have them arriving back home well after dark
for the same reason. She also wanted to arrive in Reno in
time to rent a car and still arrive at their rented cabin on
Lake Tahoe during daylight. Jane had been in the desert
mountains at night and did not relish doing it again.
As she maneuvered her Lincoln up US Route 1 towards the
interstate, she considered her passenger critically. He was,
as they had both anticipated, somewhat effeminate in both
manner and bearing. Although Caro had worked on his face,
hiding the finely arched brows and shadowing the smooth soft
skin, other things were more difficult to disguise.
Michael had to consciously remind himself to swing his arms
and not his hips when he walked. After all his recent
experiences wearing mostly high heeled shoes, he also tended
to walk toe to heel instead of heel to toe. His body
language, which was even harder to control, was extremely
feminine and Jane knew she'd have to keep a close eye on him
so that he would not give too much away when they were out in
public. Additionally, he had a tendency to slip into
Michelle's voice whenever he forgot that he was supposed to be
Michael on this trip.
All things considered, it was just as well that they were
going to be almost three thousand miles from home in a
relatively rural area during the off season. October was not
Tahoe's best season. Too soon for the skiers, and too cold
for the campers and boaters. That, along with one other
aspect of their vacation location, made the place perfect for
Jane's purposes. Michael would be able to relax and let down
his guard without the danger of being recognized, and
hopefully, he'd learn some important lessons that would stand
him in good stead later on in his life.
They arrived at the airport at just the right time. They were
able to go directly to their loading gate without having to
wait outside the security area. The less time spent in open
parts of the airport where someone might recognize her and
come over to chat, the better.
The loading onto the airplane, the flight and the arrival in
Reno went off without incident. Shortly after ten in the
morning, local time, Michael was happily behind the wheel of
the four wheel drive sports utility vehicle that Jane had
reserved. Driving was a pleasure that he could not afford to
do as Michelle because for all Jane's many judge contacts,
getting a driver's license for her ward in his feminine
persona had been impossible. And Michelle could not take the
chance of being stopped by a police officer. Even a routine
safety stop by the police would require Michelle to present
her license, which showed a young man, not a young woman.
They arrived in Tahoe around two pm and went immediately to
the realtor who managed the rental cabin in which they'd would
be spending the next week. After obtaining the key and
directions to the cabin, they stopped at a supermarket for
supplies.
Jane carefully watched the people who came in contact with
Michael. He slipped up in his masculine behaviors several
times, but no one seemed to take much notice. She expected
that vacation escapees from San Francisco had inured the
locals to differently behaved people.
The cabin was beautiful, and the surrounding vistas were even
better. Located up a mountainside, they only had a short walk
through a forest of mountain trees to be able to see the lake.
The only drawback was the temperature, which was topping out
at fifty degrees F during the day, and dropping into the
thirties and twenties at night. They would not be doing any
swimming on this trip, which was actually all to the best.
Michelle's bathing suit tan had not yet faded from Michael's
torso.
Night comes early and dark in the mountains, but both
travelers were exhausted from the travel and from the eighteen
hour day they'd had in two time zones. Nine p.m. local time
saw them both in their beds, sound asleep.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 5 - Day 81
Dear Diary
It feels strange to be writing in this thing and not be
dressed in Michelle's finery. Still, I think I am going to
keep up with these entries. Mostly because if I ever do
become a research psychiatrist, these observations, untrained
though they are, might be of value some how.
The second reason is kind of funny, really. It has become a
habit to write things down in here. Little victories and
little defeats. Things that make me feel good or happy, and
things that make me feel low or sad. I actually picked it up
to start writing without even thinking about it.
Come to think of it . . .I don't remember packing it. I
wonder if I did, or if Maria did it for me? No matter. I am
glad it is here.
Wonder if I should lead off entries with something other than
"dear diary". The sounds awfully "Michelle-ish" for Michael
to be doing. What would I call it - a journal? Ahhh, what's
the point? Surely I am too far along to feel threatened by
how I write in my diary.
Sure feels almost uncomfortable to be wearing cotton jockey
shorts instead of Michelle's dainties. As for my other
clothes, well, let's just say the Sonja has had the desired
effect. I have lost about 10 pounds and have tightened up
what's left. And on my small frame and height, that is a
significant amount of weight. I had to punch extra holes in
one of my belts just to keep my jeans from falling off me. A
fashion plate or a candidate for a GQ cover I am definitely
NOT.
That's probably all right, since I keep slipping up and
putting on Michelle without even thinking about it. Sometimes
I caught myself; sometimes Jane pointed out my little femme
habits. At least if no one particularly notices me, they
won't look at me long enough to realize that my movement, body
language and attitudes can shift to those of my female
persona. Of course, I saw several folks at the market who
were far more gaudy and swishy than I.
It is just a little annoying that now that I do not have to
worry about being on stage as Michelle, it is Michael that is
becoming the role that requires conscious thought to pull off.
I am beat. Gonna go to bed.
Michael Nash.
Jane set down the phone well pleased with her arrangements.
They'd been in Tahoe for three days, and it was time for the
other part of her plan. She'd waited this long because she
wanted Michael to become just a little more natural in his
male role. Now the arrangements had been made for tomorrow
morning. Actually, it had gone better than she had hoped.
In the kitchen, she could hear Michael humming to himself as
he prepared their evening meal. One thing was certain, if
Michael was to be Michelle for any length of time, Jane would
have to insist that she take Home Ec when she returned to
school. It was all right for Jane not to be able to cook, but
Michelle needed to learn. Especially if she was going to feed
Jane.
After their meal, Jane helped with the cleaning up and then
motioned Michael into the small living room. "Michael,
tomorrow I have planned a surprise for you. We need to be on
the road bright and early, so you might want to get to bed
early tonight."
"A surprise, Aunt Jane?" the young man wheedled. "What is
it?"
"It's a surprise, silly. One you will find out about when we
get to where we are going. Now, go to bed."
Michael's grousing was good humored, and he surprised Jane by
planting a small kiss on her cheek before he went up to his
bed in the cabin's loft.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 8 - Day 84
Dear Diary
So Aunt Jane is planning a surprise for me. A few months ago,
the mere hint of an "Aunt Jane's surprise" would have
terrified me. Now, I'm looking forward to it with pleasant
anticipation - like I know it is going to be a *good*
surprise.
It's a good thing that this high, thin mountain air tires you
out so much. I would have hard time sleeping if I wasn't so
beat from Jane's and my hike around the surrounding landscape
today.
God, but it is beautiful up here. Seems so very far away from
my life and problems. I like it.
Michael Nash
~-----------~
Somewhat to his disappointment, Jane insisted on driving them
when the departed the cabin. "I know where we are going, and
I don't want you to know until we get there." she said
teasingly.
Michael had spent the greater part of he morning mulling over
what Aunt Jane had planned. It wasn't a day at the casinos.
He wasn't eighteen yet, and so could not even play the slots
legally. Besides, he knew the route they had taken from Reno,
and Jane had not taken that turn.
The trip took about two hours, and by the time she made the
final turn onto the access road of their destination, Michael
was in a high dudgeon over her refusal to tell him anything.
They reached a sign that read "Mustang Ranch" and then came to
a gate with a small guard shack next to it. A portly man in a
generic security uniform stepped out and came to the car.
Jane rolled the window down and announced, "Jane Thompson. I
believe your employer is expecting me." The man quickly
checked a clipboard, nodded Jane a quick salutation, and
opened the gate.
"Mustang Ranch, Aunt Jane? Am I going to learn how to ride?"
Michael asked.
"In a manner of speaking, Michael." was Jane's faintly amused
response. Michael smiled at the idea. As surprises went, this
one was at least different. He might have preferred something
else, like taking in a Vegas-style floor show, but this could
be fun, too.
Jane parked the car in front of a huge, rambling house that
looked like it had seen many spur of the moment additions over
its lifetime. Spires, dormers, octagonal towers were
seemingly thrown together haphazardly in whatever place that
might have had room for the addition. The result was a place
that looked like a white clapboard combination castle and
ranch house.
Michael started to get out, but Jane caught his arm.
"Michael," she said firmly, "When we go inside, I want you to
do exactly what you are told because if you are going to
learn, you ought to learn well. However, secondly and most
importantly, I want you to have fun. This is supposed to fun
for everyone involved." Confused, Michael nodded his
agreement but could not help wondering how much fun a horse
could have when dealing with an inexperienced rider.
As they exited the car, a petite woman with gray shot black
hair came out on the porch. She was dressed in a fine blue
linen business suit and beckoned the pair of them to come up
onto the porch. "Hello there, folks. I'm Jean. You'd be Ms.
Thompson?" she asked with a welcoming smile on her face.
Jane took the lady's hand and returned the smile. "Yes, and
this is my nephew, Michael." She offered her hand to Michael
and he also shook her hand.
"Well, c'mon in. Everything's ready." and she took them both
by their arms and walked into the strange house.
Inside the front door was an unusually large sitting room with
seating all around the periphery of the room, as well as
several small conversation groupings in the center of the
room.
A door on the wall opposite the entry way opened. Michael
turned to see who was entering and did a classic double take.
The woman who entered the room was very tall, easily five
inches taller than his own five feet six inches if she had
been bare foot. She wasn't. In her spiked heels, which
Michael guessed had to be more than four inches, she stood
almost a foot taller than he did. The rest of her was in
perfect proportion to her height.
Physically, she was a very pretty woman. Her hair was long,
and a deep golden blonde. She wore some light cosmetics, but
she had a lovely complexion that really did not require much
in the way of artificial enhancement. She wore a one piece
mint green sweater dress that suited her and showed off her
incredible legs.
My god, Michael thought, his mouth going dry. Change her
hair to silver blond and she is a dead ringer for Sonja.
Aware of her effect on the young man, the woman sauntered over
to where he stood with the other two women.
"Michael?" Jean said. "This is Karen. She will be your
instructor today. Now, you have the entire day, thanks to
your Aunt's generosity, so pay attention and enjoy yourself."
"How do you do, Karen." Michael said with a lump in his
throat. Was she going to change for the lesson?
"And howdy to you, too, Michael." She answered, a small smile
on her lips. Her voice was low, husky and had just a touch of
a western accent. Michael was entranced by her. "Well, shall
we get started?" she asked, as she took his hand and began to
lead him away.
"I will be here when you are finished, Michael." Jane called
to him just before they disappeared through the same door
Karen had entered from. "Have fun, dear."
The two women stood there for a moment before Jean turned to
Jane. "Y'know," she drawled. "As I told you on the phone,
Ms. Jane, Karen isn't exactly my first choice for a cherry
picking. Don't get me wrong - she's good at what she does -
very good, in fact. Your boy will have a great time, but she
isn't likely to get much out of it. That is usually a part of
this type of thing - lettin' the boy know when he's done it
right."
Jane smiled enigmatically. "Well, I hope you are wrong, but
Michael has a huge crush on a lady back home who looks very
much the same as your Karen, which is part of the reason I
picked her from your brochure." And I can't tell you the
other reason which is that I wanted her all the more once Jean
had explained why Karen was not her first choice. She really
rather hoped Michael was up to the task. And if he wasn't,
he'd still have a very nice experience if the lady was as
skilled as Jean had promised. Probably, even if she wasn't
that skilled, given the volatility of youth.
~------------~
Michael was a little confused when Karen led him up a long
flight of stairs to a sumptuously furnished bedroom in one of
the octagonal towers. His first thought was that there
certainly enough mirrors in the place.
He turned to see Karen regarding him levelly, that little half
smile still curving her mouth. Unnerved by her scrutiny,
Michael began to blather. "Ummm. . . did we come up here so
you could change?" he asked.
The smile widened a bit. "Sounds like a good start to me,
Michael."
"Okay." he answered her as he turned away from her to find a
place to wait for her to go off and change. "Is what I wearing
suitable? Aunt Jane did not tell me what she'd planned so I
did not ask what to wear."
"Oh, I think we can do a bit better than that, lover." she
crooned. and then almost stopped Michael's heart as she pulled
the sweater dress up over her head and then stood before him
in nothing but very slinky, very black lingerie.
"Ummmm. . . K.K.Karen. .. " Michael he stuttered. "Have you
forgotten I am in the room with you? You are undressed."
A soft laugh bubbled up from her, as she began slinking
towards him, her eyes fixed on his. "Well, darlin', it is
pretty difficult for you to make love to me with all those
clothes on. Now. . let's get you out of yours."
"Out of my clothes? HERE???"
She had her hand on his belt. "Well, it is usually best to do
it in a bed the first time, but if you want, we can try some
other places once you get the basics down." and then she
pulled his much smaller frame into a tight embrace as she gave
him his first tongue kiss from a woman.
It finally dawned on Michael that the only mustang on this
ranch was painted on the sign outside the main gate. Aunt
Jane had hired this lady to make love with him. . .no, not
quite. . .Karen was supposed to teach him how to make love.
Michael was not quite sure how it happened, but the next thing
he knew, he was nude and lying on the huge bed with Karen's
long, lovely body curled around him. Her fist had his cock in
a firm, yet gentle grip as she stroked him to full erection
while her mouth did incredible things to secret places behind
his ears and the pulse points of his neck. Caught up in a
wild maelstrom of feeling and emotion, Michael felt the sudden
tightening in his guts and the uncontrollable twitching that
heralded the onset of his climax.
Karen felt it, too. "Well, if we're going to get anywhere
today, we have got to get you a little less. . .jumpy." she
whispered throatily as she sat up beside him. Michael
expected her to continue the exquisite hand job, but instead,
she bent over his dick and then inhaled him whole.
The sudden wet, sucking heat felt so incredibly wonderful,
Michael's eyes crossed in pleasure. But the immediate
pleasure was only momentary for within moments of her taking
him in her mouth, he was jetting his seed into her mouth.
Michael simply laid there on the bed with Karen stroking him
as he gathered his shattered wits. Then, he was disappointed
because it had been so wonderful, but so short. Karen saw him
frown. "Hey, whatsamatter?" she asked softly.
He felt like crying, but managed to control that. "It didn't
last long enough. I barely knew what was happening and then
it was over."
A knowing smile lit her eyes as she began to stroke him more
seriously. "Honey," she told him as she kissed him again, "It
isn't over 'cause it hasn't even started yet."
This time her kiss was oddly salty, but certainly not
unpleasant. In fact, it was *very* pleasant. It was not
until much later that he realized the source of that saline
flavor, and by then, it simply did not matter.
She soon had him fully aroused again, and after showing him
how to protect himself and her, guided him into her body. As
great as it had felt when she had taken him into his mouth, it
could not begin to compare to this.
They spent the next two hours making love in a variety of ways
and positions. He let her guide him, let her teach him how to
stroke into her slowly, and then pull out so that he rubbed
against her clitoris. She set the initial rhythm, but slowly
let him take charge. He learned how to use his hands and
mouth on her as both foreplay and as part of the actual
intercourse.
A Losing Season: Chapter 28. A Coming of Age
About one in the afternoon, they took a break when Michael
needed to satisfy a more basic hunger. He had not eaten since
a very light breakfast over five hours before and was
positively ravenous. As with every other need he'd
experienced that day, the lovely Karen had anticipated this
need, too. She left for a few moments before returning with a
tray piled high with tiny sandwiches, sliced fruit and other
snack type foods.
So this is what they mean by afterglow, Michael thought to
himself. And it really was a thoroughly unique experience,
feeling so mellow, eating finger foods while laying naked in
bed cuddled up next to a living Goddess. He felt great -
never better, except. . .
Except what, he asked himself, aware for the first time that
something did not feel quite right. Somehow, something
niggled at him at the back of his mind. There was something
wrong. No, not wrong, rather there was something missing, but
he couldn't seem to pinpoint what it could possibly be.
Hadn't they just spent hours making love to each other, giving
pleasure to each other. . . .
He looked at the woman nibbling delicately at the hors
d'oerves beside him. She did not look like he felt - there
wasn't any glow about her.
That was IT! *He'd* received pleasure. He had reached
orgasm, but he could not recall anything like that happening
to Karen. Didn't women have orgasms, too? Surely, they must
or else the human race would not be overpopulating the planet.
So why hadn't she reached her pleasure with him? Was he
really *that* inept? She hadn't said so, but then again,
would she say so? She might be concerned about the reputation
of the house if he did not go away feeling like *the* man.
Dammit, that pleasure had been too wonderful not to share with
the person who had given it so selflessly to him. Michael
wanted, *needed* her to enjoy being with him, not endure being
with him. Step one, he thought, was to find out why. "So,
Karen . . " he started off handedly, "What do I have to do to
give *you* pleasure."
The bite of food stopped midway between her plate and her open
mouth. She slid him a look beneath her lashes, before setting
the tidbit back down. "What makes you think you didn't?" she
asked with a bit of a tremor in her voice.
Gotcha, he thought. "Oh, the fact that you didn't immediately
deny it." Michael said in what he hoped was a reasonable
semblance of Jane's equanimity. "That and the fact that I
don't recall any reactions from you that remotely approached
what you produced in me. So, Karen, what did I do wrong?"
Karen's face fell, and she bounded off the bed. Michael was
after her immediately and had caught up to her before she
could make it out the door. He was shocked to see tears
streaming down her face. Gently, he pried her fingers from
door knob and pulled her back to the bed.
"Okay, Karen. what is the matter?"
She just shook her head. "You did nothing wrong, Michael. Its
just that. . . well, this is your first time, and it is
supposed to be wonderful. . .*perfect*," she said just before
the tears came harder. "And if you are one of those special
guys who needs to give as well as take, you won't find that
with me. Please, let me call Jean. She'll get you another
girl and you'll see. You are easily one of the most
considerate young men I have ever been with, and you will see
how well you do once she is here instead of me."
"And if I want to be with you? If it is you I want to
pleasure?" Michael asked quietly.
He watched as her beautiful strong body was racked by sobs. He
wanted to comfort her, but needed to know the facts. Finally,
she regained control and looked him in the eyes. "Look,
Michael. You've learned very quickly and you're really quite
a cute guy - but. . ."
When she hesitated to go further, Michael pressed. "But,
what?" Karen shook her head, her lips compressed tightly,
like she was trying to prevent the words from escaping her
mouth. "Please, Karen - tell me - so I will at least know the
truth."
Her shoulders slumped. "All right. You are really cute for a
guy, Michael, but that is the problem. You *are* a guy. I
enjoy making love with guys. I find pleasure in giving them
pleasure, but I can't seem to reach orgasm with a guy."
It was not the strangest thing Michael had ever heard. It
surely did not even come close to a house where boys became
girls so they'd become better men. Or where a boy became a
girl to wreak retribution on his Mother. "So, tell me. What
does get you off, darlin'?"
She gave him a very disgusted "what do you think" look.
"Girls, Michael. Pretty, petite girls in frilly, slinky
lingerie. I guess it is because I am so gigantic,. ."
Michael interrupted her. "Tall, stacked, gorgeous. I don't
want to hear you put yourself down like that!"
Surprised by his outburst, she gave him a momentary, shy smile
before continuing, ". .since I am so *tall*, I like the little
ones. They make me very hot."
Michael could see her bracing herself for a putdown. He only
smiled. "So, tell me, Karen. Any of your girlfriends got
some stuff that would fit me?"
Her stunned, unbelieving stare was just about as satisfying as
anything else he'd experienced yet today. "You mean. . . girl
things? You want to dress up and see if that would help get
me really aroused?" Michael nodded, and then watched the
emotions flit across her face as she considered that.
"Have you ever tried it like that with a guy? Dressed as a
girl, I mean."
"N. . n...no." she said, a considering look in her suddenly
intensely dark eyes. "And you would qualify as petite next to
me." She thought about it some more. "But I don't think any
of the girls would like it very much if I let you borrow any
of their dainties, but there is the stuff down in the
dungeon." There was just a touch of "put up or shut up"
challenge in her demeanor now as she stood to her full height
and fixed her eyes on Michael.
Not quite sure he had heard her correctly, Michael swallowed
hard. "What did you say? The dungeon?" Michael was a little
less certain, now.
Karen laughed for the first time since they'd started lunch.
"We have a couple of girls on staff here at the Ranch who
sexually dominate guys. You know, tying them up, spanking
their bare butts and generally teasing the hell out of them
before they finally let the guy get his rocks off. It has
gotten pretty popular, particularly with the one time trade,
so Jean converted a big part of the cellar into a dungeon.
One of the games a lot of guys really like is to be forced to
wear girl clothes and being then to be treated like a sissy-
slave, so there is a big closet full of man-sized female
clothing down there. Jean said that for what your Aunt is
shelling out for today, we could have the run of the place.
You ready to put her money where your mouth is, Michael?" she
challenged.
He just grinned. She hadn't said that *she* was one of those
dominating women, so he figured he'd be safe down there.
Hopefully.
Standing up, Michael offered his hands to her. "Lead me away,
Ma'am. I am ready."
Fifteen minutes later (Michael'd had no interest in staying in
the aptly named dungeon *any* longer than necessary), they
were back in Karen's room, loaded down with everything from a
gaff to a corset to breast inserts to fine hosiery to press on
fingernails. One small problem was the selection of shoes
stocked in the dungeon closet. Unfortunately, the only shoes
they'd had that fit him had spiked heels at least five inches
high. Michael wasn't all that sure just how much walking he
could manage in those stilts, but decided that he'd at least
give them a try. If this worked, he did not expect to be on
his feet all that much anyway.
Karen helped him into the corset and gaff, lacing both up
tight, and was getting ready to help him with the rest of his
transformation when Michael shoo-ed her into a chair. "Just
watch." he grinned at her.
And Karen *did* watch - stared at him, in fact, in open-
mouthed amazement as he went over to her vanity and began his
practiced transformation into Michelle. In very short order,
he had teased his still short hair into a sassy, close cropped
arrangement of curls. He put on a show for her when he
slipped on the smokey stockings, trying his best to imitate
the teasing pose he'd remembered from some lingerie shoot in a
magazine. Extending his leg to the fullest and pointing his
toes, he slowly unrolled and then smoothed the silk hose over
each of his legs in turn. As he stood to attach the corset's
garters, he stole a peek at his soon-to-be lover's reflection
in the vanity's mirror and understood for the first time the
phrase "Smoke coming out of her ears".
The look on her face was . . . interesting - very interesting.
Her wide open eyes were fixated on his most subtle movement,
and a light sheen of perspiration made her face seem to glow
in the sun dappled light. She couldn't keep her hands still,
and was ringing them in an effort to keep them in her lap.
Every little bit, her nose would flare and the tip of her pink
tongue would slip out to moisten lips dried by her deep,
almost panting breathing.
Michael smiled, very pleased with himself as he sat down
again, and began expertly applying Karen's cosmetics to his
face. The colors weren't quite right for him, but they'd do
in a pinch. Michael wasn't after a particularly classy look
in any case.
When he stood and stepped into those incredible heels, Karen's
eyes looked glazed as she took in the entire picture. "My
god, Michael. . " she breathed. He was surprised her breath
did not singe him with the fire he saw in her eyes.
The need in her voice and on her face made Michael shiver in
delight. "No, Karen." Michelle's voice answered softly as she
sauntered over to where Karen sat, transfixed on the bed and
offered her lover her red nailed hand. "My name is Michelle,
and I think you still have a great deal to teach me, lover."
With an almost anguished moan of desire, Karen pulled Michelle
down onto the bed beside her and ravaged her young lover's
mouth with a hungry kiss.
~-----------~
It was well after six in the evening when the two lovers made
their weary way back down to the main reception area. There
were more people there now. . .men as well as the women
mingling, getting to know each other a bit before going up (or
down, Michael mused thinking of that dungeon) to the rooms.
Michael noticed one relatively short, very voluptuous redhead
decked out from head to toe in a electric purple latex body
suit that seemed to have been sprayed onto her all over her
body. Handcuffs, a paddle and a multi-stranded whip swung
loosely from a belt around her waist, obviously ready for
immediate use.
Michael wondered idly if he should thank her for the loan of
the lingerie, but decided against it. She might get the wrong
idea and while he found her to be. . . . unexpectedly sexy and
very intriguing, he knew that he was NOT ready for that.
Maybe someday, though, he thought taking one last sideways
look at the domination specialist. Maybe someday.
They found Jane reading in parlor room of the house's private
living quarters. Both of the older women took in the looks of
absolute satiation on the faces of both young people. "I take
it you both had a good time?" Jane asked.
"Mmmmm. . ..Oh yes." Karen purred. "This man is very, very
good," and she almost leered at Michael who was blushing
profusely. "Very, *very* special." Jane almost laughed at
the stunned look on Jean's face because there was absolutely
no doubt that Karen meant every word.
"Ready to head back to the cabin, Michael?" Jane asked with a
smile. He nodded. They exchanged farewells, but not before
Karen swept Michael almost off his feet with her good bye hug
and kiss. Jean could only stare at him, a mixture of
disbelief and awe on her attractive features.
"Michael? Sweetie?" he looked up into Karen's sparkling eyes.
"Let me know when you are in town next, and I will take a day
off to show you around some. Among *other* things."
"You bet, Karen. It's a date." Michael called as he hurried to
catch up with Jane.
As they walked out the door, Jane handed him a packaged, pre-
moistened towelette. "You missed a bit of your eye shadow,
dear." she teased. "Wouldn't do for it to be there when we
stop at that truck stop for dinner, now would it."
Michael was in complete agreement on that score.
~------------~
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 9 - Day 85
Dear Diary
Curioser and curioser. On the way home, Jane told me what was
behind all this. Since I had decided to stay Michelle, she
wanted me to know the male side of the equation before I go
back to skirts. She wanted me to have something to compare
against if I ever slip up and get hot and heavy with a guy.
She has *got* to be kidding.
Strangely, Jane was not surprised at all when I told her about
Karen's orientation and how I had switched to Michelle halfway
through the day. I know she saw the traces of my cosmetics,
but somehow, I don't think that is the whole of it. It is the
same kind of feeling I got when I intuited that Karen was not
getting the same pleasure out of our lovemaking before
Michelle arrived on the scene. There is something here, some
little tidbit of information that I don't quite know and that
Jane does. So what else is new?
Oh man, the *look* of on Karen's face as I started putting on
Caro's special heavy "stalking makeup" like I knew what I was
doing was absolutely priceless. Wish I'd had a camera. I
will have to tell Carolyn that I used that cosmetics lesson
after all. She'll be so pleased to be able to tell me "I told
you so." Of course, I don't think she meant for me to use it
to stalk a woman.
Okay. . . so how do I feel about losing my virginity and then
having to shift to Michelle before my partner got any
satisfaction out of my lovemaking? How do I feel about being
the submissive partner during Karen's and my afternoon of
lovemaking? It is really strange. If I had thought about this
situation in advance, I would have thought I'd be upset that I
wasn't "good" enough for her, and maybe even a little ashamed
that I couldn't get her off "like a man".
Well, as that Jim Croce song that Jane is always playing goes
"But that's not the way it feels."
It feels pretty damned good. I was right that something was
missing - the pleasure wasn't mutual - it was all one sided.
Once I became Michelle and surrendered to her (admittedly,
dammit) greater strength, Karen became very excited. The
loving was infinitely better. The feeling that I held her
total pleasure, her entire being on the tip of my tongue or in
my fingers is . . . empowering.
And if I truly gave her that kind of pleasure, how can I be
not be a "man"? I wasn't diminished by giving her Michelle.
I think I would have been diminished if I had continued only
taking and not giving in return as Michael.
It felt good. How can anything that feels that good between
two people, that harms no one, be anything but good? Answer:
It can only be good. Better than good.
I don't think I would ever hesitate again, to do what it took
to pleasure my lover.
Umm. . . well, thinking of that gal with the cuffs and whips,
decked out in that latex thing? I might have to think once or
twice or even thrice about that one. I think there would need
to be a foundation of serious trust there before I could let
someone take that kind of power over me. I wonder if that is a
leftover reaction to my first experiences with Jane when she
was so domineering and so intent on my humiliation? Maybe.
Maybe with Karen - that would be different. Wouldn't that
gorgeous, leggy woman look dangerously sexy in one of those
shiny latex full body suit things? I wonder if she does that
stuff from time to time?
In any case, it is time for Michael/Michelle to go to bed. I
am *beat*. But it is a very nice kind of beat.
Michael Nash
~-----------~
Jane sat in front of the fire, a very self satisfied smile
lighting her lips. Her boy/girl had taken a big step towards
being a real man this day. He had opened himself to ridicule
and embarrassment in order to help meet the special needs of
another person, putting that person's needs and desires ahead
of his own. And in doing so, had received even more in
return. A very good day, indeed. She was very proud of her
boy. Very proud, indeed.
A Losing Season: Chapter 29.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 14 - Day 90
Dear Diary
Well, we got home late last night, and Michael's clothes were
back in the attic closet before bedtime. That's okay, I
guess. I missed my bubble bath in that rustic cabin. Showers
are all right for Michael, but Michelle likes lounging in a
hot froth of water and bubbles.
I have decided I am going to go to that dance with Dennis on
Saturday. First of all, because I cannot think of anyway to
avoid it, and not call real attention to myself. This one of
those times that it would have been nice if David was going to
school somewhere closer to New England than Illinois.
Secondly, because I have decided that, just as Jane and Caro
have said, I need to learn how to function in these situations
as a female.
And finally, because after Michael's *and* Michelle's time
with Karen, I am no longer as confused about who I am and what
I want. I want what Eric has and what Caro's husband has - a
loving relationship with a woman who knows Michael and
Michelle, and who enjoys both sides of me. I want children
who I will ensure grow up certain of their parents' love. And
that leaves out Dennis or any other guy, even if I do find
being with them erotically exciting (which I have to admit to
myself that I have), because they cannot give me kids.
I am going to wear everything I can think of that will make it
difficult for me to get groped. Don't know what Dennis will
think of if and when he tries to get cute, but that's his
problem. Mine is getting through that shindig without being
discovered.
Michelle Nash
~--------------~
Jane hung up the phone and sighed sadly. She'd hated not
being able to commit to her friend, a judge in a midwestern
city. Unfortunately, the case in question would require her
to take charge of the boy early in the New Year which posed
two problems. First, if Michelle was still with her at that
point, which was still a definite possibility, it was highly
unlikely that the girl would tolerate, much less assist Jane's
program of petticoat-humiliation discipline.
"Jane?" came a soft voice at her open door. "Are you all
right? Is there something wrong?"
She looked up and saw a concerned Michelle peering in at her
from the front foyer. Jane shook her head. "Not really,
Michelle. Just a call from a friend asking for help I cannot
give her."
Michelle walked across the room and sat down in the hated
chair on the other side of the desk. Oddly, it did not seem
to have any power over her any more. "What kind of help?"
You really don't want to know, dear, Jane thought wryly. "Oh,
she just wanted me to take on a project for her, and I could
not commit to anything more as long as your training is in
progress." she said, attempting to sound positive about the
situation.
However, Jane had not counted on the almost empathic intuition
her charge seemed to have developed over the past few weeks.
She simply looked at Jane for several moments, and then she
understood. "That was one of the people who sends you boys."
Michelle said flatly. "She wanted you to take on another
rehabilitation project."
Nodding wearily, Jane affirmed what Michelle had already
divined. "Yes. Judge Ruth is another of my sorority sisters
who now sits the bench of a juvenile court in a small city in
Ohio. She has a boy she thinks would be ideal for the type of
retraining I have specialized in for many years. But the boy
needs to be here sometime between mid January and the first of
February, and I just don't see how I can do it then."
"I see." Michelle said stonily. "And this woman thinks you
can help him? Has she worked with you before?"
Jane smiled. "Of course. In fact, she is the one who sent
David to me. He originally was supposed to go to her court,
but the local DA was on a law and order kick, and wanted to
try David as an adult. Ruth intervened, and with the help of
another judge, got David sent to me. He either came to me by
way of Ruth's order, or the DA would have him in regular
court. They had enough evidence to convict - mostly because
David had confessed."
"Is this the same type of thing?" Michelle asked tonelessly.
"You mean jail or here?" Jane raised her hands to her eyes
and tried to massage the tension away. "Appears so. Ruth
thinks he could be salvaged, but not if he ends up in the
state prison."
"So why didn't you take him on? I mean, it is what you do,
isn't it?" Michelle's tones were aggressively accusatory.
"What I used to do, Michelle. You are here, and even if you
were not my first priority - which you are - I could not bring
a young man in here for my usual program with you living here.
At best, you'd be sullenly neutral, and at worst, you could
undermine everything I was trying to do with him. I know you
don't think much of what I do, Michelle, but having you here
trying to thwart me at every turn would do the boy far more
harm than good." Jane shrugged, trying to consign the feeling
of failure away. "Now, that is enough on that subject since
it is not going to happen. Were you looking for me?"
Pensively, Michelle replied. "Mmmmm yes. I wanted to tell
you I had decided to accept Dennis' invitation to the Harvest
Festival Dance at his school, and wondered if you and Maria
would like to help me go through my closet and pick an
outfit."
"Of course, dear. How about after dinner?" Michelle nodded
her agreement and quietly left the room. Jane wished that the
girl had not walked in on the end of that conversation or had
not figured out just what the "project" had entailed. In any
case, her initial response seemed to support Jane's worst
fears. Too bad for the boy, she thought sadly, but her
commitment to Michael had to come first.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 15 - Day 91
Dear Diary
Jane's going to refuse to take on this student because of me.
I guess I should have expected that she'd be asked to accept
new soon-to-be-sissies while I am in residence, but it never
even occurred to me. Jane's assessment of my reaction, I am
afraid, was dead on the mark. I probably would have tried to
thwart her - especially now that I know just how hard she
worked to make those terrorizing outings of hers safe for us.
And if the boy knew that there really was *no* danger, Jane's
power to accomplish anything, bad *or* good, would be severely
limited.
Only now, I am not so sure what I think or what I would do.
Heck, I wasn't sure when I walked out of the study. Jane was
too depressed, and it did not seem to be the "oh darn, I won't
have this boy to humiliate for my pleasure" type of
disappointment. I think she is honestly sad that she won't be
able to "help" this guy turn his life around. One thing I
have come to believe without question is that Jane *believes*
what she does with "her boys" really does help these guys.
The question I have had to ask myself is "Am I the only one
who, having been through her treatment, feels the way I do
about Jane's little program?" I turned to the only three
sources I know - Bill, Caro's husband, Eric and David.
Evidently, I am. David, who knows this judge, said she was a
square dealing lady who really tries to help the kids she has
to deal with to the limits of her power. And he's already
told me that he is grateful to Jane for taking a chance on him
and helping him get past his problems. Bill, of course, is
one of Jane's biggest fans. He'd have to be, or he couldn't
live with what Caro does to help Jane.
By the time I got through to Eric, I was more confused than
ever. He just said, "Michael. Jane's program did not work
for you. You had issues she did not expect and very firm plans
for your future that were completely incompatible with the
person Jane wanted to make of you. Not only that, but because
of your attempt to take your own life, you never completed the
program. So, even if you had completed her training and it
still did not work for you, all that says is that you are the
exception among us who proves the rule. She *has* helped the
rest of us. Just as she is helping you now that she better
understands what you need. She may come on like a stone cold
bitch, but that is necessary for what she does, and covers, as
I believe you are beginning to discover, a very concerned and
caring spirit."
Yes, Eric, I have figured that all out.
Okay. . .so what do I do? I am obviously a problem. This
judge, who thought enough of David to send him to Jane, thinks
the same about this guy. If she can't send him to Jane, it is
almost one hundred percent certain that he will go to jail,
which statistics say is not going to help him. Everyone
_else_ who knows about Jane thinks her evil games are useful
and beneficial, at least they think that after the fact.
If I do nothing, the guy goes to jail. I just don't know if I
can do to another person what Jane made David do to me!
I do _not_ need this in my life.
Michelle Nash
~-----------~
When the evening meal was complete, Michelle spoke up. "Jane,
could I please speak with you and Maria both? Not quite a
time out, but almost?"
A hint of a smile shadowed Jane's drawn features. "Well, that
certainly is clear. What does that mean? You don't shift into
Michael-mode?"
Michelle nodded. "That's about it."
"All right. Maria, get the coffee and join us in the sitting
room."
They sat on opposite sides of the coffee table, Jane and Maria
on one side, Michelle on the other. Well, Jane mused, at least
I can tell the players on each team. Us against her by all
indications. Oh well. "All right, Michelle. This is your
conference. What is on your mind?"
"How important to your program is the senior student?"
Whatever Jane had thought might be bothering her ward, that
question had been completely unexpected. "Well. . . I am not
really sure. I have only had two or three boys, including my
very first, of course, who were here for their entire stay
without an experienced girl to help guide them and to play
good cop to my bad cop."
"But Maria could do that "good cop" thing if it was necessary,
couldn't she?"
"As I have done in the past, I'll have you know, Ms. Nash"
Maria answered pertly.
"Jane. . . I don't really know if I can help you like. . .
like Beth helped you with me, but I am willing to try. I
figure I will be going back to school during the day while
he's, . . . . or rather while *she's* being indoctrinated,"
Michelle decided not to say what she was really thinking, "So
I wouldn't be here to hinder your efforts. If you plan it
carefully, you could schedule the harshest of your little
games so that my "good cop/guide" would be available
afterwards. I could help him with his petti's and with his
other girl things, like Beth did for me, too. I just don't
think I could set him up the way you made Beth set me up."
Jane had been completely unprepared for this type of
compromise offer from her one failure, from the one she had
almost driven to suicide. "You think you can do that,
Michelle?" she asked softly. "Because if we accept this boy,
he cannot have foreknowledge or nothing good will come of it."
"I don't know, Jane, and that's the God's honest truth. If I
don't see the really . . . nasty stuff," Michelle saw Jane
wince at that, but had to give her the unvarnished truth, "I
think I can help without hindering in the type of limited role
I just proposed."
Considering the possibilities, Jane nodded. It just might
work. She could schedule most everything that really tore
down the male ego and shattered his overblown sense of pride
for times when Michelle was in school. There was only one
thing.
"It seems like it might be workable, Michelle. Except one of
my most effective exercises that helps the new student realize
I am serious is to punish the senior student. Recall Beth
going into her Raggedy Anne little girl clothes, and being
forced to play with little girl toys. Normally, I don't have
to tell the senior about that - I just do it to them and both
students get the object lesson. Could you, or maybe it is
closer to *would* you let me do that to you? For some
manufactured failure on your part, in order to guide my new
student? I won't be able to tone it down. It will be as real
as if I were really intent on punishing you, and you will have
to take it like that for the lesson to be effective."
Maria piped up. "It wouldn't be so bad, chicka. I promise to
sneak you a snack after the junior goes to sleep when Jane
orders you into your little girl jammies and sends you to bed
without your supper."
Michelle smiled at that. "I can handle it, Jane, just like I
can handle going to a dance with a guy, or any of the other
things I have done in the past months. I guess I have trusted
you this far, I need to trust you again." And then a glimmer
of a mischievous smile tilted her lips. "But I will be
watching you, Jane. *Don't* enjoy it *too* much."
Everyone laughed at that. "All right, I promise to try and
hate every minute of it. Don't think I will succeed, but I
promise that I will try." she took a breath. "And now, I
think we should go up and go through your closet. We may need
to go to Mrs. Franson's if you don't have a suitable outfit
for the dance."
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 15 - Day 91
Dear Diary
I agreed to do my best to help her, and not to hinder her.
Best I can do on this. Maybe, as an observer, I can be more
objective about the process. Who knows?
Jane told me that the harvest festival dance is actually sort
of a "barn dance". Most of the girls go in jeans and plaid
work shirts. That suits me just fine. My one concession to
fashion will be a low pair of heels, since I do not have any
feminine boots. The jeans will work just fine, since they
will make it much harder for Dennis to take liberties.
Michelle Nash.
"Michelle?" Jane called to her from the front parlor. "Please
sit down. I have a question for you. From our conversation
last night, you have evidently decided to go back to school
here as Michelle and not to return to St. Andrews?"
"Yes, Aunt Jane. I will never again fit in at St. Andrews"
and here she swept a hand down her very feminine presence,
"now. And if I stay here, we've agreed I need to stay as
Michelle."
"Very well. I will arrange for appropriate physician's orders
for you not to participate in gym class or have to go to their
school nurse for medical examinations. Other than those two
situations, I believe you are up to the task. Do you know
what you will study?"
"College prep - I am mostly done. One thing I did not do at
St. A's was mess up academically. I could probably pass the
equivalency tests right now, taking them cold." and then a
bright smile lit Michelle's face. "And it seems to me, I was
told I needed to take Home Ec."
"Smartie. All right, I will arrange everything right after
Christmas. In the meantime, I will do what I can to fix your
records so that no one will question why you are showing up as
a female."
"Thanks, Aunt Jane. I really appreciate all your help."
Jane watched her young charge sail out of the room with just a
touch of melancholy. She never would have believed that
Michael would be willing to meet her halfway on the subject of
another student, and he had come more than halfway. Now he
was blithely planning a life with her into the future. It
sounded surprisingly nice to Jane. It had been a very long
time since she'd had a family. Oh, she had Maria, but Maria
did not *need* Jane. Michelle did. Jane hoped that in the
fullness of time, she still would.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
October 20 - Day 96
Dear Diary
I survived the dance, and Dennis survived his attempt to neck
with me after the dance. But it was a near thing. Oh, the
kissing was okay, and yes, it did make me hard again.
However, when he got a little too cute, like trying to pull
down the zipper of my jeans and then pulling my hand over onto
his own hard-on, well, that ticked me off.
I put my hand on his crotch all right - right where it would
do the most good and squeezed rather hard. Then I just
smiled, and asked him very sweetly to take his bloody hands
off me, and to take me home. Which he did, lucky for him.
He failed in his obligations as a gentleman to see me safely
to my front door, too. Could not get the hell out of dodge
fast enough once I was out the door and out of range of his
family jewels.
Jane would probably call this an "object lesson". Michael
would probably have tried much the same stunt half a year ago.
Would have tried to make the girl feel guilty that she had
"teased him" and then not "followed through on her promises"
Well, I did neither. Any "promises" were *only* in his
fevered little brain.
I cannot say I like the comparison between Dennis and Michael
being quite so close.
And I am NOT going out with that jerk again. I noticed
tonight that there were several of the other girls from
Wednesday's classes who arrived unescorted. They danced to
their hearts' content, but when it came time to leave, they
did not have to deal with any overactive male libidos.
Hopefully, they will let me tag along with them next time. I
think there is another dance a couple of weeks from now, and I
really enjoyed the partying with the other kids.
Live and learn. Being Michelle does have its little pitfalls.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 30. The Future and Decisions
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
November 14/15 - Day 120/121
Dear Diary
God, what a mess. I don't even know what to do or who I can
turn to. Jane would just go ballistic, but there isn't
anything she can do without exposing me. And nothing *really*
happened, it was just the intent. That was more than enough.
It just pisses me off that those two slugs are going to get
away with it.
Just the facts.
I went to the Saturday dance with a bunch of the other girls
from Caro's Wednesday class. Everything was fine - I was
getting a few dances in and having fun. At about 10 pm I went
to the ladies room. When I came out, I was ambushed and
dragged off into an empty classroom by two guys in ski masks.
I am 99 and 44 hundredths percent sure that one of them was
Dennis. The other one held my wrists and forced me to my
knees, while "Dennis" undid his jeans and pulled out his cock.
They told me I was going to suck them both off, or they were
going to have to hurt me. The one behind be was very strong,
and I could not free my wrists from his grip, and the one I
think was Dennis just started shaking himself in my face.
I tried to turn away, and so the one behind leaned down so
that he could make his threats in my ear without having to
speak loudly enough to be heard outside the room. That was
his big mistake.
I snapped my head back so that the crown of my skull smashed
right into his chin. He grip relaxed enough for me to free my
wrists. Then I brought both of my forearms up into each of
their groins as hard as I could. "Dennis" got the worst of it
because his testicles were out hanging free where I could see
them well enough to aim. The other one was wearing tight
jeans that I think shielded him a little, but he still went
down like a rock.
I was out of there, running as fast as I could go, only to be
met by Anna and the other girls who had come looking for me.
They saw the state I was in, and took me back into the ladies
room to clean me up and fix my face.
I didn't tell them the truth. Only that two guys had
shanghaied me, and pulled me away to steal kisses and to cop a
few feels. One of them told a chaperone, but by the time he
got there, the boys were long gone. Just as well, I guess.
As I said before. What could we possibly do.
Anyway, I managed to convince everyone that it was not really
a problem - just one of those stupid adolescent things guys
do. There was no harm really done, so could we just forget
it?
No harm. Right. Bullshit. I'm not bleeding and I did not
This *does* however constitute another of Jane's object
lessons. At least, that is what I keep trying to tell myself.
As Michelle, I am perceived to be weak and vulnerable in ways
that I never would have been as Michael. Never mind that
Michael and Michelle are just the same size, and just the same
strength, Michael would *never* have been attacked this way.
And Michelle *is* vulnerable. I have to deal with that,
somehow. I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes, I
see that boy waving his penis at my face. I wish I had marked
the sons of bitches somehow, so that I could find them later
on. I can't even be sure it *was* Dennis, and I have no idea
who the accomplice was.
So I cannot get even on my own. I seem to be spending a lot
of my time worrying about getting even. If this was Dennis,
that may have been his motivation, too. Getting even for my
threatening and humiliating him after the Harvest Festival
Dance. Guess that is an object lesson, too. Being on the
receiving end of an "I'll show you" ploy is not very nice.
Michelle Nash
Jane watched Michelle covertly from the entrance to the
sitting room. Something was bothering the girl and had been
bothering her for several days, now. A spark had died in her,
and Jane did not know why.
"Michelle?" she asked, moving into the room. "Are you all
right?"
A sad smile answered her. "I am okay, Aunt Jane. Just
feeling a little under the weather."
"Do you want me to call Nurse Nora, Michelle?"
Shaking her head, "No, thank you, Aunt Jane. I will be fine."
"Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?"
"Nothing's bothering me!" Michelle snapped with far too much
vehemence.
Brows lifted, Jane looked at her charge. "I see. Well, if
you change your mind, let me know."
The girl moved so quickly, Jane was not ready to find herself
locked in a fierce embrace. "Thanks for caring, Aunt Jane."
she whispered, and then ran from the room.
Whatever was bothering her, Jane mused, it was definitely
something she wanted to try to deal with alone. Jane had to
respect that, but she hoped that the girl would be able to do
so on her own.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
November 19 - Day 125
Dear Diary
Jane is worried about me. I don't know what to tell her.
Last night, I slept without nightmares, although Michelle does
sometimes get lost in thought thinking about it. Even that
has happened fewer times today. I don't know why I am coming
out of it so quickly. That is not the way my books on
psychology say women recover from this type of experience. So,
maybe it is the part of me that is mostly Michael that is
responsible, but I think I am coming to grips with this
incident, and starting to put it behind me.
Or is it just that Michael is able to ignore how he feels and
that is, to some extent, shielding Michelle who is feeling
very used, dirty and frightened? Maybe both. Of course, if
Michael ever slips and is forced to confront these feelings,
it could really get ugly.
God, I was *so* scared!
Still, Michael was able to protect himself, and in the process
was able to protect Michelle. That means a lot to me, when I
allow myself to take a "male" view of the incident. That was
pretty hard to do for a couple of days when the memories were
so overwhelmingly fresh. But Michael "helps".
Maybe this is part of becoming Jane's better balanced
personality - in some situations the male side of me is better
able to cope, and in others, the female is the stronger one.
It is a matter of being both, and relying on both to see me
over the rough spots.
Each to his or her own strengths and abilities? Makes sense
to me, but I still think this is going to bother me for a very
long time. Hell, I even bought a can of pepper spray
yesterday, not that it would have been of any benefit the way
those two assholes got to me. Still, as long as I can let
Michael deal with the worst of it, I can move on and I can
function as Michelle.
Wonder what Eric or Dr. Spinelli would have to say about all
this? Probably say I am rationalizing and internalizing and
that it is going to bite me in the butt eventually. Well, it
is my butt, and one thing Jane has taught me. I have to try
to do things as best that I can.
In any event, I am not going to any more of those damned dance
classes. Good ole Denny's mom might object to seeing her
little darling writhing in the fetal position on her nice
pretty dance floor trying to find his balls.
Michelle Nash
~--------------~
Jane kept casting looks across the breakfast table where
meal of yogurt and cereal. She did not mean to be rude, it
was just that every time she glimpsed the young man out of the
corner of her eye, it surprised her. She simply wasn't used
to having Michael at her table instead of Michelle.
The day was Thanksgiving, and Jane had planned a huge holiday
feast with all of her local friends attending. After
reviewing the guest list, Jane had realized that everyone of
her invited guests was someone who was already in on her and
Michelle's secret. That being the case, and since no one else
was likely to visit on a family holiday, Jane had offered to
let her ward attend as Michael.
Michael pretended to be unaware of the looks he was getting
from both Jane and Maria, just as he pretended not to notice
the lack of their normal breakfast banter. Maria, who usually
found something to tease Michelle about, had only set
Michael's breakfast in front of him. She hadn't even asked
him if he wanted anything different for a change. As for
Jane, she kept her nose buried in the paper when she wasn't
trying to avoid staring at him. She did not read him a single
amusing line or share any of the comics with him as she always
did with Michelle.
It was a bloody uncomfortable experience. It had not felt
like this in Tahoe, but then, Tahoe was neutral ground. This
house was Jane's private world, and while Michelle was a part
of that world, Michael was not. After finishing his
breakfast, Michael excused himself, received only a nod from
Jane, and went into the sitting room to read.
Unfortunately, the entire morning went that way, with everyone
who showed up. The only exception was Bill, Caro's husband.
Sandy and Brenda Franson had stared at him in open mouthed
disbelief when Michael had met them at the door. Caro had
wrinkled her brow questioningly, but at least she had broken
down and given him a greeting hug.
However, the absolute worst part of the morning had been in
the kitchen when he'd offered to help with something. He had
been very graciously and very firmly rebuffed and told to go
watch football with Bill. Michael had not felt so alone since
David had left for college.
A very moody Michael sat stolidly in the recreation room,
staring at the television and seeing nothing.
"It's not you, you know." an amused Bill said gently. "It's
them."
Michael snapped out of his fugue to look up at the older man.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I saw the look on your face when Caro did not immediately hug
you as she does when she greets Michelle. And I saw your
dejection when they chased you out of the kitchen just now."
Michael turned his head away, afraid he would lose control and
begin to cry. "Like I said, it's their problem, not yours.
While they have all become very fond of Michelle, they just
don't know how to relate to Michael. I don't want to hurt
your feelings by saying this, but they've forgotten that
arrived here. They don't realize that their unthinking
rejection of you has hurt your feelings."
"How do you see that so clearly?" Michael asked, unnerved by
Bill's perception.
"Been there, done that, got the bra and the pantihose to prove
it." he quipped, drawing a laugh from Michael.
"*They'd* be hurt if I pointed it out, or told them how I was
feeling. And I don't want to do that to them."
"So don't. It is their problem. Don't let it ruin your
holiday."
Michael became silent at that point, as he ran through what
Bill had said, over and over in his mind. He did not want to
hurt any of them, but this *was* going to ruin his holiday.
And probably theirs as well, he conceded.
"Excuse me, Bill. I need to go get something."
Bill gave him a wave, and then smiled broadly at the
retreating back of Michael Nash.
~--------------~
"I think I am going to have to leave before dinner, Jane."
Brenda Franson was saying as the women sat around Maria's
table, finishing up the hors d'oerves for today's feast. "I
really need to go to the shop and finish the last minute
details for my After Thanksgiving rush crowd."
Jane was about to protest, when another voice spoke up first.
"Please don't, Mrs. Franson. At least stay for dinner, and
then, if you really need to go work at your shop, I will go
with you to help you make up for the lost time."
The women all turned to the kitchen door to see Michelle
standing there wearing a green and red dress that Jane had
bought her for the holidays. "Michael?" she asked, "but what
are you doing in . . "
"Michelle, Jane." her ward corrected. "Do you see any
Michaels around here? How about it, Sandy? Do you?"
Sandra burst into laughter, and was soon joined by the other
women. "Hell no, girlfriend. Not a sign of one."
Michelle then entered the kitchen from which Michael had so
recently been banished, rubbing her hands together
theatrically. "*Now*, is there any way I can help?" she asked
plaintively. Five sets of hands reached out to drag her to
the table.
It was a great holiday, the best Michelle *or* Michael could
ever remember.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
November 28 - Day 134
Dear Diary
What a wonderful day. After I made the switch back to
Michelle, anyway. Bill was right. They weren't prepared to
deal with Michael's presence. Brenda almost left, but she
stayed the whole day once I was Michelle again.
Just another thing I would never have believed back in July,
but today it was important to me that all of Jane's friends
relax and have a good time. And for that to happen, I needed
to be who they expected me to be. Actually, I gained far more
than I lost on the deal. Michael could have watched *every*
football game, but he would never have been accepted into
Maria's kitchen domain. That was special. Besides, Brenda is
one of those people who puts the word "fan" in "fanatic". I
got to watch all the football I wanted once we'd eaten and
finished the cleanup.
So I guess I am a different person than I was. Even as
Michael, because the BJT (Before Jane Thompson) Michael would
not have cared a fig for the comfort of others. Most
especially, he would not have given a damn for the comfort of
Jane's little cadre and *certainly* would never have willingly
become Michelle to ease their tension.
And, I also guess that, strange and impossible as that may
have seemed in July, these women have become Michelle's
friends, too. Which was the primary reason that I changed.
The only real down-check on my day is that Michelle still
wears that darned body shaper and *that* tool of torture most
belly. Oh well, everything tasted wonderful - what little I
could get down. And, I am not as likely to get assigned extra
crunches and extra minutes on the StairMaster by Sonja after
my weekly Monday weigh-in. Every silver lining has a cloud.
Or something like that.
It was a grand day!
Michelle Nash
Jane sat in her den, sipping a brandy and watching as the
flames in her fireplace danced and flickered. She was so
incredibly proud of that boy. She'd realized far too late
that it had been a mistake to allow Michael attend the party
instead of Michelle. However, once she'd given her okay, it
would have been churlish to order him back into skirts just
because her circle of friends did not know what to do around
the boy they'd all had a hand in making over into a girl.
But the young man (not a boy any longer, Jane reminded herself
sternly) had sensed what was wrong and had cared enough to do
something about it. He had come so far in the past months;
had learned so much more than he'd ever known, had matured so
far beyond the juvenile delinquent who had been suspended from
his school and then deposited on her doorstep by his Mother.
She just wished he had come far enough to turn away from his
stated goals as Michelle. But it was probably too late for
that now, anyway.
A Losing Season: Chapter 31. Attack Imminent
Jane stood outside the door of her front parlor, knowing that
this had to be done, but wishing she could just forget the
whole thing. She sighed unhappily. She *had* given her word,
she thought. At least twice, and it all came down to this.
Steeling herself, Jane moved into the room where Michelle sat
reading yet another book. Probably psychology again, she
thought.
Michelle looked up from her book, a blank expression on her
perfectly made up face. She looked so completely feminine,
Jane mused not for the first time. In all of her years of
training young men to look and behave like young women, not
one of them had approached the level attained by this one.
Which made it all the sadder that her motive for achieving all
this perfection was the accomplishment of so base a goal.
The Laura Ashley sweater and skirt combination were set off by
opaque white stockings and low heeled black pumps. Her
jewelry was tastefully selected and was completely appropriate
to her age and her apparel. Her manner was refined and
gentle. She looked like a young lady who had just returned
home from Sunday services. Which, with the exception of truly
being a lady, was exactly what she was. It had amazed Jane
when Michelle asked if they could go to church to celebrate
the start of the Christmas season, but she had given her
assent. They'd both had a lovely time.
Indeed, she *was* perfect.
"Yes, Aunt Jane?" Michelle finally asked, breaking the odd
silence between them.
Jane shrugged inwardly, and pressed forward. "Michelle. I
know it is still very early in your training, but I have what
may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here that you should
consider." She handed Michelle a piece of gold-gilt parchment
and then stood by in silence as the girl read it.
"This is an invitation to my Mother's engagement party next
month. So, she has finally managed to get one of her
boyfriends to come up to scratch." Jane watched her pupil,
and was surprised to see that, although her words had been
harsh, her face had reflected no such emotion. Either
Michelle had become very good at masking her feelings, or the
girl did not actually find the concept of her Mother
remarrying as distasteful as she let on. "What has this to do
with me, Aunt Jane?"
Jane took a seat on the chair next to Michelle. "I should
think that it would be obvious, pet. We could both attend
that party together and you would have your chance to get even
with her Mother. Many very powerful and influential people
will attend this event. Her fiance will be there. What
better time could there be for you to face down your Mother
and force her to acknowledge what you've become and what she's
lost." Jane had spoken in very calm, very reasoned tones, as
if she had absolutely no doubt that Michelle could accomplish
such an end.
Michelle stared at the mentor she had recently found herself
caring about deeply. Could she really mean that? Could they
really do something that . . . that total? Michelle shook her
head, trying to clear her thinking, and failed. It was all
too much, too soon. "Too soon." she repeated those words
aloud, hoping to convince Jane and herself. "I am not ready
for that type of event, Jane." Her voice held a touch of
panic. "Maybe a year from now. . .Maybe. I mean, really Aunt
Jane, I have only been doing this for a few months. I could
never hold up under such demanding scrutiny as I'd have to
face at that party. No, I need to learn much more."
Jane chuckled at her young friend's panic and prevarication.
"Now, Michelle," she soothed, "You've held up just fine at any
number of dances and parties with the local teenage crowd. I
assure you that none of the people who are at that party will
be quite so forward as a seventeen year old male in heat."
Michelle blushed at that reminder of a recent party where
she'd been forced to threaten to knee one suitor in the groin
before he finally backed off.
"Wish I'd never told you about that one." Michelle muttered
under her breath.
"Well, you did, but that is beside the point. What is to the
point is that, with the exception of a few of the young men at
the party, no one is going to look at you twice. The women
are going to ignore you because you are far more beautiful
than they, and the men will ignore you because their women
will be watching them. You can mingle or dance or even play
wallflower, as you choose, but you will be there and your
Mother will see you. You could tell her that her son is dead
to her when we make our final good byes to her."
Michelle wasn't sure how she felt about that idea just now.
It was one thing to think about, to fantasize about, but to
actually go out and intentionally hurt someone? Even if his
Mother surely deserved everything he could do to her? But
isn't that what you want??, her mind screamed, only to be
answered by another part of her brain - I *don't* know! She
needed time. Time to think. Time to get her priorities back
in order. "I don't know, Aunt Jane. I just don't think I am
ready."
Jane simply shook her head. "You are never going to be any
better than perfection, Michelle. You *are* ready. If we are
going to go through with this, it would be best to do it as
soon as possible. Furthermore, your Mother will never be more
vulnerable than she will be on the day of her engagement
party, particularly if she really does love that man."
Michelle considered that. "Do you think she really does? Love
him, I mean."
"I don't know, Michelle. I do know that your Mother has had
any number of affairs over the years since your father died
with men who would have been more than delighted to wed her.
If she is marrying this one, then either she does truly love
him, or she is broke and needs the money that marrying a
wealthy man will bring her."
"No." Michelle responded firmly. "She is still wealthy beyond
anyone's needs. The annual income on her share of the stock
from my father's company alone is in the seven figure range."
"Then I think she must have genuine feelings for the man."
Jane said with great finality. "So. Do I RSVP accepting, or
tendering our regrets?"
"Aunt Jane? Speaking of finances, I won't come into my trust
fund for another three years. What if she cuts me off after
this? I won't have any income and likely no place to live."
Jane squelched that argument quickly. "I told you, Michelle,
that I would take care of you until you reach your majority
and can take charge of your trust. That promise has not
changed - will not change. Please trust me on this. I won't
let anything bad happen to you because I care about you.
Okay?"
Wonder shown in Michelle's eyes as she absorbed Jane's last
words. The girl/boy was so hungry for simple affection that
it made Jane hurt. Dammit, she thought, regardless of what
Barbara wanted or had to do, this child needed love. Well,
she'd just have to see that he got it in the future, wouldn't
she?
A tear cut a path down Michelle's cheek, and she flew into
Jane's arms. "And .. .and I care about you, too, Aunt Jane."
Before the shocked older woman could react, Michelle jumped to
her feet. "Aunt Jane, please excuse me, but I need to go
somewhere and think." She was out the door before Jane could
reply.
Once she was certain the girl was not returning, Jane allowed
herself to relax for the first time since the engraved
invitation had arrived. And remembering the surprise hug, she
also allowed herself to smile.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
November 30- Day 136
Dear Diary
Well, my chickens have come home to roost. My Mother is
engaged to be married and is holding a gala society ball at
the South Hampton house as an engagement party. Jane was
invited, which I guess means that I have been invited, too.
This wasn't supposed to happen for months, years even. I
mean, it's always been the back of my mind, but I never
thought it would be so soon. I thought I would have much more
time to prepare myself for this, and now, it is almost upon
me.
I cannot understand how I feel right now. I should be excited
about this, gleefully anticipating the scene I would make as I
told her of her son's demise. I mean, it is the perfect
opportunity for the maximum possible effect, to really show
her just what she condemned me to suffer when she sent me to
Jane last spring.
But am I ready for this?
God, I don't even know why I am so confused!
And as for passing at the party, Jane was right about that as
well. Actually, Jane does not know the _real_ story. How
could I tell her that I was not merely groped by two
Neanderthals instead of one, and I was nearly raped. Since
that Dennis, that son of a female dog, is a homophobic idiot,
I have a damned good notion just how well I am passing as a
female these days.
So fear of not passing is just an excuse, exactly as Jane
said.
Well, I guess all this means I have to go. There may never be
another chance like this, and I have to open the door when
opportunity's knocking this loudly. Because if I don't do
this, then everything I've done for the past five months,
everything I've endured from that damned gaff to the actual
abdication of my masculinity, would have been for nothing.
So, it appears I must go to my Mother's engagement party.
Shit. I bet this means another shopping trip.
Michelle Nash.
A Losing Season: Chapter 32. Battle Planning and Logistics
Actually, it was several shopping trips. Mrs. Franson's
store, The Style Shoppe, carried a nice selection of very
smart dresses and gowns, but she had nothing really suitable
for a New York society debutante attending her first ball. At
least, not in Jane's or Mrs. Franson's estimation. Oh, no.
hideously expensive and a designer original.
Jane swept her unhappy student off to Boston where a well
known fashion designer fitted her a ball gown. Fortunately,
the glued on prosthetic breasts and Caro's special cosmetic
blending compound held up through that ordeal; Michelle looked
completely passable, even in her lingerie. The strapless bra
gave her support and the special gaff designed to look like a
g-string panty kept Michael in check, as well.
The designer was a little miffed that both Jane and Michelle
steadfastly vetoed every one of her attempts to tease them
into a lower neckline that would "properly show off your
lovely bosoms, dear."
Which, of course, was one of the few things that the dress
could *not* show off. Caro's body paint worked just fine in
the relative sedentary, cool world of the fitting room, but it
would not be so effective over several hours in the body
temperature heat at Michelle's Mother's ball. At some point
during that long evening, whether it was in the middle of a
crush of other guests, or when pulled tight against some
male's body, pretending to waltz, the stuff would probably
melt and get rubbed off onto her dance partner's tux or some
woman's bodice. Jane and Michelle had too much respect for
the whimsies of Mr. Murphy to permit the designer to have her
way.
Finally the designer surrendered, and instead proposed a dress
with a high neckline designed to show off Michelle's lovely
long throat. That worked very nicely. Michelle even modeled
the five stranded pearl choker with antique cameo she intended
to wear with the dress during that initial fitting.
The initial fitting went off without incident, and even better
than Jane had dared hope. However, the long period of standing
absolutely still, while under the close scrutiny of the
modiste, had been a nerve racking experience for Michelle.
Thus it was a very relieved Michelle who finally scurried away
from that shop as quickly as Jane would let her.
Amused, Jane permitted the headlong flight for about a block
before she reined in the girl. "Stop worrying, Michelle."
Jane chided gently. "The worst is over. She'll even be coming
to the house for the other fittings, and you will be able to
change into the gown in the privacy of your own room. Now,
Betty Franson can handle the lingerie and hosiery for us, and
you already have your jewelry, so we don't have to worry about
those. Let's see. . . ah yes, the shoes." she all but sighed
with pleasure at the thought of their next stop.
~---------~
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
December 2 - Day 138
Dear Diary
I wonder if I need a tetanus shot? After the fifth or sixth
time we told that bitch that I was not going to be showing off
"my lovely bosoms", those damned pins of hers started sticking
me more than they did the darn dress.
As for the dress - well, I just don't know. I still can't
tell what the thing is going to look like at this point - but
Jane can and she is positively rhapsodic over it.
I just hope it works for me.
I need sleep. Jane has had us both on the move since before
seven this morning, and we finally finished what we could at
about six tonight. Another thing I don't want to think about
is what is it that we couldn't get done. How could there
possibly be any more?
Michelle Nash
Jane smiled happily to herself in her room of the large suite
she had rented in Boston. Michelle was sound asleep in her
own room, exhausted from her ordeals. Still, she'd held up
well, and had only come close to panic once - when she'd had
to strip down for the modiste. Even then, she had only
behaved like a shy, well bred, if somewhat sheltered young
woman asked to undress in front of a stranger.
Jane had thoroughly enjoyed their day of shopping. She'd
almost forgotten the simple pleasure of just shopping for
pretty things with another female. Oh, she went on
innumerable "shopping" expeditions with her sissy boys, but
those excursions were intended to scare the panties off the
little darlings. The problem was, Jane could never relax her
vigilance during those jaunts, because although she only
frequented the establishments of women who were in on her
secret, there were usually other people in those popular
stores who were not. Jane had to be constantly on the lookout
for *real* danger while Betty or Caro or Sandy worked on and
worked over her little sweeties.
Not so today. Michelle was so close to actually *being* a
woman, that sometimes Jane found herself forgetting that her
ward was physically a male. Today had been just such a time,
and although Michael would deny it with his dying breath, Jane
and Michelle had had a wonderful time. The little minx had
even teased the hell out of that poor shoe salesman with her
lovely legs as he fitted her for a pair of hand made pumps to
match her gown. Yes, today had been great fun, and Jane had
almost been able to forget the disaster that was looming in
her future.
Almost.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
December 5 - Day 141
Dear Diary
I had my first home fitting of the new gown, today. I have to
admit that Jane had it right. My dress is going to be
gorgeous. The only downside is that the darn thing has to be
white, since this is my "coming out" and debutantes are always
arrayed in white purity when they are first presented as
"virgins in society". Some stupid tradition left over from
Regency England, I'm told. *I* wanted something festive and
bright, maybe jewel tones selected to match my eyes, and to
knock the eyes out of whoever sees me in it.
My god. . . .what did I just write?
Oh hell. Honesty time again. Yes, I *love* the dress. It
makes me look and feel pretty, and that makes me feel good.
Certainly better than I ever felt about myself back when I was
a male.
Interesting question, and one I am not entirely certain I want
to or even *can* answer. However it is abundantly clear that
Michelle is no longer just a disguise or an means to an end.
I really do not know where Michael ends and Michelle starts.
I guess that is what Eric and David meant by saying they were
both themselves and their feminine alter egos.
Which begs another question. If next month at my Mother's
party, I do finish what I started so many months ago, what
happens then? In particular, what happens to all the planning
Jane and I have done so Michelle can go to school? What about
my little "sister"?
Or do I go back to being Michael? Or even *mostly* Michael?
I don't really know anymore. I really have never given any
thought to anytime or anything beyond my giving my Mother what
she seemed to want of me. Jane has said I will always have a
home with her, but it goes beyond that.
I've said I want to go to college, and Jane has said that she
could arrange that for me as Michelle. But that was when we
thought the masquerade would go on much longer than a mere
five or six months.
Well, the first thing I will do once this is over is take
charge of my life and figure out what *I* want to do with it.
The strangest part of all this is that I am more excited about
the dress than I am about achieving my six month goal.
And I don't even want to think any more about that little
concept.
Michelle Nash.
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary
December 18 - Day 154
Dear Diary
Well, tomorrow is the point of no return. The party is the
day after so tomorrow we will take a ferry from somewhere in
Connecticut down to Long Island's Montauk Point where a car
will pick us up. We will be spending the night with one of
Jane's friends (not Mother) because Jane does not want to take
the chance I will slip up and expose myself to my Mother
before the party. "If you are going to do it at all, dear,
then do it where and when it will have the greatest effect."
Jane would have made a hell of an army general.
The dress is done, and is packed away lovingly by Maria, ready
for transport to our destination. Maria cried when I modeled
the full outfit for her, and wasted an entire roll of film.
She had me parading up and down the stairs, doing the "Scarlet
O'Hara gliding down the front hall grand staircase at Tara"
thing, or slinking down the runway like some kind of high
fashion model showing off the latest Bill Blass creation.
Well, at least I learned how during my part time job as a
model for Mrs. Franson.
Well, maybe it's not entirely a waste - the dress is
absolutely gorgeous.
I wonder if she will let me have some copies of the better
shots? Just for souvenirs.
As to what I will do the night of the party, my mind is no
clearer than it has been since Jane first told me we were
going to face my Mother.
In my darkest heart, I have to say that I really am looking
forward to seeing the look on her face when I unveil myself as
the person who *used* to be her son, and when I tell her
precisely what I mean to do in the future.
And yet. . .,
God. And yet, in my less evil moments, I have to ask - does
she really deserve this? Well, for neglecting me, yes, maybe
somewhat. But on the other hand, her "abandonment" of me to
Jane - in the final analysis, was that really such a bad
thing? Haven't I ultimately gained Maria and Jane from that?
My stomach is really churning. I don't think I am going to
sleep a wink between now and the party. I don't even know why
it is still bothering me this way.
Wait, that is not quite right. I do know something of the
reason. I am frightened. The thing I don't know is precisely
what it is that frightens me.
Sometimes I think it is the confrontation with my Mother, and
its subsequent fallout, assuming that there is one. Other
times, I think it is the uncertainty of my future beyond that
confrontation.
And some times, during those really dark, lonely times when I
don't seem to know quite who or what I am anymore, I am pretty
sure it is *me* that I fear the most.
What I am planning is not a very nice thing to do to anyone.
Isn't that a gross understatement? Some might say my plans
are the complete opposite of the Golden Rule. In "killing"
Michael to give her Michelle, I have, in a very real sense,
abandoned her as she abandoned Michael. I will do unto her as
she has done unto me.
I read something the other day that described revenge as a
blade that cuts both ways. As I approach the culmination of
my plan, I have come to understand that concept only too well.
My little "I will show *her*" plan is starting to sound a
great deal like revenge, and I am not happy about that. After
a great deal of reflection on all the possible outcomes of
this enterprise, I have concluded that I will not come out of
it unscathed. Will the outcome be worth what I have already
endured, and what I will have to endure after the fact? I
just don't know.
Six months ago, heck, three months ago, I would have simply
gone off and done this thing without a qualm or a second
thought. Now, I have many of each, and yet, do I really have
any choice? I mean, if I don't do this thing, will I ever be
free of this. . .this hurting inside me?
I wish I knew.
I seem to be saying that a lot, lately.
Michelle Nash
A Losing Season: Chapter 33. Storming the Castle
The extended body limousine pulled around the long circular
driveway and rolled to a stop directly in front of the red
carpeted entrance to his Mother's house. Michael Nash had not
been inside that house since his Father's funeral; since he'd
begun his gypsy life of going from one boarding school to
another, from one more camp to the next. Michelle was certain
that Jane must be able to hear the pounding of her heart as
she stared at the familiar stone pillars of what should have
been home.
Oh God, Michelle thought bleakly. I am *not* ready for this.
Jane sensed rather than saw the hesitancy in her charge's
demeanor, and rested a single gloved hand on Michelle's wrist.
The lovely vision spun to lock eyes with her Aunt. A strange
sad little smile played across Jane's lips before she nodded
toward the doorman stepping up to open the car door for them.
Months of training snapped into control and Michelle acted on
what was now pure instinct. Offering her gloved fingers up to
the gaudily uniformed man, she permitted him to hand her up
and out of the car. Michelle bestowed a blinding smile on him
and watched with quiet amusement as he almost stumbled getting
back to help Jane.
"Ready, my dear?" Jane asked softly as she took her place
beside Michelle.
Hell no, Michelle thought before answering "As ready as I will
ever be. Lets do this and get it over with, Jane, before I do
something stupidly female - like faint."
The entrance foyer was just as Michelle remembered it - rich
with red velvet, polished hardwoods and gilt edged trim. As
she turned to give her wrap to the butler, she saw the huge,
curving grand staircase with its brightly polished bannister.
An old memory tugged at her just then, of a young boy caught
sliding down that bannister by an angry father who turned him
over to his Mother for punishment.
Only, she hadn't punished him. Instead, she'd swatted a sofa
pillow and told him to scream loudly. Then the pair of them
had snuck into the kitchen to filch cookies from the cook.
Her only admonition had been to tell him to make sure his
Father was not around the next time he felt like sliding.
Odd how he'd managed to forget things like that - his father
always finding fault with him, always finding reasons to
"discipline the boy and make a man out of him." And it had
always been his Mother who had taken his side, or softened the
punishment. What had changed, Michelle's mind cried. When
had things changed between Michael and his Mother? Wasn't
that the memory of a loving Mother protecting her child from
an unjustly harsh punishment?
"Michelle?" Jane's voice broke in on the flood of unanswered
questions in Michelle's mind. "Are you all right?" was the
solicitous question.
Taking a deep breath, Michelle fought off the memories and
nodded to Jane. "I'm all right. I was just remembering. .
remembering something."
"A happy or a sad something?" Jane asked gently.
"Both." was the curt answer. "And neither. Let's go in."
The ballroom of the mansion was filled with people engaged in
the fine arts of flirtation and small talk. The orchestra was
not scheduled to start for another couple of hours, and so the
guests made free with the light buffet of savory gourmet
finger foods and the open bars laid out in the small rooms
about the periphery of the ball room.
Neither Jane nor Michelle had eaten that day, but both were so
nervous that the mere thought of eating made their stomachs
roil. Jane went to one of the bars and returned with two wine
flutes filled with a clear, sparkling liquid. Michelle's
brows went up in query as Jane handed her one of the chilled
glasses.
"Perrier, darling. I think we will both need our wits about
us before this night is over. Now lets go mingle."
Somehow, they managed to avoid Barbara in their wanderings.
Whether that was intentional on Jane's part, or simple
serendipity, Michelle did not know. She was, however,
grateful for whatever brought that to pass. Her ambivalence
about confronting her Mother seemed to be growing with each
passing minute.
At some point in the evening, the orchestra began to play a
rousing little ditty to get everyone's attention. Barbara and
her fiance walked hand in hand to the makeshift podium and
greeted their guests.
It was the first time that Michelle had ever gotten a good
look at Michael's soon-to-be stepfather. He was a very
slender fellow of medium height - actually shorter than his
Mother since she was wearing fairly tall spiked heels - who
moved with unusual grace for a man. He was handsome, in an
almost pretty sort of way - much like an older Leo DeCaprio -
with his light blonde, somewhat long hair and eyes that were
probably blue. He was also, if Michelle was any judge of it,
more than a decade younger than Michael's forty two year old
mother.
As Michelle watched the pair, her Mother's true feelings came
through to her with crystalline clarity. Michelle's mother
was deeply in love with that man. The sheer emotion that lit
up her Mother's entire face made Michelle blush and want to
turn away.
After the remarks and the many toasts to the happy pair, the
orchestra began to play a waltz, and the betrothed couple led
off the dancing to the applause of all the guests.
Much of what happened thereafter was mostly a blur to
Michelle. She had been offered and had accepted dance
invitations from several men. A couple of them were old
enough to be her grandfather, and they had enjoyed the
opportunity to take a turn around the dance floor with such a
lovely young woman. She had glowed under their genuine
compliments and had dutifully giggled at their gentle,
fatherly teasing. Her other dance partners, with the notable
exception of two boors, were pleasant young men who danced
well and who made an effort to put her at ease.
She even managed to fit in with the other women guests as
well. The grand dames wanted to introduce their sons to her,
and the younger girls seemed to want to emulate her. On one
occasion she heard one woman point her out to another matron.
"That one has been well trained by someone. She'd have been
acceptable in our time, dear, unlike so many of these
hoydens." It had made her smile.
One of her few real smiles that night.
The only difficulties she'd had to face, with the exception of
her Mother, were two young preppie males in the St. Andrews
Academy mold, who obviously thought they were God's gift to
women. Michelle had vainly tried to ignore the wandering
hands of the first one, but he would not be deterred. As the
dance thankfully ended, the hand he rested behind her tugged
at her zipper. Fed up at last, Michelle stopped, and with a
dazzling smile on her face, went up on tiptoe to whisper
something to the young fool.
Jane wondered if anyone else saw the look of surprise followed
by stark terror on the man's face as Michelle got her message
through to him. Or if anyone saw the hand taking a fistful of
something down around his groin and start squeezing. Jane did
not think so, since Michelle had been very careful to keep her
skirts between her quarry and the rest of the assembly.
The second incident occurred an hour or so later. This young
buck managed to muscle Michelle out onto the terrace during
their dance. Although the air was unseasonably mild for
December in New York, it was still quite chilly for a young
lady in a silk gown and not very much else. Having seen what
the churlish young man had done, Jane had immediately hurried
over to the terrace door just in time to see Michelle's dance
partner trying to force his mouth onto hers.
Suddenly, the man jumped back, his hand flying to his mouth.
Jane could not hear what was said, but she recognized the
stern, down-the-nose glare Michelle fixed on her erstwhile
suitor as the one she herself employed with her more
recalcitrant sissy boys. And with much the same effect, too,
she was pleased to note. Then Jane only barely missed being
knocked over by a furiously blushing man holding a bleeding
lower lip as he all but ran from the scene. Jane watched as
her ward took a few moments to compose herself before walking
with sedate poise back to the ball room.
The girl had learned far more than Jane had realized in the
past months. God, but she was proud of this student. If only
things were different, she thought yet one more time.
For her own part, Michelle had had just about enough "society"
to last her a lifetime. She was heartily weary of the entire
thing and wanted nothing more than to leave this place with
its painful memories and its myriad ghosts. She started
scanning the room for Jane, only to have her gaze fall on her
Mother, still dancing with her husband-to-be. The pure
unadulterated joy on Barbara's face took Michelle's breath
away, and she simply stood there spellbound, watching them
dance as one.
The spell broke when the song completed and the orchestra
leader announced an intermission. Michelle again looked about
for Jane, this time locating her off to one side of the
ballroom, over near the door to the terrace that lout had
pulled her off to. Purposefully, she moved through the throng
of milling guests and upon reaching Jane, took her elbow and
led her to a quiet corner.
"Jane, I have had enough. I want to leave. Could we please
go home? *Now*?"
Jane lifted one thin, finely lined brow. "Now? Before we
complete the mission to which you have dedicated the last six
months? What about your Mother?"
There were tears in her ward's eyes, now. Whether from
frustration, anger or sadness, Jane did not know. She wished
she did.
"No, Aunt Jane. This is her night. She is happy and in love.
No matter how much I hurt, no matter how much I think she
deserves to hurt, I just can't do it."
"Does this mean we will be coming back at some later date to
finish the job?" Jane probed gently.
"No." Michelle shook her head in defeat. "Not now. Not ever.
It is over. I am going to move past this. Somehow. Try to
figure out where I fit into the world. I guess I will need to
take you up on your offer to stay with you, at least for a
while." and here she sighed deeply. "Which means I will be
staying Michelle for the foreseeable future. Too many people
around your house know Michelle and would probably recognize
me if I suddenly showed up as Michael." She looked at her
reflection in the glass terrace doors and gave Jane a wan
smile. "That's okay, I guess I kinda like being Michelle.
Heck, I don't think I'd know how to be Michael around you,
Aunt Jane."
"You could learn, dear, if that is what you truly want."
"That's okay. Right now, I probably don't know how to be
Michael - period. Can we go, now?" she asked again,
plaintively. "*Please*?"
"All right. Look, you go into that little sitting room off
the foyer while I go to the powder room and then call for our
car."
Michelle nodded and let herself be led away by her aunt.
Losing Season: Chapter 34. The Final Confrontation
The little room had a small love seat and several chairs
clustered into a cozy little grouping in the center of the
room, with a small antique writing desk off to one corner.
Wearily, Michelle settled onto the love seat to wait for Jane.
Her mind drifted until she noticed her reflection again, this
time in the glass fireplace screen. With detached interest,
she studied the picture she made. Hands resting demurely on
her lap, her knees together and her ankles crossed. "God, I
look like one of those Regency Misses from the novels Jane is
always making me read." she muttered to herself.
"Yes, you do at that." came a soft voice behind her.
Michelle's head slewed around to a door she had not noticed
when she'd first entered the room, and her blood froze. There,
backlighting emphasizing her proud stance and tall, slender
frame, was his mother! And at her side was Aunt Jane.
With a grace Michelle now knew had once been learned over
hours of long practice in her youth, Barbara Nash moved over
to the chair directly opposite Michelle and sat down.
"Jane told me you were leaving." she said with a smile. "And
before we had the receiving line. Since I did so want to meet
you, I thought I would come here to keep you company while
your car is brought around."
Stunned by the sudden arrival of the woman he had decided not
to face down, Michael was momentarily speechless, and could
only nod. At least, he thought, she hasn't recognized me.
Thank god for that much.
"Jane said there was something you wanted to tell me?"
Waves of shock rolled over Michelle. What had Jane done?
Hadn't she just told Jane that Michael no longer wanted to
carry through with his ill-meant plan of confronting his
Mother with the "death" of her son? That he wanted nothing
more than to put this all behind him and get on with whatever
life he'd have in the future? Why in the name of God had Jane
said *anything* to Barbara? Swallowing his roiling emotions,
Michael tried to brazen through as Michelle. "No, nothing
really, Mrs. Nash. But I would like to thank you for having
me to your party."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm positive. Shall we go, Aunt Jane? Please?" All
three of them heard the thread of growing panic in that plea.
Yet, Michelle managed to rise from her seat gracefully, her
nervous tension noticeable only in the stiffness with which
she pinched her skirt to rearrange it for walking away.
Then his Mother said, "Don't go just yet, please." Her eyes
were soft with entreaty. Astonishingly, she added, ". .
.Michael."
Bile started to churn in Michelle's stomach, and he searched
for an escape route, but there were none available. With a
calm she was far from feeling, she answered. "My name is
Michelle, Mrs. Nash. Michael is a man's name."
The smile returned, a bit brighter and strangely, a bit darker
this time. "Oh, I think I know precisely who you are." she
said firmly. "You are my son."
Michael's heart and breathing stopped as he stared in horror
at his Mother. This could NOT be happening. There was NO way
she could see Michelle and recognize Michael. Grimly, she
tried again to brazen it out. "I really don't think I am
anybody's son, Ma'am."
Barbara's smile did not waiver in the slightest. This is what
a deer feels like, Michael thought, as it stares into the
lights of an onrushing car. She knew. Somehow, she knew.
And then, that "somehow" became clear to her. Jane had said
nothing throughout this entire exchange. She *should* have
come to Michelle's aid, should have helped her parry this
unexpected attack. She should have, that is, unless *she* was
her Mother's source of information.
The pain of this betrayal, after she had told Jane she cared
for her, was almost too much to bear. Furiously, the
femininely disguised young man blinked against the tears that
burned at his eyes, trying to salvage at least some small
scrap of his pride.
"Yes. You are Michael." she finally said with equanimity.
"You've turned out even better than I'd dared to hope."
Michael felt his world tilt crazily on its axis, but still
forced himself to remain steady, erect and dry-eyed before
this woman.
The game was well and truly up, he realized. The pair of them
had played him for a fool.
Again.
"Why?" he finally asked, looking from one woman to the other
before fixing his burning eyes squarely on Jane. "Why this .
. . this game? Is this just another of your damnable "little
ploys", Jane? The biggest, most humiliating of them all?
DAMN YOU, I'd started to care for you, and now you do THIS to
me?"
Jane quailed visibly at Michael's thrust. She started to
answer but was restrained by Barbara's hand on hers. "I am
the one responsible for every decision concerning you and your
welfare since the day you were all but expelled from your
precious St. Andrews, Michael. Therefore, your answers should
come from me. You've earned that much with your efforts to
get here tonight." With a quiet dignity, Barbara composed
herself.
"Michael, you don't really remember your father. The reason
for that is, in part, because you were very young for your age
when he died. But another, more significant factor is that he
never allowed you to know him. I know that you've always
admired your father as tough, strong, manly - a paragon of all
those qualities that *real* men are supposed to admire in
other men. Because of that, you've wanted to be like him and
in a way, he was making you like him, even from his grave."
She paused for a moment, steeling herself for what she had to
say next. "But Michael, he wasn't tough, strong, or manly.
Instead, he was a heavy-handed, imperious bully, a vicious and
mean spirited, small-souled man; an immoral coward who enjoyed
kicking the weak when they were down because that made him
feel more powerful. I don't have words foul enough to describe
or name him."
Barbara cast a speculative look at her child. "Did you know
that he'd left special instructions with the Head Master and
Dean at St. Andrews regarding your upbringing? They were to
see that you grew up emulating your father in every way.
They'd have done almost anything for the endowment your father
promised them. Ever wonder why you weren't punished when you
played all those dirty tricks on boys smaller and more
vulnerable than you? That's why. You were becoming his
vision of a man, and they were being well rewarded for it."
"Then why did that damned Dean suspend me? If he was getting
rich from satisfying my father's wishes, why am I not still
there?"
Sighing, Barbara acknowledged the question. "You simply left
them with no other choice. They suspended you only after
you'd gone too far with your unruly undisciplined ways.
Several wealthy families with long histories of sending their
young scions to that school were going to pull their boys out
to protect them from you."
"Unfortunately, your suspension precipitated other actions
about which you were and remain unaware. Most specifically
and seriously, that suspension put you in serious danger of
losing your inheritance.
She paused. "When. . . when your father died, he left you,
upon you reaching your majority at twenty one years old,
controlling interest in his companies."
Confusion showed in Michael's tearful eyes. "So what? That is
nothing new. How does that explain why I have not seen you
for barely more than five minutes at a time in over six
years?!?"
For the first time, indignant anger flashed in the eyes so
much like Michael's own. "Michael, your father, that
egocentric, manipulative, miserable excuse for a human being,
had a secret codicil written into his will. Basically, he
directed that you be made over in his image if you were to
inherit. Why was St. Andrews the only acceptable school for
you? Your father decreed that in his will. Why didn't I visit
you, and try to be a part of your life after his death? Your
father decreed that, too. *I* was a bad influence on you; *I*
made you weak. And *any* failure on either your or my part to
comply with that codicil would cost you your inheritance."
"And then you were all but expelled from St. Andrews, after
everything you and I had already sacrificed to get you this
far, this close to attaining your patrimony. I couldn't just
stand there and watch as you lost everything. I had to at
least attempt to turn your life around."
"So, I turned to Jane. My fiance is one of her graduates.
He's the one who reminded me of how well all of her students
turned out. Jane and I conceived a plan. We would attempt to
restore your other self, that decent, gentle self that your
father wanted exorcized from your soul. Then, and only then,
could you decide the kind of person you were, and then make an
informed about who you would become."
"How, Mother?" Michael rasped over the emotion churning in his
guts. "What possible choice could I make? I was a prisoner
in Jane's house, and if you think my father was vicious, well,
Jane could give him lessons. My father never taught me to
love him, and then turned away from me. He never promised me
honesty and then betrayed me. Not ever. No, it was *Jane*
who did that. And you!"
A sob from Jane made Barbara's eyes flash in controlled fury.
"Jane is *nothing* like that bastard. As to what choices she
gave you? You can be anyone you choose. Our fondest hope was
that you would choose to become strong, but gentle; ruthless
when necessary, but merciful when possible - a *real* man,
Michael, the kind of man others can count upon when times are
difficult."
No longer able to restrain the tears, Michael was openly
crying now. "How was I supposed to achieve this miracle,
Mother? By being stripped of my identity and my dignity? By
being forced to live as a girl? Ashamed because I wasn't
strong enough to stand up for myself and leave Jane as I
should have done that very first week, regardless of her
threats? Afraid that, sooner or later, I would be discovered
and have to live with that public humiliation for the rest of
my life?"
Barbara shook her head frantically. "By giving those finer
qualities inside you a chance to emerge as Michelle's traits.
Jane had experience bringing out that part of troubled and
troublesome boys, helping them to find far fuller and richer
lives than that narrow, twisted man I married could have ever
dreamed possible. It was never my intention for you to become
a girl, ashamed that you're a boy. But neither did I want you
to grow into a man who felt somehow diminished or shamed by
anything soft, caring or tender in yourself; a man who would
be afraid that such feelings made him girlish and unmanly."
"Well, trust me," Michael snarled petulantly. "I was totally
ashamed and completely alone."
Barbara's demeanor changed, becoming fierce. "I didn't want
you ashamed or afraid of *anything*, my son! If I abandoned
you *this* time in turning your over to Jane, it was to take
that shame and fear away from you *forever*!"
"But you fooled us and yourself. You had even more
sensitivity, refinement and gentleness still locked up inside
you than we'd imagined possible. When Jane thought she was
humiliating Michael the bully, she was also tormenting
Michelle the compassionate and caring. The internal conflict
between your father's Michael and our Michelle grew until it
became intolerable for you, and you tried to end that pain by
destroying yourself."
Suddenly Jane spoke up. "When you . . ." Jane choked, then
continued, "When you attempted suicide, I was devastated. Not
because I was afraid for me, but because I had somehow failed
you. I had not recognized what was happening to you. I did
not know who to call, or where to turn, and so, I called your
Mother."
"*Why* should I believe *anything* you have to say *now*? You
said she couldn't be reached." he accused again before turning
his hot burning eyes on his Mother. "Besides - you CALLED me
and told me you were too busy."
Barbara sat stone still, then resumed speaking. "Michael, you
have no idea how terrified and desperate I was when Jane
phoned to tell me what had happened to you. At that moment, I
wanted to rush to your side more than almost anything else in
this life. I yearned to protect you and to help you get well,
but for several reasons, I knew that I couldn't, that I didn't
dare! Above all, knowing how you felt about me, I was deeply
afraid that my presence would only make a bad situation even
worse."
"That is only *one* reason, Mother." Michael growled. "You
said there were several."
"Remember what I said about that cursed codicil, Michael.
Staying away from you was an unbreakable condition of that
damnable will."
She paused and then swallowed hard. "Unless I wanted to
deprive you of your patrimony, I could *never* see you, or at
least, not see you any more than absolute propriety dictated.
And never alone - always in the presence of one of his trusted
cronies who would "judge" my compliance with your Father's
wishes. And then, when Jane told me she had called in one of
her students who was a psychologist. At that point, we
decided to wait until we were sure I would be a help and not a
hindrance to your recovery."
"Why was I never told about this codicil thing?" he demanded
roughly.
"Because telling you about it is also on your Father's
forbidden list and is grounds for you being disinherited. I
am telling you now because you are old enough to understand
your own best interests. You need never admit that you are
aware of those provisions of your father's will."
Michael's sneer clearly registered his disbelief. "I have a
copy of the codicil. I will give it to Jane and you will be
able to see for yourself."
"Why are you telling me all this now?? Are you trying to
tell me that you *cared*? That you were only trying to
protect me by staying away from me? Why bother at this point?
Because I tried to kill myself?" He demanded, his voice
choking on his pain wracked sobs.
Barbara wilted a moment under that charge, but then drew
herself up. "I have always loved you, Michael. I wasn't
heartless when I sent you to Jane. I was desperate. Jane
called me every night with a progress report, and much of the
time she found me frightened and inconsolable. I love you,
Michael. I adore you, Michelle. There is nothing in this
world that would have made me happier than to tell your
father's lawyer to go to hell and come for you. But I could
not cheat you of your inheritance. You could, yourself,
choose to turn away from your father's past, and accept that
loss, but I could not make that choice for you. And you could
only make such a choice as a mature, rational and caring
person. The question was, how could we help you become that
person?"
"You unwittingly showed us how to help you. In your
resentment at my seeming aloofness, in your desire to hurt me
for hurting you, you decided to become a complete, fully
accomplished and yes, even sweet Michelle. A person who
epitomized everything your father wasn't and hated."
"So our plan worked! Now, if you choose to be Michael, any
kind of Michael, it will be based on a profound understanding
of everything you are or can become. But you had to become a
complete Michelle if you were ever to become a complete
Michael. Michael without Michelle could only be only half a
person. And that half would be as flawed as your Father.
Michael's face twisted. He was confused, and bitter, and
fighting to hold back his tears. "How can you just sit there
and justify what you've done? The pair of you? You've
tricked me time and again, lied to me time and again, and
manipulated me. How can I ever trust either of you ever
again?"
Barbara's composure finally broke. "We had to trick you; you
had to keep working at being Michelle so that Michael could
continue learning from her. And you would not have worked at
that so diligently without the motivation you yourself
provided."
"And yes, Michael, I did not abide by my promise to you." Jane
added, holding her friend close, keeping her back straight and
her eyes steady, "Because we knew what was best for you. I
cannot, will not deny that I kept some of the truth from you.
I did attempt to be completely honest with you about
everything else, but you were beyond reach, convinced that
your Mother had completely and willfully abandoned you. What
we did, we did because we wanted you to live. More than that,
we wanted you to live well." She said soberly. "And I know
you can't believe this now, but it's true nonetheless.
Because we both. . . love you."
Now Barbara was crying openly. "But, Michael" Barbara pleaded
softly, "Can't you see, *won't* you see? There was no other
way, at least none that we could think of. I know you must
feel that this was all a base betrayal. Perhaps it was. Only
time will tell if I was right or wrong in what I did. But at
least now, you have *real* choices about who Michael Nash is
and how he will live his life."
"I refuse to believe that forcing me into skirts, and turning
me into one of Jane's wimpish sissies is an approved
alternative to my father's grand plan, Mother."
Barbara sighed. "No, it wasn't, and as long as you were
successfully following his program, there was nothing I could
do for you that would not have cost you your legacy. But when
you got yourself suspended from Saint Andrews, I decided that
I *had* to take this terrible risk in order to give you back
choices about your life - to try to save you."
"Save me? SAVE ME???" Michael's voice broke. "Whatever did
I need saving from? Other than from the two of you, of
course."
"From yourself, Michael. I've already told you what your
father had done to you. When you were sent down from St.
Andrews, the lawyer was ready to cancel your inheritance!
After I conferred with Jane, I went to the lawyer and told him
that I knew of a program that would improve your self
discipline so that you could return to St. Andrews and
complete your father's educational program. I am afraid I was
not very honest about what the program really entailed." she
said with just a faint smile on her sad face.
"So you've known since the very beginning what I intended to
do, why I let myself be pulled back into this damnable
masquerade." The full scope of his Mother's and Jane's
duplicity was now clear to him and his guts seemed to burn.
Oddly enough however, in some small, still barely rational
part of his mind, he wondered why he wasn't angry. The old
Michael would have been - would have gone nearly insane with
rage at having been toyed with in this manner. All this
Michael felt was hurt, sorrow and bewilderment.
"Yes, Michael, she did know." Jane took up the tale. "Your
Mother and I spoke almost hourly during those first few days
after your . . . your incident. Eric and I agreed that you
yet to finish as for the facing down your inner conflicts
about dressing. That was necessary, Michael, for your mental
health."
"Moreover, you yourself said, less than an hour ago, that you
liked being Michelle. Which is understandable. Michelle is a
lovely person, but more importantly, Michael, *you* are
Michelle. Everything good in her is also an intrinsic part of
you."
Michael could not take it all in. He was becoming numb, and
he couldn't seem to think clearly anymore. He just stared at
the two women.
"Michael?" Jane's voice was softly entreating. "As Michelle,
you are like Liza Doolittle in Pygmalian, or My Fair Lady.
You've grown beyond the limitations that others would have
imposed on you. Now *you* can choose to live as a woman, full
time or part time, or as a man. If you do choose to live as a
man, then your Mother and I both hope that you will do so as a
sensitive, self-aware and *strong* person who's more man than
that insufferable clod from St. Andrews could ever have
become."
Barbara sighed sadly and stood up. She turned one more time
to face her son. "I'm sorry I had to seem uncaring and cruel,
that I felt I *had* to leave you with Jane. I believed it was
necessary for your own good. I don't know if you can ever
forgive me for manipulating you this way. Or if you can ever
forgive Jane. I hope you can, and will. . . someday. We did
the best we could. For you! And you have to know that
regardless of what choice you make, there will be a price
extracted which only you can pay."
"What price?" he asked, but in an exhausted tone that had lost
all of its earlier emotion.
"There is always a price, Michael. One choice is, to turn
your back on everything Jane has taught you these past months,
to become once again the person you were when you left St.
Andrews. Haven't your found contentment, even happiness as
Michelle, Michael? Would that old Michael ever find those
gifts at St. Andrews? I don't think so.
"Or you might choose to go back to St. Andrews as the person
you've become, an infinitely more worthy individual than the
one who left that damnable place, but one who won't fit in
anymore. You'd become the outcast you expected to become the
night you attempted to take your own life. But you'd also
keep your patrimony.
"Or you can decide to reject your father's path completely,
and thus lose your inheritance from his side of the family.
You would still have your trust fund from my Mother's family,
but that is a mere pittance beside your father's vast wealth."
Michael's tired, red rimmed eyes slid significantly down his
body, taking in the sleekly feminine figure gowned in a
designer's masterpiece. Then his gaze returned to his Mother,
a look of sardonic disbelief on his face. "I don't think the
first choice has much chance, Mother, so I think you have
effectively forced my hand there."
Refusing to take the bait, Barbara shrugged. "How you look
and behave at this moment is irrelevant. If you want to return
to St. Andrews, Jane will certify your behavior and self
discipline to that idiot Dean. You've amply demonstrated
those attributes tonight. Even now, your grace and
self-restraint are being tested to the fullest extent. As to
your ability to fit in there if that is what you really want."
Barbara paused, and went over to the small desk on the other
side of the room, returning moments later with a glossy piece
of folded paper which she negligently tossed at the rigidly
contained figure of her son.
"If that *is* what you want, the place described here will
assure you aren't too nice or too feminine for dear old St.
Andrews." She indicated the brochure with a tired wave of her
hand. "It's a sort of "boot camp for rich wimps" run by a
couple of former Marine Drill Instructors. They specialize in
toughening up the sons of rich fools who are afraid that their
sons don't have the right stuff to swim with the corporate
sharks. Just six weeks of hell and your father's Michael is
back again."
"Why are you giving me this?" Michael asked quietly, holding
the brochure in his hand. "Why are you making it possible for
me to undo everything you and Jane have worked, lied and
schemed to accomplish over the past months?
"Because now that you know there is another, better way, I
will see that you get whichever life *you* freely choose.
They'll teach you to swing your shoulders again instead of
your hips. And to glare menacingly at anyone you don't like
instead of just smiling down your nose and then turning away
in disdain. If that is truly your choice, that is what you'll
be - all boy, but never a *man* in the finest sense of that
word; all swagger, but with no true substance to you at all.
Just like your father."
Her voice changed again, dropping the sarcastic inflections.
"I have always believed you were more than that. But now it
becomes your choice, and yours alone. And it's a real choice.
You can be a vulgar delinquent or a delicate feminine spirit
shamed into learning feminine ways."
"But the simple fact of the matter is, Michael-Michelle, this
Ball has been your true coming of age. Jane and I will make
no more decisions *for* you after tonight because we won't
need to. Tonight you have become your own person. Whoever and
whatever *you* want to be! Whenever you want to be that
person! Whatever school you may wish to attend."
She paused, and then continued in an almost defeated tone. "I
want you to know this, however. I love you. I have always
loved you, and I will continue to love you as long as there is
breath in my body. Regardless of which path you choose or how
you decide to live your life. I may not like you or your
choice very much, but you are my son and I will always love
you."
She turned to leave.
Suddenly the door crashed open behind them. A tall, lithe,
beautiful young woman stood there. "Barb," she snapped
impatiently. "Jamie has been looking all over for you so that
we can set the reception line and get the pictures taken."
Then she saw Michael and gaped. "I don't know you, but you
are the very image of Barbara. I'm the sister of Barb's
fiance, Janice. And you are?"
Now came the moment of truth. In that moment, Michael saw
clearly one last opportunity to turn the tables on the Mother
who had so basely manipulated him. He had denied himself
earlier because he had chosen *not* to hurt her as she and
Jane had hurt him.
Just a few words and his Mother's perfidy would be all over
the ballroom in moments. She'd become an outcast from the
society she loved. It was all there for him. All he had to do
was tell this girl who he really was and why he was here
dressed as he was.
But then, he just sighed softly. He felt, rather than saw,
both Jane's and Barbara's eyes on him. What was the point
anymore? He had needed the rage and now, there simply wasn't
any rage left inside him.
"You'll have to forgive me." Michael's Michelle voice replied,
as he brushed at the tears still tracking his mascara down his
cheeks. "But Aunt Jane and Aunt Barbara were just breaking a
little bad news to me. Someone very close to me died earlier
tonight."
A part of me certainly had, he thought, but which part? Then
he held out his hand to the girl, his wrist limp and supple,
just as he had been taught by Jane. "My name is Michelle, and
Barbara is my Aunt." A soft sighing breath was the Michelle's
only indication that his Mother understood that he had, once
again, turned away from the old mean-spirited Michael.
"Pleased to meet you, Michelle." the dark haired, dark eyed
beauty replied. "Say, if you are family to Barb, we should
get you into the receiving line, too."
"No. . ." Michael let his voice hitch. "I have to leave. I
must get home as soon as possible. You understand, don't
you?" Janice reluctantly nodded and he turned back to Jane.
"Aunt Jane, could we please leave *now*?"
Nodding solemnly, Jane took her ward's arm and led the her out
the door and into the waiting limousine.
A Losing Season: Chapter 35. Flashback
The days immediately following Jane's and Michael's return
from Barbara's party were hell for Jane. She had hoped,
apparently in vain, that her young ward had developed enough
maturity, enough perspective to understand that they had only
done what they thought was best for him. She had also dared
to hope that there was now sufficient "Michelle" in Michael
for him ultimately to forgive them both. Maybe there was, but
it was just barely enough, because there was still no obvious
victor in the internal battle her ward was fighting with
himself.
Her charge had completely withdrawn from Jane since their
return, refusing to do more than respond monosyllabically to
any question that he could not pretend to ignore. Rather, he
isolated himself, sitting alone in Jane's garden, hiding in
his room or taking long walks along through the woods that
were near Jane's house where he pretended not to notice that
either Maria or Jane was always nearby during these outings.
Jane had nearly lost him once, and regardless of the final
outcome of the debacle at Barbara's, she would not let him. .
. harm himself.
Christmas had been a disaster - the tree remaining
undecorated, the presents unopened. In the past, Christmas
had always been one of the few respites Jane had given her
girls, letting them, for one day at least, simply enjoy
themselves without fear of Jane springing one of her games on
them. For that reason, the holiday had always been a
remarkably pleasant day in the old Victorian manor house.
But not this year.
The phone beckoned to Jane. She'd nearly called Eric a
hundred times in the past days, but each and every time she'd
stopped herself - hoping that Michael would see past the hurt
she'd inflicted on what remained of the "old Michael's" ego,
past his resentment of being tricked and manipulated, and
begin to soften towards them, again - at least a little.
Maria burst in to Jane's office. "Jane! Have you seen
Michael?"
"No." was the uncertain reply. "Maybe he slipped out early to
wander the woods alone. We have not been very subtle about
shadowing him." God, please don't let him hurt himself the
moment my vigilance slipped.
Maria looked uncertain. "Jane. . .one of his wigs is missing.
I mean, he hasn't tried to dress up since you two returned."
her voice dropped off. "Why would he take a wig on a walk?"
Was that the first break, Jane wondered, was he accepting
Michelle again? Then her guts froze. Michelle was a perfect
disguise. She could not go to the police and describe her
without explaining what had been happening over the past
months. "Check his wardrobe, Maria, and where his luggage is
stored."
Michael's large shoulder bag was missing. They could not be
sure, but it also looked like some of his male casual clothes
were missing. A quick check of his bedroom revealed that his
body shaper, a couple of dresses and the basic cosmetics were
also missing.
"But where could he go? He doesn't have any money to speak
of." Maria's eyes went wide and Jane's heart fell. "Or does
he?" she asked in a small voice.
"He knows where I keep the petty cash funds now. I mean,
Michelle was just always around, and being so good. I never
even thought about that."
"How much was in there, Maria." Jane asked as the two women
moved as one toward the stairs.
"I just replenished it from the housekeeping account, Jane.
There is a little over 500 dollars now."
Only there wasn't. The hidden envelope in Maria's desk was
gone.
"Come on. The only places he could go would be the train
station and the bus station. Without a car, there's no way he
could get to the airport from here."
Twenty minutes later, they had their answer. A boy answering
Michael's description had boarded the early-bird train for New
York City at five a.m. that morning - a train that had
subsequently arrived at New York's Grand Central Station over
an hour ago. Their hopes of finding him plummeted. In one
hour at the busiest train station in the United States,
Michael would be able to lose himself completely.
They rode home in dismal silence. "We have to call Barbara."
Jane said finally. "He may be going back to the house in
South Hampton, and in the state he is right now, I don't know
what he'd do."
"Michael would never hurt a woman!" Maria defended
immediately.
"What do you think he was planning to do all these months,
Maria? Oh, I agree he wasn't planning to harm her physically,
but he was trying to do her emotional injury. And right now,
I don't know the person he's become, and I will not take the
chance that he might attack her in another of his old rages."
Jane sighed. "Even if he is not planning that, she has to
know that we've. . . that *I*'ve lost her son."
"Shouldn't we call the police?"
"They won't do anything for the first twenty four hours
anyway, Maria. But if we have to, we will go to them
withholding nothing, and devil take the consequences."
"He has Michelle with him, doesn't he?" Maria asked quietly.
"Yes, he does, which means that he can board a train as
Michael, and exit it as Michelle. We can provide the
authorities a description of him as Michael, but when we do
that, we will also have to tell them to be on the lookout for
a young woman with short, close cropped blonde hair . . .
Well, let's just say that will hurt *everyone*, including
Michael. If they ever find him."
"Do you think he might go to David?"
"We'll call him, Maria, but no, I don't think so. David was
here when Barbara and I began this scheme. Even though Beth
knew nothing about it, Michael will not trust easily again.
Beth set him up for me on several occasions before Michael
tried to kill himself and Michael will remember that."
~-----------~
"Doctor Davis' office." the perky young voice piped. "May I
help you?"
"Yes, please." was the pleasingly soft feminine response. "Is
Doctor Davis available?"
"May I ask who is calling, please?"
"One of his patients, and I want to talk to him now!" the
voice changed radically, no longer soft or pleasing. The
receptionist had been warned that things like this might
occur, and did as she had been taught. "One moment, please."
"This is Doctor Davis speaking." was the quick response. "Who
is calling, please?"
"Hello, Eric." Michael answered in his own voice. "Tell me,
"Michael! Where the hell are you, man? Everyone is frantic
looking for you!"
"Never mind that!" Michael snapped. "Am. . .I . . .still. . .
your. . . patient?"
Uncertainly, Eric decided this was somehow important to the
boy. "Well, I'd say so, Michael. May I ask why?"
"Because you once chewed me out for not respecting your
professional ethics, Eric. As your patient, I am entitled to
the benefit of those ethics, including confidentiality."
"I see. And that is important to you?"
"Eric, unless I have your word, right now, that you will call
no one, that you will talk to no one, that you will tell no
one that I have been in contact with you, I am gone. I don't
know where I will go, or what I will do, but I will not stay
where people keep lying to me."
"All right, Michael. You have my solemn word. I promise I
won't contact or inform anyone that you are here until you
give the go ahead. What's next?"
Eric heard what might have been a sob quickly choked back. "I
need to talk with someone. I need a place to crash. I
haven't slept in almost forty eight hours."
"Where are you? I will come get you and take you home."
"Oh, no!" there was panic in the young man's amplified voice.
"Not to your wife who is a fan of Jane's. She probably won't
feel bound by your word."
"Michael, Sylvia is out of town, visiting her Mother. My
house is empty. If, after she returns, you still insist on
allowing no contact with Jane or your Mother, we can deal with
that then. But I hope you'd feel a bit of compassion and at
least let them know you are all right."
"Why the hell should I?" was the sharp retort. Before Eric
could try to answer that question, Michael was giving him his
location.
"I will be there in fifteen minutes." Eric promised.
It took several minutes to get his secretary to cancel the
rest of his day's appointments and to reschedule the next day
as well. The downtown Chicago traffic was even worse that
usual, so Eric's fifteen minutes was closer to half an hour
when he pulled up in front of the Greyhound terminal. But the
boy was no where to be seen.
Fearful that the boy had decided not to wait, Eric got out of
his car to search for Michael, but without luck. Eric got
back into the still running car, and pounded the steering
wheel, cursing fluently.
"I am surprised that Jane didn't wash such language right out
of your mouth, Dr. Davis." came an amused voice from the back
seat. Eric had been so furious with himself that he hadn't
even looked in the backseat when he'd reentered the car. A
startled glance in his rearview mirror revealed the smirking
face of Michelle, dressed like a typical college coed on
holiday in jeans and a wool sweater against the cold.
"We need to talk, Eric." was the flat, male voiced statement.
"Yes, Michael, we do. But first, lets get you something to
eat. I know a private little place nearby, and you look like
you could use some hot food in your belly."
The food took the edge of the boy's temper, and he began to
talk - becoming freer as the meal went on. Jane had been
right. Michael had been changing identities each time he
boarded a train so that the person buying the ticket was not
the one who detrained at his next stop. He'd even gone beyond
Chicago and then doubled back on the bus to throw off any
hunters Jane might have sent out.
"You realize, Michelle." Eric asked, using the feminine name
since they were in public, "That Jane has professionals
searching for you? They are sure to notice that you have
contacted me, and they will get the word back to your Aunt."
The slender shoulders shrugged at that. "Figured as much. I
just needed to get away. Even for a short time." A look
crossed his femininely made up face, and he gave Eric a
considering stare. "I have to ask you a question, Eric, and I
really need an honest answer. I am sick to death of being
lied to."
Eric raised his right hand, putting his left hand across his
heart. "I promise."
The girl said nothing for several minutes after that. Eric let
the silence go, knowing that Michelle would not say anything
until she was sure. Psychologists had to be patient,
particularly with patients. Eric had learned to do this - it
was unnatural for him and he hated it, but he could wait for
Michael.
"Did you know? About what my Mother and Jane had planned?
How they tricked me? AGAIN?" Michael was starting to get
upset again and Eric reached across to put a soothing hand on
the girlish shoulder.
Catching her eyes, Eric answered. "No, Michelle, I did not.
Not until Jane called me after she'd discovered you were
missing. I only knew what we all agreed to do - to let you go
on a trial run, and decide if you were going to go after your
Mother as Michelle. It never crossed my mind that Jane was
not being completely honest with the either of us."
"If you'd known, would you have told me? Let me know the
out?"
Eric looked at the miserable boy/girl for several moments,
feeling his pain and trying to form a response. Shaking his
head, "I don't honestly know, Michelle. Right now, I wish I
could look you in the eye and tell you, hell yes, I'd have
spilled the beans, but the truth is that I just don't know
what I would have done back in July. Hindsight is always
twenty-twenty, and right now, I'd say their plan was an
unmitigated disaster. Back then? Remember what I said,
Michelle. I would never do anything or support anything that
was detrimental to my patient. I don't know how I would have
reacted if Jane had come to me with this plan back then."
"She does have a way of making things sound so very
reasonable." was Michael's teary laughing reply. "Hell, look
what I let her talk me into."
The emotions and the lack of sleep suddenly caught up with
Michael, and he reeled in his chair. Eric steadied him and
then helped him to stand. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you into
bed."
On the way to his house, Eric managed to talk Michael into
letting Jane know he was all right. "She'll find out sooner
or later, and wouldn't you rather be the one to tell her?"
Whether it was some stubborn part of Michael that still
refused to hate Jane, or just a chance at one-ups-manship, no
matter how small a one, he finally agreed. Of course, Eric
had been silently hoping for something more than he got.
Michael's terse, "Jane? I am all right. I am at Eric's for
the time being. Leave me alone or I will go where you will
never find me.", left something to be desired, but it was
consistent with the way the young man must feel.
Eric put Michael into his guest bedroom, and he was asleep
within moments of his head touching the pillow. Anyone but
Eric might have thought it a bit odd that an almost eighteen
year old male put on an old fashioned granny nightgown to go
to bed, but then, Eric had a couple of those of his own.
~-----------------~
Excerpt: Nash's Diary
December 29 - Day 165
Dear Diary
God, I don't know what possessed me to pack this thing during
those last few frantic moments before I took off from Jane's
house. It was just suddenly there in my hand and I put it
back down. Imagine my surprise to find it in my suitcase.
Guess I put it down there.
I almost threw it away when I saw it onboard the train when I
went into the bathroom to take off Michael and put on
Michelle. The reason I gave myself for not pitching the damn
thing was because I did not want it found. Now, I am just
glad I have it. Putting things down on paper seems to have a
way of helping put things back in perspective.
Eric took off from work yesterday and today to talk to me. .
.with me. He isn't so much asking me questions or demanding
answers as much as he is just listening. Well, he does try to
keep me talking. He probably doesn't think I notice that, but
I have read a whole lot of psychology books in the past few
months, so I recognize the tactic. Only it doesn't seem like
one when Eric does it. Maybe he really is interested in how I
feel about things.
The thing that keeps burning in my gut is that I had started
really caring for Aunt Jane. Hell, Nash, be honest for a
change - at least with yourself - I had started loving her.
And I *thought* she loved me back. How can *love* be
expressed by manipulation and deceit?
As for my Mother, how am I supposed to feel about her? She
tells me she loves me? Has always loved me? And she did
everything - abandoning me first to my Father's world, then to
Jane's petticoat prison and finally manipulating me into that
abysmal scene in her front parlor room?
I've tried to pin Eric down, trying to have him tell me why
they did what they did? Trying to get him to explain to me
what possible justification could they have for what they did?
Of course, he doesn't give answers except in the form of more
questions. Damned frustrating.
Okay, so I'll concede that I was a nasty little son of a bitch
at St. Andrews, and becoming nastier everyday. And maybe, my
time with Jane, *particularly* after my suicide attempt has
made me feel differently about myself. Couldn't they just
have left it like that? Why did they find it necessary to
force the issue of a confrontation I was not even sure I
really wanted anymore. I could have happily gone on as
Michelle until my twenty first birthday, and I am all but
positive that I would never have gone to confront my Mother.
Hell, Jane practically had to push me to go through with that
stupid plan this time, and I was a helluva lot closer to the
nasty son of a bitch at that point in time than I would have
been in the future.
I know that I have changed. Twice during that damned evening,
I passed up taking my shot at my Mother. The first time
because I did not want to ruin her happiness, but it is the
second time that is really the proof of the change. Michael
of St. Andrews Academy would have destroyed her had he been in
control when the full measure of their infamy became clear.
And I, whoever the hell *I* am anymore, couldn't or wouldn't
do that.
M. Nash
~------------~
Michael wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, but Eric had him
outside in a park near his home, playing catch with a
football.
And freezing his ass off.
Well, Michael thought to himself as he launched a perfect
spiral at Eric, at least I don't throw like a girl. Of
course, this little outing had precipitated as switching back
to Michael-mode. He did not want to run with his inserts
bouncing.
After they had run each other out, they began the walk back to
Eric's house. "Michael?" Eric opened. "You know that
tomorrow is New Year's Eve?" Michael nodded, wondering what
that had to do with anything. "Well, my wife Sylvia is coming
home tomorrow. Which I think means that we need to make some
decisions."
"Such as?"
"Whether you want to stay here. I told you that you were
welcome. That still stands. Sylvia knows you are here and
she knows why, and its cool with her."
"It is okay if I stay here as Michael?"
Eric laughed. "Yes, of course it is. She'd still like to see
you togged up as Michelle once, but if you can't do that, she
will understand."
"You said there was a choice, Eric."
"Yes, there is, my fine young psychiatrist-to-be. The other
choice is that you go back and work through your feelings for
Jane."
"WHAT???!??"
"Hey, calm down. As I said, it is your choice and you are not
going to hear another word about it once we get back to my
house. But I do think it is something you need to consider."
"But. . . but why?"
"Michael, one reason I wanted you to stay at Jane's as
Michelle, at least for that trial period, was so that you
could confront your true feelings about dressing. I think
you've done that. You are as comfortable being Michelle as
you are being Michael. And I think that self acceptance has
brought you some peace. Without your sensitive, or feminine
side, your focused, aggressive or male side would have been
incomplete. Unstable. Particularly after you had been given
a taste, no matter how bitter that first taste was, of
expressing your feminine side."
The younger man became silent as they walked down the snow
edged walks. Finally, he nodded, but then looked up at Eric.
"Okay. I guess I accept that. But how does that relate to
Jane and my Mother?"
"I should think you have figured that out. You have *always*
had very strong feelings about Jane. You hated her, then you
tolerated her and then, you loved her. She's hurt you - quite
badly, and the fact that you loved her made that all the worse
for you. Now you are confused and at odds with yourself
again, this time about your feelings for her. You are angry
with yourself for opening yourself up that way and letting her
hurt you like that. And of course, you are angry with her."
"Don't you think I have the right to be angry and hurt?
Wouldn't you be, too, if they had done it to you?" was
Michael's ragged reply.
"Probably so, Michael. The ones we love are the ones who can
hurt us the most. Jane and your Mother could never have hurt
you this way if you did not love them. You need to deal with
that, Michael. Either now or some time later, you will have
to face them and your feelings for them. It might get easier
if you wait, and then again, it might get harder."
"I don't know if I can do it, Eric."
"I can understand that, Michael. Only you can decide when and
how you will deal with this. Only you can decide if it simply
hurts too much to face it now. But you need to think about
it, and then make the best decision you can for yourself. And
another thing you should think about, Michael."
"What's that, Eric?"
"That plan you had of getting even with your Mother? Of
showing her just what she'd lost when she had first given you
up to St. Andrews to protect you inheritance, and later when
she gave you over to Jane in hopes of saving your soul?"
"Is that what they were doing? Could have fooled me." Michael
snorted derisively.
"You *know* that is what they were doing, Michael. You just
don't want to accept it because it makes you feel foolish that
you were taken in by them, but that is beside the point. What
is to the point is that your plan was born of sheer, malicious
spite and it would have been a pretty small thing to do to
someone else. You didn't do it. You could have, by all
accounts, without too much trouble."
"I still got my bloody confrontation, Eric, only it was on my
Mother's and Jane's terms."
"I understand that, too, but *you* didn't do it. I want you
to know that *I* think that was a helluva fine thing you tried
to do. Okay, so Jane and Barbara felt that they had to force
the issue to the very end. But you took it like a *real* man,
and not like the spiteful boy who had originally wanted to
cause as much pain as he could in retaliation for his own
pain."
"Are you trying to suck up to me, Eric?" Michael asked
suspiciously, his eyes fixed on the older man.
"Nope. I have no reason to suck up to you. I am just telling
you square and to your face that it took great courage and
greater compassion to turn away like you did. I really like
the person you've become, Michael. You should like that
person, too."
They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached
the door. "Michael, one last thing. You did not like hearing
what I had to say just now, about how you need to confront
Jane and your true feelings toward her. However, I said it
anyway because as your friend and as your therapist, I thought
it was the best thing I could do for you. It did not feel
good, and I would rather have let the entire thing slide, but
because I care about you, I did the hard thing that I felt was
the right thing. I hope you will take it in that vein."
~-----------------~
Excerpt: Nash's Diary
January 1 - Day 168
Dear Diary
Happy New Year.
Sylvia's home, and dammit, Eric should have warned me. I
thought Eric had put on his femme identity when this auburn
haired lady walked in the door. Only, then Eric entered in
right behind her.
They could have been twins, and they thoroughly enjoyed my
dumbfounded reaction to them.
After they finished enjoying their little joke, they told me a
little more about themselves. Turns out Sylvia met Erica
first, and was so taken by their resemblance, that she
introduced herself. Erica and Sylvia became good friends and
then, Eric fell in love with Sylvia. It was hilariously funny
the way they explained it, but evidently the courtship was a
little bit like an old style slapstick comedy. Eric taking
Sylvia out; Sylvia confiding in her friend Erica how she feels
about this guy; Erica pumping Sylvia for information that Eric
could use to his advantage while plighting his troth.
Evidently, Eric managed to carry it off, because she had not
yet caught on when he finally let her in on the masquerade.
When she didn't kill him, he asked her to marry him. Since
then, she has changed her hair color slightly to increase the
resemblance since they both get a kick out of it. Besides,
when the neighbors see a redheaded female leave the house,
they assume it is Sylvia.
She was very nice and very understanding. She even said she
thought the thing that Mother and Jane did was a little cold
and underhanded.
I won't say that admission was the only reason why, but I
finally introduced her to Michelle. Erica showed up for the
party, too. I actually had fun. Sylvia - or was it Erica(?) -
made me laugh.
But that was last night, and this is now, and I have been
thinking about what Eric said about confronting Jane. He's
probably right.
The reason I *know* he's right is that I cannot bring myself
to work up even a moderately good hate for her. As I think
back to the night of the confrontation, she was upset, too.
Was that because she did not want to hurt me again, either? I
wish.
One thing I know is that I need closure. One way or another,
I need to move on past all this. I need to get on with
whatever my life is going to become. I need to finish school
so I can apply to a pre-med program.
It is odd, that Mother was right. I really could go back to
St. Andrews now, without going to her boot camp program. So
what if I won't fit in with my old gang - fitting in with that
crowd is no longer important to me.
One thing I am sure of right now - maybe in part because of
what Eric said about being proud of me - I have decided that
spitefulness thing. Regardless of how this all turns out, I
am still glad that I did not strike out when I had the chance.
I am *not* my father's son, and moreover, I am *not* going to
become my father's image. I can expect to take quite of bit of
harassment over that decision, to become an outcast but one
thing about living in skirts - you tend to think you can
handle almost anything. Maybe I can, at that.
No, if I go back to that school, it is going to be to *my*
purposes, not my father's. St. Andrews still has, deservedly
or not, an excellent academic reputation which will stand me
in good stead in going to a good medical school.
Of course, my decision to go pre-med instead of Harvard
Business School will kill off my chances of inheriting from my
father. And I am *not* going to business school, so keeping
my inheritance no longer has any bearing on my decision of
whether or not to return to St. Andrews. That is, of course,
assuming my Mother was telling the truth. And I have no
reason to believe that she was lying about that.
As I said, I can't do anything else until I put this past year
behind me, and that means dealing with Aunt Jane. Guess that
means I am going home.
Isn't that strange. I wrote "home", and after thinking about
that, I meant it. For all that has happened, and despite what
has been done to me, Jane Thompson's house has become "home".
Like I said. Isn't that strange.
M. Nash
A Losing Season: Chapter 36. The Future and Decisions, Again.
Jane looked at the woefully lonely figure sitting alone
outside in her cold, desolate, January garden. Somehow, the
man and the setting fit together, she thought sadly.
Michael had been like this since his return from Eric's home
earlier in the month. He had not said more than six
uninterrupted words to her at one time since he stepped off
the plane in Providence.
Well, except for that late night confrontation the day after
his return. Jane had been sitting in the music room,
pretending to read a book, when Michael had entered the room,
obviously upset. In very short order, both their short fuses
had flashed and a shouting match had ensued.
Michael had demanded to know why they had kept the provisions
of his father's will from him. Jane had responded that she
had been concerned that, after his near death, he was not
ready to know the real reasons his Mother had put him under
her care. When he'd started down the path he chose in
retaliation, it became even more clear that he was not ready
to hear the truth that his Mother *did* in fact love him, and
regretted what she had done in trying to preserve his
inheritance.
"And just who gave you the right to make that decision for
me?? How on earth can you *ever* rationalize the fact that
you promised me honesty and gave me lies?"
Jane's tenuous grip on her composure had cracked and then
broken on that one. "The fact that I *LOVED* you gave me that
right. You were not ready to know the truth, mentally or
emotionally, and I was afraid *that* particular truth might
tip you over the edge again. So, I kept the truth from you.
When you decided to get even with your Mother, I had to keep
more from you, because I was afraid of what you might do if
you found out she was still involved in your rehabilitation."
Jane had sprung from her seat and stormed over to get nose to
nose with Michael. "Rationalize?" she'd all but screamed. "I
don't have to rationalize. I love you, Michael-Michelle Nash,
and I felt that, as your guardian, I had to try and find a way
to help you past the remnants of your rage against me and
against your Mother. All right, I meant well, but the road to
hell is paved with good intentions. Well, Michael, when I
took you to South Hampton, and then walked into that parlor
with you Mother, I went into that fiery pit by way of a four
lane super highway of my own making."
"I don't understand that kind of love." Michael had screamed
back, making the word 'love' into a four letter curse.
After her tirade, Jane had regained control. "I am sure that
you don't, Michael, but it was love nonetheless. And I still
be able to say that to me and to your Mother."
Michael had then stormed out of the room and up to his bed
chamber. Except for sporadic meals, he had not come back out
for almost five days.
When he had finally left his bedroom, he had been then as he
was now. Quiet, taciturn and moody; a man locked within
himself, or perhaps a man locked in a fight with himself.
~-----------~
Michael sat in the cold January sunlight, once again reviewing
his only extended conversation, well, screaming match, with
Aunt Jane. Telling him that she had done it for his own good.
Garbage, he thought, pure and simple garbage. He asked
himself again for what had to be the thousandth time, how
could lying to someone *ever* be for the good of the one not
being told the truth. Oh, he could understand how a lie might
be to the advantage of the person telling the untruth. He'd
done more than a bit of that in his time.
Well, when he had kids, and he was determined he was going to
have them, if only so he could prove to his Mother, to his
Father's ghost and to himself that he could do correctly what
they had not, *he'd* never lie to his kids. Not ever. He
would never convince himself that less than the truth was "in
their best interests".
Wouldn't he?
~-------------~
The phone rang, breaking her line of thought. Jane sighed,
picked up the receiver and spoke into the phone.
"Oh. Hi Barb. No, nothing has really changed. He just sits
out there and stares at my garden wall.
"What's that? Of *course* we're keeping a close eye on him.
Barbara.
"Oh, yes, he is eating all right, as long as Maria or I drag
him to the table and threaten to hand stuff him.
"No, his dress hasn't changed either. He is still wearing
whatever he pulls out of the closet first, whether that is
jeans, a running suit or a dress. He doesn't wear any
lingerie or inserts now, so he looks pretty androgynous. Eric
thinks that is precisely how he feels, neither male nor
female, but some kludged together, imperfect combination of
both.
"No, he hasn't said anything more about what his plans for the
future are, but I did find that boot camp brochure torn into
confetti in his room, thank god. Nor has he mentioned St.
Andrews Academy at all.
"Yes, he did read the codicil, but he hasn't talked about
that, either.
"What? No, he hasn't written in Michelle's diary, either.
"How do I know? I peek, of course - regularly - but he has
not touched it since he returned from Eric's place in Chicago.
I'm at my wit's end, Barb. I think it is time to ship him off
back to Eric in the hopes that he can help Michael where you
or I cannot. I am feeling pretty damned useless right now.
"Okay. I'll try to stay more positive, but it is so bloody
difficult when I see him so . . . empty day after day. Okay,
talk to you then."
Jane put the phone back in its cradle and returned to her
desk. It was such a god-awful bloody mess. She turned back
to her window and saw that Michael was no longer in her
garden. Worried at this unexpected and radical change in his
recent behavior, she started for the door of her office intent
on finding him and assuring herself he was safe. "Not
under her breath as she hurried off to find him.
She never made it out the door.
The two of them arrived at the door of Jane's office at
precisely the same moment. Unfortunately for Michael, Jane
was nearly at a full run. Their collision knocked him
sprawling to the foyer floor. "Are you all right?" she cried,
kneeling down to check him over and then help him back to his
feet.
"I'm okay." he said before repeating the reassurance as much
to convince himself as to answer her. "I'm okay. What the
heck were you doing, Aunt Jane?"
She started at his use of 'Aunt Jane' . . . he had not called
her that since asking her if they could leave Barbara's house
that last time. Perhaps that was why she gave him the
unvarnished truth without thinking about it. "I lost sight of
you. I was worried that you might . . " she stopped and then
recovered, "Well, that you might be hurt."
"You thought I might have tried to kill myself again." Michael
retorted sourly. "I told you I am not going to do that again.
Besides, why should you care?"
A ringing slap to the side of his head had him seeing stars,
and holding a hand to his smarting cheek. "Because I love
you, you damned thickheaded male. You are my masterpiece -
the one I molded into the perfect daughter in hopes of finding
a more perfect son. Don't you *ever* insult my feelings like
that. You may not be able to love me after what I felt I had
to do to you - hell, you may even hate me - but I'll be damned
if I will let you doubt my feelings for you. You hear me??"
"I'm sure Maria heard you and she's off in town buying
groceries." he responded, a smile lighting his face for the
first time in more than a month.
Before Jane could react to the smile, she found herself
wrapped in a hug, being held tightly against him. "God, Jane,
I have been so lonely. I love you, too."
Suddenly weak kneed, Jane carefully led him into her office
and let him sit in one of the chairs of the conversation
group. "What's happened, Michael? What has changed?" she
asked softly.
He gave a watery chuckle. "That is the stupid part of it,
Aunt Jane. Nothing *really* has. I just had to get some
distance. Far enough beyond the hurt, humiliation and
resentment caused by you and Mom turning the tables on me
before I could begin to remember some other, more important
things."
"Such as?"
"You fighting to save me from myself when I would have hurt
myself badly, maybe even killed myself. Mom caning the couch
instead of my butt and telling me to scream so that my father
would think I was being "properly" punished. You taking me to
the Mustang Ranch when we were in Nevada."
"You *would* remember that." Jane growled, averting her face
to hide her blush.
"Yup. First times are special. Anyway, it all sort of came
together for me today when I asked myself what I would do with
my own children if I knew something that might harm them if
they knew it. I wanted my answer to be that, of course, I'd
always be perfectly honest with *my* kids. Only, as I very
quickly figured out, that was a pure and simple lie. My
honest answer, after a great deal of reflection, was that I
would lie through my teeth to protect what was mine. *And* it
would be my responsibility to decide if and when they needed
that kind of protection." He looked up at Jane through eyes
that no longer held the pain she'd seen for the past month.
"Am I yours to protect, Aunt Jane?"
There were tears in her eyes as her hand slipped across the
small coffee table to squeeze his tightly. "Damned right." she
said huskily.
"Am I going to have to get out that green book for you, Aunt
Jane?" he teased.
"Why the hell not?" she said in the same tone. Then she
became serious. "Michael, what about Barbara? She loves you,
too. She has been calling me at least twice a day ever since
the night of the party."
"She's next, Jane. Maybe we can go down there, or perhaps it
would be better if she came here?"
"Either way, although it will be easier for you to be Michael
there than it would be here. Everyone up here in this area
still knows you as Michelle."
"That's not a problem, Aunt Jane. Another thing I have
figured out is who *I* am. I am both Michael and Michelle. I
have a masculine drive and ambition that has been tempered by
a very feminine sensitivity and caring. Mom was wrong. It's
in my life because both are part of what and who I am. When I
visit Mom down south, I can be Michael. When I visit my other
Mom up here, I will be your Gallatea - your Michelle."
Jane's heart filled. "Your *other* Mom?"
"It's what you are, you know." he replied as Michelle's gentle
smile softened Michael's male features. "Barbara gave birth
to Michael, but it was you who brought Michelle into the
world. I would say that gives you a claim to motherhood,
wouldn't you? And all without having to go through labor.
Such a deal, right?"
"More like going through a seven month labor, smartie." she
growled.
The peeling of the front door bell interrupted their interlude
before Jane could take that thought any further. "Who ever
could that be?" Jane asked disgustedly.
Michael gave her a 'how would I know?' shrug and went to the
front door. He was astonished to find a happily grinning
Janice standing on the other side of the threshold. She was
every bit as lovely as he remembered her, but different, too.
Instead of the society sophisticate, this was a country girl
with her long black hair floating freely down to the small of
her back and decked out in jeans, a sweater and western boots.
"I thought I would *never* find this place. It sure is out of
the way, but I guess Jane would need that kind of privacy,
wouldn't she. May I come in?" she asked after Michael had
stared at her for several heartbeats.
"Oh, of course." he said apologetically. He got out of her
way, and then looked at Jane who looked as perplexed as he
felt.
The girl took one look at the older woman and offered her
hand. "You must be Jane. Jamie has told me so much about you
and the good things you did for him here. He was such an
lot better when he came home." Jane's mouth fell open as she
realized what the girl had said, but before she could say or
do anything, Janice had swung back to face Michael.
"Hmmmmm. . . I think you make a better girl, but you're still
pretty cute. Maybe it's the way you are dressed - makes it
hard to tell. Don't you have any real male clothing? Or is
Jane still keeping them locked away?"
It took quite awhile for things to calm down after Hurricane
Janice made landfall on Jane's doorstep. The girl was a force
of nature, moving from one topic to another without seeming to
breathe, but eventually she slowed down enough for the other
two to give her monologues at least a pretense of being actual
conversations. She really was a very sweet young woman who
had an unswerving sense of purpose, as Jane and Michael
discovered when the three of them were sitting around Maria's
kitchen table enjoying a light tea.
"So, anyway, I finally wormed the whole story out of Jamie -
he can't keep anything from me that I really want to know.
You trained him very well, Jane. So, then I figured out why
everyone had been moping around since the party and weren't
happily anticipating the wedding. Your Mom is a lovely lady,
Michael, you are so lucky to have her. But anyway, I figured
something had to be done, so here I am."
Dizzy from trying to keep up with her rapid-fire changes of
subject, Michael managed to lock onto the last thing she said.
"So here you are. . .why?"
Janice looked at him as if he were somehow mentally deficient
before tossing a commiserating look at Jane. Jane did not
have any better idea what the girl was getting at, but nodded
sagely at her anyway. "Silly. To get you to come to her
wedding, of course. So she will know you've forgiven her and
that you aren't going to anything so stupid as go to that hell
hole boot camp thing she told you about."
"When is the wedding?" he asked.
"Saturday after next, Michael, on Valentine's Day."
"Are we going to the wedding, Aunt Jane?" Michael asked with a
twinkle in his eye.
"I suspect we are, Michael."
"There's just one more little thing." Janice said with the air
of someone who is about to solve a huge problem.
"Okay, give, but just remember I have been manipulated by
experts in the past months."
"As if I would try." Janice's nose went into the air and she
gave a very unladylike snort. "It's just that one of your
Mother's attendants broke her leg - she insists on going to
Aspen every Christmas even though she is the worst klutz - and
since everyone at the party has already *met* Michelle. Why,
that means you might be discovered if you tried to attend as
Michael, so I was just thinking that it might be a wonderful
surprise if you were to take my place as her substitute
attendant. As Michelle, of course." she added quickly.
Michael wondered how she could say so much, so quickly and not
run her words together. He found her. . . fascinating. "Oh,
of course." Michael agreed laconically. "But she strongly
implied that she would prefer me to live full time as a guy."
he teased, winking at Jane since he'd already told her how he
planned to live his life.
"Oh pooh. She had to say that because she had you as a son.
I don't think she'd mind in the least. Besides. . ." she
trailed off.
"Besides. .? " Michael prompted, thoroughly enchanted and
already half in love with this vivacious girl.
"Then she'd know you have really, really forgiven her for what
she had to do to you . . . to help you become a better
person." she looked at him entreatingly. Then she got a
mischievous grin on her face. "And, I am almost positive that
Michelle would fit perfectly into my bridesmaid dress - I
really regret that part of this because it is really a great
dress, but hey, I really like your Mom and this will make her
very happy."
"Welllllll. . ." Michael drawled before slipping into
Michelle's voice. "I really have to see the dress first,
darling. I was not very impressed by that *shroud* you were
wearing at the party. Didn't do a *thing* for you."
Both women simply stared at him, and then burst out laughing
with him. Janice recovered first. "Meeee-ooowww, you nasty
cat. I will have you know that *shroud* was chosen by my
Mother who wants me to be eternally thirteen years old.
Something about she can't grow old if I don't grow up, I
guess." she said disgustedly. "*YOUR* Mom picked this one out
and she has much better taste." Then she jumped up from the
table. "It's in the car. I'll get it while you . . .do
whatever it is you do to become Michelle."
Michael and Jane just shook their heads as she rushed off.
"So, my son and daughter," Jane asked, "Are you going to do
it?"
Michael frowned as he considered the possible benefits along
with the potential dangers of Janice's plan. "You don't think
it will hurt her? Mom, I mean?"
It really had worked, Jane thought. He is thinking of others
now as well as himself. Even *before* he thinks of himself.
"I think Janice is right. She'll love it. She might cry a
bit, but those tears will be the happy kind."
Nodding his understanding, Michael grinned broadly before
saying airily. "Then I guess I better go do whatever it is
that I do, eh?"
~-----------~
"Where is that girl?" a silver haired woman asked to the room.
"She knows the procession is supposed to start in five
minutes."
"She said she'd had too much to drink and needed to go to the
bathroom or she'd never make it down the aisle." Barbara said
with a grin on her face. "She'll be back. It just takes
awhile to get through all this frou-frou when nature calls."
The matron harrumphed at that. "Silly girl should have seen
to it before she got dressed. And *you* were the one who
insisted on real period lingerie to go with these dresses."
Just then, there was a commotion as a someone entered the room
wearing Janice's dress, only it wasn't Janice. "I hope I
haven't held you up." came a strangely familiar voice.
Barbara turned and saw first the blonde locks done up in a set
of old style ringlets that went beautifully with the Victorian
style gowns Barbara had chosen for her second wedding. "And
just who might you be, young lady?" furiously demanded the
same silver haired woman.
And then Barbara knew. "Michelle?" she whispered, not quite
willing to believe her eyes. And then she found her child in
her arms, hugging her close.
"Hi, Mom. Just couldn't wait to get me back into petticoats,
could you?" Michael teasingly whispered for her ears alone
before pulling back and saying in Michelle's voice. "Hi, Aunt
Barbara. Janice and I thought we'd surprise you since I was
able to get away for your wedding after all. And don't worry,
Janice has been drilling me on my part in all this. I'll do
just fine."
Barbara pulled her son/daughter close again and whispered.
"Thank you. Now my day is perfect." before also adding aloud.
"I think you'll do more that just fine, darling . . . I think
you'll be just perfect."