💾 Archived View for tilde.pink › ~nifty › tv › seasons-of-change.gmi captured on 2024-05-10 at 13:29:00. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content

View Raw

More Information

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Seasons of Change

by Joel Lawrence

1. Chapter

The train began slowing as it neared Westbury station. Michael know

this was the name of the station because the conductor had passed

through the car and announced it, and around him other passengers were

heeding the suggestion that they check to ensure they had all their

belongings. Michael gathered his books and the remnants of the snacks

he had bought on the train and watched out the window and the train

came closer to the station.

The scene had changed slightly from that which he had observed the last

two hours. Rural surroundings had given way to the rundown environs of

this old New England manufacturing village. He knew from experience

that just outside the town grand mansions and historic farms still

abounded.

Listening to the clack-clack of the rails wind down, he mused about the

purpose of this trip. He had left St. Andrews just this morning,

complying with his Mother's decision that he should spend this summer

with her old school chum (his "Aunt Jane") when she left on her tour of

Europe with Clifford Graves, her latest companion. He presumed that

this decision was, in no small part, due to the straits he had gotten

himself into the last semester at St. Andrew's.

It was clear that he was on very thin ice with the headmaster at St.

A's. There had been the minor pranks, of course, but his involvement

in the panty raid at Eastmore, and, the worse, being caught at it.

During the extremely uncomfortable conference with the deans on

Tuesday, he and his Mother had been advised of the suspension. He

would be carried on the rolls of the school throughout the summer and

Fall semesters, but would not be allowed to return until after the

Christmas holiday, and then only if the school received some

verification that satisfied them that his demeanor had changed.

His keen obsession his graduation from this highly regarded prep school

had, in no small part, motivated his Mother's decision to send him to

Westbury. Aunt Jane, she had said, was a certified teacher, which

would satisfy state and school requirements that he be enrolled in

school. Private tutoring, she had said to the headmaster. To Michael

she had declared another motivation which he did not fully understand:

that Aunt Jane was imminently equipped to convey refinement and

discipline, a trait Mother had emphatically pointed out that he lacked.

She had made vague references to "English methods", an allusion which

escaped him, but which she said with a wry certainty that it was just

what he needed.

He wanted to get back into St. Andrew's and this avenue seemed the

only one open to him. But it was all of this uncertainty that weighed

on his mind as the train neared the station. He knew nothing of "Aunt

Jane", except a vague remembrance that he had met her at the estate in

Connecticut one summer. He was to spend at least the summer with her,

and, his Mother had said, dependent on Aunt Jane's sole judgement,

might have to stay on until Christmas. The uncertainty of time, couple

with his ignorance of the allusions his Mother had made about the

particular "skills" this woman allegedly possessed, caused him some

apprehension. More importantly, two other facts added anxiety; first

of all, his Mother had been emphatic he was to submit totally to Aunt

Jane's authority, and secondly that except for the small change he had

left in his pocket, all his discretionary money had been placed in this

other woman's control. Once he disembarked from the train, his options

for self-determination would be minimal.

The train finally creaked to a stop, and he clasped his bag and headed

for the entrance. The black porter had placed the portable footfall at

the base of the stairs, and he stepped down to the station platform.

He was recognized before he noticed the woman. She called his name and

he looked up to see a vaguely familiar face. She was an attractive

woman, in her early thirties, dressed fashionably and with an air of

superiority. Indeed, his first impression was that she purposely hid a

softness about herself in the somewhat severe manner in which she wore

her auburn hair....drawn back in a French roll. It was apparent that

she shopped at only the finest stores, and he was sure he had seen her

ensemble in one of his Mother's Bergdorf's catalogues just a month ago.

He was equally fascinated by the young girl he saw at her side, clearly

her companion, for she followed Jane as she advanced toward him. The

girl was about his own 14 years of age, yet strangely dressed in a

style that seemed old-fashioned and oddly pubescent. She was a

disarmingly pretty girl with long hair drawn back into a cascading

pony-tail which was capped by a straw boater bonnet with a blue bow.

She wore a patent shoes and a dress which was flounced out by

petticoats evident to a degree at the hem. Her dress was a fancy one,

the kind that girls wear only to formal or festive affairs. Her

comportment intrigued him most, for she seemed reserved and shy, and

clearly somewhat obsequious to the bidding of Jane. He was introduced

to her and found her name was Beth. She seemed ill at ease, starting

first to curtsy to him, then gingerly proffering her white gloved hand

to his own.

The greetings were stilted, though Jane was cloying yet authoritative

in her reception. With an air of superiority, she pressed a red cap

into conveying his baggage and they set off through the terminal to the

expensive car she had imperiously parked in the "No Parking" zone at

the curb. His bags loaded, he climbed into the back seat of the car

and his gaze alternated between the two females in the front seat and

the countryside they emerged into. Jane's comments were few, though

she made reference to his trouble at St. A's and the apparent

conversations she had had with his Mother about "finding some

'temperance' (as she put it) in one's behavior. Jane concluded that,

with time, all problems could be solved. He lapsed into silence and

the car moved down a smaller road into farm country.

In time, they arrived at Jane's home, a large white Victorian house

situate on many acres. She parked the car near the door and bade him

gather his bags and follow her. The girl was no help, though she did

hold the doors and steadied him as he struggled up the few stairs to

the porch and into the foyer.

Jane suggested (or was it more "directed") that Beth escort Michael

upstairs to his room to stow his overnight bag (his trunk was to

follow) and then for the two of them to return downstairs to the study.

Beth obediently complied, pausing at the foot of the stairs to await

him. At the head of the stairs, she opened a white door and he

entered, passing the girl and not noticing the room itself. It was

only after he was inside that the incongruency of the room hit him.

The room was all pastel blue, but that was not its alarming feature.

The four-poster bed was canopied, with a delicate flounce of sheer

tiered fabric. Ruffles of eyelet and lace flounce cascaded from

beneath the mattress, the bed itself covered by a bedspread of matching

satin. Dainty shams of a wispy material sheathed the profusion of

pillows at the headboard. The furniture was white and gold French

provincial, chest of drawers and nightstands. A petite vanity draped

with the same material sat beneath a large lighted mirror. Another

three-sided mirror, like those in clothing stores, was implanted into

the wall.

He was sure that Beth had directed him to the wrong chamber, but when

he queried her about this, she diffidently assured him that there was

no mistake. Appalled to be quartered in these dainty surrounding, he

nevertheless deposited his small bag and followed Beth downstairs to

where Jane waited.

2. Chapter

Beth left Michael at the parlor door and he opened it and entered to

find Jane seated in an overstuffed chair leafing through what appeared

to be a sheaf of letters. At his entrance, she peered at him over the

half-moons of her reading glasses.

"It is considered polite and refined, young man, to knock before

entering a closed room."

"I...I'm sorry. I thought you had asked me to ..."

His words trailed off in response to the gesture of dismissal in the

wave of her hand. "Never mind, we'll get to that later," she said,

"Sit down," signalling the straight-backed Shaker chair near her own.

He sat, chastened by the sharpness of her admonishment.

She continued to flip through the papers, pausing to read here and

there, flipping backwards and forwards as though to confirm or

recollect some point. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic

sound of the clock pendulum and the rustling of the papers.

Finally she laid the papers in her lap and removed her glasses,

massaging the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. The sigh

that accompanied this action conveyed a sense of exasperation, he

thought, and he gelt unnerved at the continued stillness in the room.

While she still kneaded with her fingers, she broke the hush that

pervaded the parlor.

"I have been reading through the material your Mother sent me. It is

clear that you have been less than exemplary in your first semester at

St. Andrews, "she said, slipping the glasses back on and picking up

the papers.

"Dean Hartwick's letter to your Mother is quite specific and equally

condemnatory in detailing the circumstances of your suspension. He

lists, by my count, some eight infractions in just three months."

Removing the glasses again, she gazed at him scornfully.

"Are you hell-bent in being thrown out of there?", she queried

reproachfully.

"Not at all, Jane. In fact I want very much to graduate. I can

explain..."

She interrupted this unavailing attempt at explanation as though it

were inconsequential to her.

"Well your deportment places the likelihood of your graduating

seriously in doubt, young man. It says here that absent some

documentation of a substantial change in attitude, your access to an

Ivy school by way of St. A's is improbable. I know Dean Hartwick,

partly by reputation, and he is not one to overstate matters. Perhaps

you'd do as well to consider a public high school and a state

university."

"Of course not," he protested, "I want to get back into St. A's. I

acted foolishly, but I..."

"Ahh, some progress;" she broke in, "accepting even token

responsibility is to be applauded. But these acts of yours are

juvenile, Michael, and they convey a serious lack of self-discipline

and obedience to established rules. Surely you can appreciate a school

as old and traditional as St. Andrew's demands and enforces rules for

a purpose." She paused, examining the letters again. "Look at

these...'absent from dormitory at 3:00 a.m. and later detained by

township police'...'open participation in and encouragement of a

rebellious demonstration in the dining room'...." She peered over her

glasses at him again before she added " 'a "food fight!"'

...participation in an extended course of deliberate harassment of one

of the oldest and most distinguished members of this faculty....' My

God, it goes on and on.

Doffing the glasses again and using them now as an accusatory pointer

directed at him she added "It is in no small measure that your late

father's generosity to his alma mater prompts their equally generous

offer of a second chance. But I can assure you that the demands laid

down for achieving that second chance are not permissive in the least."

His ears burned perceptibly as he sat mutely through the litany and

then the commentary on his behavior. Finding it difficult to persist

in returning her stare, he averted his eyes in chagrin as she went on.

"Tell me please, what prompted these childish acts? Rebelliousness?

Pubescent childishness? Were you attempting some feeble defiance of

the authority and the rules through some misguided act of independence?

Tell me, Michael, what prompted this asinine behavior?'

"They weren't my idea, Jane." I just went along with..."

Again she cut him off, haughtily and abruptly this time. "Just went

along. Good God, young man, it's indecent. Those men at that school

are charged with imparting discipline to you young fools every bit as

much as they are to teaching you Latin. I trust your Latin skills are

superior to your proficiency at self-control."

The comment was gratuitous and demeaning, and he gazed again at the

floor as she continued her harangue. She stood above him now, having

moved from the chair to be a nearly overbearing presence before him.

"Self control is everything in a young man who aspires to success--true

success in this world. Most young men your age seem to realize this in

spite of themselves. You must develop a deep and profound respect for

the rules of the institution in which you find yourself. Initiative is

one thing, but the performance outlined in those letters is moronic and

bizarre. Open and willful neglect of convention and tradition will

never be tolerated in the circles you aspire to. Do you understand

that?"

She glowered down at him and his return of her gaze was fleeting as he

meekly nodded assent. She stood silently a moment and then returned to

her chair and settled herself gracefully yet seeming somehow

domineering at the same time. Again she perused the documents.

Finally she laid them down, removed her glasses and spoke deliberately

and obdurately.

"I must take it then that your excuse for this insolent behavior is to

be excused because you yielded to the "macho" pressures of your crowd,

some of whom have been expelled. Clearly you have let your distorted

sense of ego and identity get in the way of your common sense."

The lecture was beginning to wear him down. Twice now he had resisted

the urge to rebut her insinuations, but he was restrained again by his

Mother's insistence that he accede to Jane's direction and possible

reproach.

"I suspect," she went on, interpreting his silence as agreement, "that

must be the case. And if it is true, it is a trait you must disabuse

yourself of. Blindly following the rabble out of a misguided sense of

male bonding is ridiculous. More importantly, it is a repudiation of

convention that people of breeding hold important. It is not any

individual action, but the pattern of them that makes me believe you

lack significant sensibilities." She referred again to the top sheet of

the Dean's letter and quoted " 'exhibits an insolent disregard of

refined behavior....' Would you not agree with that assessment?"

I don't know," he relied feebly.

"You don't know!" she scoffed in return. "Well I do, and my experience

with boys just like you compels ME to agree with the observation. Now

if you are so intent on graduating from that school, what solution do

you propose for a modification of your attitude and conduct?"

He deemed the question rhetorical and knew his only answer would be

another lame "I don't know", so he simply shook his head.

"I ask that question," she continued "because I am something of an

unwitting player in your betterment. Your Mother is an old friend, and

Dean Hartwick's concurrence in you're being sent here indicates he

places some importance on my reassurance to him in the Fall that you

have become civilized enough to return to classes."

There it was, he thought: the commission for this woman to manage his

existence these next few months stemmed not only from the decision of

his Mother, but was further endorsed by the Dean. He felt a sense of

dread, a feeling in no small part derived by his belief that all this

was leading up to something ominous.

"You see, young man, I have had experience with instilling gentility

and refinement in difficult children of both sexes. I was, for many

years, a headmistress -- coincidentally at Eastmore, the very school

where you engaged in your midnight foray through the girls'

under-clothing. I have had some small measure of success at

cultivating grace and polish. And after meeting you, I believe I am

prepared to undertake this task, as a favor to your Mother."

Silence again, leaving him to his thoughts. Her last words drew him

forbiddingly further from a retreat from whatever penitential blueprint

her mind was now devising.

"Let me put it this way," she said, as if a declaration of finality was

beginning to form in her mind. "It is beyond dispute that you will not

be readmitted next year without my commendation, and I am not planning

to dispense that approval unless I see improvement. Secondly, that

approval is not to be forthcoming unless you accede to whatever program

I devise and do it with cheerfulness and resignation. Would you agree

with that assessment."

With absolutely no comprehension of what she had in mind, he

nevertheless surrendered to the inevitable and nodded assent.

"I'm still curious about this so-called "panty raid" at Eastmore. So

sophomoric! Did you find it fascinating to rifle through those

intimate garments? I have always been curious as to just what is it

that prompts a young man to do that?"

His silence lingered and she went on.

"Probably more of 'being one of the boys', eh Michael? Still, it does

give me an idea. Maybe that's the key. You know there is a practice

prevalent in England for curbing defiance. The English call it

petticoat discipline. Have you heard of it?"

He had not, and shook his head. The literal implications eluded him,

and he surmised it merely meant submission to a feminine will.

She stared out the window, seemingly deep in thought, while tapping the

stem of her glasses against her cheek.

"Yes," she announced with resolve, "that will be exactly it. Michael,

I must exact from you a firm promise that you will unhesitatingly obey

every command I give you, no matter how unpleasant or disagreeable you

may find it to be. It will be, at least a start, to see if we can

instill some self-restraint. If at any time I detect resistance, I

will not hesitate to wash my hands of this endeavor and advise the Dean

and your Mother accordingly. Is that agreed?"

It was an open pit, a solicitation of a promise to comply with her

carte blanche. Later he would reflect that it had been his ignorance

of what was to come and implicit reliance on her conventions that

induced his promise to her. As soon as he had agreed, and re-agreed

after a further restatement of her "rules", she told him to wait

outside in the foyer and to send Beth in to her. He rose and crossed

to the door, finding Beth seated on the Parson's bench outside the

parlor. After relaying the message, he, too, sat down and waited.

3. Chapter

From where he sat, Michael took in the vast walnut panelled foyer and

the living room and dining room adjacent. He could barely glimpse the

half open door to the huge, paneled library. He looked around,

admiring the size and quality of the place. The house, Michael

surmised, was really quite large. It was also very old. By standing

and glimpsing through the Tudor windows, he could glimpse a pool, what

appeared to be a riding stable, and a great deal of wooded property.

In the brisk New England winter, he thought, it might be possible to

practice cross country skiing in your own back yard.

Michael had been aware that Jane had worked for a time as a school

headmistress -- she had told him so -- but he also recalled that his

Mother had told him that she had worked as a business consultant before

moving to this area. Somehow, Michael thought, she must have been a

hell of a consultant to afford to retire to such a big place.

He was lost in the myriad of his thoughts as another drama played

itself out in the adjacent parlor.

Jane looked up as Beth entered the parlor, politely curtsied and stood

waiting.

"I have given him the ultimatum, Beth, and we will start phase two now.

I realize it has been some time and you may have forgotten, but we need

time to have him think things over and set the stage for this

afternoon. I trust you will be good enough to handle lunch for me. It

has all been prepared."

"Yes, ma'am," Beth replied. "Do you think he will be trouble?"

"I think not my dear. In many ways he has more to lose than you did

when you came just six months ago." Turning a fond gaze at her ward,

Jane continued, "You can be assured that by supper-time our

intransigent young man will be accutely uncomfortable in his new

metier. Anyway, see that lunch is set and then join us. You will have

ample time to arrange things while he sleeps. Remember to use the

colored sherry glasses. Oh, and tell Marie she can begin to set things

up upstairs while we have lunch. He should be asleep in about an hour

and she can finish things upstairs when he is."

Beth curtsied again and left the parlor to begin setting the luncheon

table. As she passed Michael still seated on the parson's bench, a

sense of deja vu emerged as similar events of half a year before played

themselves out. 'How would THIS young man react to what the day held

in store for him?' The thought intrigued Beth and an inward smile

materialized with the reflection on the feelings of terror and panic

that experience brought back to mind. Michael would soon experience

those feelings, along with the accompanying sense of defeat and

humiliation. In a way, he was to be pitied.

In just a moment after Beth emerged, Jane came out and impassively

announced it was time for lunch. Still brooding from his earlier

encounter with her, he followed her into the spacious dining room and

sat at the only remaining place-setting after she had seated herself.

He felt mildly gratified that his momentary lapse of manners at failing

to assist her in sitting was not commented on. Indeed, she seemed

oblivious of his being there. He was mildly grateful that she did not

continue with her diatribe.

The door to the kitchen opened and Beth entered with a tea trolley

laden with small sandwiches and soup. She placed one serving before

each of them and left the room. The meal progressed in silence.

Throughout the meal, Beth came and went. She poured the tea, served

the cake, cleared the table. And she did all this wordlessly, as

though she was well trained in such things. Strange training indeed,

thought Michael, for a school girl. His hostess seemed to read his

mind, for she smiled and pointed to Beth. "Now this girl, she gave her

parents quite a hard time. Still, removed from a harsh urban

environment, Beth has turned out rather well in my opinion"

Beth seemed to look a little embarrassed by the sudden attention. "

Thank you, Ma'am,..." she began to say. Jane softly but firmly

interrupted, "Beth, I was speaking to our guest." Michael was surprised

as he saw the young girl quickly go silent. He mumbled something

polite about what a nice girl Beth was."Ahhh, Yes!", Jane smiled

broadly. "She certainly is. Now. Oh, but the trouble she gave her

parents over the years. Well! That much is over with at last. We see

new improvement every day."

Beth returned with a tray of small glasses, one blue, the other bright

ruby. The blue one she set down by Michael.

"It is my custom to have sherry at lunch. I welcome you to my house,

Michael, and hope your stay is beneficial," she said, raising her glass

ever so slightly.

He sipped the warming liquid, not fully accustomed to the wine.

As Michael sipped the liqueur, tired from his long overnight trip, Jane

continued to talk, mainly embellishing the earlier conversation about

proper behavior and the need for gentility and manners. Michael noted

an occasional reference to Beth, about her earlier demeanor and the

improvement she had shown. The conversation was somewhat personal,and

he was glad the girl was out of earshot through most of it. It was

also lulling, and,along with the wine, causing him to stifle an

occasional yawn. Despite his fatigue, he did not object to a second

drink, served to him by Beth.

Jane was droning on. "Yes, in time, all problems could be solved.

It's so important for young people to curb their destructive behavior.

In earlier days -- in Victorian England -- they had stricter standards

of behavior. Young men and young ladies then knew their place. And

they made out very well. Yes, in those days, society avoided a whole

cache of social problems that plague us today."

She made a half gesture towards Beth. "A fine young lady now, our Beth

is. Aren't you, girl?"

This time, responding to a more direct question, Beth politely

responded," Yes,thanks you, ma'am."

He could no longer stifle the yawns which welled up, and he gave in to

a broad yawn which he quickly concealed. He was suddenly incredibly

sleepy.

"But enough of this. Michael, you seem tired. You should rest. Go up

to your room and lie down."

Michael peremptorily thanked his hostess and Beth, admitting that it

had been a long day for him. He carefully did not admit, though Jane

could easily surmise, that the potent Madeira wine was also new to him.

He did venture to say that Beth seemed a very nice girl.Jane nodded

gravely as if confiding in him, after Beth had left. "She WAS quite a

problem to her parents. Raucous, disobedient, destructive. A year

removed from her previous environment was just what she needed. As I

said, Michael, the Victorians knew how to bring up girl's."

Michael simply nodded, trying to figure out what this obviously

eccentric statement meant to him or to anything, having difficulty

focusing on very much around him.

"Yes.", she continued, " I find that, nowadays, young people need much

more supervision. Otherwise they become coarse and unmanageable."

Michael listened, only half understanding. "Well, I guess they do, at

that.", he suggested,almost instantly regretting his response.

Curiously, the response seemed to greatly please Jane.

"Do you, now?" she asked. "Do you indeed! Well, my dear, I'm sure you

and I will get along just fine! This is very good, indeed." Michael

was happy that his she seemed so pleased, so little of his existence

having done so that day. It boded well for his stay, he reasoned.

And, it also seemed, it might indicate a short stay as well and her

good offices, as well, both of which suited him just fine.

'This may not be such a predicament, after all,' he mused.

With that, taking up the suggestion, Michael excused himself and headed

off to bed.

He climbed the stairs in rickety stance, having twice to steady his

progress with a hand on the great maple bannister. He reached the

room, opened the door and entered.

The sheets of his bed were turned down, a bedside light was on.

Shedding his clothes in a disorderly pile on the chair near the bed, he

removed his shorts and slipped beneath the covers. In moments he was

deep asleep.

Michael stirred from sleep, confused at first with the unfamiliar

surroundings. He gazed upward, and in the dim light he saw first the

gauzy haze of the bed canopy, an eerie blue in the deepening afternoon

shadows. He did not know it was late afternoon until he had glanced at

the luminous glowing letters of the clock-radio and mentally translated

the 4:30 into time. It took some moments for his foggy brain to

rearrange the recollections of the day, then it fell into place and he

recalled falling into the bed and quickly asleep. He had slept for

nearly 3 hours.

He surveyed again the delicate furnishings of the room. It was so

bloody girlish, he felt alien in these surroundings. He made a mental

note to gently request that perhaps some chamber less dainty might be

preferable. He hoped Jane would understand.

As he shifted his legs, he became aware of the smoothness of the

sheets, and suspected they must be satin, and found another reason to

pronounce the room unsuitable. But the silky touch imparted an

unfamiliar yet exotic feeling. Childishly, he persisted in the slow

motion of his body enjoying the tactile sensation the cool, slippery

fabric provided.

His eyes now accustomed to the dim light, he surveyed the room yet

again. His first internal alarm bell sounded when he could not see the

overnight bag on the bureau where he was sure he had left it. He

mentally retraced his first movements when he had entered the room and

convinced himself that was where he had left it. It was not there!

Though he had been very groggy when he came up to bed, he was fairly

sure that the had either dropped his shorts alongside the bed (as was

his habit) or flung them on some nearby surface. Yet they were not on

the floor nor on the chair or table. He sat up in apprehension and

astonishment, and carefully scanned every object and surface in the

chamber. They were not there! Neither, he noted, were any of his

clothes. In near frenzy, he leapt from the bed to search beneath it,

and in doing so, he upset the lamp on the bedside table. It crashed

nosily as he lifted the dust ruffles and both scrutinized and felt

beneath the bed. There was no question; all of his clothes were

missing.

He was totally perplexed. Where could they be? Hazy as those moments

before he fell asleep were, he KNEW that he had come into the room

fully clothed and had undressed. His single solution to the problem

was that, while he slept, someone had removed the clothes from the bed

chamber. The logical next question was "Why?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, puzzled and distraught, and it was then

he noticed the gown laid neatly across its foot. He grabbed it and

spread it out before him. It was a peach colored satin robe, quilted

with a bib-like front that was edged in small lace trim; clearly a

girl's robe. In a state reaching panic, he stood and began negotiating

the room, in hopes his own clothes were still there. He held the gown

in one hand, as if it remained some feeble insurance against his

nudity. He opened drawers and closets, but his search disclosed only

womanly attire and no trace of his own things.

The sound of footfalls and the knock at the door startled him, and he

eyed the distance to the safety of the bed and its covers. Before he

could move, however, the door opened, and he was obliged to use the

robe as a shield to feebly cover his unclad body. It was Jane, and as

she entered, she threw the switch lever which illuminated the room with

light from the table lamps. Her first glance was at the bed, and

seeing it empty, her eyes quickly found him attempting to secrete

himself behind one of the closet doors, the gown still in his hand.

"You needn't hide behind that door, Michael. Put something on and come

out."

He was dumbfounded by all this. "My clothes are gone," he said

helplessly.

"Don't be ridiculous! I can see you holding something perfectly

acceptable to put on. Put it n!" she replied.

"You want me to put this on? I can't wear this. It's a girls robe."

"Of course you can wear it. And you have precious little alternative.

I want you to come with me this moment, and you will either go in what

you have or nothing at all. It is of no concern to me."

Her tone was indisputably definitive, and he was again bewildered by

what was happening to him. She stood and glared at him, waiting.

Ridiculous as it seemed to him,he drew on the robe and fumbled with the

buttons. They were 'backward" and he found it complicated to fasten

them. Nevertheless, he did, and emerged from behind the door

timorously feeling foolish in this ruffled get-up.

"You look quite fetching" she remarked with some disdain. "Come with

me."

His face reddened at her demeaning comment, but he followed her brisk

pace down the upstairs hall and through the door she opened. He

glanced furtively from side to side, hoping against hope no other

member of the household would see him in this ridiculous outfit. He

hoped he would soon be able to persuade Jane to return his own things.

The room he entered was a study adjacent to her own bedroom, he later

learned. She made a peremptory gesture indicating he should sit, and

he did, facing her over the desk.

"It is time we began your lessons, my dear young man. You have had

your rest and time to think about tour conversation this morning. I

might add I found your behavior at lunch fairly boorish, but that

merely bolstered my earlier conclusions. I am convinced we will have

it out of you by Friday..two days hence. That is the last day I will

trifle with your conduct. After that, it is, as I said, out of my

hands." He chafed again at this condemnation from this imperious woman.

Guilt and remorse about the events that brought him here surfaced

again. Along with those regrets, he felt a developing apprehension

that was, in no small way, reinforced by his feeling of vulnerability

sitting there in this ridiculous gown.

"I am going to give you a brief overview of the routine, Michael, and

you will hear me out. That promise of compliance I exacted this

afternoon is decisive and final. After you have heard me you will

choose either to comply or we will be done with all this and you will

go home tonight."

Here it was, he thought. This was where he would learn where this

absurdity was all going.

"First of all, that garment you are wearing; you didn't like putting it

on, did you? "she asked.

"Frankly, no," he spat out. "Where are my own clothes," he replied.

"Gone for some time, I must tell you. Tell me, though, how does it

feel wearing that gown? It feels nice, doesn't it?"

"I feel like a fool. This is a girl's robe!"

"How discerning," she said sarcastically, "and now you come to the crux

of it. While you are here, and until I deem otherwise, girl's clothes

are what you WILL wear! Perhaps you may grow to like them, perhaps you

never will. it is of no consequence to me either way. What

insignificant to me is that in time, I assure you that you will be as

adorable and sweet as lovely Beth."

He felt a surge of outrage mixed with panic at her words. Was this

what she had alluded to before? How could she possibly believe he

would wear such things. The objections to her suggestion flooded his

mind and then, abruptly, ran headlong into the threat she had

eloquently delivered that afternoon.

"Moreover," she went on, "we are going to begin in just a few minutes.

Within an hour, you will not recognize yourself as the impertinent

moron you have been...even so recently as at lunch. Beth is at this

moment busy preparing things. Your indoctrination begins in just

moments, Michael."

He began to protest. He would not be subjected to this nonsense. He

could not be!

She cut him off. "It was just this that you promised, young man!

Leave now if you want...dressed as you are. I will not help you. Call

someone..your Mother perhaps. Dean Hartwick. This punishment is my

choice for you and you will bow to this decision or face the

consequences."

He felt tears of rage and misery forming within him and beginning to

well in his eyes. He did not want her to see these tears, and he

averted his face from her, feigning enraged disgust. He felt both

outraged and helpless. The prospect she described was repulsive and

detestable to him. How could he possibly submit to such debasement and

the servile state she envisioned?

He wanted to run away from this place...flee before it went any

further. But as quickly as that thought passed through his mind, he

realized its futility, the mental image of a boy in a girl's satin robe

hitch-hiking on the road outside was burlesque.

She left him undisturbed in his thoughts, letting the gravity of his

situation to sink in. She could see and sense the discomfiture he was

experiencing and she smiled inwardly. Thus was it all with all the

bold, brazen young men. From experience, too, she knew that the

defiance would diminish in direct proportion to the feminization that

lay ahead. With some degree of compassion, she walked to his side and

softly fondled his tear- stained cheek. He stoically pulled away from

her touch, but remained silent.

"You will conform and submit, Michael. You will come to know that it

will all be better for you that way."

She cupped his chin and turned his face up to meet her gaze.

"Come now. Make it easy on yourself."

He closed his eyes tightly squeezing the accumulated tears to trickle

down his cheeks, then let his head fall as she released her hold. He

felt drained and chagrined; his spirit and will incapacitated.

"Come, Michael...come with me."

He sat motionless for a moment then, with passive resignation, he

yielded to her exhortation, and followed her out of the room.

Her footsteps led him through his own bedroom and directed him through

the mirrored door which separated it from the spacious bathroom.

Clouds of steam filled the room as the bathtub was being filled. He

glanced into the tub and saw billows of soap bubbles floating on the

rising water. Marie, now dressed in a crisp white uniform, was

arranging towels on the vanity. The pastel room, being prepared for

feminine pursuits, was like a dungeon, and he yearned to be out of this

place. He felt servile and embarrassed. He was genuinely fearful.

As he stood there, awkwardly, Marie turned off the flowing water, and

Jane's voice behind him ordered him to disrobe and enter the tub. As

if anticipating his modesty, Marie turned around and busied herself at

the vanity. Concealing his nakedness behind the robe, he slipped it

off and quickly sought refuge beneath the concealing blanket of lather

and sank into the warm water, burying his body to his neck.

Jane stood over him.

"I need not tell you how to scrub yourself, I presume," she said,

tossing a cloth into the tub, "but merely to tell you to do it

thoroughly. Impeccable cleanliness at all times is the rule of this

house."

She turned to accept the articles Marie had gathered. Holding up a

bottle of shampoo, she again advised him to use it, three times, she

said, leaving the lather on his head for at least three minutes,

showing him the clock on the wall. She set the bottle down on the

ceramic edge of the tub.

It was the sight of the safety razor that startled him, for he knew

instinctively that she did not intend him to use it in the traditional

male fashion. He was correct, for she was explicit in her directions

that every single hair on his legs and under his arms was to be

eliminated and that his failure would invite the penalty that it would

be done for him. The razor was placed beside the decanter of shampoo.

Jane spoke brusquely as she issued her initial instructions.

"You have precisely 30 minutes. When you are finished and completely

rinsed, there are towels there on the vanity, "she said gesturing.

"YOU will also find a pair of underpants you are to put on. If you are

chilled, put the robe back on. But be absolutely certain you are

wearing those panties. There is shaving cream near the sink. Every

facial whisker is to be gone, so make it a very close shave. Come into

the bedroom when you are done.

Then both of them left him alone in the steamy bathroom.

"Remember, 30 minutes, or we come in and do it to you ourselves." Jane

had said as she closed the door.

He lay there a moment and felt a slight chill in spite of the warm

sudsy bath. THe bottle was labelled "Miss Clairol", a brand name that

was vaguely familiar, though he could not recall any significance about

the product except that it was shampoo.

He felt very alone and depressed. Yet he knew that the minimal time he

had been allotted was waning. Gingerly he picked up the pink

disposable razor and gingerly applied its blade to the skin of his left

leg.

Nearly a third of his appropriated interval was consumed by the

shaving. He had some difficulty reaching the thigh areas, and he had

been obliged to stand up to execute the maneuver. While standing he

also used the reflection of his upraised arms to guide the razor

through the thatch of underarm hair, feeling the stinging rasp as he

scraped the tender skin smooth. The activity was novel, but not

dissimilar to shaving his face, something he had to do twice weekly.

Except for the uncertainty of events to come, the bath was a neutral

experience thus far.

Likewise the washing of his hair. He poured some of the golden liquid

into his palm and massaged it into foam on his hair, rinsing and

repeated the shampoo three times as she had told him. He quickly

rinsed off with the shower wand and opened the tub drain as he stepped

out onto the soft pile of the bath rug. He towelled briskly off, then

hurriedly shaved his face, his eyes occasionally straying to the

diaphanous garment that sat prominently to his left. He managed to

finish the shave without a nick, his beard being sparse to begin with.

The briefs, though made of satiny tricot and without a fly, were not

remarkably different than his own shorts, and it was thus not much of

an onus to slip them on. He was, however, aware of their silkiness in

his groin, a thought that took him back to that moment he had awakened

just an hour before. Notwithstanding their lack of frills or lace, he

was accutely aware that he was wearing girl's panties. The thought

mortified him.

Though he was not cold in the still steamy room, his sense of timidity

about being so scantily clad in front of these women prompted him to

put the objectionable robe back on. A glance at the clock told him he

had completed his tasks with two minutes to spare.

His legs tingled from the abrasive edge of the razor, but they were

smooth and bare of any trace of hair. He hoped these efforts passed

muster, for he knew her threat to rectify any mistakes in his labors

was not an idle one.

With one last glance in the mirror, and a check that he had

satisfactorily rinsed out the tub and hung the towels, he reached for

the doorknob with a growing sense of dread.

In his absence, the bed had been remade, the shammed pillows leaning

against the headboard and a ridiculous stuffed animal lounged against

them, facing a delicately dressed doll on the blue satin coverlet.

Marie and Jane were both there, busy at the vanity. The room was still

bathed in the pastel light that filtered through the dainty lampshades,

but a blaze of light streamed from the ring of small bulbs that ringed

the vanity mirror, and from the recessed florescent lights above the

full length mirror.

"Sit here, Michael," Jane said. "We are about ready."

He sat in the chair she indicated, feeling not unlike a patient

awaiting some dread medical procedure. All around him lay signs of the

female world that was rapidly taking control of him. Even the chair he

perched on wore a skirt! He wished he were a thousand miles away.

He could see them opening drawers and examining the contents. Within

those drawers he could see mounds of wispy garments. The top drawer of

the dresser was filled with panties. Girl's underpants. In an

unimaginable profusion. There were dainty yellow cotton hip-huggers;

the waistband trimmed in tiny eyelets. Much more substantial peach

briefs with lace side vents. Ridiculous red and white stripped string

bikinis. A waterfall of dainty, girlish pastels flowed before him.

Michael grabbed a handful of panties. He smiled remembering the panty

raid at school that got him in such trouble. A ruefulness hit him

again.

Jane turned around to him and said "Stand up Michael and let me see the

panties you have on." He stood and shamefully opened the robe to expose

the panties with their silver satin ribbon trim.

Jane said to Marie, "Yes, I thought they were white. We'll go with the

white things this time."

She gathered up an article of feathery fabric and held it up. It

looked like a t-shirt, in a way, though with thin shiny straps. It had

a silky look, airy and loose. It was definitely a "non-masculine"

garment. The thin shoulder straps were fastened to the with

embroidered bows on the front. Also, he hadn't noticed the delicate

lace inserts on each side.

"This is called a camisole, Michael, and it is worn when a slip is

not worn. Please pay attention and learn this, for I don't plan to

repeat it."

She set down the camisole and picked up an item which sent chills

through him, for he knew precisely what it was before she even began to

tell him.

"And this, of course, is a brassiere...a training bra, actually, for a

young lady with so little in front needs just the least bit of

foundation. You will wear a bra at all times while you are here. Even

at night until I say otherwise. If you are caught without the proper

attire at any time, you will be dealt with, and I mean it. Panties and

bra, regardless of whatever else you have on. Do you understand? Now

stand up and take off that robe."

He sighed, it help ease the queasiness in his stomach. He stood on

rubbery legs and let the robe fall to the floor. Marie advanced on him

bearing the shimmering band of satin which was to be his tribulation

and guided his arms through the straps, moving behind him to fasten the

back. This activity took some moments, and it was later, when he toyed

with removing it, that he discovered that the hooks locked in a way

that they could only be released with another's help. She then slipped

the camisole over his head, directing again the placement of his arms

so she could adjust the straps, and then she pulled and adjusted the

smooth, somewhat constricting garment down to his waist.

"You may be seated again, Michael. What I have to show you now demands

some lengthy explanation."

At first he thought that the garment she held up in front of her was a

set of curtains. As she unfolded it, he could see it was a skirt- like

affair, with delicate circles of soft lace and eyelet arranged around a

cone of silk, cotton, nylon. It was long, soft and flowing, with a

ruffle hem and drawstring at the waist.

"This, young man, is a petticoat. You heard me mention petticoat

discipline this afternoon, and it is from this garment that that term

derives. I can think of few articles of lingerie that are more girlish

and juvenile. This little item is the symbol of your station for some

time to come, and it gives me great delight to put you into it. In

fact, you are going to be favored with four layers of these tonight."

He was more chagrined, not only at the flimsy skirt she held out to

Marie, but at the teasing and abasing words which she had spoken. He

followed Marie's request to step into it, and his eyes met the gleeful

twinkle in Jane's as Marie pulled the band of the petticoat up to his

waist and tied the drawstrings. Three others followed, these pulled

over his head, making a rustling sound as they settled into tiers of

frilly circumference around his mid-leg. The crinolines flounced

outward as the bulk of each rested on the one before it.

He was thankful he could not see himself in this ludicrous predicament,

but it was as though Jane read his mind, for she summoned him over to

the lighted mirror and forced him not only to look, but to swirl the

skirts back and forth. She was clearly not impressed with his manner

of swishing the skirts, for she made an off- handed but exasperated

comment to Marie about how much needed to be done.

Standing there, the brightly reflection looked back tauntingly at him,

mortified and humiliated. He looked like a goddamned girl. He felt

lower than he had ever felt. True, there was a strange delight in the

touch of these fabrics, and, he had to force himself to admit, an odd

sensation of titillation in wearing clothes so obviously feminine.

Were it not for the proximity of the two women standing behind him, he

might have managed a slight smile of pleasure. But, of course, they

were there, and their's was a demeaning presence. Nevertheless, amid

this strange mixture of impressions, the overwhelming one was

indignity.

The chair he had earlier been seated in was now moved to the vanity and

he was directed there. At this point Jane stood to leave.

"I leave you to Marie's expert talents, Michael. You will mind her as

if I were still here. When she is completely finished with you, you

will come back down to my study." With that she left.

Marie occupied herself arranging items -- some familiar, others foreign

to him -- on the dressing table. A he stared at himself in the mirror,

he was quite certain that he was not going to like what was coming

next.

Marie began with a hair dryer, directing its warm flow over his hair,

using a small brush to first dry it and then coax it into a lightly

curled fullness. He saw this through half-closed lids, the air flow

causing his eyes to water when it touched his eyes. When he did clear

his eyes, and the warm air dried his hair, he was startled to see that

his hair was a lighter blond than it had been. He could not readily

account for this, then concluded that it must have had something to do

with the shampoo. And indeed it had, for just that afternoon Jane had

selected the proper shade of tint she wanted. The color was now a more

golden color, not loud or garish, but a soft amber shade with gold

highlights.

Marie busied herself now behind him, at the back of his head. He could

see that she was taken hair pins and placing them there. What she was

in fact doing, was making a knot of hair in preparation of the next

step. When she had done, she moved into the bathroom and returned with

what appeared to be a fleece, of a color remarkably...not exactly like

his own. He would later learn that it was called a fall, and it had

been washed with the same shampoo that his own had been, and Marie had

curled and styled it while he had slept.

She inserted the comb of the fall into the knot she had fashioned at

the back of his scalp, bring a tear to his eye as it pulled his hair.

Some more pins anchored the artificial tresses to his own hair. She

then returned to his own hair, and with a hot iron, drew ringlets of it

into soft curls.

When she was satisfied with the curls, both real and artificial, she

produced a large blue satin ribbon and, wrapping it around the juncture

of the fall and his own hair, tied it in a bow.

The image that reflected back to him was a peculiar mixture of familiar

and obscure. He knew it to be him, the features were his own. But the

cascade of curls which brushed against his bare shoulders, locks (for

they had to be so labelled, now), different in color from what they had

been that morning...all these cast an alien representation of his true

self. Not having lost a bit of the chagrin he felt at his plight, he

was fascinated with what he saw, as though he were looking at a distaff

twin of himself.

His reverie was interrupted by Marie's voice, and he again assumed a

hang-dog look and manner befitting his feeling of distress. She was

holding up a skirt (of tafetta, he was later to learn). it was navy

blue, and though it had a sheen like satin, this luster was more muted.

Marie slipped this carefully over his head and her handiwork and

lowered it to settle atop the bollowing petticoats. The skirt

fastened, Marie reached into the closet and brought forth a lighter

blue, pastel blue garment. This one did have the luminous gloss of

satin, and as it was put on him, it fell loosely over the top of the

skirt, The cuffs were elastic, so that after Marie had adjusted the

sleeves, they blooused out at the wrist. Michael had seen that the

collar which dropped down the back was piped with a contrasting color,

nautical style. He stood immobile as Marie adjusted the middy blouse

and affixed at the neck a ribbon which matched the one in his hair.

The next item was one he could, and, indeed was directed to do himself.

He put on the long white stockings she gave him and pulled them to

their height to his knees. Unfortunately, this deed was not done to

her satisfaction, and as she made him stand, he could watch in the

mirror as she folded down the tops of the stockings and let the lace

trim form a cuff just below his knees.

The shoes followed next. By this point, Michael was resigned to foloow

the taciturn woman's insturctions blindly. He slipped his feet into

the patent leather pumps and let her fasten the straps and buckles.

He was dressed. he preseumed this was all of it and he could depart to

show tasha what she had wrought. He was wrong.

Marie had him sit once more at the vanity and she brought forth a tray

of small jars. Here again was an operation that filled him with

foreboding. She was going to make him up. he had been made up before,

for the stage in school plays. But somehow, this occurrence imported

more than just dramatic requisites. Nearly more than anything he had

experienced thus far, the prospect that she was about to paint his face

made him queasy.

She began with a thin brown pencil telling him to keep his eyelids as

still as possible as she traced a fine line beneath and just above each

eye. Next, she took a small spong-like brush and brushed it over a

cake of light blue and trasferred the color to his closed eyelids in

long, delicate strokes. Again he was bade to curb his fluttering

eyelids as she withdrew a bristled wand from a tube and daubed sienna

particles of mascara on his lashes, stroking synthetic length and body

into them.

When he looked in the mirror again, he was astonished at how the

cosmetics had softened his eyes and added to the feminine countenance

that stared back.

Marie dabbed spots of carmine rouge on his cheeks and then roughly

stroked them until they blended into a faint pinkish blush on his

cheeks.

The final significant moment of that queasy, menacing feeling he had

felt to a greater or lesser degree this last hour and half, came when

he saw the tube of lipstick being uncapped and the ruby shank rise from

it as she turned the base. Long after this night, whenever he either

had lipstick applied to him or had to apply it to himself, he would

reflect on this moment. It was as though it symbolized the finality of

the transition and the submission.

He felt a sadness as he mimicked the awkward contortion of the lips she

demonstrated, and the color was spread over his lips.

Now she sent him to Jane. He glimpsed himself briefly in the mirror as

he left the room and felt like he inhabited another body.

Michael closed the door to the bedroom as he entered the hallway.

Although he didn't realize it at the time, he was also closing the door

on his past life. A new lifestyle, carefully crafted and controlled by

women, was opening for him. In his present helpless condition, he was

unable to resist. Gradually, events he was powerless to influence,

would shape him into a new, far more pliable young person.

Standing out in the hallway for the first time was a disorienting

experience for him. At least, in the bedroom, he was more enclosed;

shut off from the outside world. Here in the wide, ornate upstairs

hallway, with its rosewood end tables and Persian carpets, he felt

naked. The light was much brighter, it seemed out here. Also, inside

bedroom, he had been forced to don this costume. At least, much as he

hated his petticoated predicament, he had an excuse; a means to

rationalize it, this isn't my fault. Now, standing alone in the open

hall, what could he say if anyone met him. Here I am, a 14 year old

boy, in petticoats, skirts, and a middy blouse. It was terrifying.

Terrifying, but also, he hesitated to admit it, a little exhilarating.

Everything felt new. For instance, he immediately noticed the feel of

his naked legs. This must be how girls feel all the time when they're

wearing skirts, he thought. As he walked, he was embarrassed by an

annoying itching on his freshly shaven thighs. He stopped, placed a

hand on the wall to steady himself, and rubbed his legs together in an

attempt to sooth his itching thighs. It was then that he noticed the

pleasing sensation of his smooth tricot panties, the playful tickle of

the ruffle hems of his petticoats; all four of them, and the smooth

silkiness of his chemise. It was, he had to admit, a sexy sensation.

Surely if he wasn't being coerced into wearing these clothes, it might

even be fun- for a little while. Alone, in the privacy of his bedroom,

with no chance of anyone finding out, it could have been quite

arousing. But Jane had not given him any choice, that much was

certain. And he didn't even know how long he would be humiliated in

this most feminine fashion.

With that thought, he remembered Jane, waiting for him in the

downstairs study. After his tense, strictly timed experience in the

bathroom, he know he had better be prompt, much though he hated it. He

left the wall, half cowering behind an endtable, and walked to the

stairs. Almost immediately the sensation of the numerous petticoats

surprised him. It was almost impossible to walk with these frilly

girlish undergarments tickling his thighs. But far worse was the

sound! In the silent hall, with its expensive carpet, polished brass

fixtures and heavy furniture, the sound of his own walking surprised

him. It was awful! The skirts!--he felt so utterly ashamed, actually

swished as he tried to walk. He had never expected anything so

demeaning. He was sure everyone in the house would be able to hear

him. How could he ever enter a room with other people present dressed

like this. With every step, the billowing female garments pulled and

bounced and swayed. The sound of all this material pulling over itself

made an absolutely sensuous sound. But not with me in it, he thought.

Not with me being forced to wear these clothes. He paused and shook

his head in dismay.

Everything that had happened so far, he suddenly realized, was

contrived to bring him more and more under female control. And each

step was far more degrading than the previous one. He wasn't sure how

much more he could take. If Jane ever actually wanted him to go

outside like this, he was sure he would panic.

He stood at the top of the stairs fidgeting nervously. He squirmed his

shoulders uncomfortable in their new restraining garment. To him, the

bra, a symbol of utter degradation, had dozens of tight, biting elastic

straps. He pulled his arms and shrugged his shoulders trying to

relieve the bra straps awful bite. He felt utterly powerless. Still,

he reasoned, at this point, all resistance was useless. He knew, with

fearful certainty, that he had better submit to Jane's cruel demands,

and right away, or face even worse, unimaginable punishments.

With that thought, he steeled his nerves for the awful walk down the

stairs. He felt naked as he stepped, with unaccustomed daintiness,

onto the huge open stairway. A wave of shameful humiliation washed

over his as the multiple layers of petticoats rustled and tickled him

with each step. Now, a new embarrassment, as he descended the stairs,

his entire skirt actually "Bounced" on the floating petticoats. He

wanted to close his eyes. By the time Michael reached the first floor,

his cheeks had turned a deeper shade of red than Marie had initially

painted them.

He sashayed, shamefully, towards the study. Besides his embarrassment,

Michael began to worry what other unpleasant surprises his "aunt" Jane

might have in store for him. He felt tears begin to well up in his

eyes as he stood before the heavy wooden door of her study. As the

tears flowed, he knew that he would have no choice buy to accept

whatever Jane demanded of him. He would have to change his behavior,

or endure more of this unbearable, girlish torture. Timidly, the panty

clad boy knocked on the door. "I'll be with you in a minute," Jane

explained after opening the door. "Now, show me that you're going to

behave yourself, dear. Sit quietly on that bench until I'm ready."

With that, and not a word about his girlish appearance, Jane re-entered

the study and closed the door.

Michael surveyed the long, hardwood bench opposite the doorway. It was

unusually plain, considering all the elaborate ornate furnishings Jane

had selected for her home. The imagery of a young school boy (or,

shudder! schoolgirl, for that matter) waiting outside the principal's

office was not lost on him. With an unceremonious plop, he heaped

himself, and his billowing costume, on the hard wood bench. Michael

sat, with his ankles crossed and knees spread wide, in a most

un-girlish fashion. He still seemed, despite his lovely long tresses,

billowing petticoats and ruby lips, to be very much a boy in a skirt.

From the careless way he had seated himself, his lovely petticoats were

all bunched up beneath him. The hem of his pretty flared skirt had

been creased. Thus it was, seated in this way, with his arms spread

along the backrest of the bench, that Beth found him.

"Care for a jellybean?" she asked coyly. The poor petticoated boy was

so startled by Beth, he nearly jumped off the bench. In an instant, he

realized his plight. He felt so mortified, so embarrassed, so utterly

ashamed, at being caught in a skirt, by a girl, his own age. What

would she think of him? He turned away from Beth, sliding roughly to

the opposite end of the bench. Michael stared at the ground, unable to

stand the prospect of her inevitable teasing. Beth remained silent as

she approached the shivering panty clad boy. She walked to his side of

the bench, then turned, and with a practiced ladylike gesture, smoothed

her skirt beneath her as she sat on the bench. The result was that her

petticoats fell evenly and her skirt remained unwrinkled.

"If its any help, I think it's a nasty thing she's doing to you" Beth

said with genuine tenderness. Michael, his trepidation and shame so

great, could only gesture weakly. "Really, I do.", Beth added. "Most

of the time, Jane`s not so bad. But sometimes, she can be so mean that

I can't stand her." Michael, slightly relieved that he was not being

further humiliated, was able to relax slightly. Beth offered a tissue

and the skirted boy wiped his tear- stained cheeks. Gradually, he

confided in Beth that he felt so utterly humiliated. For her part,

Beth tried to be supportive, friendly and understanding. "Did she give

you the speech about when SHE was the Head "Monstrous" of a private

school?" Beth asked giggling. "Well, from what I've heard," She

continued, "She got Bounced out of there. Seems she was too nasty for

most of the faculty to stand."

Michael smiled in spite of himself. "How long," he asked Beth eagerly,

" do you think she'll keep me like this?" He was still so embarrassed

he could hardly look directly at her. Beth tried to reassure him.

"She's only doing it to upset you, Michael.Just don't let it get to

you. And above all, don't give her any reason to keep doing it."

Michael shivered in his skirts. "But what does she want," he implored.

"Look, just behave yourself, she'll soon see this is ridiculous. I'm

sure she'll lose interest. I bet she's just afraid of you, Michael.

That must have been some heck of a report.

In this way, Beth gradually, skillfully drew Michael out of his shell.

"I guess I was pretty wild." he finally admitted. "There, you see",

Beth responded. "Jane's a just afraid you'll wreck her place. Now, if

you just play it cool for a little while, I'm sure she'll stop this

nonsense." This last suggestion finally succeeded in gain Michael's

confidence, as it was calculated to do.

Jane had learned long ago, through many similar experiences, that

constant direct force and threats were an inefficient way to break the

spirit of a rebellious boy. Even with prolonged petticoat punishment,

the final result was always uncertain and never the complete degree of

subjugation she desired. Which was why, in Michael's case, Jane had

decided to subjugate him, not merely with petticoat discipline, but

also with a sort of good cop/ bad cop treatment. Jane, of course, was

the bad guy. She, with Marie's artful assistance, directly threatened

Michael. It was Jane who forced the poor boy into panties and

petticoats and he knew it. But Jane also planned to use Beth as the

"good cop" in Michael's transformation; at least for the present. It

was Jane who would force him onto each successive stage of

feminization; but it was Beth's job to make him accept it.

Beth, for her part, played her role skillfully. She knew well, from

personal experience, what Michael was going through. Still, she didn't

let that knowledge mollify her manipulative actions. Beth knew well

that her only chance for freedom lay in helping Jane completely

subjugate and transform Michael. Besides, she recalled, she would only

have to play the role of the good guy with Michael for a little while

longer. Beth suppressed an inner smile of vengeful anticipation.

Meanwhile, Michael was anxious to have an ally, a friend, anyone to

whom he could confide in. "What does she want me to do?" he asked Beth

anxiously. Now was Beth's turn to expand on the treatment which Jane

had so forcefully begun. "Just try to cooperate, for a while." Beth

explained. Michael just snorted with indignation. Cooperate! after

what she's done to me! Ohhh! What I'd like to do to her...", he

retorted. "Well then," Beth sighed, "if that's your attitude, you

better get used to petticoats, I think you're gonna be wearing them for

quite a while. Yes, indeed, my dear," she added, "at least through the

summer. Maybe longer." Michael was aghast. Petticoats, for the next

TWO months! HE was mortified. He was actually scared at the prospect.

It was too degrading to think about. "Please," he was actively

pleading with Beth now, "what do I do? I could never stand it! HOW

can she be so mean?"

Beth explained to him that if his behavior improved, Jane might relent.

For example, she pointed out his unladylike manner of sitting. Under

Beth's guidance, Michael uncrossed his ankles, placed his patent shoes

flat on the floor, and pressed his knees together. He smoothed down

the lap of his billowing skirt and folded his hands in his lap. "Much

better", Beth praised him. "still, Jane can't like what you've done to

your outfit. After all the trouble she went through to get you dressed

up, and there you go wrinkling everything." She then pointed out to the

petticoated boy his wrinkled clothing. Beth had Michael stand and

helped smooth out his skirt. "The best way to get out of trouble with

Jane," Beth explained, "is not to get into trouble in the first place.

This is one of the first things she'll check."

Michael stood before his seated companion as she continued to give him

pointers, subtle, girlish pointers, on how to behave around Jane if he

ever wanted to regain his freedom and his pants. While Beth spoke, she

steadied Michael with her left hand while smoothing down the folds of

his skirt with her other hand. Repeatedly she ran her hand,

delicately, gently, down the skirted boy's rear. Stroking the back of

his skirt, ostensibly to smooth the wrinkles. But as Michael stood

there, up straight, heels together, toes pointed out, hands folded in

front of himself, he was aware of a different effect. The warmth of

Beth's hand on his thigh, the gentleness of her stroking, the teasing

folds and frills of his petticoats all combined to create a warm

pleasing stirring deep within his tricot panties.

"And another thing," Beth explained, "try to avoid getting your

petticoats all tangled up during the day. It's just something that

happens as you walk around with all this lacy stuff." Michael said

nothing but to himself thought that was the one pleasant thing about

this situation. The pleasant way the ruffle frilled petticoats worked

their way between his legs. "Never, what ever you do, try to fix your

petti's by hand!" Beth admonished. "That's all the excuse Jane would

need to punish you" As an alternative, Beth stood up and demonstrated a

"more acceptable" way to walk. As Michael observed, Beth sashayed down

the hallway and back. "We don't walk like this all the time, of

course. But when you think Jane is watching you, or you want to

unbundle your petti's, this is the safest way to do it." Beth then told

Michael to try it. Although he was initially reluctant, he quickly

conceded when Beth reminded him about Jane's strictness. With self

conscious awkwardness,Michael tried to walk down the lush carpeted

hallway outside Jane's study as he had seen Beth do. She made

suggestions and had him repeat his attempt several times, "to make sure

you can fool Jane." On his last attempt, as Michael walked with his

back to Beth, she allowed herself a smile at the sight. Michael was

attempting to walk as Beth instructed him; swaying his hips to the left

and then the right with each step. Also, she emphasized the importance

of taking only little mincing steps. The result was a young boy, a

training bra, petticoats, and a skirt, promenading down the hall. She

had to admit, he already had an acceptable mince!

He looked so funny, she had to bite her lip to avoid laughing out loud.

The time for that, she recalled, would come soon enough. Surely Jane

would be pleased with her when she reviewed Michael's progress. And

the tape recorder hidden under the hardwood bench would confirm Beth's

sincerity and commitment to Jane. Surely Jane would at long last

favorably consider Beth's own desire for freedom. But she was afraid

of hoping for too much too soon.

When Jane opened the door to her study a few moments later, she was

indeed pleased by what she saw. Instead of the disobedient young man

she had to endure that morning, she saw the facsimile of a lovely young

lady. True, much of that effect was due to her own, and Marie's

skillful efforts. But the deportment of the young man in question was

also quite improved. This certainly wasn't the way a rebellious 14

year old boy would sit. Michael's hands were neatly folded in his lap,

he sat up straight, (showing off the minimal padding of his training

bra), his knees and heels were together and his shoes flat on the

floor. Beth had done her job well, Jane mused. She admitted the

petticoated prisoner. Michael, eager to please, and avoid prolonged

humiliation, stood up and sashayed as instructed. He lifted his rear

and swayed left and right, taking the little mincing steps he thought

would lead to his freedom. How foolish. How little he realized the

each step only brought him closer to complete feminized subjugation.

Jane seated herself in a leather bound wing back chair. "Come here,

please." she ordered Michael. The bra-clad boy stood before her,

trying to win his freedom by enhancing his subjugation. Michael stood

with his heels together, toes pointing apart, and back straight. He

looked up, pushed his shoulders back (trying not to cringe as the tight

elastic of his training bra pulled at his flesh). Finally, as Beth had

suggested, he clasped his hands behind his back; palms together,

fingers pointing down. Michael felt fearful and degraded by this

behavior. He knew how pathetic and ridiculous he must look. But

somehow, he hoped, this would be sufficient to assuage this domineering

woman.

Realizing exactly what her captive must be thinking, Jane made sure she

rewarded the behavior she wished to promote. She complimented him and

expressed satisfaction with his appearance. "But remember", she warned

sternly, "you must continue this much improved behavior through Friday,

or I shall immediately dismiss you." She spent some time reviewing her

litany of complaints against him, but she held out the promise that he

could be reformed. This greatly encouraged Michael, who assumed this

indicated a release from his petticoat discipline. But Jane did not

elaborate, preferring to allow Michael to deceive himself. After a

short while, he was dismissed and sent to the dining room to await

dinner.

4. Chapter

Michael walked into the dining room to find that the table had been

splendidly set and the smells of cooking drifted in from the kitchen.

Beth was already there, standing demurely behind her chair. She

advised him that it was a rule of the house that neither of them was to

sit until Jane entered the room and was herself seated. He stood

timorously behind the tall-backed chair, imitating Beth's diffident

carriage and pose. Jane entered the room despotically, and sat and

placed her napkin in her lap. Following Beth's every lead, Michael

seated himself and copied each movement, constantly fearful of

committing some error of manner which would incur Jane's wrath. Dinner

passed slowly,it seemed,yet he knew when the clock sounded seven times

it had not been that long.

Conversation was succinct, most of it limited to Jane's continuing

lectures on deportment and good breeding. Michael was grateful that

precious little reference was made to him, for he had expected some

attention to be focussed on him. He stole an occasional conspiratorial

glance at Beth, and smiled gratefully at the girl's apparent concern at

his plight.

Supper ended and over the demitasse, Jane finally centered her

deliberations on him.

"I think we shall make an early night of this.," she said, glancing at

the grandfather clock. "It will take a while for you to be prepared

for bed, Michael. You have not done too badly today, after you and I

had our little talk. I expect even better conduct tomorrow,for we have

a lot of lessons to cover."

"Now say goodnight to Beth, and go upstairs. Marie is waiting for

you." With that the was dismissed. He folded his napkin, and flashed a

shy smile of thankfulness in Beth's direction as he bid her goodnight.

Standing, he painstakingly walked from the room,remembering Beth's

exhortation about his bearing and posture. As he passed through the

foyer and up the stairs, he was again cognizant of the ruffle of the

dainty petticoats and the taffeta skirt with each step. He hoped to

himself that Beth's assurance that giving in to Jane's whims was the

surest way out of this contemptible dilemma. He entered the forbidding

bedroom that had become so symbolic of his exploitation.

AND SO TO BED...

Marie told him to undress, and she watched sternly as he followed her

instructions to correctly hang the skirt and blouse and align the shoes

neatly alongside the others on the shoe rack. Each petticoat was

removed, and with the camisole, neatly folded and meticulously

consigned to its appropriate place in the drawers. Marie directed him

to the bathroom, handing him a soft powder blue nightgown of sheer

material. He was to remove the panties, but to retain the bra and slip

this new garment on. The ballet- length gown was adorned with lacy

trim and petite ribbon trim and its ruffled-edge flounce fell just

below his was knees. He deposited the panties in the clothes hamper as

she had told him and returned to the bedroom to find her again busy at

the vanity. She left the room only briefly to fill two small bowls

with water which she carried back in and set on the table. One had a

thin froth of foam atop it, and she brusquely plopped his right hand in

it.

She sat along side him and examined his face. Picking up a pair of

tweezers, she located some errant eyebrows and plucked them. The yank

of the instrument extricating the tiny hairs smarted, but she was

oblivious to his complaints. She continued the process,shaping the

brow into a more graceful arch. In addition to the misery this

operation dealt him, he felt worry that this particular routine

imparted more of a permanence than the cosmetics or other indignities

he had suffered.

Next she extricated his wet hand, replacing his other hand in the

water. With an array of surgical-like gadgets, she manicured each

nail. She then took a small bottle of nail polish, and stroked a layer

of high gloss enamel on each nail, cautioning him to remain still until

the varnish had dried.

As the enamel dried on his fingers, a tingling effect as it hardened

tightening against the nails, Marie silently busied herself with

removing the wiglet from the back of his head and the hairpins that had

held it there, She brushed out the tangles, and then, with a comb, drew

out a small strand of his hair, holding it in one hand while she

dampened the strand with her other hand. With no waste of motion, she

picked up a brush roller and began winding the hair around it, pulling

it almost painfully tight against his scalp and securing it with a pin.

She worked proficiently,repeating the process scores of times as she

covered his head with the small cylinders.

He sat mutely, watching this new indignity being imposed in another

purposeful belittlement of his virility. When she had completed her

chore, she moistened each rod with a liquid that she dispensed from the

nozzle of an aerosol container. She explained to him that the solution

set the curls, as she told him he would see more clearly in the

morning. In the light from the mirror he could glance down at his

hands and see the sparkled that each fingernail gave off.

Almost as if on cue, Jane entered the room as Marie was tidying up the

table. She examined her new protege, and smiled approvingly.

"All ready for bed, I see. Well, I want you to get a goodnight's rest,

for we have a full agenda tomorrow." Placing her hand on his shoulder

and caressing his skin through the silkiness of the nightdress, she

went on. "Normally, you would remove your makeup before retiring, but

I want you to be very aware that you have it on as you fall asleep

tonight. Keep a mental image of that softly painted face you see.

That's to be you for the future. Sweet, feminine, pretty little

Michael."

Her words and the smile mocked him, and she could see the self-

conscious blush spread over his face. She persisted.

"In fact," she said, taking up a lipstick tube, "Let's see you how well

you have learned to put this on tonight."

Again he saw the tube rotate in her hands and a column of crimson

emerge as she handed the cylinder of paint to him. He hesitated, how

he hated this derisive abuse that she seemed to so enjoy. With a sense

of disgust and near self-loathing, he took the tube and felt ridiculous

again as he daubed the red stain on his lips.He accepted the tissue she

proffered and blotted the color as she instructed.

"You're making some progress," she said. "In a while you may even

become proficient. Indeed, we'll spend a lot of time tomorrow learning

how we make ourselves pretty."

The choice of words irked him. Jane, apparently unsatisfied with his

appearance had opened a compact of blush and with a camel hair brush,

daubed added color over his face.

"Mind you, there will always be times when you are submitted to Marie's

governance and mine. Part of your training it to feel the distress at

being subdued by a woman's hand, feminizing and softening that rough

exterior, making you appreciate the importance of having that coarse

masculinity of yours suppressed under the guidance of a gentlewoman.

She seemed to emphasize each of these points with another whisk of the

scarlet powder on his features.

"Such is your fate for the time being, Michael. To be an adorable,

winsome little boy in skirts. I shall see you in my study for coffee

and rolls at 8:30 sharp."

With that she directed him into bed, waiting at the door after Marie

had departed, Once he had settled his head on the pillow and drawn the

coverlet up over him, she smiled again and turned off the light and

closed the door.

It had just gone 8:15.

Michael awoke and was immediately conscious of the barbs of the curlers

again. As it had been the previous afternoon, it took a second or two

to become familiar with his whereabouts. Then the realization settled

on him and the remembrance of the preceding day began to play itself

out like a film in his mind's eye.

He glanced at the clock and was glad to see he had not overslept. Jane

had been emphatic the night before that he was to be before her by

8:30. He sat up in bed and picked up the detestable peignoir that

matched this gown he wore. His feet slid into the satin slippers

beside the bed, and he stood as he drew the second gown over him. The

reflection in the mirror of the surrogate maid that he had become

watched him as it aped his every move.

As he stood there and contemplated the "girl" in the mirror, he felt a

recurrence of a feeling he had experienced more than once the preceding

evening. The figure that stared back at him was not he, yet was. THIS

was an appealing lass, he thought, an opinion that made him wince at

what he was acknowledging!

Still, this odd sensation of coalescence with that figure in the mirror

tantalized him. He was grateful he was engrossed in this inspection

and these sentiments in private, for the dread of being seen like this

still terrified him.

He had been peripherally aware of another sensation, which,as he now

focussed on it, excited him in a more customary and familiar manner.

He had woken with the usual daybreak erection,and the feathery touch of

these wispy garments against his glans caused an electrifying

stimulation there. Indeed, every part of his skin was being stimulated

by the soft luxury of the material. He swirled the gown in an

abbreviated pirouette, feeling self-conscious, but not caring. In

spite of his own emotional aversion to all this, he felt both a flush

of sensual tingle and an irrational envy of girls who experienced this

pleasurable luxury all the time.

Michael entered Jane's study now filled with the more instinctive sense

of despondency and embarrassment which was engendered by his costume

and countenance.

He sat in the chair before her desk and accepted the strong coffee she

offered him.

"This morning will be devoted to some practice with clothes and makeup,

Michael," Jane announced. "Your face is a mess!"

He had noticed the dark circles under his eyes while he was cavorting

with his mirror image in the bedroom.

"The reason we usually remove our makeup before bed. Though I told you

otherwise last night, remember that in future."

She sipped thoughtfully at her cup.

"On the other hand, I don't like my boys and girls running around the

house without at least a little color...even in the morning. So plain

and ordinary! Therefore, after you wash up in the morning,a touch of

color is expected. You will learn how."

He was mentally recording these instructions, for she had said at

dinner he was to learn all these arts and would be punished if he

deviated from the routine of the household.

"Now, about this morning. As you must be aware by now, this whole

process is designed both to subject you to alien and unconventional

lessons in attempt to inhibit what I have perceived to be a

recalcitrant attitude. It is part of the English method I told you

about. But there is more to it than that."

She paused, sipping at the cup and letting this sink in.

"My experience," she continued "(and this is the true essence of the

'English method'),she said parenthetically, "is that boys subjected to

the regimen of petticoat discipline gain an insight into the feminine

side of themselves, and of the world around them. I personally think

that this is a valuable insight, for this world is filled with men who

are totally insensitive to feminine things and disdainful of the

elevated role of woman. So that is another component of your

training."

"But enough of that. Think of it as just another bonus to your

education. We shall talk again throughout the coming days about what

it takes to be like a young girl of your age."

The colloquy was getting a little ahead of him, and he was attempting

to sort it all out. He knew that the underlying theme forecast things

that he would not like, but he was in an inferior position to object.

She continued.

"So we come to this morning's program. When girls are young,they spend

hours practicing with clothes and with makeup. Now while I don't

expect you to display that same enthusiasm for the activity, it is a

skill that believe to be important to your development. So this

morning you are going to practice getting yourself dolled up and

darling and precious."

God, he hated her choice of words. This tribulation never seemed to

end, nor did it subside with the passage of time. New indignities

seemed to spawn from her inventiveness. He speculated in vain about

what she had in mind.

"Marie is now laying out your first ensemble. She will attend to your

hair, which, I will warn you, is apt to be quite curly this first time.

She will also guide you through this first session. She is going to

supervise your training this morning and I am going to appraise your

progress. I think the first phase will take about an hour. Pay close

attention to what Marie shows you, for it will be important to you

later."

She stood and refilled the coffee cups, proffering the plate of

croissants to him. He selected one and bit into it.

"After she has done with you -- and you will be doing a good bit of it

yourself -- you will come back here for my inspection. Looking lovely

and proper, I presume. Is that clear."

She noted the subdued nod of his head as agreement, but would not let

that affront pass.

"Michael, when I say something or ask a question, I expect a polite and

audible 'Yes ma'am' in response Both good little boys and good little

girls are expected to display that politeness."

"Yes, ma'am" he muttered"

"A little better; we will work on that. Now, by my reckoning,it should

take someone about half-an-hour to get dressed and made-up. So after I

have inspected you, you will return to your room and do it all over

again. it may be a whole change of costume, or merely a correction of

some shortcoming I discover. But in each case, you will cleanse away

all traces of the makeup you have on and redo it from scratch. New

colors, new cosmetics...whatever Marie decides. Is that also clear?"

She knew the time she was allotting to the procedures was scant, but

that was part of the indoctrination.

"Yes, ma'am," he articulated this time, equally without enthusiasm.

She glanced at the clock.

"We will be having lunch at 12:30 today. By my reckoning, that will

permit you at least four practice sessions. Perhaps you will be

developing a little art and proficiency by the end of the morning."

She sat on the edge of the desk, directly above him, and went on, "Now,

if you are late, or if you are not properly put together each time, you

will be punished. I believe this exercise to be a very meaningful part

of your education. Unless I see some cooperation and progress by noon,

you may be repeating the lessons well into the night."

As he finished the bun and coffee, ruminating, no doubt on her words,

she, too, deliberated on this whole plan. The timed drill she had

derived from her brother's reminiscences from his military days,and it

was pure harassment. "An inspection every thirty minutes in a totally

new uniform" was a way in which drill instructors taught not only

uniform assembly but instilled discipline. The frustration that

Michael would be augmented by the repetition of the acts she knew he

found to be abhorrent. Friday was but one day away and she was certain

she was winning the war of wills in this struggle for compliance.

She also knew that her threat of prolonging this enterprise into the

evening was an idle threat. Whatever level of competence had been

achieved by 11:00 or 11:30 would suffice for today. The finesse of

feminine arts and skill would take weeks, not hours. No, before noon

she had another devilish scheme in mind.

Whatever measure of competence Michael had achieved by 10:30 would no

longer be implemented on himself. Her thoughts had earlier strayed to

Beth and the events of the previous evening. After Michael had left,

Beth began whining again about having done as Jane had instructed and

snivelling about be able to leave here now. In the brief tiff that had

ensued, Beth had exhibited a degree of surliness and insolence that

warranted some firm correction. Moreover, she could not suspend Beth's

management while concentrating on her new protege. She smiled inwardly

at her own shrewdness. Beth would know that defiance meant reversion

to more childish fashions and appearance, and was probably anticipating

at least an hour of that punishment. What Beth could not foresee was

that Jane would place Beth at the hands of Marie to effect the

transfiguration of Beth into a more infantile appearance. The Shirley

Temple outfits, Jane decided. Two little petticoated goldilocks at

lunch! Beth of course would be devastated, not only by the

retrogression into those clothes, but by the shame at having it done so

that Michael would see the humiliation of it. It was delicious!

Lunch would suffice for the punitive period, and afterwards they would

be allowed to change -- sundresses perhaps -- for Beth was to take

Michael on a tour of the grounds this afternoon. Michael's first

outing in ruffles, with the inevitable meeting of the groundskeepers,

Hal and old Tom. Jane enjoyed another warm inner smile which spread to

her lips as she contemplated the poor young man before her.

Michael had finished now, and Jane noted the time. It was just going

9:00 a.m.

"Get started now, Michael, my dear. Marie is waiting. I'll expect you

back here at 10:00."

Michael entered the bedroom and found Marie had laid out clothing on

the now-remade bed.

"Miss Jane had me lay these things out for you. But the other times I

am to give you just a list and you must do everything yourself. Please

do it well, for she gets very upset. Now come here and I will start on

your hair."

He sat on the now familiar skirted stool before the mirror and she

began extricating the pins and pulling the tight rollers from his hair.

He felt a sense of relief to be rid of their prickly barbs. As she

pulled each rod away, the tight coils of hair sprang back to his head

and remained a taut ringlet. When she had removed all the curling

wands, she began combing, teasing and pinning the tresses, fashioning a

petite hair style that was, in essence a wreath of golden ringlets

about his head.

He was cognizant of the time ebbing as she finished. She showed him

the panties and satiny garter belt, showing him how it fit around his

waist (outside the panties, Miss Jane insisted). The cami he was

conversant with from the previous day, and the half-slip was, in

essence a single shimmering petticoat. Marie was, however, most

explicit in the manner in which he was to put on the gauzy nylon hose,

and, after he had donned the other garments, she coached his rolling

them up and letting them glide up his smooth legs. He was sensitive to

the silky constriction with which they bound his legs and an odd

coolness they imparted.

He felt ill at ease as he stood up and Marie's hands fumbled beneath

the skirts while she demonstrated how to fasten the garters to the top

of the hose. Marie emphasized the constant need to always inspect the

whole effect in the mirror, turning this way and that to ensure

everything was in place.

He sat at the makeup table and followed her coaching as he attempted to

duplicate her expertise with eyeliner, shadow and mascara. He had a

little better luck with the rouge and he had already gained some

mastery of the lipstick. The eyes did not look right, but the clock

was rapidly approaching 10:00. He still needed to dress.

He put on the blouse he handed him, a white cotton blouse with a petite

peter pan collar. AS with the robe the previous afternoon, again he

found the buttons to be backward, and he fumbled his way through them.

Next he slipped the plaid pleated jumper over his head, careful not to

disturb his hair, and slid his feet into the pumps on the floor. He

had scarcely half a minute to negotiate the hallway to Jane's study.

He smoothed the skirt of the dress and knocked discretely on her

door.[Comments and critique, Jane?]

He raced back to the bedroom for the next change. As he burst in,

already pulling the jumper over his head, again, trying not to mess the

curls, he glanced at the second list. It required he removed the

garters and hose, and he did this in the bathroom, dropping them in a

heap on the hamper. He spread the cold cream over his face as Marie

had told him, rubbed it in and cleansed all traces of the cosmetics

from his face. He washed quickly with a soapy cloth, dried and

returned to the bedroom.

The second costume called for petti-pants and anklets. Apparently he

could keep the slip and cami on, so he must find the lacy petti-pants.

He opened several drawers, amazed at the profusion of dainty things

laid out in them, then finally found the dainty sateen bloomers slipped

into them, experiencing again the thrill of the soft material on his

bare legs and against his groin. He pulled the sox on and busied

himself again before the mirror. He was more carefully this time

sketching the lines below and above his eyes, and he found that the

brown mascara wand had a shape which made application easier. A paler

rouge this time, then the blush and the ubiquitous lipstick, this one a

more peach shade. Marie offered the occasional instruction, and he

made what correction she could as she admonished him. In the rush of

meeting the deadline, he did not have much time to reflect on the

distress of playing the sissy to Jane, though he was not unaware of the

unmanly pursuits he was being forced to engage in.

The dress took some time to find, a lacy and very ornate party dress

amid the profusion of such frocks in the spacious closet. It had a

peach satin sash,and it took a precious four minutes to affix it

properly. Mary Janes this time, with the further delay that their tiny

straps and buckles consumed. He rummaged through the drawers to find

the short white gloves and raced out the door with some five minutes to

spare. He ambled more slowly down the hall this time, again keenly

mindful of the swish that whispered from the rustling brush of ruffles

beneath the skirt and the whirring note that the rubbing nylons made

against each thigh.[More analysis/tutoring?]

He repeated this drill twice more. The second costume was not unlike

the first. A pinafore (he had to ask Marie for help in locating it,

the term being totally alien), hip-huggers, two petticoats this time

and he had to squirm back into the garters and gingerly draw the

delicate hose back on. The makeup took a little less time, though he

was more meticulous about it after Jane's last tongue-lashing. In

fact, he felt a sense of achievement as he finished the blush and

applied the lipstick in an even margin within his lip line.

It was the shoes that gave him trouble this time. Instead of the flats

he was used to, these had a 1" heel, and his pace down the hall was

more unsteady this time. Moreover, the pace of the changes had

dislodged some of the curls, and despite the neat appearance he thought

he presented and the more careful application of the paint, she was

less than complimentary about his efforts. Amid the feelings of

silliness that pervaded this appearance, he felt strangely disheartened

that he had not met her expectations.

And so it was that she directed Marie herself to conduct the last

change of apparel, repair the makeup and the coiffure. He resignedly

returned to the now-disheveled room and stripped off everything he had

on.

The last outfit was a true indignity. The more anrogynous underpants

were replaced now by very ruffled, little girl's panties. Three layers

of petticoats shorter than those he wore last night were draped over

these; starched, stiff crinolines which stuck out far from his legs.

The anklets returned, embroidered with small roses. Mary Janes again,

which Marie charitably fastened. The dress itself was another party

dress, this time a princess party frock with a short skirt that allowed

the crinolines to peek out from the fringe,and an enormous satin sashed

bow that Marie lavishly fashioned in a large bow in back.

She then painstakingly corrected the mass of curls using her combs

brushes and the curling iron. Then she added a touch of fresh color to

his cheeks, eyes and lips. As he stood before the full-length mirror,

watching her affix the large bow in his hair, he observed that the

outfit was obsequious not only in its femininity, but in its

childishness. He looked like a teenager masquerading as an eight-year

old. More importantly, he was accutely aware that he was a teenage boy

masquerading as a pretty seven-year old girl. He almost wished he were

back in one of the more grown-up styles he had worn earlier. With a

profound sense of chagrin, he clacked down the hallway in his patent

shoes, petticoats bobbing, and went to lunch.

5. Chapter

When Michael entered the dining room he saw Beth wearing the same

preposterous attire as he. Beth's was a pink princess dress with a

gauzy apron and the shoes were matching pink Mary Janes. Like his own

dress, the hem of the skirt floated on an overabundance of stiff

petticoats. Though the dress was as immature and childish as his own,

it did not seem that outlandish on a girl, and he was more than

thankful that he was not clad in pink. Ludicrous as he felt, the

turquoise satin was far preferable to pink! Beth did not speak to him,

and the downcast eyes betrayed to him a sense of shame. He surmised

that this was some form of punishment, and he wondered what had

happened to prompt Jane to impose this indignity on Beth. Before he

could ask, Jane swept into the room, sat down and motioned them to do

likewise.

Jane smiled to herself as she watched the two be-ribboned moppets

struggle to sit in their juvenile frills, perched on their chairs atop

billows of ruffled petticoats.

Michael sat quietly and despondently through the meal, clearly ill at

ease, while Beth was practically sullen. Michael's discomfort was

evident by his constantly shifting positions; he was positively awkward

with the layers of satiny slips beneath the short dress and was further

troubled by the need for constant concentration on emulating the

mannerisms and demeanor that Jane had demanded and about which Beth had

coached him the night before. Dressed as he was, though he was nearly

loathe to admit it, he almost longed for the more mature ensembles he

had worn that morning.

That sentiment was intensified by having to endure Jane's gratuitous

comments about how adorable they looked both and how sweet the dresses

were. She lavished what he thought were totally unnecessary

compliments about everything from the flounce of the undergarments to

the curls and ribbons in their hair.

"Michael," she had said at one point, I have seen few young boys in

life that looked as pretty as you do dressed as a girl. Those lashes

of yours...some girls would envy them; long and full. I think I like

your hair that shade, and it's a pity it isn't quite long enough yet

for you to have your own lovely curls."

To Beth she remarked, "It's been a while since I've seen you in that

cute dress, Beth. Pink is really your color, you know. I think you

should wear pink more often. And those bouncy crinolines! Such a

lovely little doll."

It was appallingly humiliating to Michael, a teasing, taunting

degradation, and he silently endured the hour long lunch in near

silence, except for quietly acknowledging one of her "compliments".

Jane had made a remark about his peaches and cream complexion and how

wonderfully the make-up made his face soft and feminine. When he

remained sullen, she angrily harshly scolded him for being impolite in

not thanking her for the liberal she was showering on him.) His face

reddened as he mumbled a "thank you", but he remained taciturn for most

of the meal.

Jane guessed that Beth's brooding disposition stemmed largely from

being forced to revert to this immature state. In fact, that was true,

but Beth's reticence was not solely due to this reprimand imposed by

the domineering grand dame opposite her at the table. In fact, Beth

felt an odd mixture of emotions about Michael as well; pitied his

condition and knew well how he must feel being disgraced in this

manner. Having experienced the early stages of this harassment, it was

easy to sympathize with the hapless lad. Beth acceded to a small

degree of resentment directed at Michael as well, for it was precisely

as a result of her obedience to Jane's order to tutor Michael (on the

belief that it would hasten the end of Beth's own discipline) that she

had rebelled last night. It was not rational to blame Michael, still

it was easier for Beth to direct a degree of anger at him than it was

to rebel against Jane. After all, though she had not got into trouble

BECAUSE of Michael, she had been chastised over her role in his being

here.

When lunch was over, Jane lectured them both on the importance of

obedience and that punishments such as these were the automatic

consequence of defiance. She asked them each in turn if they had

learned their lessons about obedience and respect and if they wished to

get out of these darling outfits. Without much pause, they both

emphatically agreed.

"Fine," she said, "then you should both change into something

spring-like. I think this would be nice day for you to show Michael

the grounds, Beth. "Marie is upstairs waiting for you, Michael," Jane

said, "and I had her put out an outfit which is an special favorite of

mine. Run along now and see to changing at once."

The prospect of going outdoors did not appeal to Michael at all, but if

the trip were limited to the grounds of the estate, he felt less fear

about it. At least he would not look like Shirley Temple out there.

He followed her command to take his leave while Beth remained behind at

Jane's behest.

Michael felt a mixture of relief and anger as he left the dining room,

conscious of his gait and carriage so as to avoid further disaffection

by Jane. As he passed through the foyer and began climbing the stairs,

he was conscious of the rustle of the skirts again and the reflection

in the mirror at the lower landing. He paused at the mirror, glancing

around to see that no one was looking, and looked closey at his face.

Turning his head this way and that, he examined the lashes she had

praised. With the ginger-hued mascara on them, they did seem longer

and curlier than before. He had been teased about his eyelashes

before, in words very like those Jane had used. Each time he heard

that insipid remark about girl's being jealous of boys with such long,

abundant lashes, he winced.

He had to admit to himself, however grudgingly, that the clothes and

other adornments did make for a pretty girl. He ventured to himself

that any girl who wanted those lashes and that complexion could have

them and good riddance. He had no need of those girlish attributes.

The perceptions gave rise to that strange wave of dread mixed with

delight that he had experienced more than once since yesterday: the

enigma of being so dressed and the peculiar thrill that it gave him.

His aversion to this image of himself preempted his thoughts, and the

"pleasant" part of the feeling passed. He focussed on just the

despondent uneasiness he felt.

Tomorrow was Friday, a deadline Jane had mentioned to him yesterday.

Perhaps he had read too much into her statement, but he hoped against

hope that the vague promise of respite from this ordeal would come

true. He did not know how much longer he could endure this inanity.

He knew it was imprtant to go along with her to get a favorable report

to the school. He only hoped that he could be rid of these skirts.

As he moped across the upstairs hallway and toward the doorway of the

bedroom, his anxiety increased. Behind that closed portal lay the

pastel torture chamber he had been forced to endure for nearly

thirty-six hours. Beyond the door, he knew, waited Marie, a woman

whose faithful execution of her mistress' directions resulted in his

continued exposure to silks and satins and colorful pigments that

transformed his features into a mockery of his real gender.

The cold lump of frustrated resignation curdled the lunch in his

stomach as he turned the knob.

Beth, too, was lost in thought as she mounted the stairs moments later.

Jane's last lecture had indicated that the transgressions of last

evening had been partly assuaged by the humiliating costume at lunch,

but that Beth's management of the afternoon's activities would

determine the final disposition.

Beth remembered first coming here six months before as Brian. It

seemed odd to think of that name in this context. Just days after he

came through the walnut doors dressed in trousers and a blazer last

December, Jane had rechristened the crinoline-clad youth as Beth, and

so it had been in this house since. Soon Michael would learn he was to

stay indefinitely and he, too, would assume a new name just as swiftly

as he had been put into skirts. Henceforth Michael would be Michelle

or somesuch. Indeed, sad to say, Jane had bestowed on Beth the

ultimate task of choosing a name, for Jane's instructions for the tour

of the estate emphatically included the condition that their walk

include the stables, where Beth was to ensure a meeting took place with

the two hired men. A new name for Michael's introduction was needed,

and Beth was to make the choice for the new "girl". Beth cringed,

recalling her first meeting with them, when, as Brian, the men had been

encountered on the lower road, and Brian had turned to jelly inside,

praying that nothing would betray to them the true gender of this

skirt-clad boy who was not the "girl" they perceived him to be. The

men had graciously greeted this new girl and the secret had been

preserved until now. Soon it would be Michael's turn, and Beth felt a

compassionate pang of sympathy for him.

As the word "him" formed in her mind, Beth paused again. The words

"him" and "he" as they applied to Michael would be thrust into limbo

this afternoon and hereafter. Janes system of feminization had a

profound affect on even simple pronouns. From now on, the choice of

"he" and "she" would depend not only on the surroundings, circumstances

or persons present, but also upon the diabolic vagaries of Jane's

disciplinary schemes. At varying times, the application of either

masculine or feminine pronouns could be derisive to her "pupils."

Michael might be "she" sometimes, a reference that would further assail

his manhood. On the other hand, the masculine pronoun applied to a boy

in dresses and ribbons carried with it the unmistakable connotation of

sissy, and that was a word Jane was not hesitant to apply with a

mocking vengeance.

Tonight or tomorrow, Michael would likely also receive the cruel news

that Friday was not to be a parole for him. He would learn that he was

to embark on a journey that would challenge his very essence and be an

assault on his masculinity until Jane broke all resistance and reduced

him to the meek and submissive subject she desired. If he were lucky,

he would learn to accommodate the life he was to lead with the boy that

he was inside, and learn also to balance his masculine and feminine

sides. Only when Jane was satisfied that the lesson had been learned

would she be likely to release him from this dainty reformatory.

Such an adjustment was possible, Brian/Beth knew, and one to be hoped

for for Michael. It became easier when one yielded. It was never

fully comfortable for a normal boy to relish swishing in skirts or

engaging in the diversions that girls of his age found so exciting. On

the other hand, if one did yield a bit of his inner masculinity, Beth

knew that there was some delight to be experienced in pretty clothes

and soft textiles, and a mischievous thrill in conveying a winsome

pretense of a real girl to the world. This last effect, Beth knew,

grew out of an initial sense of survival: to master techniques of

femininity to avoid discovery. Though Brian never fully overcame his

underlying abhorrence and mortification at being made to dress as a

girl, there were times when it was like play-acting.

So she sympathized with Michael, hoping it would not be too painful for

him. Perhaps it was last night when Beth had encountered Michael in

his first dress outside Jane's study that Beth first felt stirrings of

comradeship for this boy who was just started the journey. Brian/Beth

recalled the strange emotion he felt during that meeting, himself a boy

teaching another boy how to maintain the bearing and carriage of a

girl. That, of course, was the Jane's inevitable goal: to force the

surrender of the yin to the yan, to achieve a state of perfection in

the boys she taught to look and act like girls. That moment last night

may have been the consummation of these months of conflict that

Brian/Beth had endured. Jane probably knew that already, Beth thought,

recalling the conversation that had just ensued. Perhaps unwittingly,

by the careful tutoring of Michael, Beth was moving closer to

resurrection as Brian; a new Brian, to be sure, but a boy once again

nevertheless. When Michael was ready, Brian knew that jane would allow

him to leave.

As he stood outside the pink-trimmed bedroom, Brian reflected that the

way he felt at this moment, with the prospect of release coming closer,

must be the way prisoners about to be released must feel: a new

anxiety about returning to a world so long removed and distant. it was

puzzling and unsettling.

Brian opened the door and went in to change.

Within an hour, both boys were seated quietly on the love seats in

the parlor, looking radiant in their latest outfits. Michael had come

down first, and Jane could see that Marie had once again worked her

magic. He wore a pinafore-style dress of blue-on-white dotted swiss,

with puffed cap sleeves and just the right amount of underslip. The

straps of the training bra were not visible on his bare shoulders, and

Jane correctly assumed Marie had substituted a strapless version, a

fact she confirmed when she saw the creases of the corselet through the

fabric of the dress. A wise choice to provide some pubescent curves

while ensuring that Michael's lack of a bosom would not have a halter

bra slipping down inside the dress. Marie had coiffed his hair in a

caplet of golden curls which framed the lightly painted face. Jane was

pleased that he had entered after a polite knock on the door and had

moved across the room with painstaking steps and daintily seated

himself with the correct smoothing of his skirts. He say upright with

feet firmly on the polished floor and with hands folded neatly in his

lap, looked fetching.

As she was complimenting him on all of this, Beth entered, in a pale

yellow sundress and matching pumps. She had taken pains to fashion her

hair in a French roll, her neck elegant in contrast. Jane noted with

some glee that Beth had unquestionably selected the new bras she had

put in Beth's dresser, the larger cups accentuating a more mature

girlish figure. That this choce of attire had been volitional by the

boy who only an hour ago had appeared to be a rebellious waif in

juvenile crinolines gratified the mentor of these two, and Jane again

accepted the fact that Beth's tutelage was bearing fruit and soon Brian

would reemerge to leave the estate. The seeds of his femininity had

been sown and nurtured, and Jane was sure that he would be a better man

for the recognition and acceptance of his feminine side. There was

some reward from this work.

But Beth could not leave until Michael...soon to be Michelle...was

further along in his training. Things would begin progressing more

rapidly these next few days, and Jane estimated it would be two or

three weeks an she might consider releasing Beth. Meanwhile, she bade

the two goodbye and watched as they crossed the veranda and began a

slow amble down the path.

The two were gone for about an hour when Jane saw them returning. Even

from the house, Jane could see that Michael was visibly upset as he

stormed toward the house, Beth struggling to keep up in the heeled

shoes she wore. Michael burst through the door and plopped down on the

Parson's bench inside the door. Beth appeared a moment later. Michael

was flushed and traces of tears filled his eyes. It was the turbulence

of bruised masculinity, Jane thought, and she suspected its cause.

Rarely did the first expedition outdoors fail to evoke indignation in a

new beginner.

"Exactly what is the problem here?" she asked.

Michael fumed with arms folded, not responding. Beth replied that

while they were strolling near the stables, they had met Tom and Hal

and Beth had introduced Michael to them.

Michael interrupted at this point: "She called me Michelle to those

guys. A god-damned girl's name she used. It's bad enough to be

embarrassed meeting two guys while I'm in these frigging skirts, but

why in hell did she call me that?"

The outburst was not unexpected, but Jane certainly could not let it go

unnoticed. She assumed her best scornful expression and let the

silence continue as she let her sense of outrage filter across to the

angry boy.

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE OR THAT ATTITUDE!", she

announced loudly. "You will apologize both to me and to Beth at once."

"Like hell I will. This shit has gone too far." Michael was visibly

angered and he stood up and began roughly yanking off the dress in his

haste to rid himself of the hated garment. As a result, the buttons

broke and the bodice hung ridiculously from one shoulder, exposing the

lacy corselet. "I'm out of here."

Jane stepped resolutely forward and stung his cheek with a resounding

slap. The action and its pain shocked him and he stopped in

mid-sentence, giving way to his frustration and sinking onto the bench,

the tears silently flowing. He felt lost.

"That is, I hope, the last time I will ever have to do that, young man.

I will brook neither your temper nor your foul language. I made myself

clear to you yesterday: that I alone will decide how to direct your

life until you develop some manners. If you have forgotten the deal,

Michael, then feel free to leave. I will call your Mother and Dean

Hartwick at once." She glared at him, and his impudence began to

dissipate.

"Do you understand me?" she queried. He nodded and she repeated her

question more imperiously, this time evoking a meek "Yes ma'am."

Michael was devastated. At the moment he saw the two men near the

stables he had felt an immediate urge to flee, but Beth had caught his

arm and led him, unwilling, over to them. Both men doffed their hats

at the approaching of the girls, and Beth had greeted them and then

introduced her friend "Michelle" who was to be a visitor to the house

for a while. At the sound of the word "Michelle", panic erupted inside

him. He mumbled something in response to their "Glad to meet you, Miss

Michele", and as soon as Beth said goodbye and began to move away,

Michael made a beeline for the house.

Beth had called after him to no avail. Michael was angry and

humiliated, and he had had enough of this. He would find a way to get

the hell out of here today.

His rage overcame reason and he let the fury boil over in the words he

shouted. The frilly clothes were a curse, and he tugged and flayed to

be rid of them. The slap across his cheek burned, and the tears welled

in his eyes involuntarily. The blow startled him, and quenched his

temper at once. Brought back to reality so abruptly, and seeing the

infuriated woman who had done it brought him back to that reality. He

kew that he had blown it. He might as well kiss St. Andrews goodbye.

After this, he thought, she's booting me out of here.

"Now you will apologize clearly and correctly."

He struggled with his feelings, a turmoil within of anger and

subjection. At last he stammered "I....I'm sorry."

"No," she corrected, " 'I am very sorry to have lost control and

offended you both and I beg your forgiveness for my insolence.' "

He meekly parroted her words, staring at the floor in shame. He could

never remember feeling so low in his life.

"Now, go into the parlor and wait for me." He obeyed and shuffled into

the sitting room, leaving Jane to further quiz Beth about what had

happened. In a moment or two Jane came into the room and slammed the

door behind her. She was still obviously provoked by the scene that

had happened outside in the foyer.

"So this petticoat punishment rankles you, does it Michael? You chafe

under those skirts and that pretty facade we've given you. Well that

is hardly surprising. It was not meant to thrill you. The operative

word, young man, is 'discipline'. All this would have no effect, no

meaning if you LIKED it. You might GROW to like it, but for now it is

supposed to be degrading and humbling and embarrassing!" She was in

high dudgeon now.

"But that scene your just played out there comes close to being the

last straw. I'm very close to simply washing my hands of you."

He had no response to this, and sat dumbly. She was going to eject

him. 'There it goes.' he thought to himself.

"I thought you had some intelligence, Michael! I told you yesterday

that based on what changes you would make by Friday we would take a new

look at this. Well, my little smart-mouth, I can well see after that

last outburst just what the authorities at that school put up with. I

can't see how you can possibly think I could give you an endorsement."

She folded her arms with an exasperrated sigh and stared out the

window.

"Don't like the ruffles and bows, is that it? Wish you could be back

wearing rough and tumble boyswear. Well, maybe we can arrange that, my

pretty little fellow."

He was heartened by this statement, yet perplexed by the sarcasm that

permeated the way she had said it.

"Yes indeed. maybe we can find something around here more to your

liking. But not before you make up for tearing that dress and shouting

profanities at me. I will also tell you that that dress you have

ruined was quite expensive and you will pay for it one way or another.

Look at yourself, you are a mess!

He sulked under her mocking gaze and tried to hold the torn bodice over

the exposed lingerie beneath. It was, he was aware, an extremely

feminine pose, and it annoyed him.

The ceaseless clicking of the clock pendulum permeated the stillness of

the room as Jane continued her private deliberations.

"Michael," she finally uttered with a faint sigh, "what are we going to

do with you? Your mother has been my friend for over twenty years. I

am fond of her. You saddened her deeply when you were suspended. It

was as a friend that she turned to me for help. I am deeply concerned

about helping her, and that is why I took this on. I care about you,

as well. But you won't cooperate. I've resorted to this approach

because I think it works. As I said, you aren't meant to like it. But

you ARE meant to submit to it. There are benefits to be derived that

you are not even vaguely aware of right now."

The reference to his mother gave him some pause. He did not want to

hurt her. But surely even she would not tolerate this abuse that her

"friend" was subjecting him to. He wished he knew how to call her, to

talk to her. But she had, for her own reasons, left all information on

reaching her in Europe with Jane, and Michael thought it unlikely Jane

would allow him to call her.

Jane went on. "Well, I'll tell you this: I am not giving up until

tomorrow. We will see by then what is to come of this. In the

meantime, you will remain as you are, skirts, curls and all. Now if I

am willing to give it another another chance. I will allow you to put

on a new dress and clean yourself up. I will expect you to behave.

Your eyes are a mess. Go take off that gown and clean your face and

come back down here. I want to give you some time alone this afternoon

to think about all this. Now get out of my sight until you look

presentable."

The dismissal was unmistakable and he quickly left the room, feeling

really blue. He ran up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door,

falling onto the bed and crying tears of defeat.

Beth came into the parlor.

"Well, Beth," Jane said, "that went about as expected, though I hardly

anticipated the degree of his outburst. I think young Mr. Nash has

just sealed his fate for the next few months."

Beth made no reply. She knew how Michael felt and sympathized with

him. At the same time, being familiar with Jane's techniques by now,

Beth knew that there was truth in the conclusion.

"He wants out of dresses and petticoats; I think we might give him his

wish. " Jane went on. "I had intended to delay the first trip to town

until we could get up to Kingston. I have appointments for you both

next week at Carolyn's"

Carolyn, of course, referred to Carolyn Beale who was the co- owner of

Marisha Chalet, a posh Kingston beauty salon that was situate in Jane's

village of choice for shopping and hairstyling for her wards. In fact,

Carolyn and Sandra, the other owner, were both cognizant of Jane's

activities and both knew that the pretty young things that came in for

adornment were, in truth, young men. Carolyn was quite enthusiastic

about her role in these activities, for it just happened that she was

married to one of Jane's former proteges and she had often told Jane

what a gem he was. Carolyn was a true believer in the results of this

method Jane employed and thus was more than willing to go along. Her

partner, Sandra, Beth thought, had a streak of disdain for men in her,

and relished subjecting boys to the delicate rituals of her craft.

Thus, though the motivations were different, Jane had devoted allies at

Marisha Chalet.

Though the salon catered to the more elegant style for women, it was

unisex in clientele. Beth recalled the anxious feeling of sitting in

those chairs before the mirrors, with both male and female customers in

attendance, trepidatious that either Carolyn or Sandra might find it a

"lark" to let the victim's true identity slip out. That fear, coupled

with submitting to the elaborate beauty treatments visible in the

reflection was a sublime torture.

Jane went on as she searched for something in the desk. "Michael wants

to be out of skirts, Beth, back into something less feminine. And I

think we will indulge him a little. Did I ever tell you about David?"

Jane had, in fact, recounted numerous anecdotes about the boys she had

taught over the years, but Beth was not certain which tale she had

referred to. Jane's question was, of course, only a rhetorical prelude

to the new story she would surely narrate.

"David was here about three years ago. He was very rebellious, in much

the same way as Michael. He once pulled the same stunt you just saw,

so I gave him his wish and let him wear something less frilly. I want

you to go up to the attic storage closet and bring down a pair of grey

slacks and a tailored white blouse you'll find there. They may not be

quite what Michael envisions, but they will suit our purpose. Anyway

that is what he will wear if he wants to. I have to pick up a few

things in Hampton, and I think it advisable that you both come along

too."

Beth nodded acknowledgement.

"He is in for a big surprise, our intransigent guest. I have the

feeling that he will be even more malleable when we return. Our time

is a little limited, Beth, so we have to move more quickly with

Michael. Normally I would prefer to wait until next week, but I cannot

afford to have him find out I lied about possibly releasing him

tomorrow....and you must NEVER tell him. I need to gain his trust if

this is to be successful."

Beth assured Jane she would be discrete, hating the deception she was

being made part of, but more interested in her own well- being.

Jane finally found what she had been rummaging for and pulled out what

looked like a lipstick, an eyeliner pencil and a compact of eyeshadows.

"You have never seen these before, Beth. I had no reason to use them

with you. They are specially formulated cosmetics. They are far more

long-lasting than regular makeup and even thorough cleansing leaves

faint traces of color. Despite all his efforts to scrub this off,

there will be a hint remaining. With those darling curls and dainty

eyebrows and a nice glow, our macho friend may find he passes better as

a girl than as an effeminate boy."

Beth shuddered imperceptibly at the diabolical twist that Jane was

planning. 'Cripes,' she thought, 'I'd die if that happened to me.

Michael will be devastated if someone notices.'

"So our rebel will remember the day he ventured out as an obvious

sissy. I think he will be fairly begging to be back in petti's after

he sees how impossible his situation is."

Micahel, meanwhile, had stopped his pitiful sobbing and removed the

torn dress. He chose a white blouse and plaid jumper to replace it.

He removed the tear-blotched makeup to comply with Jane's command. The

curls in his hair still remained fairly neat and he managed, somewhat

ineptly, to coax the few wayward strands back into place. He was

basically presentable and he returned downstairs.

Knocking softly at the door of the parlor, he was permitted entry and

Jane assessed his outfit without comment. Then she said, "Come over

here. You look fairly presentable. Why no makeup, Michael?,

scrutinizing his fair face.

"I...I wasn't sure..."

She interrupted, "Never mind. You look like you've been crying. Come

here and I will fix it and make you pretty again."

He hated when she said things like this. He was keenly aware of Beth's

presence as he submitted to this indignity once again. Jane very

carefully drew the fine line of light sable pencil inside the lashes of

both the upper and lower lid of each eye, then creamed the pale blue

shadow on the lids themselves. She used the lipstick as a rouge,

daubing spots of carmine and then blending it into his cheeks with her

fingertips. Next came the inevitable application of lipstick to his

lips. Jane applied the red wand liberally.

"There now," she said, handing him the blotting tissue. "You look

adorable. Try to behave."

Jane left the room with the announcement she would see them both at

dinner. Beth excused herself shortly. leaving Michael alone. He

paced the room for a while and, out of sheer boredom and the need to

divert his thoughts, hunted for a magazine or something.

Unfortunately, this room., like every bloody room in the house had only

outdated copies of Mademoiselle and Seventeen and other insipid girls

magazines. Their covers announced articles that must keep young girls

occupied for hours, trying "Ten-minute makeovers" and "The 50 hottest

new hairstyles." God! What trash.

He picked one up out of tedium and tried to divert his depressing

thoughts. But as he turned the pages, all he saw was pages adorned

with adolescent girls enjoying the obsessive recreation of clothes and

makeup. Outwardly he resembled them in his present condition, but he

felt little kinship or joy in any of it. He read therough the

magazine, glancing at the illustrated articles of before and after

pictures of girls being redone by professionals, then, dusgustedly,

tossed the magazine away and retreated into the cavern of self-pity.

6. Chapter

Jane had entered the parlor just as Michael pitched the magazine aside.

She smiled inwardly knowing that his distress continued to bother him.

She had thought about the situation and decided that she would not wait

until Friday to issue the final ultimatum. She would increase the

pressure in the waning hours of this very afternoon, and Michael had

given her the means to achieve her end.

"You mentioned that wanted to wear something less feminine a while ago,

right, Michael. Well I have decided to let you. How does that sound?"

"Fine," he readily agreed. "I'd like that."

"Mind you," she went on, "our supply of male attire here is quite

limited. Your trunk is coming express and I sent your travelling

clothes out to the cleaners. But Beth is looking for something now."

She went on. "I have to run some errands in town and I want you to

come with me. I suspect you'd like a change of scene. We'll leave

right in about half an hour. Alright? That will give us time to get

back for supper at seven. I have a dear old friend coming for supper

and she will be here by then."

He pondered this offer of hers with some skepticism, but the prospect

of getting back into male attire was a welcome change, and he readily

agreed, thankful that she had offered this alternative.

"I had Beth find something and put it in your room, so you are free to

go and change. Please don't dilly-dally, because we have a lot of

errands to do. I will expect you back here in half an hour."

He stood to leave, then pause.

"What about this hair. I mean it....well, you know."

"It is curly. When you have something to say, just say it, don't mince

words." She approached him and inspected his locks. They were indeed

curly, with glimmering golden highlights. Imagining him dressed as a

boy, with these curls and the sculpted arch of his brows, she concluded

that he would look very fragile; cherubic, perhaps.

"I can see to that when you come down. Hurry up, now, we'll be late.

Mind you, I am simply letting you change because we are going out. I

have not yet decided about tomorrow. Now hurry up."

The prospect of getting away from the house and wearing boys attire

elated him. He bounded up the steps and found the clothes on his bed.

They were not quite what he had hoped, but they were more or less more

masculine than the clothes he had on. The tailored shirt was made of a

soft fabric and the buttons were, like always, damnably backward. No

one would notice the buttons, and he convinced himself that the light

fabric would likewise go unobserved.

No underwear was provided but he logically removed the despicable

brassier and cast it into the corner. He kept the panties on and

slipped into the shirt. He longed for a broadcloth shirt as he

buttoned the blouse. He wondered if he'd been had, then resigned

himself to what she had provided. The sleeves seemed a little full at

the wrist, but passable. The slacks were soft grey flannel, and the

tailoring of both seemed curiously different. He searched through the

dresser for some sox, hoping at least the knee-high white ones from

yesterday were there, but they had been consigned to the laundry, and

he was forced to choose a pair of anklets with lace trim. he surmised

that as long as the pants cuffs covered them, they, too, would pass

detection. He slipped his feet into the cordovan loafers. They were a

style he had always hated as being a little effete: the kind some

fools put pennies in. But they were all he had.

Glancing in the mirror he again saw a problem with the makeup. He

creamed and tissued his face, but the remnants lingered. He scrubbed

again and still wasn't sure if he'd got it all off. He finally

convinced himself that it was his imagination from seeing his painted

visage these last two days, and that his face was clean or at least

nothing would be noticed. If he rubbed any harder, he would simply

further redden the eyes, cheeks and lips. He searched for the traces

of color; they were faint and he concluded that whatever was there was

not that noticeable. His hair was a problem, but Jane had agreed to

fix it.

As he was rushing to finish, he heard the car horn. He had to get

going. Only as he reached the door did he think about his nails, and

holding his hands up to the light saw the shimmer of the polish. He

had no time to take it off, and didn't even know how to. He would have

to keep his hands hidden. He went downstairs. He caught one glance in

the full-length mirror and thought he looked so much better than he

had. All of this was, to be sure, a rationalization. He was so

grateful about the contrast that this appearance made over that of just

a few minutes before that he accepted a self-delusion about how he

looked.

Jane of course noted the synthetic appearance, finding him to look

quite effeminate. He fussed with his hair, and though she pretended to

minimize its curliness, she had, in fact, amplified it. She hustled

him out of the house before he could get a good view in the mirror.

They got into the BMW, with Beth driving, and went downtown.

Beth and Jane were absorbed in conversation about some people he did

not know, and Jane occasionally gave the young girl a gentle admonition

about her driving. In less than half an hour they entered a village

named Hampton and proceeded to a mid-sized shopping mall. Beth parked

the car, and Jane bade him follow them into the mall.

It was moderately crowded for a Thursday afternoon. Like every mall he

had ever seen, it was comprised of open interiors and side-by-side

stores of all types. Their first stop was a 1 Hour photo developing

outlet where Jane left some film and was assured it would be done in

sixty minutes. From there they went down the corridor, stopping here

and there to look at displays of apparel modeled by expressionless

mannequins. Jane was the more animated of the two women, asking Beth's

comments here and there about dresses, shoes and other attire. Michael

thought it vaguely odd that Beth, though a girl much like those in the

magazines he had looked at that afternoon, was not all that intrigued

by any of this and certainly did not gush over it. Perhaps the

"magazine girls" were the figment of some merchandisers zeal.

Passing through the mall corridor, Michael was vaguely conscious that

his eye would from time to time catch another eye staring. When visual

contact was made, it was quickly averted. But from the corner of his

eye he saw the gaze return. This happened more than once. They were

quizzical eyes, and they made him uncomfortable. More than once he had

caught someone sizing him up from head to toe. Not that they were

hostile, for one woman had smiled amicably. But he was acutely aware

that his presence was commanding more attention than he cared for. As

if to seek refuge, he followed Jane and Beth into a place called

Nicole's. Stretching from the full windows in the front to the very

back of the store were racks of all sorts of feminine apparel. There

were fewer people in here, and they seemed not to pay much attention.

Jane and Beth's meanderings took them finally to the Lingerie section,

and Michael saw myriads of those odious garments on display. Jane and

Beth were making a few selections, he saw Jane glance his way more than

once. He distanced himself from the pair, feigning disinterest and

boredom and these most intimate garments.

He was startled then by the voice of a salesgirl who said "Are you

being helped." He spun around and felt his face redden as he mumbled

that he was simply waiting for someone. The girl's gaze grew more

intent, scanning his face and seemingly finding something there that

was enigmatic to her. She fixed her eyes on his hair, and cocked her

head as if she were trying to assess what she saw and draw some

conclusion. Painfully conscious of her scrutiny, Michael turned and

sped out of the shop to wait for Jane and Beth in the hallway.

The shop was teeming with mirrors and he saw his reflection with a

sense of dread. Even ten yards away he radiated the look of an

effeminate teenage boy. On closer inspection, the countenance was

worse. Whatever misconception he had about how he looked before was

deflated by what he now saw, in the wake of the curious stares. He

wished her were a thousand miles away!

Soon Jane and Beth emerged with packages and after just two more stops,

where he tried to camouflage his presence from the intruding stares,

Jane announced they were about done. The compounding pressure of all

this, of being scrutinized and wondering what the minds behind the eyes

were seeing and concluding, Michael was relieved to be out of here and

back to the safety of the car.

It was while he waited for Beth outside Spencers and Jane was getting

the car that the trouble began. He had tried to ignore the stares of

the patrons and salesclerks in the stores. Nothing had been said to

him, but he was self-conscious that his appearance was provoking the

quizzical glances. He felt acutely uncomfortable.

As he stood there, wishing Jane would hurry, he was aware of the gaggle

of boys and girls in the small circle a few yards away. He ignored the

stares, glancing furtively at the store entrance and the lot seeking

either of the women. He ignored also the derisive giggles in the hope

he would be soon out of here.

Two of the oldest boys and one of the girls detached themselves from

the group and walked over to where he was standing. they eyed him a

moment, then one of the boys spoke.

"Say there, Tiger, we been having a discussion. Are you a boy or a

girl?"

Michael winced and felt the now all too familiar sense of panic take

control of him. He looked furtively at the exit to the store for Beth,

then surveyed the parking lot again for Jane's blue sedan. Seeing

neither, he cast a quick glance at the questioner. His delay in

responding and his elusiveness prompted the next comment.

"I think its a boy, but it is the most sissy boy I have ever seen.

What do you think, Mark?"

The girl spoke now. "What kind of boy wears crepe shirts and ...hey,

did you see those sox!"

Michael remembered that while he was trying to scratch his leg he had

pulled the cuff up enough to allow someone to see the anklets. The

girl was pushy and pulled at the leg of the slacks, revealing the

dainty edging. He brushed her hand aside, another mistake for she now

saw the gleam of polish on his nails.

The boy named Mark picked up the taunting dialogue. " I think he's a

boy, but he looks like a sweet thing. Maybe he's a fairy." Shit he's

wearing nail polish."

Michael felt real panic now. The distasteful term rankled him and he

was nearly doubling his fists to react when he realized he was

outnumbered.

"Bet he's wearing cute little panties under all that too," the first

boy said, fingering the thin crepe material of Michael's shirt. "Maybe

we should kick the shit out of him."

The girl again, inspecting his face. "It looks like he wears makeup

and he has pretty little curls.... Hey you guys," she shouted to the

others, "come see this cute little thing."

Michael prayed this ordeal would end or that either Beth or Jane would

come and extricate him from this. He realized now that all of his

earlier justifications about how he looked were self-deception, and

that what he presented to these people was what they saw. He recalled

the facility with which he had been accepted in far more feminine

attire by Hal and Tom earlier that day. Clearly, as he now appeared,

he could pass as a girl, but he was preposterous posing as a boy. He

felt again like this had been set up, he thought, but in the same

thought he longed for being attired in a way that would not have

prompted this confrontation, whether in true boy's clothes or girl's.

He was about to succumb to some physical act from them when,

miraculously, Jane's car drove up and he could dive for the safety of

its interior. As they drove away, he could hear the derision of the

group ringing in his ear. He felt paralyzed with fear as the adrenalin

pumped through him.

Jane either ignored what she might have seen or did not see it. Beth

was waiting a dozen yards away, and climbed in as Jane stopped for her.

He sat sullenly and quietly in the back seat waiting for his pulse to

stop racing as they headed back to the farm.

Michael was still brooding over the incident as he sat on the veranda

fifteen minutes later. Jane came out and spoke to him.

"Michael, Mrs. White will be here in half an hour. I want you to be

polite to her for she is one of my oldest friends. Edith is quite fond

of Beth. We will have cocktails alone, but you and Beth should see to

helping Marie."

Michael shot a glance at Jane, remembering now that there was to be a

guest for dinner. His mind weighed a real dilemma: a strange woman

was coming to dinner. The furtive and fleeting glances of this

afternoon would become more studied and intense in the closeness of the

dining room. The prospect was a nightmare!

"Couldn't I just skip dinner, Jane. I'm not very hungry."

"Well, of course not. If you're not hungry you can just take smaller

portions. But Edith knows you're staying here and I will not make

excuses for your absence. Dinner is at seven and I expect you there!"

What was he to do. He could not afford to be seen as he now was. He

felt that chronic sense of paradox again, this time in the context of

this very bewildering afternoon. Much as he was mortified by meeting

the two gardeners in a frilly dress this afternoon, they had accepted

him as they saw him. Contrast that, he thought, with what happened at

the mall.

Jane had gone back into the house and Michael followed, hoping to plead

his case again. He caught his gaze in the hall mirror and carefully

examined it. The curls and the delicate arch of the brow...the traces

of color that no scrubbing seemed to remove. These were signals of

incongruity that were all to easy to be intercepted. He was

panicky...what to do, what to do.

He followed Jane into the dining room where she was assessing the table

setting.

"Jane can I please stay in my room. I can't meet your friend like

this."

"Whatever do you mean, Michael? you look fine."

"You know what I mean. Do you know what happened downtown? Everybody

was staring at me. A bunch of kids teased me and made fun of me. I

can't go through that again."

"What are you suggesting. Michael? You certainly weren't mocked by

Tom and Hal when they met you. Why Hal just told me a while ago he

thought you were a very pretty girl."

The dilemma again. He could pass as a girl in the hated skirts, but

not as a boy in this altered attire and appearance.

"I frankly don't care what you wear to supper tonight. Mind you,

tomorrow will be back to where we were. But it is of no consequence to

me whatever what you do tonight. It was your idea to change into those

clothes, not mine. I simply made available what we had."

Michael did not know what to do. He knew that there was immediate

safety for him to go back to being dressed as a girl, but that

loathsome prospect nauseated him. But it was equally certain that he

could not carry on as he was now dressed.

As he mused, he knew that regardless of what respite these boyish togs

offered him now, he would be back in petticoats in the morning. He

bowed to the inevitable.

Before he could say anything more to Jane, she had left the room.

After a minute of reflection, he walked into the kitchen and meekly

asked Marie if she could help him with something. He went back up to

the misery of the bedroom.

It was just after seven, and Jane was in the parlor mixing drinks. She

handed the icy Manhattan to Edith White and sat down in the overstuffed

chair near the fireplace.

Jane had known Edith for nearly 15 years. Edith was the widow of

Jonathan White, the banker and financier whose family's tenure in this

valley went back to Colonial days. Edith was a charming, eccentric

woman who lived well and lavished almost indecent amounts of money to

various organizations and community projects in a veritable

eleemosynary crusade. The silver-haired dowager (now in her early

sixties, Jane guessed) saw herself as a model of breeding and

refinement. Jane had, after all these years, distilled Edith's

passions down to three: an obsession with the historical traditions of

the area, an abiding obsession with fine arts, and a phobia that modern

young people were being reduced to crass philistines by the seduction

of cheap rock music and inferior drama on the screen and television.

Underpinning this tripod of zealous endeavor was Edith's abiding

infatuation with a faded past, a past of beauty and gentility that

spanned the halcyon traditions from ante-bellum through Victorian to

the debutante days of her own youth. Edith was a bit of an

anachronism, crusading with her time and money to provide young people

with opportunities to experience values she deemed eminently preferable

to current fads. The woman abhorred the jeans-clad boys and girls she

saw daily in Hampton and Kingston and the other townships, and in her

longing for these lost qualities, she persisted in funding pageants,

theatrical groups and elaborate cotillions. To all of ventures she

persistently appropriated funds and recruited her friends. Though the

results were mixed, Jane humored Edith and lent her support, for Jane

had occasionally found in them opportunities to further her own aims.

Edith was prattling on about her latest activity: A celebration parade

and pageant for the upcoming bi-centennial of Kingston County. She

waxed eloquently over the Manhattan about the last minute details for

the event, and complained about details that still needed attention.

Her main grievance, it seemed, was the lack of sufficient participants

to round out what was to be a panorama commemorating various periods in

local history.

Jane was smiling and nodding politely at this soliloquy, fitting it in

with thoughts that were taking shape in her own mind. The conversation

was interrupted by a faint knock at the door, and Beth entered at

Jane's response.

"Beth, dear girl, how nice to see you again," Edith gushed as Beth came

in.

"Good evening, Mrs. White. How are you."

"Well as I was just telling Jane, these galas I get myself into will be

the death of me. Anyway, dear, you look lovely tonight as usual."

Beth had, over these last months, become accustomed to these

effervescent adulations from Edith White. Jane had always insisted

that when the woman was a guest here, the choice of clothing was to be

both elegant and dainty, a gesture of deference to the elder woman's

taste. Of course, Jane knew well, these very beautiful feminine

dresses were equally pivotal to the management of her charges.

Beth looked elegant, in a rose-colored taffeta dress whose full skirt

was buoyed on the crinolines beneath; an appropriate coupling of modern

and traditional. Most significantly, Beth's whole look radiated

innocent girlishness. Jane was pleased, for the events of tonight

played a role in her near-term plans, and she had engineered what she

hoped would culminate in Edith's own proposal.

She wondered if Michael would present a problem. Beth had told her

that Michael had asked Marie for some assistance. Jane hoped this

request portended his decision to comply a little more. THe Hobson

choice he found himself in, trying to resolve the conflict of his

appearance amid this coercive dominance in which he found himself.

Jane was taking a gamble that after today's events, and her insistence

that he be in attendance at dinner; that he would opt for returning to

the governance of the women of the house, and act accordingly would

provoke the expected response. She glanced at her watch and hoped

Marie's skills were both brisk in their execution and fetching in their

results.

She heard movement on the upstairs landing and excused herself, leaving

Beth and Edith in polite conversation. She went to the door and saw

Michael mincingly descending the staircase. She was pleased with what

she saw. As he descended, looking somewhat dejected and crestfallen,

Jane motioned for him to follow her into the study. He entered and

closed the door, a woeful expression on his face.

Marie had done well in the short time she had had. Michael was once

again in the blue middy blouse and taffeta shirt, with white knee sox

and patent shoes. Marie had done an exquisite job with the hair,

piling the cascading pony tail high at the crown, tied with a

shimmering ribbon, and twining the composite of his own hair and the

wiglet into pirouettes of tendrils at the neck. A dainty wisp of hair

brushed each cheek at the hairline near his ear. Just the right,

demure touch of color enhanced his angelic face.

"Michael, you look darling! But what prompted this? I thought you had

decided to wear your boy's clothes to supper."

"You know I couldn't do that," he replied, his eyes modestly downcast,

"not after what happened today. Especially not in front of a

stranger."

"Well, I think that was a wise choice. You make a very pretty girl,

and not a very convincing boy...at least not these days. Now, I am

going to introduce you to an old friend of mine. She is very fond of

sweet young girls, and I know you will make a good impression. She

does not know you are a boy, you see, and so we must introduce you as

something other than Michael. Do you understand me?"

"Yes", he reluctantly mumbled, his thoughts straying to the stables

earlier in the day.

"Well, then. On your best behavior... a curtsy I think when you meet

her. And impeccable manners at table. You look very convincing. If

you don't want her to wonder about you, I'd suggest some attention to

manners as well. Come along, Michelle."

Edith was quite captivated with the new girl, and proffered a bevy of

the same flattery she had showered on Beth. Michael endured the

debasement her words caused him, and he managed to even force a

passable smile and convincing thank you. Polite conversation ensued

through the meal, though remarks directed and him and Beth were

occasional. Mrs. White dominated the conversation, railing on about

some parade.

"Jane," the older woman said finally. "I have a wonderful idea. I

need some more girls for the pageant. Why not let Beth and Michelle

take part. It would be so good for them and would certainly please me.

"Well, Edith," Jane replied, "We will have to see. I am sure that Beth

will be available, but we are not sure how long Michelle is to be here.

Her mother is in Europe and I have to confer with her and with the

people at Michelle's school about her stay. I shall call you this week

about it."

Michael sensed the implied threat in that statement and he remembered

again the reason he was here. He dared not look up at either Jane or

Beth, fearful his concern would show.

It was nine-thirty when Edith bid them all goodnight, with more cloying

sweet talk directed at Michael that burned his ears. A sidelong glance

at Jane and the imperceptible blaze of her eyes prompted him to manage

a dainty curtsy as they said good night to the woman at the foyer

entrance.

Jane took Michael back into the parlor and modestly commended him on

his behavior. She sipped at a cordial as she sat expansively on the

love seat opposite him.

"I have come to a decision, Michael, and I felt it important you hear

it tonight. You recall I told you yesterday that I would wait until

Friday to see if I wished to continue with your training. I confess

the way that you have behaved and especially that outburst today had

led me to a decision to decline this task."

He squirmed a little, anticipating something that was likely to be both

auspicious and dreadful at once.

"You were very nearly exemplary this evening, and you redeemed

yourself. I have decided to give it a try."

"Does this mean I will have to wear these clothes?"

"If you wish to stay here, yes. It is part of the course."

He grew depressed again, realizing that his hopes of freedom on Friday

were dashed. He was equally chagrined that this so-called petticoating

was to continue. He did not have great reservations about staying

here, but it could be done without this sissy bullshit that he

detested.

"You know, Aunt Jane," he ventured, "I don't know if my mother would

approve of any of this. Nor the school, I'd bet."

"And you'd tell them, is that it Michael? You'd tell them about this

wicked woman who made you dress like a little girl and primp and preen

and curtsy and all that?"

He nodded, and this gesture drew a wry smile to her lips. She stared

at him a moment, sipped at the cordial and walked to the desk.

"I think not," he heard her say, as he watched her pick up an envelop

and return to the settee, placing the envelope on the coffee table

between them.

"You see your mother already knows. That is precisely why she sent

you. I'll admit it was a last resort, but your mother is perfectly

aware that her sweet little boy is sitting here in skirts. She and I

spoke of it before you ever arrived."

He gulped, astonished that his mother would allow this.

"As for the school, I would suggest that that is not an admission you'd

make to them or to anyone else. How embarrassing it would be to even

admit that you had been in dresses. On the other hand, it night be a

revelation I'D make if I don't get your continued cooperation. Take a

look at that," indicating the envelope.

He picked up its bulk and opened the flap. His hand drew out a sheaf

of photographs and it began to tremble as he saw the first one. In

vivid color was Michael in various costumes, being made up and wielding

cosmetic applicators on himself. There were shots of him in curlers

and with Marie affixing ribbons in the finished mass of curls. All in

all, there were over two dozen pictures which appalled him.

"Give some thought tonight, Michael, of the effect those darling photos

would have on the other boys you go to school with. If you don't want

to be totally humiliated, I'd suggest you keep your threats to

yourself. I doubt that even if I CAN get you reinstated at St.

Andrews you'd want to return under the cloud of being the campus sissy.

Think well on that."

Jane dismissed him at that point, sending him back to his room.

Michael later lay in the dark room and stared at the canopy. He had

undressed and taken a bath. When he hung the dress in the closet, he

was somewhat surprised to see that the blouse and slacks were still

there. What did that mean?

He had opted for tailored pajamas rather than a feminine gown, but the

smooth silkiness of the peach colored coat and trousers, with the

little bows and appliques, were a burlesque parody of his intention to

wear something more masculine. He was still a sissy in a girl's room.

And now, with photographic proof of his dalliance in these girlish

pursuits, Jane had yet another lever to wrest his submission. He

turned off the light and sank into deeper despondency as he fell

asleep.

7. Chapter

In the frenzied days that followed through the weekend and into Monday,

Michael was exposed to more femininity and girlish activity than he had

ever imagined possible. The curiosities, sights and smells of living a

girl's life were thrust on him at a dizzying pace. There were

mannerisms and postures to assimilate. He practiced for hours with

rollers and makeup, his arms tiring from the unfamiliar reach required

to roll the wands into his hair. He learned about colors and

combinations in clothes, shoes and accessories. He practiced curtseys,

polite phraseology and locutions that sounded effete to his male ear.

Adjectives that he would have shunned at all costs as a boy began to

seep into his speech.

Indeed, speech and mannerisms seemed the hallmarks. Inflection

conveyed more than anything, Jane tutored, and he chafed as he mimicked

the exaggerated intonations she prompted. He practiced gestures and

walking and light hints of poise like tidying his hair and the right

way to examine his face and dresses in a mirror.

He was ceaselessly being fussed over and busying himself with dainty

little detail. He spent what seemed hours perfecting the application

of a myriad of colors to his face, his nails. He submerged himself in

bubbly baths, shaved practically invisible hairs from his legs and

arms. It was a seemingly perpetual routine that started early in the

day and ran till late at night.

Not only learning a facile walk in pumps, but becoming nimble at

daintily swaying an ankle while balanced on the other foot. The

girlish positioning of the hands on hips as opposed to the "arms

akimbo" stance of a man. Crossing the legs just right when sitting,

exposing just the right amount of leg beneath the hem of the skirt.

Care in both sitting and rising from a chair so that the movement

flowed gracefully and smoothly.

The subtle and vain fluff of the hair that primped it in place. A

winsome manner of correcting makeup when others were watching so that

the actions seemed less pragmatic than attractive. All of these

subtleties had eluded him when, as a boy, he watched girls. There was

so much to learn and master.

He submitted to this drill grudgingly, maintaining an outward facade of

equanimity about it, but inwardly astir with emotions. He detested the

role he had to play, especially when something he did or the way he

looked prompted a comment from Marie or Beth or Jane which emphasized

his growing grasp of girlish ways. Some of it, to be sure, had become

tolerable because of its familiarity. He confessed to himself an

enjoyment derived from the touch of the smooth fabrics on the most

sensitive parts of his body. He had to admit that when he viewed the

girl in the mirror as some detached persona which coexisted with him,

it was a very pretty girl. The fact was, he had to admit to himself,

he did present the image of a pretty girl. This realization caused him

great consternation.

He began to think of himself as a sissy. If he did these things, and

evinced an occasional pleasure in doing it and what he saw

accomplished, what did that make him? The thoughts troubled him and he

wondered if there were not some subtle internal change taking place.

He hoped not, for he knew this must all come to an end and he had no

desire for these events to seep into his return to a male world.

Ironically, it was this dualism that preserved his equanimity and kept

his panic in check. He could partially detach his boyhood from the

repulsive things being done to him and simply go along. That submerged

self still felt the distress of every sissy thing he was made to

experience and he was demeaned by the results these women forced upon

him. Yet another part of him puzzlingly identified with the "girl" in

the mirror, and strived to perfect the right characteristics to project

her femininity.

This constant see-saw and the alternative and conflicting emotions made

him queasy and often disgusted with himself. A more profound torture

seemed unimaginable.

Fear motivated him most, even fear of the reaction of Beth, Marie or

Jane to what he did or failed to do. When he did his make-up just so,

appeared before them with curls in place and dainty girlish garb

accurate in every detail, he felt abject embarrassment. If he were

chastised for a mistake, or called a sissy for doing it well, that

chagrin heightened. He comprehended that even when he made a passable

girlish gesture or speech, his competence led to the inevitable

conclusion that he was being feminized as a boy, being constrained to

act as a girl.

He was most grateful that, at least, these feminizing activities took

place within the sanctuary of the house. He dreaded going outdoors

like this, but Beth had warned him that such trips were to take place

in the near future. He panicked each time he thought about it, and

hoped nothing would go awry as it had on his last outing. The

realization that he could conceivably deceive outsiders if he handled

himself appropriately was the singular motivation in absorbing all the

elements of this effeminate pantomime. On the one hand, he worried

about discovery, and yet he strongly sensed that if he acted the

perfect girl, he would pass. Yet in so doing, he did injury to his

male persona. It was a cycling paradox.

And so the prospect of being made to go out again constantly distressed

him with its devastating possibilities of shame and embarrassment. Did

the trapped animal feel like this, he wondered.

He was made to do things that transcended mere clothing or adornment.

Jane had sat him down and suggested that some exposure to dance might

improve his grace and movement. Beth was to be his preliminary

instructor in this area, though it was conceded by both Jane and Beth

that she was merely passing on the lessons she had learned at her own

dancing class and that the practice would be very elementary. Beth led

him to a chamber that had once been a medium-size ballroom. Here she

taught him the elements of dance. He submitted to donning leotards,

tights and a short dance skirt, and tap shoes that were like the Mary

Janes except that they tied at his ankles with a black satin bow.

After several hours of repetitive drill, he had begun to master the

heel, toe and shuffle that were the elements of tap dancing. Beth was

as diligent in imparting tips on the proper carriage of the arms in a

graceful style as she was in teaching the syncopating cadence of the

metal taps on the wooden floor. At one point he saw Jane surveying the

duo from the doorway and felt a moment of self-consciousness. He was

less disconcerted doing these foolish little steps and skips with Beth

alone, but the adult presence rankled him.

Ballet steps, too, were practiced, and Jane insisted that a

tulle-skirted costume was a necessary ingredient of this routine. He

felt really silly assuming the flamboyant poses of that style,

especially perfecting the graceful stance that Beth seemed to have

mastered.

He frequently felt a dreamlike detachment from his true self. As

though he were dreaming and all of this would go away when he awoke.

But, in truth, he woke each morning in that same fragile room,

reorienting himself to its strange but ever-more-familiar atmosphere.

And each morning when he woke, the turgidness of his erection grazed

the sheer material of his gown and he savored the sensations it sent

through him. One morning he succumbed to the urgency and, with very

little effort found, release. In retrospect, that event was unlike any

other solitary adolescent autoeroticism he had engaged in. It was as

if the sensuous surroundings and titillating feel of the garments

themselves conveyed a certain erotica. To the extent that he

fantasized about a suggestive figure during the act, he kept seeing the

petite reflection of himself he had seen in the mirror.

Jane watched the events unfold with satisfaction, seeing the

transformation develop superbly. Michael was assimilating a truly

feminine air. Jane knew instinctively that the boy's repugnance of

this business was undiminished, but he had begun to display somewhat

less resistance to it. Indeed, she had caught him more than once

preening in the mirror or fingering the ruffled edge of the dress. She

knew that this abandon was, in part, due to the sanctuary that the

house itself afforded, a security she would shatter later this week.

But each day brought him closer to total submission to the control of

flounces and frills.

Perhaps if Michael knew the exhaustive plans that Jane had been making

that were sure to affect him, he would have been less hopeful and

sanguine about what might happen to him this week.

On Monday morning, as she sat alone drinking her coffee on the veranda,

she was musing and making notes while scanning the local paper. She

had been mildly pleased by the change in attitude she had witnessed in

Michael these last three days, and felt another two days of the same

exercises would be in order. But he was growing altogether too

comfortable in these surroundings. Not that he was accepting any of

it, but the resignation he evinced needed some additional challenge.

He needed to be jarred out the complacency and security that the house

gave him. The creation of new tensions was indispensable principle of

his development.

To this end, she was making a list. She had planned hair appointments

for them both, and she had to call Carolyn or Sandra to set the stage

for that. She picked up the phone and reached Carolyn, who expressed

eager expectation at the arrival of a new neophyte for them to work on.

In her excitement, it was she who suggested Wednesday, for that morning

she had a charm class scheduled. Carolyn conducted classes for young

girls in hair care and makeup. A group was coming in on Wednesday

morning, and Carolyn suggested that Michael could be made to act as the

model for her lecture. Jane thought this a capital idea, and the date

was set.

Checking that item off her list, Jane scanned the paper for the weekly

advertisements. Several sales at shops she liked caught her eye, and a

note was made of these as well.

Jane next dialed Edith White and caught her at home. Michelle, Jane

told her friend, would, in fact, be staying a while after all, and both

girls would be available to participate in Edith's festivities. Edith

was thrilled. She told Jane that the costumes for the girls were

available at Milady's Closet in town, and since the only requirement

was that the girls sit poised and pretty on the float in the parade,

she left it to Jane to select the appropriate costume. Jane added

another item to Wednesday's agenda. In less than half an hour she had

scheduled the Wednesday activities, including lunch at the Heritage

Inn. Michael would encounter the full range of a girl's day on the

town.

Her next call was to Margaret Warden, who ran the dance studio that

Beth attended. Jane told her she had another young girl staying with

her for the summer, and thought that a few lessons in tap and ballet

would be worthwhile. Margaret, of course, sensing the tuition income,

agreed. Jane allowed as how this young lady was inexperienced and

slightly awkward, but with a dance instructors overstatement, Jane was

assured that even a total neophyte could be graceful in just weeks.

Jane penciled in Thursday for the first lesson.

Another item in the paper caught her eye. It was a call for auditions

at a local children's theater. Jane knew the people who ran the

program and decided to call them as well. Another element of fine arts

would both do Michael good and expose him to yet another regretful

situation. It was a full schedule, fraught with numerous exposures of

her young be-ruffled boy to people and places that would prove

disquieting to him. The list provided ample appointments for her to

demand his involvement in these distressing locales. Jane was sure

that she could think of one or two items to add to the list that might

even escalate that uneasiness.

The day whose arrival Michael had been dreading most turned out to be

Wednesday. Jane had announced the night before that he and Beth would

be going into town with her for some shopping and errands. Beth had

forewarned him of the upcoming trip to Kingston. But she was reticent

and sketchy about the details, and when Michael had expressed anxiety

about another trip to town, Beth had offered the reassurance that when

he was completely dressed as a girl, and meticulously done up, he was

very convincing. It was simply a matter of remembering all that he had

been taught and not betraying a single sign of being a boy. Despite

that encouragement, the memory of his last appalling trip into town

plagued him and he expected the worst on this next venture.

They were all up early on Wednesday morning and had finished breakfast

before 8:30. Jane instructed Michael to shower and get dressed. He

was to put on the panties and bra that she had shown him the preceding

evening, garters and hose, and a full slip with a single net layer

between two of taffeta. She had selected a short, slightly puffed

sleeved, mauve polyester/rayon dress, it's skirt modestly billowing out

over the petticoat, and adorned with a gray ribbon sash. The dress

suggested maturity, but at the same time the fullness of the skirt, its

narrow lace trim, and the cut of the sleeves suggested a design more

suited to a child. He was to simply brush his hair and apply a minimal

touch of makeup.

Michael went to his room solemnly. The cold feeling of dread he felt

was not even dissipated by the warm jets of the shower. He dried off

and returned to the hushed blue shadows of his room, and selected in

turn each item of lingerie. The superfluous bra produced satiny busts

over his own male nipples. It closed easily in front, although he had

by now nearly mastered the technique to fasten nearly every type of

lingerie without Marie's help. He tugged on the panties, sensing again

their tight smoothness on his buttocks and groin and slipped the hose

up snugly and affixed their tops to the four garter straps that dangled

from the belt around his waist. As he donned the lacy underwear, he

felt the familiar butterflies in his stomach.

The tingling stricture of the nylons brought a different coolness to

his smooth legs. He slid the slip down over himself and it encased his

body with a soft caress. The dress was the usual problem, its zipper

in the back out of reach. With some contortion he was able to slide

the zipper to its top, and finally managed to clasp the tiny hook at

the top. He stepped into the two inch pumps and sat at the vanity to

brush his hair, and inserted the barrettes as he had been taught at

each temple. He brushed a light blush over his cheeks and along his

chin line and across the brow. A light touch of mascara was followed

with a touch of pale lipstick. He did not look nearly as eye-catching

as he had on other occasions, but it seemed to suffice. Ironically, as

he scrutinized his appearance further, he thought of last week when he

was searching for traces of makeup to diminish all traces. Now the

situation was reversed, and after some consideration, Michael frowned

at what he saw as not projecting enough femininity. He decided that a

little more color would be prudent today, dressed as he was in these

girlish trappings. Selecting a brighter shade of cosmetics, he

reapplied color to cheeks and lips. As an afterthought, he added a

small strand of pearls and a bracelet. Michael picked up his small

purse and draped its handle over his left wrist as Jane had instructed.

He paused in front of the full length mirror to view his image and was

torn between his admiration for the pretty reflection, and the

revulsion he felt at the acknowledgement that she, was he.

Michael got the usual laurels about his prettiness when he arrived

downstairs. Abashedly brushing them aside with a muted "thank you," he

steeled himself to departing the security of the house and got into the

car.

As the trio approached their first stop, Michael recoiled in shock.

His hesitation was momentary, however, as Jane quickly realized his

reluctance, and firmly grasped his hand. She brooked no unwillingness

on his part as they neared the door. "Let's not have any boyish

nonsense now Michelle", she instructed. "Remember, if you act

completely and entirely as the charming young lady you appear to be, no

one need be the wiser. On the other hand, if you do not, you will

either be found out or I may simply trumpet the fact you are boy who

loves dressing up like a sissy."

Michael winced at her use of the feminine "Michelle", and the

forewarning of misery if he was exposed, but he realized the sense in

her advice, even if it was worded in her usual, gratuitous manner. He

was so preoccupied with his own concerns that he failed to realize that

Beth too seemed subdued with the thought of spending several hours in

this environ.

They walked into the Marisha Chalet and Michael's mind reeled with

disquiet as he looked about the chic beauty salon. The success of the

establishment was evident by the large number of patrons that were

there even at this early hour. Michael saw both women and men having

their hair done. This setting, especially when he contemplated what

well might be coming, made him inwardly shudder.

They were greeted by someone to whom he was introduced as Carolyn, one

of the owners. She indicated that she would be doing Beth and that

Sandra would take care of Michelle. When she looked at him, Michael

could have sworn there was a wry, knowing smirk on her face. She led

him to the shampoo basins.

The shampoo girl was the second person he met, a pretty lass of 17 or

18 named Shelly. She worked silently, placing a shiny cape around him,

fastening it at the neck and draping its broad folds around him. She

turned the chair around and gently lowered his nape to the edge of the

basin, mixing the water to proper temperature, wetting and then

lathering his hair. After a repeat of this, she wrapped a towel around

his head, returned the chair to its upright position and led him over

to the place where the operator's booth's were located.

The booths were slight indentations into the wall. They were not fully

separated from either the adjacent stations, nor were they invisible

from the rest of the shop. He saw that Beth was being worked on in the

adjacent booth and on his other side the cubicle was vacant. He hoped

it stayed that way.

Sandra came over, told him her name halfheartedly, and started to work

without other comment. Michael was content to bear this burden without

conversation, and so invited none. She removed the towel and began

combing through the wet strands of hair, aligning them and separating

them into sectors around his scalp with pins that left her field of

work free. She drew wide strands through her fingers and, with

scissors, she clipped only a small snip from the end of each strand.

Again and again she repeated this, scrutinizing the progress in the

mirror, cutting more or less here and there, styling as she went. This

aspect was not remarkably unlike any haircut he had ever received in a

store such as this. Perhaps he was most surprised by the small amount

of hair her snips removed, and the fact that her next act was to use a

razor to shave parts of his hairline that had never felt a razor

before. She worked silently and briskly.

When she was finished, she shook out the clipped hair from the cape,

and replaced the shawl-like garment over him. She next wheeled a

circular tiered tray alongside his chair. Each tier held a myriad of

pastel-colored rollers of varying diameters. She had just begun to

select the implements necessary to give Michael his first permanent

wave, when she leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"So you are Jane's latest sissy-in-residence." Her words electrified

him and he turned ashen in the mirror. Involuntarily, he started to

turn in her direction, but she pressed his shoulders down as she

continued. "Calm down, sweetness, or you'll mess up my work, and I

just hate that! The last time that happened I told everyone in the

place I had a sweet, little femmy boy here getting his hair nice and

curled up." It did not take much, at this point, to make him

speechless. He glanced around the room with his peripheral vision

through the images in the glass searching for someone who might have

heard what she said. No one seemed to have noticed. Sandra watched

his eyes darting fearfully about the room and smiled.

"I'm glad you learn quickly hon. Now cutie, you just act as sweet as

you look, and maybe you and I won't have any problems," she teased.

Her words had jolted him and he settled back into the chair paralyzed

with fear and a new found submission to this frightening woman.

Michael tried to slow his breathing while Sandra asked Caroline over to

his chair. She joined them shortly with a large magazine, like a

catalogue. Caroline leaned over the motionless boy and spread the book

out on his lap. "Here, Michael....", she said in a low voice, which

she immediately corrected with a gleam in her eye, "I mean MICHELLE.

Why don't you look through here and tell us which style you'd like for

your permanent."

Michael mutely gazed at the first page, horrified at both the word

"permanent" and the picture confronting him. The girl in the photo had

a glorious head of full, luscious blonde curls, cascading beyond her

shoulders, the bangs styled and fluffed with mousse. He realized that

his hair was thankfully too short for such a style, but was petrified

at what the next page might hold. His silent stare continued for

several moments, until Sandra leaned over as if to work on his hair

near the right ear. But instead, she grasped the lobe of the ear and

pinched it fiercely, whispering, "Real girls LIKE to do this, Michelle!

So unless you want the people here to know you're a boy in a DRESS,"

she hissed, "You'd better start to show some girlish enthusiasm! I

know you have a girl hiding inside you", she added, her voice now full

of teasing enthusiasm, "So let's see her enjoying her trip to the

beauty parlor."

Michael winced at the pressure she applied to his ear, no less than at

her comments, but realized he was at a make or break moment in his time

in skirts, and capitulated. He flipped the page, and without even

thinking, turned his head towards Sandra and said, "Oh! Isn't this one

simply wonderful? Do you think I could wear it?" Caroline grinned at

the forced, yet to the public's eye and ear, apparantly genuine,

feminine query from him. Michael blushed and turned his eyes down, and

for the first time saw the style he had referred to. It was worse than

the first, if for no other reason, because his hair was short enough

for the style. The girl's hair was nearly shoulder length, fashioned

in tighter curls, yet still with a very full shape. The bangs were

again left uncurled, to allow for their arrangement into a variety of

shapes, as the upswept style on the model clearly demonstrated. The

final touch was a lace ribbon, wrapped from the back of the neck, up

behind the ears, and tied in a large bow towards the right side of the

head. The ribbon caused the hair to fluff out even further than it

might have fallen naturally. Michael was ready to turn the page,

hoping to find something less stylized, when Caroline took the book off

his lap.

"A perfect choice, Michelle," she said as she closed the book, and

turned to walk away. Looking over her shoulder at him, she loudly

added, "I'm sure everyone here will want to see how it turns out!"

He cringed inwardly at her words, but managed to smile, afraid that to

do otherwise would risk exposure. Sandra then began her work. She

stroked her comb again through his hair, once more isolating sectors

and clipping them aside. Her actions now were slower and more

deliberate. She wetted his hair with a solution whose pungent aroma

matched that which permeated the shop and which he had noticed when he

came in. The liquid ran away from his hairline in places and she

sopped it with the towel. For a moment, the parts of his face that it

touched burned slightly, but this passed.

As he watched her in the mirror, he saw that she isolated a strand of

hair, held it with one hand as she took a tissue and smoothed it down

the end of the strand. Holding this wrapped tress tautly in her

fingers, she selected one of the colored rollers and spooled the lock

of hair around it, drawing it up tight to his scalp and fastening the

elastic device that held it in place. Though she was meticulous and

fastidious with each curl she fashioned, it seemed only a short time

before she had completed the top of his head and was working down the

back.

He was sitting in the chair silently when she softly spoke again.

"You're not the first little boy we've prettied up in this place, and I

suspect you'll be sent back for more. So just keep calm. Piss me off

though and I'll let that guy down on the end know that I have a little

boy here who plays like he is a girl. Or maybe that little girl over

there. I'll bet she'd want to take you home to play dress up. How'd

you like that, pretty little Michelle?"

A renewed alarm surged through him and he fought to retain composure.

He was cornered. He could not bolt and yet he had to suffer the abuse

this woman seemed to enjoy heaping on him.

He sat stunned as she relentlessly continued. "You have such nice

hair, Michelle", rolling another strand into the tangle of curlers that

adorned his head. "Nice, golden hair. After I'm finished, you'll be

amazed at what I have done. And these curls won't go away. They are

permanent and will stay and stay."

Her voice was subdued, and almost husky. Under other circumstances and

with different dialogue, it might have been seductive. Her taunting

whisper continued as she worked.

"After I'm done, Carolyn has something especially wonderful for you.

You'll be a perfect little doll when we're through with you." He

trembled with a mix of expectation and dread. "We are going to do a

real job on you today. Jane said give him the works, we're going to

give you the works." Another wand, another strand affixed itself to his

scalp. "So far, I think, the amateurs have had you. Wait and see what

the pros can do to you."

He had often sat in a hair stylists chair and listened to the idle

banter they made; small talk that seldom evoked anything more than a

perfunctory reply. This dialogue was like getting an obscene phone

call, a tete-a-tete which communicated flutters of anxiety through his

every fiber. He longed to be out of this place. The pointed, teasing

barbs continued as he was forced to watch in the mirror as she

performed these most feminine procedures on him. He prayed fervently

that no one else could hear her murmuring derision. He prayed even

harder that she would not suddenly blurt out some revelation to this

whole crowd.

She finished rolling up his hair and he saw a profusion of pastel pink

and blue curlers doing their work on his hair. Some new solution was

applied, its pungent odor a stronger version of what he had smelled on

first coming in here. She set the clock for 45 minutes, then moved a

table beside the chair and sat down. She seized his hand and with a

saturated cotton ball, removed all trace of polish from each nail.

Shaping each in turn with an emery board, she applied nearly five

layers of clear polish to each finger.

Beth was visible in the mirror, seated beneath the hood of a hair

dryer, looking a little melancholy, he thought, as she idly turned the

pages of a magazine. Regardless of what Sandra said about "feminine

enthusiasm", Beth wasn't showing much more than boredom...and something

else he couldn't quite put his finer on.

Carolyn wandered over, her own customer now between procedures. She

was carrying a handful of various cosmetics, and she began to

experiment idly with lipstick shades and eyeshadow colors, daubing a

spot on, scrutinizing it, then wiping it and trying another. She and

Sandra discoursed about color. He felt very exposed, knowing

instinctively that this experimentation was somewhat unusual and

feeling every eye in the place was scrutinizing the discussion.

Amid this seemingly nonessential exercise, Carolyn and Sandra continued

small taunts, mocking queries about his petticoats, derisive comments

about his sleek legs encased in the sheer nylons. Through it all was

the abiding forecast of the detailed feminization that they planned to

wreak on him this morning.

Michael felt gloomy and distressed.

The clock showed nearly "time" when Sandra had done with the manicure,

and he could see the high gloss her efforts had imparted, appearing

much thicker because of the successive layers. Sandra held up one of

his hands and examined the nails.

"It's too bad that it's just a neutral shade, but that's what Jane

ordered. Maybe someday I'll get to paint those little boy nails a

pretty bright red." She spun the chair around and leaned him backwards

again, washing away the chemical which she had applied and methodically

removing each roller and dropping it into the sink. When she had done,

she gently towelled the hair and turn him back around to see the

springy curls that lingered in place of the rollers. She played with

the little curlicues of hair, drying and styling it into the hairdo he

had viewed in the picture. The curls were sprayed and the bangs teased

until she was satisfied. Last, she took a lace ribbon, matching his

dress, and twined it into the hairstyle, tieing it into

a bow. When she was through, Michael's glance in the mirror confirmed

his deepest fears. His hair looked exactly like that of the model in

the photo, and would stay that way for months to come. Finally, she

pulled away the cape and let him free.

She leaned over and spoke again in her stage whisper. "See you in two

weeks, Michael. Always fun to make a boy pretty. Now go let Carolyn

get to work on you and make sure you say goodbye and let me see you

before you go. Wait till you see what she does! A pretty little fella

in lace and curls. And remember, there are still a few guys left in

here, like those two near the door that can't keep their eyes off you.

So don't forget," and she leaned closer and murmured with a broad smile

on her face, "Your a girl now! Now smile, dammit. Make me think that

you love this!"

Michael turned to glance towards the door, but Carolyn was there in a

flash, leading him toward yet another chair. A group of teenaged girls

was assembled in a semi-circle around it. Something was going to

happen, he thought, that will make me the center of attention of that

group. Despite everything that had happened thus far, he again felt

panic. As she propelled him across the salon floor, Carolyn continued

the taunts that Sandra had imparted.

"I noticed you had long eyelashes, Michael. Did anyone ever tell you

that? We are going to do a real number on those eyelashes and every

other feature of your face. God. Those girls you are about to meet

would die to have lashes like those!" Michael cringed at her use of a

masculine name while she talked and the abhorrent reference to his

naturally long eyelashes. His fears were already running rampant

without her intentional taunts, and his heart raced as they approached

the group. He noted that the girls were dressed comfortably, most of

them in jeans or casual skirts. The swishing of skirts and pettis

about his knees reminded him that he was dressed more like a girl than

they.

Carolyn directed him towards the chair after introducing him with the

hated name of Michelle. Michael seated himself with a graceful swish

of skirts and was grateful for Jane and Beth's training of such

feminine mannerisms. He sat neatly before the girls with hands folded

in his lap, and knees and ankles pressed tightly together. "Michelle

is going to be our model today and I am going to show you how to make

up for something more than regular day wear. Some of you may be in the

pageant and parade this week, and there is a different technique for

that. Now as I told you last week, make-up is about the most dramatic

way that a woman has to project herself.

"We could almost imagine that Michelle, for example, is a boy, given

how little makeup she is wearing . . . except for all those cute

curls." The girls giggled their disbelief, and Michael trembled that

Carolyn was taunting him by suggesting the truth to these girls. He

flashed a wan smile at the girls.

As she talked, she had smeared cream over his face and removed all

trace of makeup with tissue. Without the faint hue of cosmetic, his

face had taken on a more boyish look.

"Well of course she couldn't be a boy. Look at those lashes." Her

words drew the girls' attention to his eyes and they obviously approved

of this naturally girlish trait.

"Now we want to start with a foundation that highlights that lovely

complexion without looking pasty." She daubed dots of the flesh-colored

compound over his face and smoothed it into his skin. After setting it

with translucent powder, she moved on. "Now we start with the eyes .

. . the window of the soul," she said. The girls giggled

gratuitously in their excitement at this frolic. He felt like the

personification of one of those silly articles in the magazines back at

the house.

Caroline pulled a pallet of eye shadows from its case and spread them

before the girls for all to see. Then she turned to Michael, and

asked, "Michelle, honey, your eyes were really very underdone for such

a pretty outfit and your new hairstyle. Tell the girls which colors

you think are best to compliment your look."

Michael shot Caroline a quick, imploring look, but her response

indicated no mercy would be granted. He turned back to the makeup

pallet, now sitting on his lap, and began to consider the

possibilities. "What about these blue ones?", he meekly inquired.

Several of the girls surrounding him must have thought this girl to be

awfully shy. Anyone of them would have gladly traded places, yet they

couldn't know that he would just as willingly have agreed. Caroline

chided him for his choices, sinking him even lower.

"Girls.... Michelle has just made an all too common mistake.... blue

eyeshadows are very overused by you young ladies. You ought to spend

more time reading Glamour or Seventeen, Michelle. You'd learn quite a

bit. I'll suggest that to your Auntie."

With that one of the girls chimed in about a recent issue, and within

moments all the girls were chattering over eye colors, each coming up

with new combinations for Michelle to wear. Their gushing enthusiasm

had a strange effect on him. His thoughts drifted to the reality known

only to Sandra, Caroline, Beth, Jane, and himself..... that here was a

boy, sitting neatly, indeed primly, before a group of teenaged girls in

his pretty dress and new permanent wave, while they openly discussed

his feminization. He felt a renewed sense of the enormous degree to

which he had been changed, and seemed acutely aware of the sensations

imparted by each item of his feminine clothing... the tingle of his

petticoat on his knees, the constriction of the bra and garters, the

tension in his calves from the modest heels. These thoughts flashed

one after the other in a matter of seconds, and when he finally broke

their spell, he realized he was becoming hard inside his panties.

Michael squirmed at this unwanted development, acknowledging that at

least the full slip would probably conceal his erection from the girls.

His fidgeting didn't escape Caroline, however, and she pushed the

makeup case down into his lap with a leer as she took it back.....

causing him to nearly moan out loud.

Caroline proceeded to apply the eyeshadows, followed by mascara and

liner, blush, and finally, lipliner and lipstick. She chose a rose

colored lipstick, and made a big show of its proper application, using

a fine camel hair brush coated with the lipstick to outline the lips,

then telling Michelle to apply the first coat. His erection had, if

anything, grown stronger, and it pulsed as he took the tube from her

and leaned towards a mirror held by one of the girls. As it had

before, and nearly every time since, the act of gliding the fragrant

shaft over his lips brought home his plight with force. Caroline

touched up his artistry, and stepped back to view the finished product.

She directed Michael to stand and face a mirror so that he could gain

the full effect. He was by now used to a feminine visage when he

looked in the glass, but, even so, was taken aback by what he now saw.

The makeup, in conjunction with his new permanent, formed

synergistically to create an astonishingly pretty girl. A "covergirl"

was the word that crossed his mind.

Caroline wouldn't let matters rest. "Michelle.... why don't you walk

to the end of the salon..... over near that boy near the door, and

then turn and walk nicely back so we can see the effects from a

distance." By now the other customers had become interested in the

group at the end of the salon, and all turned their heads to see the

results of Caroline's class. Michael took an imperceptibly large

breath, and trying not to appear too self- conscious, slowly walked

past the staring customers, mincing with the classicly short strides

Jane and Beth had taught. The flutter and bounce of his skirts

reenforced his never ending self-consciousness, but he was able to

nevertheless exude a sense of some confidence as he approached the

obviously pleased lad near the doorway. Michael caught his eye for a

moment, and then evaded the gaze, utterly appalled at the thought that

a boy would find him attractive. He turned in a swirl of petti's, and

retraced his steps to the group, hoping that the swelling in his

panties would remain hidden from his audience.

After a few additional moments of effusive praise from the girls,

Caroline directed Michael over to where Jane was standing near the

front desk. Beth was herself finished, and stood next to Jane with her

own crown full of curls.

Michael's renewed journey across the salon was interrupted by Sandra.

She was standing near a store room door and called for him. "Oh

Michelle! Don't forget.... you're supposed to show me how pretty you

turned out." He reluctantly changed directions, and followed her into

the store room, where she closed the door. He didn't look forward to

any time alone with Sandra, but felt the room would at least provide a

modicum of security from the clients' stares in the salon.

Sandra stood back and surveyed the lovely boy. She grinned from ear to

ear as he stood demurely before her, hands clasped neatly and properly

behind his back at the bow neatly tied in his sash. But his telltale

shifting of weight, as well as the knowing glances she had seen on

Caroline's face, clued her into his secret. "Michelle, honey, you look

absolutely darling! Didn't I tell you how much of a DOLL we'd make

you? And that dress is just so sweet. I'll bet that's a petticoat

you're wearing underneath it", she coyly inquired. Michael nodded his

head, but was unprepared for what she said next. "Let me see it

dear..... lift you're skirt up nice and high for me."

Michael hesitated, but knew he had no choice in the matter. He

fingered the skirt for a moment, his nails gleaming brightly, and

slowly began to raise the skirt, exposing inch by inch the lovely

frills of his petticoat. The skirts rustled as he did so, creating a

new urgency in the erection which continued to haunt him. Sandra urged

his hands higher and higher, until the skirt's hem rested near his

waist. Feelings of boyish shame, and arousal, swirled about his head

as he stood before her.

"My goodness, but they are pretty," she exclaimed with glee. Michael

didn't move as she came closer and stood over him, the skirts staying

high, and his penis pulsating with each heartbeat. "I'll bet you

really like this, don't you Michelle?", Sandra inquired, her twinkling

eyes holding his in a gaze. "You know, being such a pretty girl," she

said, thrusting the knife of her words in my deeply, and twisting it.

Michael's silence was met by Sandra's outright laugher. "Of course you

do, silly! LOOK!", and she swiftly scooped up his petticoats to expose

the swelling at the front of his panties. A darker wet spot shone

clearly through the thin material of the delicate garment.

"Well, our little sissy is excited! You must get a bang out of being

the effeminate little wimp that you are, Michael."

Michael jerked away and dropped his skirts, trying uselessly to find a

remote spot in the room to hide. Sandra quickly grabbed his arm,

preventing his escape, and he collapsed against her, emotionally

traumatized by her discovery of his condition. He was unable to

comprehend what or why he felt this arousal, and Sandra stood back to

leave him briefly with his thoughts. She took a high stool and sat on

it before him. "Perhaps, Michelle, you are beginning to realize the

significance of this treatment your Aunt has prescribed?" He finally

mustered some words, and spoke more sharply than he had in seemingly

weeks. "But I'm NOT a sissy!.... I'M NOT!", he exclaimed in defense

of his masculinity. He limply threw his wrist at her as he said it,

and instinctively reached next for his head to retrieve a stray curl

that had bounced in front of his eyes. His performance was remarkably

feminine, and Sandra wouldn't let it pass.

Her words cut to his core. "You can say that all you want, dearie....

but the fact remains that you are the swishiest little "sissy" I've

ever worked on." She gestured towards the door, and laughed. "Now go

run to your Auntie.... she want's to buy you some cute dresses, doll

face!" Michael paused briefly, trying his best to regain some

composure, and left the false security of the room for the full salon.

"Oh, and Michael, I'll be waiting to do you all over again in a week or

so. Ta-ta, you sweet little pixie."

8. Chapter

Michael followed Beth and Jane out of the beauty salon and into the

passageway of the mall.

We'll do our shopping and try on the gowns first and then have a nice

lunch. Come along girls," Jane announced as she swept up the arcade.

She and Beth made a beeline toward the far end of the arcade, a

determined woman with two young "debs" in tow.

Michael, trying studiously to look and move gracefully in the

demi-heels, lagged slightly behind the pair. His separation heightened

his anxiety and he struggled to catch up, but he knew that he dare not

lapse into a more boyish dash or commit some gaffe that would betray

him. As it was, his paranoia interpreted every lingering glance or

admiring smile from passersby as a sign of their suspicion that he was

not really a girl at all.

It is, of course, not uncommon for a young girl to blush and feel

awkward when her appearance attracts attention, but Michael did not

know this, and he interpreted his feelings as the sheer embarrassment

of being judged by these strangers as a boy masquerading as a girl. He

hoped that the store they were heading to would be sparsely occupied

and without the throngs that strolled in the concourse.

Jane finally stopped outside a boutique whose marquee identified it as

"The Style Shoppe" and in smaller lettering, "Elegant Fashions for the

Young Miss." It stood adjacent to a stored named "Milady's Closet", and

the open archway that he could see between the two stores behind the

display windows suggested common ownership.

In the display windows, several mannequins stared vacantly into space,

their manufactured limbs motionless in graceful yet stilted ladylike

positions. This immobile tableau stood modelling various lingerie,

blouses, and skirts. One was elegantly resplendent in a formal gown

which bared the shoulders and then fell from a burgundy satin empire

bodice to cascading tiers of organdy and chiffon. Michael could not

help but notice that the shiny brilliance of the mannequins' curled

coiffures and the exaggerated vividness of their painted features

mimicked his own face as he recalled the image which stared back at him

back in the beauty salon when Carolyn had finished her ministrations on

him. In a bizarre way he felt like one of these fashion dummies: a

counterfeit girl, painted and draped in finery.

He caught up to Jane and Beth to find Jane engaged in a conspiratorial

conversation with another, older woman. He fretted at the glances that

the other woman cast in his direction, and he tried to avert his glance

and appear detached. Finally he was summoned over by Jane and

introduced (with the loathsome feminine soubriquet "Michelle") to a

woman named Miss Brenda Franson. She was near Jane's age, an

attractive woman wearing a tailored tan suit but with and elaborate

frilled jabot blouse which added much femininity to her working attire.

Her hair was carefully styled and she imparted the look of a woman with

taste and style who took great pains with appearance. She was, Michael

learned, the co-owner and manager of this department. He took in the

somewhat wry grin she graced him with, and the tone of her voice and

suspected strongly that she, like the girls back in the salon, was one

of Jane's intimates in this game of feminization. That suspicion was

validated as they waled through the store, and Miss Franson spoke

softly in his direction.

"I hope you have learned well from Jane, young man. You wouldn't

wasn't to broadcast your real self to my salesgirls or all these

customers. Michael blanched, eyeing the half-dozen young women clerks

waiting on an equal number of shoppers.

They proceeded through the shop toward its rearmost area. Michael saw

a couple of unaccompanied women, probably mothers or aunts shopping for

a niece or daughter. Three other women had girls in tow. Some of them

were examining the dresses and skirts that hung on the racks and

display stands throughout the store. At one brightly lit alcove of

mirrors, a girl his own age was holding up a pale rose dress to herself

in that way that women have of doing as they visualize how a garment

looks before trying it on. This place was, he sensed, a most feminine

domain and one that, scarcely two weeks before, he would have been

loathe to even be seen in.

The quartet marched toward an arch which separated the main store from

a smaller area. There were fewer racks here, but many more mirrors.

Two small settees, covered in off-white watered silk thrust their

curved feet into the plush gold carpet. To one side stood a circular

pouf upholstered in velvet of the same off-white shade. The valances

were draped with diaphanous fabric, lending an elegant air to the room.

A panel of switches and knobs suggested that the lighting was

adjustable. To one side was a small raised platform like a tiny stage,

and beneath the shallow proscenium arch were other lights, these with

colored lenses. Michael guessed that fashion shows were held here.

The room itself was probably a semi- private viewing and selection room

where wealthy mothers could have their debutante daughters model

prospective purchases. Michael grew a little weak as he realized he

was the likely exhibition today.

Jane and Miss Franson were examining the dresses and other garments

that were hung in the room, including both casual and formal outfits.

There was a large display of diaphanous, dainty gowns. Michael would

be made to try them all on, Jane thought. It would be a most absorbing

time for her, and an instructional and humiliating one for her young

charge.

Jane spent a lot of money in this store, as she would today, and that

fact afforded her the near undivided attention of one or two of the

salesgirls, or, as today, the manager herself. Not that money was any

object or obstacle, for in addition to Jane's own, she had virtually

unlimited carte blanche from Michael's own Mother. Michael was about

to star in his first fashion show, and Jane would manage to ensure him

an excruciatingly uncomfortable time of it.

Michael, resplendent in his elegant curls and professionally made up,

sat despondently on the velvet pouf and gazed at his image in the

mirror. He noticed to one side that there was a long walnut table on

which were arranged an array of lingerie and other intimate attire. He

surmised that all the items here had been pre- selected by Miss Franson

at Jane's behest. Not that exhausting these items would necessarily

limit the length of his ordeal. From front to back of the store were

racks of more of the despised female paraphernalia. For the next sixty

minutes or more, he was going to be subjected to true abasement. He

saw a small zippered case on the table and assumed they had even

prepared for the possibility that a touch-up of his makeup might be

needed. It would be an agonizing prospect, here in public.

He glanced out through the archway to survey the prospect of intruding

glances. Though the shop was off the path of the mall corridors, he

was aware that passing patrons could observe what happened in most of

the interior. His relief, therefore, at the semi-seclusion of this

room, was tempered by that fact. Once or twice he caught the passing

voyeur unobtrusively eyeing the women shopping in the store. In

addition, several more women and girls were shopping, two with their

husbands or boyfriends in tow. As patrons passed the fitting area

where he would be trying on gowns and dresses and petticoats, these

strangers would easily be able to view him resplendent in feminine

finery. The prospect made him wonder if they would notice anything

amiss. Would anything about him, he wondered, convey to them that he

was not, in fact a girl, but a male masquerading as one: an

unfortunate boy condemned to parade as a sissy in organdy and satin at

Jane's demand?

The women ended their conversation and Jane beckoned him to come over.

As he approached, Miss Franson reached into an alcove and parted the

draped curtain which hid the doorway to a small alcove of a fitting

room.

"Go in and slip out of your dress and slip, Michael, dear.

Someone will be along in a minute to help you."

Michael prayed that the "someone" would not be some stranger who would

further add to his anxiety about all this. To his consternation,

however, a girl of about twenty came into the room just as he was

removing the slip. He had nothing on but a bra and panties.

"Hi, hon," she said with a smile. "I'm Sally and Miss Franson wants me

to help you."

Her words did not clue Michael in as to whether or not she thought of

him as a girl or was in on the conspiracy. He decided to play it safe,

threw back a wan smile and busied himself hanging the dress and slip he

had just removed.

Sally carried a pair of tap pants of brilliant satin and a matching

camisole. These she laid down on the bench along with a camisole and

petticoat. She exited the room, and Michael presumed that he was to

get into these new items. Taking advantage of the solitude of the

room, he slipped out of the panties he wore and into the tap pants and

cami. The petticoat was just being pulled into place when the curtain

parted and Miss Franson came in to observe that he had donned new

lingerie and then summoned him back out into the larger room.

Though this area of the shop where dresses and lingerie were shown and

modeled was separate from and hidden from the rest of the store, it was

brightly lit and adorned with mirrors. Standing there in his petite

camisole and petticoats, his shoulders bare except for the spaghetti

straps, as Jane and the salesgirl chattered about the dresses on

display, he felt exposed and insecure. He was an object on display in

these shimmering skirts, and the occasional patron who glanced his way,

though they found nothing untoward in seeing a girl in her underwear,

made him feel imperiled nonetheless. He remained as motionless and

unnoticed as he could, a feat not uncomplicated in this apparel.

One by one dresses and gowns of many variations were brought and he was

put in them. Each time, Jane bade him to either stroll around the room

or to mount the stage so that the trio of women could observe the

clothing on him and chatter about each. From time to time Jane

indicated her choice of the garments he modeled, and he knew that that

item was being purchased for his future use.

Beth remained peculiarly aloof from all of this and her silence was a

bit bewildering to Michael. He reminded himself to ask her about this

when they got home.

It then came time to find the costume that he was to wear in some

parade they had babbled about. The first gown Jane selected was

ante-bellum, like something out of Gone With the Wind. It was a

tightly bodiced dress with sleeves that exposed the shoulders. The

skirt overflowed in a plethora of layers comprised of sheer organdy

over a satin underskirt. In order to wear this dress properly, he was

made to don still more petticoats which billowed the skirt outward. In

the interest of time, he was not required to don the other

undergarments that went with this ensemble: ruffled pantalettes and a

chemise that laced with thin ribbons of velvet.

But Sally, the salesgirl, gushed to Jane about the historical

authenticity of these wispy undergarments. Instead, she had him

temporarily don a strapless bra in the fitting room. This requirement,

needless to say, discomfited him greatly, for he feared she would

notice some manliness about him that would negate his girlish pretense.

He made sure that he fastened the initial clasp, holding the foam pads

of his bogus breasts in place, and only sought her assistance in

fastening the other hooks he could not reach. he was sure she either

did not notice or was too polite to make mention.

He next was put into a satin princess gown of white and silver whose

ruffled hem brushed the floor. For this outfit, his feet were thrust

into silvery slippers. It was regal and very exquisite. As with each

item he modeled, he was made to cavort about the area, prompted by Jane

to pirouette the skirts and to strike poses that she found to be most

becoming.

After two hours of trying on gowns and dresses and skirts, and array of

articles had been chosen and consigned for delivery.

Michael was glad to be back in the less flamboyant dress he had donned

that morning and even more relieved when the car finally pulled up at

the house.

They carried a profusion of gaily wrapped packages into the house, and

more were to be delivered by messenger. In addition to the array of

feminine attire that hung in Michael's closets and teemed in the

drawers, these new items were to be added.

9. Chapter

It had been nearly ten weeks since Michael's arrival. Jane found

herself up early one morning, having her coffee on the terrace. She

mused about the events of the last ten weeks and wondered to herself if

she were making progress.

In the frenzied days that followed through the weekend and into Monday,

Michael had been exposed to more femininity and girlish activity than

he had probably ever imagined possible. The curiosities, sights and

smells of living a girl's life were thrust on him at a dizzying pace.

There were mannerisms and postures to assimilate. He was made to

practice for hours with rollers and makeup, his arms tiring from the

unfamiliar reach required to roll the wands into his hair. He learned

about colors and combinations in clothes, shoes and accessories. He

practiced curtseys, polite phraseology and locutions that sounded

effete to his male ear. Adjectives that he would have shunned at all

costs as a boy began to seep into his speech.

Indeed, speech and mannerisms were the hallmarks. Inflection conveyed

more than anything, Jane tutored, and Michael chafed as he mimicked the

exaggerated intonations she prompted. He practiced gestures and

walking and light hints of poise like tidying his hair and the right

way to examine his face and dresses in a mirror.

He was ceaselessly being fussed over by all three of them, and was

taught to busy himself with dainty little details. He spent hours

perfecting the application of a myriad of colors to his face, his

nails. He was required to submerge himself in bubbly baths, shaving

practically invisible hairs from his legs and arms. It was a seemingly

perpetual routine that started early in the day and ran till late at

night.

He was not only taught to adopt a facile walk in pumps, but to become

nimble at daintily swaying an ankle while balanced on the other foot.

She taught him the girlish positioning of the hands on hips as opposed

to the "arms akimbo" stance of a man; crossing the legs just right when

sitting, exposing just the right amount of leg beneath the hem of the

skirt; care in both sitting and rising from a chair so that the

movement flowed gracefully and smoothly.

He mimicked the subtle and vain fluff of the hair that primped it in

place, and though he seemed self-conscious with these and other

mannerisms, managed a passable impersonation of a girl doing these

things. Jane especially liked to demand that he manage that genuinely

winsome manner of correcting makeup while others were watching so that

the actions seemed less pragmatic than attractive. She delighted in

the fact that his self-consciousness was intensified when she made him

do this.

All of these subtleties had eluded Michael when, as a boy, he watched

girls. There was so much to learn and master and Jane was determined

that he would do so.

Without question, she thought, Michael had reached that point where he

acquiesced to the demands she placed on him as to clothing and manner.

But there lurked beneath his resignation an element of defiance which

undermined her aspirations to subdue his will. Something had to be

devised that would prompt his absolute subservience to her will and

submission to her desire to correct his attitude.

Jane knew that Michael had not totally given in to his fate, and she

also knew she needed to find some stratagem that would finally break

his rebelliousness. It was this thought that occupied her thoughts

that morning.

She thought over the highlights of the weeks since that first visit to

Marisha Chalet. To be sure, there had been others, but it was the day

of the pageant that provoked both the most marvelously distressing

reaction and the major turnabout in the boy.

Michael had been quite sullen at breakfast that morning, his demeanor

no doubt a direct result of his profound dread over the events that

awaited him that day. The day began early, both Michael and Beth were

at the breakfast table by 6:45, dressed only on jeans and tank tops.

They were both due at Marisha Chalet by 7:30 to be dressed, coiffed and

made-up. The pageant parade began at 10:30, and they had to be at the

marshalling area half an hour before. That gave Carol and Sandy just

over two hours to do their magic and turn the two boys into ravishing

young debs.

Marie had seen to the delivery of their gowns to the salon the evening

before and was now packing an overnight case with the shoes and other

essentials that would complete the ensembles. After a quick cup of

coffee and danish, the two were summoned by Jane to join her in the car

for the trip to town.

Michael's dread of ordeal of the beauty salon were even stronger today

than they had ever been before, for he knew that this visit would be

decidedly different than the previous sessions. For one thing, Carolyn

and Sandra had always seen him fully dressed as a girl before. Today

he had been told to wear only panties, jeans and a tank top. Today, he

knew, the two salon owners were going to be more actively involved in

his transformation -- a chore that they not only suggested to Jane but

which they avidly implored her to allow them. It would be even worse

than the first time that Marie had forced him to submit to her

feminizing endeavors that first day.

Secondly, he knew that the two women who owned the shop relished their

upcoming assignment and would not only outdo their previous techniques

on him, but would likely surpass them, and there would also be more of

the derisive, teasing prattle that so debased him.

And finally, he knew that when they were done he would have to step out

into the summer day and take his place on the Cotillion Float, adorned

as a sweet, delicate debutante in a ball gown, to be seen by the

hundreds of onlookers that would line the parade route. For several

hours, during the parade and after, he would be obliged to appear

adorable and feminine, convincingly masquerading with girlish manners

and poise.

It would be most humiliating.

They arrived at the salon at 7:10. The shop was not open to general

patrons that morning, Carolyn and Sandra having re- scheduled their

customers to ensure no one except the pageant participants would

consume their time and attention.

Inside, two of the assistant beauticians were busy fashioning curls on

two of the other "girls" that Michael recognized from the one brief

rehearsal he had attended with Beth. They nodded and smiled casually

at him and Beth when they came in. Another girl sat idly reading a

magazine, her head enclosed in the clear bonnet of a hair dryer.

Carolyn saw them first and she and Sandra came over to them not hiding

their gleeful anticipation. Both of them cast a mischievous smile at

Michael. Carolyn turned Beth over to one of the assistants who was

idle and then both women led Michael into a small anteroom at the rear

of the main salon.

"Michelle can getting fitted and dressed while Beth gets worked on,"

Carolyn said rather loudly to Jane, perhaps seeking to explain to the

other three patrons the atypical practice of using the back room when

so many of the regular stations were free. Jane responded that she

would be back in about an hour.

Once inside the small private alcove, Sandra drew the curtain that

separated the room from the rest of the salon. Michael saw that the

gowns that he and Beth were to wear hung from pegs against one wall,

their tiered ruffled skirts and satiny bodices a bright pastel contrast

against the ivory wallpaper.

Sandra turned to him.

"Well, little man, I have been really looking forward to this," she

said with a devilish grin. "We'll allow you a little privacy in here

as long as you behave. We don't want those 'real' girls in the next

room to see what you have underneath those pants unless we have to.

Start getting undressed."

He hesitated at this command as Sandra turned and busied herself

opening the overnight bag they had brought with them, and as Carolyn

entered the room and re-drew the curtain behind her. Carolyn noted his

indecision and added her own warning.

"Come on, Michael, get stripped", she murmured seductively, "unless you

want to do this striptease out there," gesturing over her shoulder.

"Sandy and I want to watch you change from the skin out. We don't get

to do this all the time like Jane does, and you're not going to deprive

us of our fun....before i go out and make a very embarrassing

announcement."

Michael blushed deeply. Even Jane, Beth and Marie had allowed him a

modicum of modesty when they dressed him, but it was clear that he was

not going to receive that consideration at the hands of these two. He

diffidently pulled the tank top over his head while he considered his

predicament.

"Off with the jeans," Sandra insisted, and he loosened the buttons and

slid the denim down his legs and over his shoes. The fabric stuck,

requiring him to slip out of the sneakers as well. When he was done

with this, he stood there clad only in the white briefs.

Carolyn was eyeing him during all this and tapped her foot at his

hesitance at removing the underpants. Finally she came over to him and

brushed her hand against their fabric.

"Cotton! well cotton is no fabric for a pretty little sissy to have

against his butt. Take them off. We've got some darling undies for

you to put on."

There was no way out, and as timorously as he could, he took off the

pants and stood there, shy and flustered.

"Well look there, Sandy, he really is a boy," Carolyn said tauntingly.

"It's hard to believe it, the way he looks when he comes in here."

"Or how he's going to look when we get done with him," Sandy put in.

It was at moments like this that Michael's thoughts strayed back to

school and he wished he could relive those errors that brought him to

this. That feeling was even more acute as he stood butt-naked in front

of these two women who displayed more enthusiasm for what they were

about to do than even Jane did.

Sandra walked over to him and rubbed the palm of her hand over his

legs, causing a stir of excitement. Obviously not pleased with the

faint trace of stubble she found there, she picked up an appliance with

a coil like a door spring at one end, turned it on and applied its

buzzing, twisting spiral to his legs. Her proximity and his condition

had an initial effect on him as he felt the stirrings of turgidity and

prayed that his involuntary reaction would not blossom into fullness in

front of them.

The needle-sharp stings of the tool she was using as it plucked the

soft hairs from his legs had a placating effect on his reflexive

reaction and it abated momentarily. Sandra quickly finished her task

and his legs stung from the treatment. It did not seem that what she

did was that significant, and Michael began to think that it was more a

symbolic than a practical exercise. Sandra obviously wanted to go

through the motions of subjecting a boy to depilation.

Carolyn came forward with a lacy satin garter belt

"I presume you know what this is for and how to get it on," she said as

she handed it to him.

He slipped the belt up over his hips and adjusted the garter straps to

their proper locations. He wished she would hand him a pair of panties

next so that he could cover the growing mass of his manhood which was

becoming visible now. As if they read his thoughts, Sandra came over

with a pair of nylons and pushed him gently but firmly into a straight

backed chair, rolling one stocking down and inserting the toe of his

foot into it, temptingly drawing it up over his calf and thigh. She

fastened the front of the stocking, repeated the process with his other

leg, then had him stand and bend forward slightly as she drew each up

tightly, adjusted the seams and fastened the rear garter. By the time

she had finished, he was fully erect.

"Well, Michael! Look at you. Why you must enjoy this immensely to get

so big and hard."

He blushed scarlet. He hoped her voice did not carry into the salon.

He felt immensely foolish standing there clad in garter and hose with a

prominent erection jutting out under the lace of the garter belt. He

knew from experience that lately he had been more prone to become

stimulated when he put on these kinds of clothes, but it was also due

to their presence and the provocative way in which they were both

manipulating him.

"If we had more time," Sandra continued, "I might put that doohickey to

good use -- but that will have to wait to another time. I hate to

cover it up, but it's time to get our little sissy pretty."

She handed him a pair of ruffled blue nylon panties, trimmed in lace

and small satin blue bows.

"Carolyn picked these out just for you. If this were a wedding it

would be the 'something borrowed and something blue', Michael. But for

today they are just the cutest thing for our little boy."

He felt a mixture of relief at being able to cover his nakedness and

irritation at their teasing. He pulled the panties snugly onto his

hips and swooned for a moment as the soft fabric nuzzled his glans.

"Very dainty," Carolyn said approvingly. They're tight enough to pull

in that swelling of yours, but I suggest you try to keep it under

control today or you're going to give yourself away. Like Sandy says,

maybe we can do this again sometime when we can all have some fun.

Now, little sweetheart, we need a little bosom to make you beguiling."

Carolyn took a brush from a bottle she held and applied a liquid

adhesive in circles around his own nipples. He felt the chill as the

solvent evaporated and when it had become tacky, she carefully fastened

a pair of flesh-colored breast forms whose texture and coloration were

remarkably lifelike. She molded the breasts in place and then, when

the adhesive had set, applied a flesh-toned foundation and blended it

to his skin, concealing the point at which the latex met his own skin.

The weight of the ersatz breasts pulled against his pectorals and he

decided this was what real breasts must feel like to a girl.

Sandy was ready with a midriff-length lace-trimmed brassiere which she

wrapped around him and began fastening in the rear. It was strapless

and low-cut, and somewhat tight, causing her to ask him to suck in his

stomach to facilitate the fastening. The cups of the bra pushed the

false breasts upwards slightly, and the slight constriction of the

brassiere ensured it would not shift during the course of the day.

"Now this costume of yours is very, very authentic, so we need to get

you into the other undies we have for you. Then we can start on your

hair,' Sandra said. The two girls fitted him into a corselet decked

with ruffles and eyelet, and a pair of pantalettes that matched. The

corselet had a laced bodice with velvet ribbons as laces and the legs

of the other garment ended just at his knee. In all, it was a somewhat

ridiculous garment, but was, he suspected, very authentic to the

ante-bellum time that it related. Probably just like Scarlett O'Hara

wore, he thought to himself. He hoped the other girls were to be as

historically correct in their ensembles, for it seemed that this was

what he would wear out into the salon while they did his hair and

make-up. Carolyn flung the curtain back and he meekly followed them.

His appearance evoked only the most fleeting of glances from the other

girls. Beth's gaze lingered on him for a moment in the mirror in front

of her. Beth, too, would be wearing such attire when her hair was

done.

Sandy seated him unceremoniously seated in the adjustable chair at the

work station and wet his hair. Large and small rollers were coiled

into his hair, to shape it into the style that the women felt

befitting. She began her usual taunts, whispered into his ears as she

worked, as both girls were wont to do as they applied their wiles on

him.

"We're going to make you very pretty today, love. Like nothing we're

ever done before. You are going to be a knockout!"

She gathered new strands of hair and deftly wrapped them on the

rollers.

"Such a pretty little lad," she went on with it. "You are going to be

a knockout when we get done with you." Another roller in place, she

went on "Gorgeous Michael, all curled and dressed in a lovely gown. Up

there in front of the whole town and none of them but a few of us

knowing that that captivating young girl is really a sissy boy in

skirts."

He tolerated this invective, having no choice. He never doubted that

either Sandy or Carolyn would reveal his secret if he gave them

sufficient provocation.

"Are you beginning to like all of this Michael? Isn't it fun to have

someone work to make you look so pretty and sweet?"

As always, he viewed these taunts as merely rhetorical and he stayed

glum and taciturn. But today, Carolyn wanted some reaction, so she

persisted.

"We were not just making conversation a while ago about our future

plans for you. We have already talked to Jane about 'borrowing' you

for the weekend for a trip to New york. Jane thought it was a

wonderful idea. We can go shopping, get you some pretty new things,

have lunch, and then see what else comes to pass."

Michael shuddered at what these two might have in mind.

"What exactly do you mean, Sandy?"

"Well, honey, someone as pretty as you deserves a chance to show off a

bit in the big city. And Sandy and i are just dying to be your guides

for a weekend."

The word guides hid some ulterior and more ominous meaning than it

implied.

"We though next weekend would be fun. We'll talk to Jane some more and

let you know. We'll chat some more after your hair is dry."

Fully arrayed in the pastel rollers, he was directed to the chair

beneath to dryer to allow the heated stream of air to dry the curls.

He noted the now-familiar smell of moist hair that flowed into his

nostrils during this procedure.

As his hair dried, he surveyed the room. Other girls were in varying

stages of preparation, some being made-up, some having their hair

combed out, others entering and emerging from the back room in costume.

All these things awaited him he knew, and he sat docile at his

resignation to the ordeals that would befall him in this next hour.

He let her finish in silence and sat demurely beneath the hair dryer

for the twenty minutes it took to dry the curls. Beth, by this time,

was in the room he had been in before, and when she emerged, she was

clad as he was, except that she also wore billowing layers of

underslips tiered in sheer ruffles. Carolyn had already made up Beth's

face and she wore more makeup than Michael had seen her wear at home.

It was as though she was going onstage, which indeed she was, as was

he. He fought a flutter of queasiness in his stomach that was both

stage fright and outright dread of being in public dressed as he was

going to be. Beth disappeared into the small alcove at the rear of the

shop with Carolyn.

Sandy came over and slipped her hand under the metal bonnet, and

satisfied that the curls were now dried and set, she switched the

machine off and led him back to her work station. Seated again, he

endured the removal of the rollers and the familiar sight of his hair

springing back into ringlets as the plastic forms were removed.

She finished extracting the last of the rollers, and gently fluffed the

curls in preparation of the next step.

"I have a lovely fall we're going to try with you today. What do you

think of this?"

She held up a lifeless mass of a modelled wiglet that had a braided cap

and sausage curls dangling from it. It appeared to be nothing more

than that, until Carolyn, not waiting for any answer from him, fastened

the comb of the fall into the back of his scalp and busied herself with

arranging his own curls into place. The color of the fall was a

perfect match to his own hair, probably the result of treatment with

the same hair color they had taken to using on him. It all matched,

and the effect was most fascinating. In minutes his medium length

locks had sprouted into a coiffure of elegance that astounded even him.

"Very fetching, darling. See, I told you we were going to make you

glorious!"

She absorbed herself in the finishing touches for another ten minutes,

each stage of the process making him more uncomfortable as a new and

more feminine visage stared back from the mirror. When she had done,

he was amazed at the effect she had wrought.

"Sit still her, now, sweetness. Now I'm going to make you real

spectacular! God, you are gorgeous!'

He sat still, abashed in his elaborate lingerie and dangling tresses

awaiting the artfulness of this woman who had designs on effecting his

total transfiguration.

"Time for some real glamour, Michael. A little color for that drab

face of yours. Then into that gorgeous gown and petticoats. God you

are going to be a hit. If these other girls knew just how a boy like

you can outshine their own natural femininity, they would be jealous to

a fair-thee-well."

She began by removing all traces of the meager make-up he had put on

that morning. His face clean, she spent a meticulous twenty minutes

attaching additional individual false lashes to his own, each glued

inextricably in place.

"You have to hold very still while I do this Michael," Sandy ordered.

"In a way, your own lashes are lavish enough, but Jane insisted I add

some more. These are very hard to get off, though."

The increased abundance was visible even without the addition of

mascara. But the mascara came, in three light layers, adding even more

fullness and color. Then the faint line of sable below and above his

lids, blended and smeared to simply highlight the eyes. Next a

burgundy shadow, more intense in color than he usually used.

"Your getting pretty good at this, Michael," she whispered softly.

"Isn't it fun having yourself made so stunning and gorgeous? You

really do make a lovely girl, you know."

As always, Michael let this pass, though the image in the mirror

attested again that she was right. With the right hair style and

make-up, he was an attractive girl.

"Now some rosy glow to those flawless cheeks of yours. A bit more than

you are used to, but we want you to look just divine in that parade."

She added a scarlet glow to each cheek, again, as she had warned, more

brilliant than every-day wear, a crescent of vermillion that covered

the cheekbone which blended into a faint ruby shadow at the edges.

"Michael," she said as she worked, "you should let go and enjoy this.

Frankly I think you do, but you take some of the fun out of it for

yourself and the rest of us when you resist it so much."

Without even expecting a response from subdued recipient or her art,

Sandy carefully sketched the outline of his lips in crimson pencil,

then filling in the outline with lipstick, blotting it carefully,

repeating it and then dusting it with translucent powder.

"This will keep those luscious lips rosy all day, lover," she said by

way of explaining this unfamiliar application of cosmetics."

Next a dusting of vermilion blusher capped off his features, and again,

the reflection from the mirror was merely a vaguely familiar and very

feminine replica of himself.

When Sandy was done, she swept the cape away from him and led him back

to the small alcove where he would be put in three layers of

petticoats, swathed in the rich crepe of the gown and his feet encased

in satin pumps.

When he entered the room, he saw another girl there. It took a moment

for him to recognize that it was Beth. He was astonished! Her hair

swirled up in a dazzling styles, with interlacing braids and stiff

curls, garnished with tiny Steffanoti's, she was resplendent. A lilac

gown of chantilly lace over organdy and satin billowed out over buoyant

petticoats. She wore long gloves on her arms which matched the gown.

As Beth turned and smiled faintly at him, he saw that the colors of her

makeup set off the ensemble perfectly. She was truly a beautiful girl!

"You're all done, Beth," Carolyn said. "You can wait for your friend

in the reception." Beth swept from the room seeming to float on the

skirt which just brushed the floor, giving mere hint to the darker

purple pumps she wore. Michael was entranced.

The girls now began on him.

Just short of 9:50 they had finished with him, and the reflection he

was invited to view in the full-length mirror bespoke not a boy, but a

lovely, graceful girl bedecked in ante-bellum costume. Though Michael

felt abused and victimized, yet he was resigned to carry off this

charade to the full, and he had to confess to himself that he inwardly

delighted in the transformation and the perceptions of stimulation that

these clothes and this appearance gave to him.

The dress was a full skirted satin and lace, buoyed out by the layers

of petticoats they had secured to his waist. The shoulders were bare,

and mere vestiges of sleeves, full and puffed encircled his upper arms.

Satin slippers that accented the gown encased his stocking feet.

Carolyn positioned a broad-brimmed straw hat whose yellow satin ribbon

band dangled fastening strands through the brim, and which she caught

up to anchor the flat bonnet beneath his chin in an enormous golden bow

near his left cheek. He was, in a word, fetching. Carolyn and Sandra

were obviously thrilled with their efforts, and cooing and chattering,

propelled him out to the reception area where he and Beth would await

Jane to drive to the parade.

He found Beth standing there, somewhat aloof, looking every bit as

lovely as she had when he had seen her moments before. Beth took in

his full countenance. Michael spoke first.

"Beth, you look wonderful! You truly are a very pretty girl."

Beth smiled, then, glancing out at the parking lot, delivered a

soliloquy which Michael would remember for a long time after.

"That's nice of you to say, Michael, but you should be aware that you

make a far prettier girl than I could ever be. As I look at you right

now, you may be the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Oh, I know, you

are Michael, just dressed and done up that way. But you *do* look

beautiful. You always do. You need to understand that. What Jane

wants, and what you seem to be too dumb to understand, is some delight

and acceptance of all this. Until you do, it will not only continue to

be an uncomfortable situation for you, but it will have a significant

effect on my future, as well. If you can't accept all of this,

gracefully, because Jane demands it, then at least think about

embracing it for mine."

Michael was totally perplexed by this last, but before he could probe

deeper into her meaning, Jane's lincoln drew up to the door and the

horn signalled her impatience. The two "girls" hurried as best they

might out the door and into the spacious car.

Driving to the parade, Michael reflected on what his friend had just

said, for he truly did deem Beth a friend. She said he was beautiful

as a girl, a thought that caused him some grief but which bolstered his

confidence in the upcoming onus of carrying off this masquerade of the

parade. But there lingered a big question as to what Beth meant that

his behavior had some influence on Beth's life. Michael made a mental

note to pursue this with her as the car sped toward the marshalling

area. Michael confessed to himself that clad in these soft garments

and knowing that he personified the lovely girl he appeared to be, that

he felt a warm, contented feeling. In a way, this was fun!

Michael and Beth were seated on their respective seats on the float. A

couple of fussy ladies flounced the skirts of the various girls' gowns

into decorous position, and another busied herself with powder puff and

brushes rectifying flaws in makeup and hair. Michael fought the sense

of his quandary seated on this satin bench dressed as a young damsel

with the knowledge that he could "pull it off" and avoid disclosure.

The ponderous carriage pulled into its place in the line of floats, and

he busied himself with the pantomime and manner to appear the perfect

young debutante, smiling and waving to the crowd assembled to view the

cavalcade.

10. Chapter

As Jane sat and pondered further, her underlying problem with Michael,

and reflected on the plan which had begun to form in her mind nearly

two weeks before took shape she had realized that it was complicated in

its inception and diabolical in its consequences. She leafed again

through the circulars that she received the preceding two weeks and

found the announcement of try- outs for the children's play at the

Hampton Theater. The flier indicated that the producer/director of the

play was Dierdre Bradley, a woman that Jane not only knew but who was

already in Jane's debt because of an incident that Jane had interceded

in the previous Autumn. Jane had known that that debt, alone, would be

insufficient to carry out the scheme she had in mind, but she knew also

that other factors would play a part.

When she first read the flier a couple of weeks before, she had called

Dierdre and volunteered her two young charges as potential performers

in the production, identifying them as Beth and Michael, two of her

sister's children. Beth, she told Dierdre, was a natural for the lead

role, and Jane was certain that Dierdre had picked up on the veiled

insistence that Beth be given special consideration for the role.

Michael, she allowed, was a novice and needed only the broadening

experience of the theater. Dierdre was sufficiently compliant to

assuage any doubt that she would give Jane's request serious

consideration. Jane took that pledge as a near surety that if Beth

gave an acceptable audition.

Jane was familiar with Beth's acting ability (she had, after all, had a

leading role in a play just the previous Spring). That fact made it at

least likely that Beth could get the lead in the auditions, especially

with a word from Jane influencing Dierdre.

The play was Alice in Wonderland and the try-outs call had indicated

all parts would be open to audition. To aid in Beth's getting the

part, Jane had bought a copy of the script and commanded Beth to spend

at least an hour a day reading it, memorizing the part. This

familiarity with the role would help in insuring Dierdre's choice.

But, of course, Beth's getting the lead role was only a minor factor

in the grand stratagem. Michael, too, would be involved in the

production, but not in a prominent role at first and not as Michael

would basically have liked it.

Jane recalled that the most terrifying and humbling experience of young

Michael since he had been here had not been when he was dressed as a

girl, but, curiously, when he had been clad in boy's clothing. He

could and would carry off to near perfection all of her mandates that

required him to be properly attired and behaving as a girl both within

and outside the house. However much those experiences might have

jarred his equanimity, the had not sufficiently quelled his

recalcitrance. Jane recalled vividly that the most appalling

experience Michael had endured during his stay was that day he had been

allowed to have his own way and go to town dressed in male rather than

female attire.

Of course, she thought to herself, he was not really afforded an

opportunity that day to totally shed the effeminate trappings that he

had assumed; that was why he had had the encounter with the town

bullies that so unnerved him. But facts were facts, and Jane knew that

as he now was, Michael would look, at best, an effeminate boy if he

shed the dresses and skirts which comprised his wardrobe. His arched

eyebrows and medium-long curls evoked a Botticellian cherub which, for

a teen-ager, bespoke a sissy.

Thus it would be. Michael would join Beth in the theatrical

presentation, but he would be involved as a boy. She smiled wickedly

to herself as she pondered both the developments and the outcome.

Jane now recognized that she had to have a talk with Michael to apprise

him of this new wrinkle in the game plan. She was sure that he would

be truly obdurate about the plan to send him out for daily play

rehearsals clad as a boy. The memory of the scene at the shopping mall

still burned deep within him. But that was the decision Jane had

arrived at, and he would do it or else.

She advised Beth of her plans in the early afternoon and told Marie to

have Michael join her in her study when Beth had gone. Beth found the

whole thing rather vicious, feeling that Michael was being subjected to

unusually severe tortures. But Beth had to also admit that Michael

seemed to fail to grasp what he had to do to escape this anguish that

he found himself in. Beth had been quick to learn the lesson and, in

part, had found enjoyment in the elements of feminine life to which

Jane subjected her charges. It was a pity that Michael could not learn

this lesson.

Michael came into Jane's study in mid-afternoon, knowing that these

summonses frequently boded ill for him. He sat demurely in the chair

before her desk and waited for her to begin.

Jane chewed deliberately on the stem of her reading glasses as she

stared relentlessly at the young man before her.

"Michael, I am disappointed," she began. "You have, to be sure,

faithfully performed almost every little demand I have placed on you,

but I sense that you have not truly corrected your attitude and that

you see this all as something that will all go away in time. That is

not what I had in mind. Though your demeanor has changed and you carry

off the part rather well, I have come to the conclusion that we need to

make a breakthrough here, and I have decided on a way to do it."

Michael felt unnerved at this, wondering what new abuse this woman had

in mind.

"You did well in the dance review," she went on, "even though you had

little time to get proficient. Nevertheless, as I told you then, you

looked delightful in that little wispy satin costume you had to wear.

And I am sure that you absolutely detested being up there in front of

all those parents pretending that you, too, were one of the winsome

lasses in tap shoes trying hard to be a graceful little girl. But I

detected a note of resignation mixed with haughtiness about the whole

thing. I want a stop to that. You WILL submit to this, in time, you

know, if it takes months."

She noted his wince at this and continued.

"Yes, I mean months. I am capable and willing to keep you here

indefinitely until I detect from you a surrender of acceptance to this

role I have imposed on you. When you can say with some degree of

conviction that you enjoy those skirts and petticoats, I will know that

I have done my job. When you can accept the better half of yourself -

the feminine part -- I will know that I have discharged my duty to

effect your reconstruction as a responsible young adult. Until then, I

will be relentless in these efforts."

She let this sink in as she hovered over him.

"I spoke to your Mother yesterday and told her of my difficulties. She

has allowed me to keep you here a bit longer until I convince her I am

satisfied with how you are progressing."

Michael remained speechless, rolling over in his mind both the fact

that his ordeal was to continue longer and by Jane's puzzling

conclusion that more was expected of him. He thought that he had fully

complied with all of her dictates, and he wondered what more she

wanted.

"So we have a new program for you. You and Beth are going to be in a

delightful little children's play next month and I have enrolled you

both in the cast."

Another excursion into the community, Michael groaned to himself. He

dreaded these extended forays out of the house. Still, he knew, that

he had managed to fool the world thus far, both in the silly Cotillion

Pageant and the even more ridiculous dance review that Jane alluded to.

He had got fairly used to all the affectations that he was compelled to

execute in order to carry off the impersonation.

Indeed, Michael had to admit to himself, he had sort of begun to enjoy

the charade a little. He had ceased to wonder if there was something

wrong with him in that he had grown fond of the soft touch of silk and

satin on his body and the make-believe aspects of these costumes and

makeup. Perhaps in part because Sandra and Carolyn, despite their

constant taunting, equated a certain sensuality with his condition, his

sensual response to this masquerade had increased. The erotic

sensations of it all seemed to heighten as each daily repetition of the

feminine rituals were performed.

It was a conflict of emotions within him: hating the humiliation,

fearing discovery and disclosure, yet oddly thrilled and stimulated

when he looked into a mirror and saw himself. Movements and

articulations that appalled him a few weeks ago had become almost

second nature.

"There is a slight twist to this particular exercise, however, Michael.

Beth, of course, will be attending the auditions as she is. But you,

my dear, will be going not as Michelle, but as Michael, my nephew."

This cryptic remark took more than a moment to fully register with him.

And even then he was not fully cognizant of what she meant.

"I don't understand, Jane. What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean simply this, my young priss. You will be attending the

try-outs, and, if you get some part in the play, the rehearsals as

well, dressed as a boy. It will be your responsibility to be dressed

and as presentable as a boy as you yourself feel necessary each day

that I take you there."

Michael's mind inevitably raced back to that scene at the mall -- the

last time he had ventured out in male attire. He felt a flush of panic

at a repetition of that unfortunate and terrifying incident.

"Have no fear, I will avoid to the degree that I can the problems of

that last outing. That time it was your wilfulness that prompted my

setting you up for that occurrence. I will get you some less

distinctive and more masculine things to wear. It will be up to you to

do something with your hair and the like to look as presentable as you

can as a boy. Nevertheless, that is my decision and we begin this

afternoon."

Michael suddenly wished he were miles away. Bad as it was to sally out

in skirts, he was fearful of appearing publicly as a boy, with these

curls and plucked brows. He wondered if he could erase every single

trace of cosmetics to ensure that no suspicions were aroused among

those who saw him. And what if someone recognized him -- someone who

had seen him dressed as a girl?

"Secondly, your "disguise" as a boy is only for those limited times you

are at play practice. At all other times, and as soon as you return

each day, you will promptly and carefully revert to the winsome lass we

have worked so hard to cultivate. Is that clear.?"

Michael realized that he had no choice in the matter, as he had no

choice about anything she wished to impose on him. Resigned to the

inevitable, he told her he understood, and turned his thoughts to the

challenge of mastering this duality she had thrust on him.

"Fine, she said. Now, if you like, you may go change. Mind you there

is only about an hour before we go. I want you down here in exactly

sixty minutes ready to leave. Marie has taken some new clothes up to

your room. And another thing: you are forbidden to ask either Marie

or Beth for assistance in this endeavor. What you accomplish in this

reverse make-over is strictly up to you. Now run along."

Jane watched the troubled boy curtsy, as he had been ordered to do,

then mince out of the study. She smiled at the prospect of Michael

anxiously restyling his hair and searching zealously for the slightest

hint of makeup or nail enamel. Jane suspected he would achieve a

passable look, but she was fully aware that even in trousers, the curls

and delicate arch of his brows he would achieve, at best, less than the

all-american boy look.

Michael returned to his room disconsolate. His first reaction was to

check on the clothes that Jane had promised would be there, and he

found them in one section of the large closet in the room. They were,

indeed, more masculine than the clothing she had foisted him the time

before. Corduroys, boy's gabardines and real shirts and pull-overs.

The shoes were there too, not the ambiguous penny loafers, but real

laced oxfords. There were dark blue sox on top of the chest of

drawers, but he saw no male underwear anywhere, and a thorough search

of the drawers disclosed none. The "male facade" was to be just that,

and he resigned himself to having to wear panties beneath it all,

wishing that he had at least one pair of cotton underpants. Such was

not the case.

He doffed his skirt and blouse and slipped out of the hose, slip and

bra. He decided to take another shower, after he had carefully removed

the makeup he had painstakingly applied just hours before. He began by

rubbing each nail with a cotton ball heavily saturated with polish

remover. He wished he had not selected the pink shade, for remnants of

clear nail polish would be less noticeable. He could do noting about

the length of the nails. Though they were not overly long, he

suspected they were longer than a boy could reasonably get by with. He

debated filing them shorter, but remembered the other part of Jane's

directive that he had to resume his guise as Michelle when he came

home. She would most likely remonstrate him for trying this.

Nevertheless, he took an emery board and filed them down slightly.

He applied cream and make-up remover three times before he was

satisfied no trace remained. He jumped into the shower and scrubbed

thoroughly, removing any trace of scent that would alert a passerby.

When he was done, he picked out a pair of the least frilly panties he

could find and put on a white shirt and the cords. As he laced the

oxfords, he felt an odd sense of deja vu being back in these clothes

again.

He sat at the vanity with brush and hair dryer trying diligently to

tone down the ringlets, achieving, finally, what he felt was a passable

male hairstyle. It was far too curly, and the hot steam of the shower

seemed to have intensified that. It would have to do.

With only moments to spare, he arrived downstairs in the foyer.

Neither Beth nor Jane said a word to him, but Jane seemed to smile a

little ruefully as they marched out the door to the car. He was not

particularly reassured. He began to effect a more boyish air, and

prayed fervently to himself that he would not forget and lapse into a

turn of speech or gesture that would be misinterpreted.

They arrived at the community hall which served as the home of the

little theater groups that thrived in the area. Inside, an assembly of

over forty boys and girls were seated in the auditorium seats and two

adults were conversing near the apron of the stage. Jane told the pair

to seat themselves and she strode to the front to speak with one of the

women.

Michael and Beth took seats slightly removed from the rest of the

group. Michael could see that many of the other teenagers were friends

or acquaintances, engaged as they were in affable banter. In age they

ranged from 10 through 15, younger in age that either Beth or Michael,

but then both of Jane's charges appeared more youthful than their

actual years and so they did not stand out in age from this group.

Michael was aware of some stares that were directed his way and could

not be sure if they were the mere curiosity toward a new boy or if, as

he always feared, some inadvertent sign was communicating something odd

about him. He avoided the stares and waited patiently to see what was

to unfold.

After a few minutes time, one of the women walked onto the stage in

front of the curtain and began to call the group to order. A roster of

names was read off, and each youngster responded. When Michael's name

was called, he replied "Here" and once again noticed the inquisitive

stares now that a name had been placed with the strange new boy in the

group.

The woman identified herself as Miss Bishop and then went on to

outline the rules of conduct for those who wanted to participate in the

play. Today, she said, they would all be given a chance to read parts

if they wished. She listed the various roles that were available and

assured the gathering that everyone would have a chance to participate

in the production.

Miss Bishop called for volunteers who wished to read parts, and Beth,

as she had been instructed, raised her hand. Michael was unsure what

to do, and since he had not received instructions from Jane on this

point, elected not to raise his hand. Those who had volunteered were

directed to come down to the front rows, and Michael now found himself

alone and apart from the group as Beth walked down the aisle.

The curtains opened to a relatively bare stage where some signs of set

construction were evident. Miss Bishop passed out copies of small

script books and selected several boys and girls to read assigned

roles. In small groups of 3 or three, she had each mount the stage and

read the lines of their designated characters.

During the auditions, there were the usual gaffes and stilted

deliveries that always accompany first readings. But Beth, who was

called on to read the part of Alice twice, delivered her lines as

though she had studied them in advance, which of course, unbeknownst to

anyone but Jane she had. As a result of Beth's more polished delivery,

she stood out from the other girls who read the part, and, to Michael,

she seemed a shoo-in for the role.

After all the reading trials had been completed, And after consultation

between Miss Bishop and Andrea, the other woman who was assisting her,

she announced that the assignment of parts would be announced the

following afternoon. Now she had all those who had not opted for

speaking parts to walk across the stage. She separated them into

various groups, took notes and again deliberated with her associate.

Gradually the groups were whittled down to categories ranging from 3 to

8. Then this group, too, was told that the parts they would perform

would be announced the following day.

After an hour and a half of this, the assembly was dismissed with

instructions to return at 1:30 the following day.

On the way home, Jane bubbled with praise for Beth's presentation and

expressed her certainty that the role of Alice would go to Beth. In

anticipation of this, and to guarantee that Beth would do a stellar

job, Michael was told that he would have to work with Beth at home to

assist her in getting her lines and movements down pat.

"Beth," she said, "I think you did splendidly. Now we have to be sure

that you carefully learn the part and outshine all the other actors in

the performance. I think I will have Michael help you. You'll help

Beth, won't you, Michael," she said, looking into the rear-view mirror.

Feeling more than a small amount of comradeship with Beth, Michael said

"Of course."

"There," Jane said. "It's settled. You will spend some extra time

together getting Beth into the role. Besides, Michael, it will be good

for you too. Let me tell you, as a teacher, there is much to be said

for memorization of things. And despite the apparent nonsense, Lewis

Carroll has much substance in his writing."

Michael did not respond. He stared out the window as he thought to

himself that he had always excelled at rote memory while at school,

quickly and effortlessly learning obscure passages of poems and

orations assigned by the school masters to his class. He could

probably learn Beth's lines faster than she could, and likely would.

At any rate, this new task that Jane suggested would alleviate the

boredom that had lately been creeping into the life at the house.

They arrived home and, as he was bidden, Michael bustled to his room to

change. He hung the male togs in the closet with a hint of remorse,

and changed into the skirt and blouse that were on the day's agenda.

With a touch of make-up and some remedial measures to his hair, he

returned to the library to find Beth already studying from the little

yellow playbook.

"Hi," she said. "Wanna help?"

"Sure," he allowed, and she produced a duplicate copy of the script for

him. "Let's start at the beginning, just learning lines for a while."

Within an hour they had finished three pages of the book and Michael

knew that by the morning, if he spent another hour alone at it, he

would be able to commit all of Alice's lines and cues within those

three pages to memory. By the end of the session, Michael was

correcting Beth's miscues virtually from memory.

Jane got the call from Dierdre just before dinner.

"Jane, I was quite impressed with your niece today. Andrea and I have

decided to give Beth the part. I thought I'd let you know.

"Well," Jane replied, "that's splendid. I told you that you wouldn't

be disappointed, Dierdre."

"I will be making the announcements at tomorrow's rehearsal. I'd

prefer you have Beth keep this a secret for the time being and act a

little surprised. No sense in appearing to play favorites."

"Of course, Dierdre," Jane said as she smiled to herself.

"Are you sure that Michael shouldn't be considered for a part? He

really is a darling boy." Dierdre proffered.

"No, Dierdre. I think it would be good for him just to get his feet

wet in theater and keep Beth company. There will be time in future.

Actually, I think in time he might do well. But it may be asking a bit

much of him right now."

"Well, as you see fit. Anyway, I will talk to you later. And thank

you, Jane."

"My pleasure, Dierdre," Jane said, realizing that it was, in fact, more

her blessing than Dierdre's.

After dinner, and the announcement that Beth had, indeed, got the part,

Michael sat in his room setting his hair and preparing for bed. As he

twisted his hair on the rods, the seeds of a little game began forming

in his mind. He remembered Jane's outspoken praise of Beth's efforts

in the car that morning, and her beaming approval at dinner when she

announced that Beth had the lead in the play. Michael knew that his

ability to master the lines exceeded that of his female friend. What

if, he thought, I mastered the lines before Beth and even better than

she? It would undoubtedly stick in Jane's craw that Michael, her

annoyance, would outshine Beth, the pet, in this rote memory exercise.

The old witch would be furious about that, but would be able to say

little about it. After all, the suggestion that he assist Beth had

come from Jane and Michael could not help it if he had this facility

with memorization. The prospect of this little turnabout made him

smile to himself.

In fact, Michael thought, I will go one step further. He remembered

Beth's admonition to him a few days earlier in the beauty shop. She

had called it "giving in to Jane's demands," as a means to evading her

continued displeasure with him. That advice had been on his mind

constantly since it had been spoken, especially the part that Beth had

added that the termination of his exile here would end more swiftly if

he exhibited some resignation to Jane's corrective measures.

If he were honest with himself, Michael thought, he had actually grown

to fancy the feel of satins and laces on his skin and the rustle of

slips in these last few weeks. The sensuality of those fabrics,

especially in sensitive areas, was unmistakable. Moreover, the

pretense of dressing as a girl and carrying out the masquerade

successfully was, in itself, a small drama in which he was the star

player. Now that he knew that he could credibly portray a girl, he

realized some small delight in the practice.

He still rebelled outwardly, sometimes, in a vain attempt to project

his sublimated masculinity. Bit that rebellion, he realized, got him

nowhere, and, as Beth had cautioned, only exacerbated his situation.

As long as he accommodated the few women who subjected him to all this,

he seemed less likely to incur the taunts and new plots hatched by Jane

and her confederates.

In fact, he knew that if he displayed more acceptance with Carolyn and

Sandra, they would relent in their mocking. He would try that on his

next visit.

He wanted this to end, and soon, and to return to his normal life. He

knew now that that prospect was his choice to make. He wished that he

had realized this earlier. Perhaps then he would not be attending play

practice dressed as an unconvincing and delicate-looking boy, and

would, instead, be clad in the more convincing girl's attire. For as

much as he tried to mask the fragileness he manifested when in boys

clothes, the length and curl of his hair, and the plucked arch of his

brow and fullness of the false lashes defied camouflage. He knew he

was in for a lot of problems with some of the other boys; that day he

had seen the mocking glances and heard the muted derisive laughter from

some of them today. He dreaded the possible discovery of even the

faintest trace of cosmetics or nail enamel, and was diligent in his

checking for them. He prayed no one would ever see the panties he was

made to wear beneath the trousers.

He resolved to change his attitude.

The next day the award of parts was announced to the assembly and play

books distributed. Beth did a credible job of seeming surprised, and

accepted the script she was given as though she had never seen it

before.

Michael was assigned with a group of other boys to a small part that

would require a short song and a dance, and the group was further

designated to work on scenery. As the newly assigned speakers mounted

the stage to begin practicing, Michael and the other boys were led by

Andrea to the workshop backstage and put to work with paintbrushes

decorating the scenery flats.

It was here, when Andrea left the room, that the teasing began.

"Does your mommy curl your hair for you, Mikey?" As the other boys

giggled at this, Michael saw that it had come from A boy of 14 named

Matt Page. He was a leader of the group, though not all the boys

deferred to his arrogance. Michael elected to let the slur pass and

continued painting.

"You sure are a pretty little thing, Mikey," the taunts went on. "Bet

you have more dolls than baseball gloves to play with at home."

Michael suffered these indignities in silence as the chorus was picked

up by some of the others.

"He's prettier than half the girls in this show." one said. "C'mon,

sissy. Kitty-cat got your tongue?" Not going to cry now are you?"

Michael's lack of reaction to all of this did not quell the taunts, but

they changed from direct confrontation to jokes made about him in the

abstract, third person. He felt growing embarrassment, but he

instinctively reasoned that any retort would prove fruitless and, most

likely, provocative. He had no desire to get into a confrontation with

any of these boys. He kept working, feigning a sense of obliviousness.

Fortunately Andrea came back in the room and her presence muzzled the

aspersions. Though the vocal abuse stopped, he could still hear the

whispers and stifled titters. He was an outsider who presented a

convenient foil to the cruelties of a group of bonded teen-age boys.

Andrea stayed the rest of the session, working on costumes with three

of the girls. At 3:30 the group was dismissed, and Michael hurried to

find Beth in the theater, avoiding the small gang. Marie was waiting

to take them home.

"Why so glum, Michael?" Beth said, as she stood by the vanity in his

room and watched him re-apply his makeup.

"I got a little teasing today, Beth. I'm sure it's just the beginning,

Jane has really pulled a rotten trick on me, making me go there as a

boy. I'm going to have a bunch of trouble with some of those guys, I'm

afraid."

"Try to forget it, Michael," she counseled. "You wouldn't find

yourself in this mess if you had just gone along with her before. I

worry about you sometimes. She's just punishing you because you won't

get the message and give in. You have to go along and get along --

both here at home and at rehearsal. I'll help you, but you are the one

who has to change before the situation is going to change."

He thought about this and found it reinforced his thoughts of the

previous evening.

"I'll try Beth. I really will. But I felt like punching that asshole

this afternoon."

"For gods sake! Don't do anything stupid like that. If you get kicked

out of this play group she will really come down on you. This play

will be over in another 5 or 6 weeks and then you won't have to worry

about it. It's only a couple of hours a day. Maybe I can speak to

Miss Bishop."

"Let's not just yet. I'll try to work it out. Thanks, Beth. You

really are a good friend."

By the end of the third week of rehearsals, the direct confrontation

with Matt Page and the more vocal of his cronies had diminished.

Michael was still an outsider and subject to occasional verbal abuse,

but status had been set, And now that they had bored of continuing to

demean him, he had simply been relegated to the permanent role of

"Sissy Mickey", the belittling appellation they had hung on him.

In part they had laid off him because he endured the mockery with no

response. In no small degree, he also thought, it became increasingly

difficult for the group to treat him with derision given the fact that

they, themselves, had to don darling little costumes and learn and

practice a fetching little song and dance routine that was their part

in the play. Moreover, Michael detected a note of sympathy from some

of the boys --they were not all as bullying as Page. Once one of

Page's flunkies had challenged Michael to a fight, and before things

got out of hand, Ted Wyatt had stepped in and told the tormentor to lay

off. Michael was more than grateful to Ted.

There was a girl in the cast that Michael was attracted to. Her name

was Karen Austin, and Michael thought her to be one of the prettiest

girls he had ever seen. Karen was over seventeen. a little older than

the other cast members. He went out of his way to talk to her when she

was alone and not amid the gaggle of girls, for he knew that if he

spent too much time with groups of the girls he would open the door to

more torment from the Page bunch.

Nevertheless, Karen was very special. She had warm blue eyes and

gorgeous blond curls. She was kind to him and more than once censured

the teasing that she knew he received from the others.

"Michael," she had said to him one day. "Don't let them get to you.

We are all made the way we are, and I, for one, think you are cute. I

don't think you are a sissy like the others. As a matter of fact, I

like curly-headed boys." She smiled as she said this, making him feel

at ease, as she had intended.

Karen, as it turned out, lived a life not unlike his own, in the sense

that she was alone. Her mother was deceased and her Father worked for

a large oil company that required him to travel a lot. She lived with

a grandmother, had made very few friends since she came to Hampton

three months before, and seemed rather lonely. She had tried out for

this play in hopes of meeting some new friends, yet Michael, she had

said, was the closest friend she had made. The girls in the class were

cliquish, and, besides, none lived near her. She was desperately

lonely for Bethesda, Maryland where the family had lived before her

father's last promotion.

Michael was very sympathetic and solicitous of the loneliness she

expressed, for he, too, felt that loneliness that accompanies an

uprooting and new surroundings. He felt sad that after the play was

over the likelihood of seeing Karen again would fade and they would

both be diminished by that.

As the play practice went on, he found himself finding more and more

opportunities to spend time with Karen. She was spirited and fun, and

she less than subtly conveyed a growing fondness and attraction for

Michael which was more than just friendly.

One afternoon she had invited him to go with her for a soda after

practice, and Jane had consented. Karen had her own car and had

assured Jane she would drive Michael home in time for dinner. Jane,

knowing Michael had nowhere to run, had allowed it. Karen and Michael

had strolled around town and had sat for an hour in the cafe sipping a

Coke. As they had strolled, Karen had taken the initiative to slide

her hand into Michael's. They chemistry between them was perceptible,

and Michael wished he could see more of her...and for a longer time and

in a more personal way.

Karen had a lot of wisdom for a girl her age. For one thing, she

professed boredom with the macho attitude of the "babies" as she called

the Page bunch. Michael felt almost uncomfortable as Karen went on at

length about the unfairness of society's demands on both men and women,

stereotyping them into pigeonholes and deriding any deviation from

those set standards.

On one occasion, Michael felt a pang of misgiving mixed with curiosity

when Karen lamented the fact that boys and men were deprived of the

nice things girls got to do. It was an innocent comment, made in no

particular context; but considering the double life that Michael was

then living, the remark had special significance. Nevertheless, his

curiosity was a product of his wondering why she would bring this up,

and he had gingerly pursued it.

"Why do you say that, Karen?'

"I don't know," she said. "It just came to mind. Maybe it's just me.

I get great enjoyment out of a new dress or a trip to the beauty shop.

I don't think a man gets that same degree of satisfaction by a suit or

a haircut. Maybe girls are just that way. Still, I think it a little

unfair."

He had not pursued it further, afraid his interest might be

misinterpreted. But the thought and her words lingered with him.

Perhaps this attitude was more widespread among women and girls than he

had thought.

The weeks went by, and he and Beth worked diligently at home on her

lines and movements, staying well-ahead of the schedule that Miss

Bishop had imposed on the cast. Less than three weeks before the dress

rehearsal, Beth was fully conversant with the role, and Michael knew it

even better than she.

Meanwhile he was the model of supple acquiescence at home,anticipating

nearly every one of Jane's whims and keeping himself winsome and sweet

at all times. He gradually fell into a totally automatic and

unpretentious deportment as a girl, such that his concentration on

boyish mannerisms while at rehearsal became the part of him that

required careful attention. Having abandoned the obstinacy that had

marked the first part of his stay, he found he was more comfortable in

this imposed role. He became more fastidious about his clothes,

eliminating the need for daily counselling on what he was to wear, a

point that Jane noted with approval. His hair and makeup were flawless

in execution. Indeed, free of his hostility, he began to derive some

satisfaction and even heightened eroticism from the feminine

accouterments that comprised his existence. He thought of Karen's

remark one morning as he lay in bed, luxuriating in the soft touch of

his gown and agreed that there were appealing aspects to this life.

Jane was exceedingly pleased. In fact, she had agreed to let him spend

more afternoons and even one Saturday with Karen as a reward for his

conformity. He grew to enjoy these liaisons more and more. He was

growing exceedingly fond of Karen.

11. Chapter

It was in late August -- just a week before the play performance --

that everything seemed to come unravelled. Jane had summoned him to

her study one Monday morning. "Sit down Michael. I have something

rather important to discuss with you."

He seated himself on the settee, careful to smooth his skirts beneath

him.

"Beth will be leaving us today. You can say your goodbyes in a minute.

Your friend is waiting for you in the garden. Beth's time to stay is

at an end. For public consumption outside this house it will be said

that there has been a family crisis that caused this to happen. At any

rate, the train for New York leaves in just over two hours. I'm sorry

I wasn't able to tell you about this sooner."

Michael was speechless. Beth had become an ally, a confidant. Michael

was mystified as to how life would go on in this house without her. He

felt more than saddened; he felt a sense of loneliness creep over him.

"This event was inevitable, Michael. Or, as I shall consistently call

you from this point forward, Michelle. Life goes on, transitions

happen. This is a transition, Michelle. You will understand more of

this in a little while. This next hour is going to be filled with its

share of surprises, even shocks, for you. I suggest we get on with it.

Go meet your friend."

Michael left the study and headed to the garden. There was no

immediate sign of Beth, but Michael was surprised to see the figure of

a young man seated on the wrought iron bench, his back to Michael.

Perhaps this young man had come to take Beth to the airport.

Feeling somewhat perplexed, he looked around for the girl he had come

to know as his friend, then called, tentatively "Beth?"

The youth turned at the call and Michael saw his face. The resemblance

was virtually unmistakable. Michael was sure this must be a brother.

"Hello, Michael," the young man said. Michael was taken aback at

hearing his true name. Not only did the youth know his name, but had

said it to someone dressed as a girl. Beth must have told him, Michael

thought!

"Michael," the youth said, " it's me....Beth."

Surprise gave way to shock. Michael reeled, his legs turning to jelly.

"Wh...what?!" was all that came out.

"It's Beth, Michael, or David, which is my real name."

"I...I....I don't...."

"You don't understand. Of course. Sit down...please." The voice was

friendly, calm.

"I know it's a shock, Michael," the youth said quietly, "it always is.

But believe me, I am Beth -- or I was until early this morning. Let me

explain."

Michael sat down, relieved to ease the shaking in his legs. Even

though he gained a measure of composure, he was shaken and baffled by

these words.

"I just came from Sandy. She is almost as good at reversing her work

as she is in doing it. You see me now as I am. Just be quiet a minute

and I'll try to explain all of this to you."

"My real name is David Brost. I came here eight months ago. Like you,

I had been in some trouble, but I'm sure my problems were worse than

yours. You see, I got into some trouble which could have involved the

police. Fortunately for me, the officer who questioned me was a friend

-- no, actually a graduate of Jane's school. I got the choice of here

or a potential trip to reform school so I chose here. I was as naive

as you were when I came here, but looking back at the options, I'm

better off having picked here. And once I was here, there was no going

back"

Michael's mind reeled over these revelations. David had more

information to impart, so Michael remained silent.

"I was like you are just half a year ago. You might want to chastise

me for not telling you all about myself sooner, but that is the rule

here. Nothing can be revealed without Jane's permission. A part of

that is security and part is an element of the process. You would not

have come as far as you have if you had known about me."

"And I stress the security! If it were to be discovered what Jane is

doing here, it would have a very bad effect on me and everyone who has

come through here. You must always keep silent about these matters. I

have more to say about that in a minute, but promise me that you will

abide by that rule! It could devastate me if it were discovered how I

have lived these last eight months."

Michael assured David the secret was safe and waited for him to

continue.

"Believe me, Michael, there is something to be learned here. When I

look back on what I was when I arrived, I am amazed. I have a new

appreciation for things I barely understood then. I have felt a sense

of release by letting go of things that were a weight on me. TO be

frank, I have enjoyed secret moments of enjoyment being dressed in

girls' clothing. I suspect I may do it again from time to time because

of that I get a kick out of being dolled up -- something I would have

found repulsive a year ago."

"There is something of a revolving door in this place. Perhaps in a

few weeks you will find a new "Michael" or "David" here and you will

become that person's mentor. One never knows. I heard Jane on the

phone last Friday talking to someone, so it is at least possible. For

your sake, and mine and the new boy's, you must be Michelle and not

Michael. Do you understand?"

Michael did not understand, completely. Yet in deference to his friend

he nodded assent.

"Good. Now, as to you. You have made it harder on yourself here than

you needed to. I tried to warn you, but you seemed hell-bent on not

listening. These last few weeks you have changed, but it came too

late, so you find yourself forced to live a double identity, as

Michelle here and as Michael at the theater."

"Jane's technique works. You have been one of her most difficult...so

she told me. My warnings to you fell on deaf ears, you blockhead. I

was a lot quicker than you to pick up the vibes on what it takes to get

out of here." This last was delivered with such good-will that Michael

did not take it as an insult, but smiled wanly in response.

The play! It suddenly occurred to Michael that with Beth...David gone,

what was to become of the play. Michael voiced this concern.

"Michelle, that's part of the plot, don't you see? She planned it this

way before we ever went to tryouts. What did she tell you 'death in

the family?' 'Family crisis?' She's totally covered as to my

departure. She had your school record; I read it. 'Very facile in

memorization.' She knew you would have the lines down better than I.

She will call Dierdre and volunteer you to take my place. You see,

have to reap the consequences of your imprudence."

A new flood of awareness engulfed Michael. Did they seriously believe

that he was going to step into the role of Alice? He couldn't. An

image of Matt Page's jeering face popped into his mind.

While Michael and David were in the garden, Jane undertook a pressing

task. She dialed Dierdre Bishop at home.

"Dierdre, dear," Jane said, when the woman answered the phone, "this is

Jane. Dierdre, I'm afraid I have some rather disturbing news to tell

you. Beth has been called home on a family emergency and must leave

today."

It did not take long for the significance of Jane's words to sink in.

Dierdre's concern was clearly over her production, and not the gravity

of the 'family emergency' that Jane had alluded to.

"My God Jane, that's terrible. I mean...what are we going to do. That

is....well, I hope it's nothing serious?"

"I'm afraid that it is quite serious, Dierdre; I'm afraid that there is

simply no choice. Beth will be leaving on the noon flight to

Richmond." "I realize that this signifies a blow to the play, and I am

most put out about that. I hope that you have someone who can fill

in." "No we don't, Dierdre said. There was a short silence as the

gravity of this news sunk in at the other end of the phone. With

resignation, Dierdre said, "I guess we'll just have to scrub the show.

It is going to be a terrible disappointment to the cast."

"I can appreciate that," Jane said with mock sincerity. "It's a real

pity that none of the other girls can fill in. I guess these things

happen, and always at the worst of times."

Dierdre had felt a sinking feeling that was quickly merging into

depression. She dreaded calling all the students and their parents,

and, most of all, Mr. Finch, the chairman of the sponsoring committee

of the community theater. Royalty expenses and production costs would

be totally lost now.

"No, we'll just have to cancel," Dierdre said despondently. "No one

else knows the part."

"Surprisingly, Dierdre, Michael knows it thoroughly. He and Beth have

been working together since the rehearsals began. I think he knows it

better than she did. he surprised me with how quickly he mastered the

lines....just helping Beth. But, of course, it would be unthinkable

for a boy to take that role."

"Oh, my God, yes," Dierdre agreed. "Why, not even thinking about the

devastating impact that would have on the boy, I think many of the

parents and certainly the committee would put the kibosh on that."

Jane thought that maybe she had been too clever by half. Dierdre was

not picking up on the offer as had been hoped. Well, nevertheless, she

thought to herself, the exercise had not all been in vain, for Michael

improved dramatically during these last few weeks. The mere subjection

to going out as a boy had worked its intended end.

"Again, Dierdre, I am truly sorry about this. I hope that you can work

something out."

She rang off. Time will tell, she thought. She saw the two boys

engaged in deep conversation through the garden windows, glanced at her

watch and made mental note of the time it would take to transport David

to the station. They had about an hour and a half.

It was less than an hour later when the phone rang. It was dierdre,

sounding more spirited than when she had last spoken to Jane, albeit a

little tentative.

"Jane," she began, "are you certain that Michael knows the part?"

"Quite sure, Dierdre," Jane replied. He has coached Beth through the

last seven weeks. Why do you ask."

"Jane, would you agree to let Michael take the part in the

performance....I know that is a totally preposterous suggestion, but we

are really left with no other choice."

Jane paused the necessary amount to feign deep consideration of this,

and managed to exude just the right degree of uncertainty when she

responded.

"Dierdre, I'm not sure. I mean perhaps it is asking too much of a boy

to make him get up on the stage in a dress and act a girl's part. I

just don't know."

Dierdre's response sounded a little disappointed, as though she had

expected Jane would not be warm to the idea. To avoid a complete

flagging of Dierdre's interest, Jane spoke again.

"I mean I could ask him...I don't know what he would say. But you also

mentioned that there might be some opposition from some parents and

your committee."

"Well, that's the surprising part. I did call some of the mothers and

they were not totally adverse to the idea, I mean with all the time

that's been put in. Mr. Finch, of course, is most concerned about

recouping some of the cost that this performance has incurred. At

first he was cool and a little hostile, but then he seemed to

rationalize it by saying that it was mere play acting and making

allusions to Elizabethan Theater and saying that if the boy did not

feel overly antagonistic to the idea he would not object."

"Well, Dierdre, all I can do is ask him. You don't have a rehearsal

today, do you?

"No. Today was set aside for costume fittings and lighting tests. But

I could spend some time with Michael if he accepted that is, to see

how...or if it might work."

Well, as I said, I will ask and get back to you. I have to take Beth

to the station. Would...say...12:30 be soon enough to call you?"

"Yes, fine," Dierdre replied. "Call me at the theater."

"Fine," said Jane. "In fact, if Michael agrees, we could just stop by

on the way back from the station."

A few pleasantries followed and Jane detected true relief and hope in

Dierdre's voice as she hung up.

"Michael, I speak to you as a dear friend. My predecessor her, a guy

named Terry, was such a friend. He is a graduate student now in

Chicago. I call him from time to time...Jane allows that. You can

call me, too. I'll leave the number. But you have to learn that there

is no way out of here until you totally give in. When you do, and if

you are willing to play by the rules, there is a prospect of going back

to where you came from. But in the bigger scheme of things, you will

do far better if you relish the experience, taking from it the fun and

going along with the requirements. I speak to you as someone who

cares."

Michael remained downcast, cognizant of the fact that David spoke the

truth, yet worried about what would become of him when his friend left.

He especially worried about being made to play Alice in the play. But

it was the sense of loss and betrayal that bothered him most.

"Michael, I have to go soon. I hope you will come to understand this

and understand your part in it all. I like you a lot and I wish you

nothing but good things. Make them good. It's your choice."

David gave him a brotherly hug, and Michael returned it to him, sad to

say goodbye to a friend, uneasy about his own future. David left him

alone in the garden. That was to be the last time he saw his confidant

for a long time.

Michael returned to the study to re-confront his nemesis.

"Michelle," Jane began, " I presume that David has told you about the

possibility -- or rather the certainty that you are going to take his

place in the play?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I guess that is what you had in mind all

the time."

"Indeed. I have broached the prospect with Miss Bishop and I only just

received word that it is an acceptable alternative to canceling the

play. You will take the part and you will do it in the manner that I

am confident you are capable of. It will, of course, be demeaning and

difficult, but then that is the hardship you have brought upon

yourself. I am confident that when this is over, you will have

graduated to be a suitable replacement for our David now that he is

leaving. You understand all this, I take it."

"Yes ma'am:, Michael replied, understanding now that he had truly given

in to the woman's scheme and had been recast in the mold she had sought

from the outset.

"Good," she answered. "Then after we have said our goodbyes to David

at the station, I will take you over to the theater where Dierdre wants

to test your mastery of the part. I trust you will do well?"

"Yes, ma'am" came the response.

"Very well, then let us bid adieu to our young friend, Beth, and get on

with it."

12. Chapter

They arrived at the theater the day of the final practice before dress

rehearsal just nearing one o'clock. Dierdre asked him solicitously if

he was, in fact, willing to do this. he said that he was, and she

indicated that she must test his knowledge of the part.

Dierdre assembled the cast in the theater seats and announced that Beth

had been called home due to a family emergency. A wave of concern

about the prospects for the play spread through the group before

Dierdre could interpose her remarks that they had a substitute for the

part. Dierdre was careful to lay some groundwork by saying that the

prospective replacement had a chance to study the part with Beth, and

was able to quickly pick up the lines. Then, at last, she announced

that Michael was going to take the part.

A bustle of whispers flooded through the audience, a mixture of

astonishment and puzzlement at this announcement. As expected, all

heads turned and eyes stared at him. The titters from the boy's

section were about as he expected, and Page made a loud guffaw,

followed by a loud "Mikey gets to be a girl!"

"Enough!" Dierdre said firmly. "We have but two choices here: either

let Michael play the part or cancel this show. Now I let you decide.

Do you want all the work you have done these last seven weeks to go for

nothing or do you want to give this a try? I know it will not be easy

for Michael to do this, but it will be a lot harder if you all give him

a hard time about it."

The murmurs continued, but the content of the hushed discussions was

now bent toward responding to that choice Dierdre had posed. In a

ridiculous bid to seek some democratic resolution of the issue, Dierdre

asked for a show of hands, and, as was expected, they all agreed to

give it a try. The boys even voted in favor of the proposition, though

Michael suspected their motives were less than forthright. Given the

choice, they would probably have opted totally out of this ordeal that

their mothers had insisted they engage in; they were more interested in

witnessing his humiliation.

He caught Karen's eye and saw that she had a warm smile for him. He

derived more than mere comfort from this comradely support. He smiled

back.

The decision made, and a final run-through was done. Michael mounted

the stage and took his cue from her reading of the counter-parts from

the script. He executed the lines and movements faultlessly and, he

felt, delivered an even better presentation of the role than Beth.

Michael endured the occasional snickers as he did his best to deliver a

good presentation of the part. Some were impressed by his rendition;

those that found humor in it were ignored.

They were all told to be at the theater the following day by noon for

the dress rehearsal. Michael reflected that that meant he would be at

Marisha Chalet by nine, for Jane had told him that was a necessary

prerequisite. He felt the usual uneasiness at what the unholy duo

there would have in store for him. God he would be glad when Saturday

had come and gone.

Dierdre had seemed pleased with the performance, for she and Jane

entered into a spirited conversation with Dierdre clearly thrilled with

what she had seen.

He stood like a superfluous witness to this tete-a-tete until Dierdre

announced that they needed to check the costume for proper fit. This

was the essence of his discomfort, the start of the inexorable ordeal

that was to be. He followed the two women to the green room where

Dierdre took down Beth's costume and told him to try it on, thankful

that, for the moment, the rest of the cast was gone.

He feigned some unfamiliarity with the pinafore and apron, and Dierdre

encouragingly helped him fasten it. He donned the stockings and Mary

Janes and stood before them chagrined as any boy would be in such

attire.

"He'll need petticoats, Jane. Should I get some?"

"Not necessary, Dierdre. We have some of Beth's at home and I can get

everything he needs."

'Beth's indeed, 'he thought. He would wear his own petticoats under

this costume, unbeknownst to Dierdre.

""I don't know what to do about the hair. We could get a wig, I

suppose," Dierdre posited.

"Dierdre," Jane said, "I have an idea. I know some people who run a

beauty shop in Kingston. Perhaps they can do something about the hair.

I take it you wanted shoulder length, with some curl."

"Yes," Dierdre replied. "Like this," showing Jane a costume plate of a

costumed 'Alice'.

"We'll take care of that," Jane said, and Michael resigned himself to

further ministrations of Carolyn and Sandy at the salon.

"Well, I think he will do fine. I just hope he feels ok about this. I

will make it a point to talk to the other boys, but I am sure that

there is bound to be some boyish teasing. I hope it is not too

severe."

'Boyish teasing', Michael thought. 'That is an understatement.

With that, they finished and he had only the dress rehearsal and two

performances of the play to get through. The minimal number of

appearances did not diminish the cold feeling he had about this.

Friday morning he was up and dressed as 'Michael' by eight and down

to breakfast. Marie was delegated to take him to the salon, Jane

advising she would pick him up afterward. He felt a new sense of

trepidation going to the salon dressed as a boy rather than in his

usual skirts, and hoped that this particular visit would not contribute

to any disclosure of his true self. It would be a new experience, and

he hoped that Carolyn and Sandy would understand his predicament and

use a private booth to work on him.

Arriving at the salon, Michael felt ill-at-ease, being clad as Michael

and not 'Michelle'. He was grateful that he was shown to a private

cubicle, away from the stares of the other patrons. Sandy was the

operator selected to do him over.

"So, dear heart, you're going to be in a play. Jane said I was to be

extra particular about your hair today. God, you really have done a

muddle with my work last week. We're going to have to start from

scratch."

"I'm sorry, Sandy. But it's tough trying to be Michael when you and

Carolyn devise such intricate hair styles for Michelle." "You know,

luv, that's just about the first compliment I think I have ever heard

from you about what we do. You may be coming along. So lets get with

it."

She washed his hair and reset it. The latent curls from the permanents

were embellished and a cascading wiglet intermeshed into his own hair.

As expected, with a ribbon band at the crown, the style portrayed an

enchanting girl's hairdo. That image was somewhat inane given the male

trousers and shirt he wore. He was grateful that when he was done,

apparently by prior agreement with Jane, he was escorted out the back

door of the salon and into the waiting Lincoln.

Arriving at the theater, he felt acutely uncomfortable, positively

obsessed with getting into his costume to diminish the dissimilarity

between the way he looked and the way he was dressed. He swiftly made

his way to the dressing room and found the costume and its accessories

hung on racks. His appearance in male clothes and the curly hairdo

produced loud guffaws from the boys already there. Taunts of "sissy

Michael" and "Isn't he cute?" punctuated the air. His ears reddened.

He grabbed the costume and headed to one of the nearby lavatories.

With a dexterity he had learned over the last few months, he quickly

got into the underclothes, hose, dress and apron. As each garment was

put on, more of the male facade was shed and he began to project a more

acceptable feminine pretext. He began to feel more comfortable,

notwithstanding the razzing he was sure to get when the other boys saw

him.

The boys in the changing room were also dressing in costume. A lot

of the burly machismo diminished as they put on these dainty little

outfits. As if to abate their discomfort with this activity, they cast

the occasional aspersion at Michael bedecked in the petite dress that

was his costume.

"Pretty little girl," Page had said. "Very precious. How does it feel

to be flitting around in that little skirt, Mikey?" He dropped his

wrist in a mincing mimic of scorn. Michael found it easy to overlook

this jibe, for attired it leotards and tights, page did not present an

image of masculinity, himself.

Michael finished dressing and withdrew to a chair in the green room

while the cast was being made-up. He sat watching the line of boys

submitting one by one to Andrea's applications from her palette of

paints. He found some satisfaction in watching page and his

compatriots being subjected to paints and powders. They seemed far

less macho with eyeshadow, rouge and lipstick applied to their

adolescent faces. Michael felt a mixture of sympathy for them and a

sense of reciprocation. Cosmetics had a way of humiliating the most

lofty ego. As each boy was subjected to Andrea's brushes and colors,

their pluck seemed to mellow, and they became more docile.

He was especially gladdened as he watched Page in his little satin

elf's costume submitted to eyeliner, rouge and lipstick and a most

colorful shade of eyeshadow. The boy's arrogance gave way quickly to

pliable obedience as the rosiness spread on his cheeks.

Of course, Michael was the star attraction, and when his name was

called, he stood up and submitted to Andrea as well, the now more

subdued sneering still evident. He could visualize the colors and

their effect on his face, having done himself it so many times before.

He knew that between Andrea and Sandy he would appear very girlish and

petite when all was done.

When the dress rehearsal was over, Michael started back to the green

room to remove his makeup and change from his costume. Karen stopped

him in the corridor.

"You were great, Michael!" she said. "You were a very convincing

'Alice'.

"Thanks, Karen. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get through it. I

feel so damned silly in this dress. I guess you heard Page and his

cronies and their comments."

"Oh, just forget them," she replied. "Their opinion isn't worth beans.

Frankly I think you make a very pretty girl. It's a shame you can't

wear clothes like that all the time. Just kidding."

Karen did not know how ironic that comment really was, of course, and

Michael was not about to dwell on it. But he could not resist a

comment.

"Between you and me, Karen, they are kind of fun," he whispered. "I

remember you once saying how unfortunate it was that boys never get to

wear things like this."

"Well, you look great. Of course makeup makes everyone look great."

"Well, I better get changed," he said, as he resumed his walk to the

changing room.

"Michael, let me ask you something. Do you think you could get

permission to go out with me after the show tomorrow night? There was

supposed to be a cast party, but a lot of us aren't going. There's a

rock concert in town that a lot of them are going to, so Dierdre may

reschedule the party. But you and I could go out and maybe do

something."

"I can see. I'll have to ask my aunt."

"Ok, well....persuade her. It may be the last time I get to see you

for a while now that the play is over. Maybe she'd even let you stay

over at my house tomorrow night."

Michael promised her he would ask, and went into the boys changing room

and removed and hung the dress and underthings. He heard the few

snickers from the boys remaining there, but Page and his bunch had

cleared out of the theater immediately after the show, and Michael was

grateful for this. God, he would be glad when this thing was all over

tomorrow.

He was leaving the changing room when he confronted Miss Bishop.

"Michael, you did splendidly!" she said. "You don't know how you saved

us. I hope it wasn't too embarrassing to play Beth's part. You are a

very brave boy to have done this."

"Thank you, Dierdre, I'm glad I could help. Yes, I did get some

teasing, but I guess it will be all over by tomorrow, so I'm not going

to worry about it."

"Well, dear, I am so very indebted to you." She gave him a tentative

hug, and he was glad that somebody took this in the spirit of

thankfulness, without mockery or the dubious motives that Jane had had

in getting him into this. The chat with Karen and with Dierdre

alleviated a lot of his discomfort.

He actually welcomed the sight of Jane, and accompanied her out of the

theater. Like Dierdre, though clearly with baser motives, Jane was

effusive in her praise. Nevertheless, she could not resist putting in

some self-gratifying comments about how her efforts had been the

cornerstone of his convincing performance. As was his recent wont,

Michael smiled and agreed, and they started the drive home. After some

silence, he spoke.

"Jane," he said, "do you remember Karen, the girl in the play I told

you about?"

"Yes, Michelle, I do", Jane replied. "A very lovely girl."

"Well, Karen wanted me to go out with her tomorrow night after the

show. Would it be OK?"

"Hmmm," Jane murmured as she thought about this. "Go where?"

"I don't know. There was supposed to be a cast party, but I guess it's

going to be postponed. It may be the last time I see Karen in a while

and I just thought....well, we wouldn't be too late. Well, she also

asked if I could stay over at her house."

Jane thought about it a moment and wondering if there there was any

harm in agreeing.

"Hmm," she finally said. "I suppose I would have no problem with you

going out for a while. But staying over at her house. That does

present some problems. Whom does she live with?"

"Her grandmother. She said you could call to check if you needed."

"You realize, of course, Michael," that there are some dangers in that.

Not just the proximity, but, well, I don't know how serious the two of

you are. I leave it to your own judgmenet, but I don't want any

problems."

"No, Aunt Jane. None at all."

"Well, alright," she finally said, "I think it will be ok. But then,

Michelle, there is always the possibility that Karen could come over to

the house whenever you wanted her to."

"That would present problems, Jane, and you know it. I think that is

out of the question."

Jane merely smiled at the answer. They continued the drive in silence.

The following matinee and evening performance were, for all practical

purposes, a repeat of the dress rehearsal, except that the audience was

present. The presence of audience prompted Michael to be especially

convincing in the role, a fact that, while persuading the audience,

made his effeminacy all the more pronounced in the eyes of his peers.

He had told Karen that afternoon that he had received permission to

stay overnight at her house. She had been gleeful at the prospect, and

said they would chat about it after the evening show.

When the evening program was over, he looked for Karen but did not

immediately find her. He started back to the green room to finally rid

himself of this costume. Karen was at the end of the corridor and

waved, beckoning him to meet her in a small room off that corridor.

"Once again, an outstanding job." she said as he entered the small

room."

"Thanks, Karen. I'm just glad it's over. I'm tired of all this

teasing."

"Well I never teased you. In fact I even complimented you. I think

you look great. I don't see anything wrong with a boy wearing those

things for a play. Did you see how cute Pagie and his crowd looked."

She laughed. Her laugh was infectious, and in a sense of relief, he

joined in her giggles.

"All set to go out?' she asked.

"Sure, I just have to go get changed and I'm ready to go." he started

to turn when she stopped him.

"Michael, if I asked you to do me a big, big favor, would you?" At this

point, Michael was very smitten with Karen and knew that he would do

most anything she asked him. It was that infatuation and trust that

jaded his answer. He would do just about anything for this lovely

girl, and delivered a fairly unqualified "Sure Karen. What?"

"Well...." she hesitated, weighing her words, "would you leave your

makeup on and leave your hair the way it is?"

The request startled Michael. How in hell did she expect that he could

go out of the theater, out with her for the evening, even spend the

night at her house without changing and removing his makeup?

"I don't understand, Karen. Why would you want me to do that?"

"I just thought it would be fun and I would like to play a little trick

on my grandmother. She doesn't know that a boy is coming over

tonight...not that I lied to her, I just said a friend. Besides, I

like you like that. Would you, just for me?"

"But Karen, I haven't anything to wear out of here. I have slacks and

a shirt. I mean it would look a little silly..."

She interrupted. "I already thought of that. I brought an extra

outfit you can wear. Come on, just for fun. Just tonight."

He hesitated. It was an odd and outrageous request, and she had

tricked him into agreeing to her favor in advance. He feared she might

even back out of their date if he balked.

"Karen, I'd feel awfully silly going out like this. Is it really that

important?"

"I'd really like it if you would. Of course, if you would rather

not..." The pout in her voice was evident by the way she trailed off.

What the hell, he thought, was it any different than going back to

Jane's and getting into a skirt?

"You promise no one will see me?"

"It's dark outside. I hid some clothes in the girl's bathroom by the

back door and my car is parked just outside. You can change and we can

be out the back door before anyone sees us."

"Well, I'll have to take some of this makeup off. I mean people will

be watching."

"Sure, I know. Just leave a little bit on. And then after you've

changed, sneak down to the bathroom and I'll meet you. Just make sure

no one sees you."

Michael was not at all sure about this, but he mulled it over in his

mind as he went into the changing room, removed the Alice costume and

slipped into his trousers and shirt. Were it not for the fact that he

desparately wanted to spend time with Karen, this exorbitant request of

hers would go begging. But in his infatuation, he saw no harm in

playing along with her. The underwear and petticoats were to go home,

so he left on the panties, camisole and hose and slipped the petticoat

into the bag. He took the dress, apron and shoes and checked them in

with Andrea, returning to the bathroom on to remove some of his makeup.

There were jars of cold creme and tissues, and he delicately removed

all but a trace of the color from his face. He peeked into the green

room.

Andrea was still was busy checking costumes in, and he noticed that

many of the cast had already left. It was not much problem to slip out

into the corridor and he hurried to meet Karen.

The hallway was bare, and no one saw him make his way down the corridor

and slip into the lavatory. Karen was already there.

"Here," she said, go in here, opening the door to one of the stalls. I

hung everything up in there and there are shoes on the top of the john.

Hurry up."

It was all there. Skirt, blouse, even a half-slip. He slipped into

them quickly and replaced his oxfords with the flats, surprised that

everything fit. Karen was about an inch or more taller than he was,

but their measurements were the same. He stuffed his own things into

the bag with the petticoats and, bracing himself, he opened the stall

door and stepped tentatively into the bathroom. Karen was

surreptitiously checking the hallway through a slightly open door and,

when she was sure it was safe, gave him the signal. The pair slipped

out the bathroom and through the fire doors to the outside. A quick

dash and they were both seated in Karen's car. Michael's heart was

racing.

The car pulled away and Michael breathed a slight sigh of relief,

disconcerted, nevertheless, to be out with this girl he fancied,

dressed like this. He could not really fathom why Karen had made this

request, but since she had never teased him and must have her own

reasons, which he trusted implicitly, he decided to view it as a lark

and go along with it.

"You kind of messed up your hair when you were changing," she said,

"and you took off too much makeup. We may have to fix that."

She turned onto Tow Bridge Road and started toward Knightsbridge.

Michael was thankful they were leaving town, it being less likely they

would encounter someone he knew in the neighboring town.

"We'll fix that up down the road." They sped on until she saw an Exxon

station and turned in. She told the attendant inside to fill the tank

and borrowed the key to the ladies room. As she walked toward it, she

gestured to Michael to follow her. He was able to get out of the car

and follow her before he was even noticed by the attendant.

Once inside the drab cubicle she produced a small brush from her bag

and had him turn so she could fuss with his hair. She removed the

large satin ribbon and replaced it with a less childish version.

Seemingly unsatisfied with his look, she produced a blush and lipstick

and added a little of the color he had removed. His eyes, apparently,

were alright. He felt a little strange being done up by a girl he had

a crush on.

"Golly, Michael, this lipstick color looks a lot better on you than it

does to me. Here, put it in your pocket in case you need it later."

He slipped it into the small pocket of the skirt, not knowing when or

why he might need it.

"Here," she said, "I brought these, too. Just a little added touch."

She placed a strand of faux pearls around his neck and fastened the

clasp at the back.

"There," she announced. "You look adorable. And I'm not teasing you,

believe me."

He smiled wanly, blanching a little at the embarrassing remark, but

certain she meant no insult by it.

"Let's go." He followed her out of the wash room and returned to the

car as she paid for the minimal amount of gas that the station owner

had managed to get in the tank.

"I'm hungry," she said, as they left the station. "How about a

burger."

He was hungry too, but the thought of going into a restaurant did not

appeal to him and he hoped that what she had in mind was a drive in

where he could enjoy the security of the car. As she drove toward one

down the street, he felt secure enough to merely say "Yeah. I am too."

It was when she parked not at the window service but in the parking lot

that he became a little concerned.

"I hate to eat in the car," she said. "Let's go in."

Michael was not keen on that idea, but he decided to acquiesce, his

attraction to this lovely girl overcoming his trepidation. He trusted

Karen, so the fear he usually felt in such situations was replaced by

that trust. She would not "reveal" him, and he had no doubt that he

could "pull it off". What had begun to concern him was that he was

doing it too well, and that she might wonder about that facility. But

she seemed to pay no notice and, he knew by the mirthful glee she

exhibited, she viewed it all as a lark. A joke they were both playing

on the world.

They found a booth and the waitress deposited the menus without

comment. After their cursory glance at the fare, she returned, and

Michael heard her take Karen's order.

"And you, Miss," the waitress said, pencil poised above her order pad

as she turned to Michael. He caught the grin on Karen's face, flushed

slightly and ordered a simple hamburger and fries.

When she left, Karen said to him "Those two boys over at that table are

taking quite an interest in us." Michael looked and saw the leering

looks.

"Oh God, Karen, please."

"Don't worry. love, I will protect you. Actually the blond guy is

kinda cute....not as cute as you, of course, but interesting. Anyway,

it's getting on to 10:30 and I promised to be home by 11. Let's eat

and go."

They finished their meal, bantering lightly about the play, about their

life and their hopes and aspirations. Michael was becoming more and

more sure that this girl was a real find and he felt the stirrings of

sexual attraction. He just wished that their meeting and this date

were more "normal", though he was glad simply for the opportunity to be

with her.

It was when they had finished that he realized that the pressure in his

bladder demanded that he get relief soon.

"Karen, I r-e-a-l-l-y have to go to the bathroom. I don't know what to

do."

"Well, Michael, just go. I'd suggest you use the ladies room, but the

plumbing is just about the same in there as you are used to."

"God, I can't do that."

"Well you certainly better not use the men's. Go ahead, no one is even

going to notice. Just be a little discrete. I'll pay the check and

wait for you. Oh, and while you're in there, you better add a little

lipstick. It's all gone, you know."

He entered the ladies room and was a little nonplussed to find a woman

there fixing her own face at the mirror. He hurried to one of the

stalls, did his business, then added an application of new lipstick at

the mirror. He found Karen in the foyer waiting to go. As they drove

away, Karen said "You know, you're going to need a name when we get

home. I can't introduce you to Nana as 'Michael"....let's

see.....Michelle seems natural. How does that suit you?"

Michael blanched at the irony of it. 'Play the role' he thought to

himself. "Whatever, Karen" he replied.

"Michelle it is then. This is fun. Are you having fun?"

"I enjoy being with you, Karen."

"Well, that's nice. But I mean isn't it fun to wear those nice things

and play this big joke on everyone?" As she spoke, her hand came across

the seat and rubbed his nylon clad leg, causing the inevitable stir in

his loins which only grew more swollen as it met the smooth fabric of

the panties he wore. He prayed that he would lose this erection before

they reached her house.

They drove into the driveway of a large Colonial. The lights were on

in the lower rooms.

"My Nana is going to wonder a bit about your not bringing your own

things, so we'll tell her you left them home. She's never seen that

skirt and blouse on me, so you're O.K. there. Just follow my lead and

act natural." Karen grinned at him. "My Grandmother is a little

forgetful, sometimes, but she is a dear. Maybe she won't even notice

that you'll be wearing my things while you are here."

The woman who met them in the foyer was about sixty, a pleasant woman

that Michael knew he could like. Karen introduced him as Michelle and

added she had played the lead in the play.

"Oh I saw the play, Michelle. You were wonderful," Mrs. Grayson said.

"I am so glad you and Karen became friends. I hope you will enjoy your

stay and that we will see more of you."

Michael muttered his appreciative response, and Mrs. Grayson told

Karen there were Cokes in the refrigerator and some sandwiches and

brownies.

"I'm going up to bed now, girls. I know it is futile to say this, but

I hope that you don't stay up all night talking. Remember, Karen, you

have errands in the morning."

"We won't stay up too late, Nana. Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Grayson," Michael added, as the woman climbed the

stairs to her room.

"Let's get some food and Cokes and go up to my room," Karen said.

Michael dumbly followed her to the kitchen and took his share of the

load to be carried to the upper floor. He wondered what sleeping

arrangements were going to be available.

Karen's room was what he expected it to be, not quite as dainty and

feminine as the room he had at Jane's. The most noticeable difference

was the profusion of posters of male and female film and rock

personalities. Otherwise, and perhaps as a result of the poster

selections, it was a girl's room in every way.

Rather than a single, large bed, there were twin beds, both

delicately embellished with wispy dust ruffles. The room tended to

pink in color.

Karen set the tray of cookies on the night table, and Michael followed

suit with the sodas he had carried up.

"This has been fun, Michael. Nana didn't even seem the least bit

hesitant in seeing you as a girl. You really are quite pretty and very

convincing."

Michael was unsure as to how to respond to this, though he knew it to

be true. He just smiled diffidently.

"Strange date, though, in a way," she said as she opened a can of soda

and sat on the bed next to him. "I like you as a boy, of course, but I

kept expecting a kiss, yet knowing it to be a little strange to be

kissed by someone so convincingly a girl. Know what I mean?"

Michael did. He wanted more than anything to kiss this lovely girl,

but he, too, thought it a little bizarre to be embracing her dressed as

he was.

"Still, though, I know you are a boy. Maybe it's just that I have

never been kissed by someone wearing lipstick -- not sensually, that

is."

With that her hand began to stroke his back, and the sensation of her

hand through the thin fabric was electric. She explored his back and

sholders in a gentle massage. Suddenly her exploring fingers found and

examined the fringe and the spaghetti straps of the camisole he wore

beneath the blouse.

"What's that you have on underneath. Sure doesn't feel like a

t-shirt."

"It's... what do they call it..a camisole. My Aunt insisted that it

might make me do a better job if everything I wore was a girl's."

"And here I thought you just had on tights and those petticoats under

your dress during the play. Surely you have jockey shorts on?"

He hesitated, long enough, apparently, for her to draw her own

conclusions.

"Panties?"

"Yes," he said, blushing a little, "and they aren't tights, but

stockings and a garter belt."

"Well, you really did get the full treatment. Lots of nice undies to

make you feel good. Tell me who did your hair."

"Well, my Aunt took me to a beauty parlor. They did it."

"The whole treatment. So tell me, how does it feel to be subjected to

all this feminine fashion?"

He chose his words carefully, not wanting to alienate her in any way.

"I did it because I didn't want the play to go down the drain.

Actually, it's all a little humiliating."

"You mean you don't get even just a little pleasure out of it?"

"What do you mean?

"I mean don't you get the least little kick out of the feel of the

material, the fact that you can get all dressed like you are and fool

everybody into thinking you really ARE a girl? Do you get any delight

out of playing with makeup? Any of that?"

"Karen, I'm a boy. What do you think. Boys aren't supposed to get a

kick out of being made to dress like girls."

"Yeah, I know," she replied. "I'm just asking if you feel differently.

Look, I don't think you're strange or anything. As I've said before, I

don't care one way or another. I like you as a boy, I like you when

you're dressed. To me, it's sort of a gas: a boy I like who I can

have fun with as though it were a girl I liked."

"If you're asking me if I enjoy being here with you, of course I do.

If you're asking if I feel strange being dressed this way, well, I

don't feel strange around you. You're different than those goons at

the theater."

"Ok. So what about the rest of it? be honest. I won't care."

He paused for a while.

"There are times when....yes, I like the sensation of the clothes and

all of it. I....I wish I could tell you more....but..."

"No. That's OK. Its new to you, I know. We can talk about it again

sometime. Let's play some music."

She put on a tape as he sipped his Coke.

"Shall we get more comfortable? I mean I am just dying to get out of

this skirt."

What did she mean by that?, he wondered, until he saw her pawing

through a drawer of nightclothes, selecting two sets.

"Want to wear these?" she said, holding up a powder blue baby doll with

very full pants, like bloomers. "I mean, you can't be all that

comfortable lounging around in that outfit."

There was little he could say to object. He was going to spend the

night here, he had to maintain the facade of Michelle, and he was not

keen on lolling about in panties and hose.

"I guess so," was his conditional answer.

She handed him the outfit and pointed at the door to the adjoining

bathroom. He slipped inside, removed the clothing he had on and

slipped into the pale blue garment.

He came back into the bedroom to see Karen gyrating to the sounds

coming from the tape player. Without missing a beat or movement, she

took the blouse and skirt from him and put them in the closet. He put

the underwear he had been wearing on one of the chairs.

"Can you dance?" she asked him, still bouncing to the beat of the

melody.

"Not too well," he replied. "isn't that a little loud. Won't it wake

your grandmother?"

"Nan's bedroom is four doors down the hall and after she takes out her

hearing aid an earthquake wouldn't wake her. Go with it, Michael!"

He stood near her and made absurd imitation of her movements until the

crescendo and final drum beat of the rock tune. She moved to turn the

sound down slightly.

"You really don't know how to dance, do you"

"No," he said, "I go to a boys school. The opportunities are limited.

A slow ballad came on the speakers, and she said "Here, this is easier.

I'll show you."

He let her put her arms around him, taking the lead. The proximity of

her in her flimsy gown cause the inevitable stirring. She could not

help but notice it, and lacking more restrictive male attire, it was

more pronounced. She pulled him closer, his penis now against her and

held him tightly, her arms now around his waist. His, at this point,

were holding her shoulders, but with shrugs of her shoulders, she

encouraged him to slip them around her neck. He was overcome by the

electricity of their proximity drew them involuntarily into a tighter

embrace as she led him through sways and small steps to the love song.

Reflexively, he nuzzled his head into her shoulder.

The song ended, and they held the embrace for a few seconds afterwards.

His arms still around her neck, and hers sliding over his

satin-sheathed fanny, he felt sublime. He glanced up at her and their

eyes met and locked. Her glance darted to his mouth and back to his

eyes, and he knew that she was about to initiate the kiss that he had

longed to happen all evening.

She was assertive, pressing her lips firmly against his own, her hands

exploring his back and buttocks. Then, a charge rushed through him as

her tongue parted his lips and began a furtive exploration of his

compliant mouth. Her tongue drove deeply in and out, playing

passionate tag with his own, their breaths coming in gasps. When

breathlessness overcame them, the kiss was broken and her lips

continued to brush his neck and the lobes of his ears. They were both

succumbing to overwhelming passion.

As for Karen, she could not fully fathom why or how this particular

kiss so overwhelmed her. She was moving quickly into ecstacy,

overjoyed at the prospect of lovemaking in her own room. She was even

more mysteriously fascinated by the strange feeling of being in

control.

She guided him to the bed. "This one is yours," she said breathlessly,

letting him lower himself. She pulled back the coverlet and blankets,

and he quickly slipped in. Without hesitation, she slid in beside him.

"Let me show you some real fun. Let me show you what girls really

like," she whispered breathlessly as they locked in another kiss more

frenzied than their first.

He felt that she had taken total control, dominating the whole

direction of this liaison. Partly from inexperience and partly because

he was enjoying the vulnerability, he let her proceed, as she

masterfully escalated his arousal with her every movement. Either

Karen had a lot of experience or she had read a lot of good books.

She guided his hand to assorted parts of her own anatomy as her own

hands found the same point on his own. Like a teacher, she

demonstrated the technique on his body, inviting coinciding action by

him. She fondled his nipples, stoked the inner surface of his thighs,

tracing suggestive lines toward his groin,. She moaned as he aped her

movements. She teased at his engorged penis as his own fingers

surveyed her vaginal lips, but aware that too much stimulation there

would bring him to too rapid a conclusion, she stopped, yet holding his

had in place to continue its stroking of her most sensitive parts. The

lesson shifted, now, for while he continued to fondle her labia and

clitoris, she lifted the blouse and began to suck at and play with his

nascent breasts. The sensation was odd, yet seductively erotic to him.

She continued this activity for a few minutes, as he reciprocated with

his fingers at her pubis, then, fearing her own orgasm would be

precipitous, moved his hand away and revealed her own erect nipples in

invitation to his hungry mouth. He duplicated the actions she had

performed on him and he was amazed to see the effect of his passionate

playfullness at those breasts. Her pelvis thrust reflexively as lusty

groans emerged from her. Finally, she pushed him away, firmly pushed

him on his back, and straddled him in a commanding way.

"Just lay back and enjoy, Michelle. Enjoy."

Michael was too delirious with passion at that moment to wonder about

why she had called him that. She cast her bikinis aside, pulled down

his own briefs briskly, and settled herself on his upright penis. As

it entered the warm wetness, they both uttered a gasp of passion.

Karen gyrated her hips, and with the movement of her pelvis, propelled

his shaft in and out of her, as if it were she invading him, rather

than the other way round. The pressure built in them both until they

exploded in a spasm of passion. Relieved, Karen collapsed on top of

him and they remained locked for a long time as she continued to bestow

kisses on his neck.

It had been glorious.

(c) Copyright by Joel Lawrence