But isn't surgery a drastic step? It would mean the end of John. . .

"You're a maid, Jacqui. You will find your social life among similarly placed people.

"Well, aren’t we special?" she replied, sarcastically. "Poor little Jacqui was kissed by a boy and she’s not happy about it. Perhaps she should become a nun."

"Jacqui, I’ve noticed a change in you over the past few days. Want to tell me about it?"

"I shall take Jacqui to the ball then," he said.

In 2001, I read a very brief version of this story, essentially the first chapter, that Karen had written. I wondered what would happen after that. Eventually Karen Anne and I decided to co-write this story to find out. While there is a terrific narrative, mostly generated by Karen, this version is also character driven. Jacqui, the maid, and the other key character each have their own voice and we get know what they are thinking and feeling as they interact with each other, change and perhaps grow.

Like other stories of mine, this is a story about becoming, about how we deal with situations that may be beyond our control while still trying to maintain our core values and fundamental humanity. And while this story has high heels and corsets, Karen just can't live without a little kink, it is not one that is about sex. It is about Jacqui and how she makes her way in a not always friendly world.

By Kelly Ann Rogers

I'm sorry this has taken so long, but for reasons I don't really understand, posting this chapter has affected me as deeply as sending my kids off to college. This story is one of my children, and now I've sent it out into the world.

Thanks for reading it.

KAR

. . . I have more desirable men chasing me than you have shoes!”

. . . It’s all been about how you look . . . and that’s just not enough.”

. . . I am not a bimbo!”

. . . Omigod! You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You don’t want people to see you kissing another woman because they’ll know you’re a lesbian! You are such a fraud!. . .

. . . Sweetie, why didn’t you say something? You were the one keeping the secret, . .

. . . I met a man. . .

. . . Then, looking down at my own chest, I realized what they were really looking at. My nipples, the nipples which Rebecca had insisted I glue to my breast forms, now jutted aggressively through my sports bra. They were calling to the men like the Sirens called to the lost sailors in the Odyssey.

. . . He had never turned his personality on like this when I was a man. Now, he was totally engaging: a force of nature, nearly. I knew that if I continued to look into his eyes, he'd melt me, and all I'd want to do was caress his face with my hand, and then pull him down into another kiss. But I just couldn't let that happen. . .

. . . And as long as I was rebelling, I decided to leave my toes, figuring that no one would see them anyway, and I could wait until they chipped to clean them up. At least that's what I told Rebecca. I really thought that once they needed to be redone, I could just switch to another color, and no one would see that either.

. . . I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"Yeah, right," I had muttered.

. . . but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head

I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left.

. . . Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip. . .

Alright folks, whether you think this is femdom or not, try to accept at least this chapter just as it appears. It is what it is, Sara's first date with a guy. I hope you enjoy it!

And if you haven't been reading my blog, you might want to check it out. I reveal my deepest, darkest secrets and have an interesting conversation with readers.

…"Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is…"

…Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward. . .