Part 5, The shopping trip.

George's body is changing, slowly but inexorably. Now his original clothes no longer seem appropriate. Not to worry: his former girlfriend will help him select clothing that will be much more appropriate!
 
 
May 23
-- George had made 25 tortillas–he enjoyed the task (due to a chip in his brain, of course), and he was good at it. He was reading a Harlequin romance when a woman entered and inquired, “I’m looking for George Deon.  ¿Is he here?” He was surprised that anyone but Petunia would use the name, but he replied, “Yes, he is here. You see… You are looking at him.” Suddenly he realized the woman was Suzi, and he stood abruptly, upsetting his chair.

“ ¿You? But…” She peered at George. “ ¿You’re George? But… Yes… Yes, I see now.  ¡Amazing! Father said you looked different, but this…  ¡This is fantastic!  ¡You’re so cute!” She circled around her unhappy ex-lover. “I didn’t know you.  ¡No one would know you! But yes, it’s you.” She giggled. “Your face is the same, sort of. The lips and the eyebrows and the hairdo threw me off. And the makeup, of course.  ¡And cute little tits! They look real on you, even if they’re just falsies. But the voice gives you away. Your accent. It’s better, but no one would take you for a catracha.”

George had no answer. He began to collapse into a chair, but Suzi ordered “ ¡On your feet, girl!” and appropriated the seat. “ ¡So Father’s making you dress up like a girl now! Pretty, too. I’ll bet the boys are chasing you already.”

“Suzi, please, I…”

“I’m not ‘Suzi’ to you. Not any more.” Her tone was cold. “Address me as ‘Seá±ora’. And speak Spanish.”

“But I…” He took a deep breath. “Yes, Seá±ora.” He was in no position to disobey–and it seemed natural enough by now. “But Seá±ora, you know I am not woman. Still I am man, but I know I not appear such.”

She disregarded his protest. “Your Spanish still needs some work, although it’s a lot better than when we last met.”

“Thank you, Seá±ora.” What did she want from him?

“ ¿Aren’t you going to ask after my health, girl?” So she was going to ignore his true sex. No matter: everyone did, except Petunia–and he could do nothing about it. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.  ¿Do you remember?”

He fidgeted, shifting his feet uneasily. “Uh…  ¿How are you, Seá±ora?” he asked awkwardly.

“ ¿And the baby?  ¿Did you forget that? I had my baby a week ago. Or more to the point, I had your baby a week ago.”

Oh, God, what could he say? “I… I am sorry.” He added hopefully, “ ¿But the baby is good?”

“Josecito is well, thank you. You’ll get to know him very well. You offered to help with him, if I recall. Help a little, I think you said.” She giggled. “You’ll help a lot.  ¿What did Father tell you about the future he plans for you?”

“He said I will have to work as your personal servant, Seá±ora.”

“That’s what he told me, yes–that you’re in training to serve me. I guess he meant a maidservant. You’ll be my maid. I suppose that’s why he’s making you dress up like that–so you’ll look like a real maid.”

If only that were the worst of it! “Yes, that is what he said.”

“I’m glad you understand.” She giggled again. “ ¡And I thought you might make me a husband!  ¡Look at yourself! Turn around, look in the mirror over there.” He obeyed; somehow, there seemed to be mirrors wherever he went. “ ¿You say you’re not a woman? Maybe not… But tell me what your reflection looks like.”

He looked at his image. “I… It looks like… like a woman.” That was obviously what she wanted him to say.

“That’s right, sort of. Not quite a woman, not yet, just an adolescent girl–but developing nicely. Describe her. In detail.”

“She has about five…” He stopped, having insufficient Spanish. “Seá±ora,  ¿can I speak in English? It is hard…”

“Very well, for now. You’ll speak better Spanish by the time you come work for me. Now go on.”

“She’s about five feet three inches tall, with a light complexion, green eyes and light brown hair.”

“Go on. What’s she wearing, how’s her hair fixed? And her figure? You always noticed that first.”

“She’s wearing blue jeans and a pink shir…” He swallowed. “A pink blouse. Her hair’s long, over her shoulders, and it’s held back by barrettes. But her figure’s not much to see. My… her b…breasts are very small.” Again, he wished he had a bra; his nipples and areoles were far too visible through the sheer fabric of his blouse.

“True, true… Like I said, not yet a woman, still just a girl. She looks like she’s… oh, perhaps fourteen. Or maybe even younger? But clearly female, and I bet the men are admiring her already. Tell me more: Is she pretty?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Of course you do! Tell me. And be honest.”

Honest or not, he knew what she wanted. “She… Yes, Seá±ora, she’s p…p…pretty.” He almost choked on it.

“Now say that in the first person. In Spanish.”

“Soy…” He licked his lips, inadvertently tasting his cherry-flavored lipstick. Staring at his image, he admitted to her (and to himself), “Yo soy bonita.” Automatically he used the feminine adjective to which he had become accustomed. The flawless skin, rose-red lips, and pert little bosom; the pink barrettes and matching earrings–objectively, the girl in the mirror was quite pretty. Subjectively, she was a grotesque caricature.

Susana nodded, then looked closer. “What’s that you have embroidered on your blouse? ‘Pansy’?”

George looked at the wall. His eyes met the mirror again and he looked at his feet. “It’s my… Your father… he says that’s what he’s going to call me.”

“Pansy? Your name will be Pansy?” Her eyes widened, then she started laughing. When she could control herself, she said, “Oh, that’s so cute! It’s precious! Look at me: you tell me your name, girl. Say it loud and clear!”

He looked back up, into her face. “My… my name is Pansy, Seá±ora.”

“Yes. Yes! My sweet little maid Pansy!” She broke into giggles again. “You’ll wear a pink uniform with your name embroidered on it. And pansies too. You’ll do the embroidery–I’ll ask Father to arrange your lessons. After all, a good maid ought to be skilled with a needle.” Looking him up and down, she commented, “When Father sent me to find you, he didn’t tell me he was giving you a complete makeover. I guess he wanted to surprise me. Well, he succeeded! Tell, me, George–oh, pardon me, Pansy–what do you think of your punishment?”

“Suzi, I…”

“‘Seá±ora’ to you, girl.” She raised an eyebrow and waited, savoring her power over him.

“Seá±ora, it’s cruel! Inhuman! There’s no excuse for this! He’s destroying me! Please…”

“I suppose leaving me pregnant–and also your girlfriend back home, Father told me about her–I suppose that was acceptable? After you left me, I thought you should’ve just had your prick and balls sliced off and served to you for lunch–maybe fried, with salsa–but this an acceptable substitute. You’ll get very little sympathy from me, my little Pansy.” She checked her watch. “No more time for chit-chat, girl. Father’s waiting.”

Don Pablo was in his library. Susana sat; George was left standing. “ ¿What do you think of our pretty little flower, my dear?” he asked. “Blossoming nicely,  ¿yes?”

“ ¡He’s marvelous!  ¿Is he really growing breasts?  ¡They look real! At first I thought they were fakes, but then I noticed they jiggle too much for falsies, even though they’re small. I could see his areoles–that cute little blouse doesn’t hide much–and his nipples are pretty obvious too.  ¡They look as big as mine!  ¿How?”

“They are quite real. He is no longer producing testosterone, but he is receiving massive amounts of estrogen. Your boyfriend is going through a second puberty. He is experiencing the exquisite torture of watching himself slowly change into a girlfriend, little by little, day by day.” He leaned forward: “ ¿Would you believe that he requested a bra?”

“ ¿He asked for a bra?  ¿George asked for a bra?”

“No, Pansy asked for a bra. Use his new name, carita; we are training him to think of himself as a Pansy. And his request was reasonable. Look at him: More and more, he is the object of attention from men. As you observed, he is growing lovely little breasts–with, as you noticed, rather large teats. He cannot avoid looking like a young woman, but he need not look like a streetwalker. His request was rational–but, I am sure, reluctant.” He turned to George. “ ¿Am I right, Pansy?”

George had followed their conversation easily. Five months of an involuntary “total immersion” course had done wonders for his Spanish. “Yes, Seá±or, you are right.  ¡Damn you!”

Don Pablo ignored the outburst. “Go help Conchita, girl–she is in the main bedroom. And shut the door behind you.” After George left, Susana received a sketchy account of George’s experiences, and of the chips that controlled him. “They must be used sparingly, if at all. I will allow Pansy to leave Las Rosas for the first time, in your company. Jaime will accompany you. He will have the controls, so there is no chance that Pansy might escape–but he should not have to use them. And he–or she–must obey you. She is learning that to obey is the best policy. Otherwise, bad things happen to her.”

“ ¿‘She’? You speak as if he were really a woman.”

“It is becoming natural to speak that way, as his body assumes a woman’s shape. And it is helpful to our program. We want to encourage all who deal with Pansy to treat him–or her–as a girl. The new name, the appearance–everything is designed towards that end. Willy-nilly, Pansy will be shaped by the perceptions and expectations of others. I expect you to work towards the same goal. Treat her as a peasant girl, and she will come to behave like one. At least, that is what my psychologists tell me. We will see. Now, you are going to take Pansy shopping in Comayagua. Hector will accompany you.”

“ ¿Shopping?”

“She needs clothes. As I said, she requested a bra. You can help her buy several, although they will need to be replaced soon, as her breasts are swelling rapidly. They should last little more than a month–maybe three weeks, the doctors say–before she needs a slightly larger cup size. As for other clothes, I leave it to your judgment. I have her measurements.” Susana’s eyes narrowed and the corners of her mouth turned up. Don Pablo held up a hand. “My dear, you must treat Pansy with courtesy. Or I should say, as long as she behaves properly–that is, behaves like a proper peasant girl–you must treat her with courtesy. Do not think of her as George, the deceitful norteamericano now in your power; rather, she is just a girl who will be your maid. Believe me, that is punishment enough. I am hoping that Pansy will become a faithful and industrious maidservant–a virtual member of the family, entrusted with the care of your children in the years ahead .”

“ ¿You really think that’s possible?  ¿Faithful and industrious?  ¿Years?  ¿He–I’m sorry, she–might change that much?  ¿Especially after what you’re doing to him?  ¿You think pigs might fly?”

Her father shrugged. “Possible, yes. Probable, no. But that is our aim. Punishment is the first goal of my project, and it is assured.” He held up a finger, then added another. “Secondly, we are developing ways to reshape a personality. That is the chief purpose of my project–and certainly the personality of your Seá±or Deon can use some remolding. Perhaps we will create your flying pig.” A third finger went up. “Last, we are trying to supply you with needed help–a ‘faithful and industrious’ maid.” His hand dropped. “It is imperative that Pansy be treated well.” He smiled: “If, of course, you see George instead of Pansy, then you may do as you wish. His reappearance should bring humiliation and discomfort. That should persuade his subconscious to suppress George in favor of Pansy. Remember, he must, and will, obey you.”

“ ¿How far can you take this ‘reshaping’?  ¿And how long do you think it might take?”

“We do not know how far we can take it, either mentally or physically. As to the time: We have clients who will pay a great deal if I can give them a means of changing a person into someone else with a completely different personality. Pansy is our demonstration. I have set a deadline of two years, after which our Pansy will receive no more treatment. She will be allowed to quit her job as your maid and find another occupation–or even to return to the United States–with no further interference. I believe that Pansy’s new personality, as designed by my psychologists, will bring her to freely choose–to ask–to work as your maid. Her freedom of choice will give our prospective clients the opportunity to evaluate the effectiveness of our treatment.”

“ ¿Isn’t that risky? You might have some problems if what you’re doing to George becomes known.”

“Yes it is, but it is a calculated risk. We will take measures to see that she does not tell her story.”

“ ¿What happens next?  ¿How will you try to make George Deon into– ¿how did you put it?–‘a faithful and industrious maidservant’?  ¡I can’t think of many outcomes less likely!”

“That, carita, I will not tell you yet. Now It is time to go shopping. Pansy should be with Conchita in the main bedroom. Hector will go with you; I do not think more security will be needed. Remember: Treat her gently. And tell her I told you that.”

They found George making a bed for the third time under Conchita’s critical eye. “No, girl,” she was scolding as they walked in. “ ¿Are you really that stupid? I don’t see how you ever held any job at all.” She turned to complain to her visitors, “Pansy’s doing worse than ever. I was about to send her back to Evelina.  ¿But what can I do for you?”

“We’ll take her off your hands, ’Chita. Father has something else in mind for her.”

“ ¡Good! I don’t think I could tolerate her idiocy any longer. It’s like her mind’s off in a cloud.  ¡Take her, and welcome!”

“Come with us, Pansy,” Susana ordered.George obeyed, pleased to be away from Conchita but uneasy about what was intended for him. “I…  ¿What…? Seá±ora,  ¿can you tell me where we go to now?” He eyed Hector uneasily.

“Yes, I’ll be happy to tell you. My father tells me you asked him for a bra, a little while ago.  ¿Is that true?”

Involuntarily he glanced at his chest. “Yes. I… I think I need one. I… My…” He turned red and fell silent.

“Excuse me, I didn’t catch all of that.  ¿What were you going to say?”

“No… nothing, I… It’s just…” He gritted his teeth. “Well, yes, I need one.”

Susana recalled her father’s orders and didn’t press him. “Yes, I understand. Well, we’re going shopping. Father says you’ve been studying so hard to become a maid, you haven’t left the finca in months. It’s time you got away. We’ll go to Comayagua, and I’ll be soooo happy– ¡absolutely delighted!–to help you get fitted for some bras. I’m afraid they won’t be good for much more than a month–maybe less. Father says your boobs are growing rapidly, and you’ll need bigger cups soon. Believe me, a bra that doesn’t fit right is a minor form of slow torture. That’s why a girl should get an individual fitting. Now take this–no girl should leave home without one.” She handed him a scarlet shoulder bag, monogrammed PAB and decorated with purple pansies. “This lovely purse is yours. It has lipstick, a compact, eye shadow, tissues–all that girly stuff you need. And your new Miss Pansy Deon ID papers, in case you need to show them.” She giggled and added, “This is your first time into town as a young lady,  ¿yes? You could call this your ‘maiden voyage’.” George didn’t reply.

He remained silent until they came to Susana’s old blue Nissan, spattered with mud from the road up to Las Rosas. “ ¿You still are driving this car? I think that you need a new one.”

Susana got into the driver’s seat. Hector opened the front passenger door for George, and then sat in the back. As she started the car, Susana replied to George’s comment, “You sound like Father. He’s offered to get me a new one, but I prefer to be independent. It’s an old battle. He’s very conservative, and he thinks a woman’s place is in the home–cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the kids. A lot like a boyfriend I had once. I can’t help but wonder– ¿does he still think so?” George didn’t answer. He wondered, though: only Susana and Hector had come with him, and maybe this could be a chance to escape. Yes, he’d be embarrassed when he showed up at the embassy looking like a fag–or a flaming pansy, he thought–but that problem would be minor, compared to what awaited him at Las Rosas.

The descent from the finca was steep and rocky, but passable for a high-clearance passenger car. The open pine forest soon petered out into dry brushland dotted with small corn and bean fields. The road leveled out and became better surfaced. The air was hotter and more humid. After two miles of good gravel road, they reached a crossroads and turned south on asphalt pavement. Only then did Susana speak again: “Pansy, I have to tell you: Father ordered me to treat you courteously as long as you behave like a normal girl. I’m supposed to act as if you really were a campesina, and a respected member of the Las Rosas household. In all honesty, I’d rather make your life hell.”

“In all honesty, Seá±ora, already my life is hell,” George replied. “I will not want to be… to be made to wear a bra. That is bad. But I… I ask for a bra, because my body needs it–because I become like a girl. That is worse. And when you treat me like a girl, and I look at me and I see a girl, that is… that is…” He shook his head. “I not have the words in Spanish.” He turned to her. “Please, Seá±ora, have pity on me. Your father tells me that I am ruined as a man. Your revenge is… It is enough. Already too much.” Desperation tinged his voice. “Ask him to release me.  ¡I beg you!”

Susana smiled. “I’m delighted to hear you speaking as George. Father said that if I see or hear George Deon instead of sweet and feminine little Pansy, I don’t have to treat you as gently. Therefore, Seá±or Deon, I just decided to buy you a dress today, to wear home. And some pretty skirts and blouses.  ¿Was there anything else you wanted to ask me, George?”

“No, please, Seá±ora, do not…” he began to protest, but he caught himself. “No, Seá±ora, there is nothing more.” Hesitating for a moment, he added, “And… and please, I am… call me Pansy.” George had best make himself scarce.

“I must tell you–as Pansy, of course–that you are quite pretty. That’s good for you. Father says you’ll be free to leave after next year. He also says that maybe you’ll choose to stay as my maid, but I don’t believe it. No matter: for the next year and a half, you’ll have to live as a woman. And truly, you’ll have to wear women’s clothes. Believe me, if you wear men’s clothes, you’ll still look like a girl–in men’s clothes. You’d just draw attention to yourself, and you really don’t need that.”

“Yes, I know it, but I will prefer to wear slacks and shirts, even if they must be of women. I know that is acceptable here.”

“Of course, you’re right. I usually do, as you know. But I think…” She smiled. “I’d much rather see you in a dress.”

As usual, he was in no position to refuse. “Yes, if you wish. I will wear whatever you choose.” Until he escaped.

Comayagua, founded in 1537, was a medium-sized city with a population over 140,000. Among tourists it was known for well-preserved colonial buildings, especially an old cathedral; it contained a truly ancient clock, built around 1100 by the Moorish conquerors of Spain and donated in the 1500’s to the new colonial church by Philip II. Among locals, the city was a window to the 21st century, where supermarkets sold arugula and Froot Loops and where Pizza Hut and Microsoft had planted roots. Susana took George to the town center, where she parked the Nissan in front of a store: Vá¡squez Hnos–Ropa para Damas y Niá±os. Before opening the car door, Susana told George, “This might seem like a wonderful opportunity to take leave of my father’s hospitality. It isn’t. I won’t go into detail–I don’t know all the details–but he took precautions against losing you. Besides getting very sick if you don’t return to Las Rosas on time, that is; Father told me about the time you tried to run away.” Then she giggled: “On the other hand, it might be fun to watch you try. You have no money, you look like a teenage girl, and your only identification says you’re Pansy Deon.”

George had to agree with her assessment. “No, Seá±ora, I will stay with you.”

“Good. Now, I buy a lot of my own clothes at Vá¡squez–I have an account here–so this is where we’ll get you dressed up pretty. And when you talk, try to pitch your voice higher and speak softly. Remember, you’re pretending to be a girl.” She paused. “No, forget that. Pretending you’re a girl is unnecessary; if you try to pretend you’re a man–now,  ¡that’d be difficult!” She looked closely at George’s face. “Better freshen your makeup, Pansy. It’s in your purse.” Reluctantly, George touched up his lipstick. In the mirror of his compact, he saw plump rose-pink lips–girlish lips–his lips.

Susana told Hector to wait for them. “Keep us in sight when we’re not in the store, but don’t come with us. I want to talk with Pansy alone.” They left the car and entered the clothing store. The air conditioning was turned high, and George felt a chill, enough that his nipples stiffened. Susana noticed and smiled slightly: yes, George did indeed need a bra. A saleswoman approached and asked if she could help them.

“Good afternoon, ’Femia. Yes, I think so. I… my… my girlfriend Pansy is visiting from the US, and she needs some new clothes. To start with, she has to buy some bras, and of course she wants them to be as comfortable as possible. I know you’re very good at fitting, so I brought her here. Everything will go on my own account.” The saleswoman agreed, and Susana continued: “Pansy has some Spanish, but it isn’t very good, so I’ll stay with her and translate if necessary.”

“Very well, Seá±ora.” Eufemia peered at George’s chest with a practiced gaze. “Your friend looks a little bigger than a 36A. You’re right, she certainly should be wearing a bra. If you take her to the fitting room…  ¿You remember where it is?” Susana nodded, and the saleswoman went on: “I’ll pick out a selection in several styles and bring them over.”

“Thank you.” Susana turned to George as she led him towards the back of the shop: “’Femia doesn’t speak English, but she’s excellent at her work. The next time you come in, you shouldn’t need my help.”

“I don’t… don’t want a next time, Seá±ora.”

She giggled. “Of course you don’t! But it will come. You’re growing up, little girl! Father says your boobs should get quite a bit bigger. You will need a bigger cup size–and soon! But I suppose Conchita can take your measurements and pick you out some.” She paused. “And as a visiting girlfriend, you can call me Suzi for now.”

George knew that the prediction was well founded. He bit his tongue and followed her.

They entered an unmarked door into a bare cubicle, like every department-store dressing room George had ever seen. Susana shut the door and ordered George to take off his top. “There’s no call to be modest. I’ve been in women’s dressing rooms before–and it’s just us girls in here.” George stripped off the top, displaying his small but well-formed breasts. His nipples were still erect with the chill.

Eufemia showed up in a few minutes, with half a dozed bras. “Here you are, Seá±orita. I think these should fit well. Try this one on first,” she suggested to George, holding out a plain white bra. George took it, put his arms through the shoulder straps, and awkwardly tried to fasten the hook in back. Eufemia stifled a giggle. “Seá±orita, you are doing it the hard way.  ¿Didn’t your mother teach you?” She showed George how to put it on backward, fasten it, turn it around on his body, and put his arms through the straps. “ ¡There! Much easier,  ¿true? But let me adjust it.” She fussed with the straps until she was satisfied. “Now,  ¿how does that feel? I think it’s a good fit, but you have to be the final judge. After all, you’re the girl who has to wear it.”

George moved his shoulders then swung his arms to the side and in front. The feel of straps on his shoulders was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. It clasped his torso firmly, but not too tightly. “I think…” He swallowed. “I think it is good. It fits me…” He nearly choked. “…fits me good.” His high tenor easily passed for contralto.

Susana asked, “ ¿What’s the size, ’Femia?  ¿And the brand?”

“It’s 34A+. Like I guessed, your friend’s a little too big for a standard A cup, but not quite up to B. And it’s a Maidenform.”

Susana smiled at George. “You’re wearing a Maidenform bra, Pansy. That’s appropriate enough, I suppose–you’re assuming a maiden’s form, after all. You’re sure it’s comfortable? Like ’Femia said, you’ll be the girl wearing it–but only a short while, until your boobies grow larger.” She cocked her head, waiting for his answer.

George looked at the blue tile floor. “Yes, I think it’s… it’s comfortable enough.” Mentally, he was in agony.

“She’ll take three of them.  ¿But do you have it in other colors?”

“Of course. It also comes in dusty rose and in lime green.”

“Pansy, which color would you prefer: white, rose, or green…? Never mind–you can have one of each. OK?”

He looked at the floor. “Yes, that… that would be g…good. Th…thank you.” The words stuck in his throat.

Turning back to Eufemia, Susana declared, “She ought to have some fancier styles too–for when she’s out with her boyfriend. More lace–and maybe a pushup model. Her figure can use a bit of help until she fills out some more.”

George was the unhappy recipient of six bras before Susana passed to the next item on her agenda. “You need a dress, girl,” she told him. “You’ll wear it home–along with new shoes. You need practice with heels.”

“Please, Suzi–please, no, I… I have enough. You did more than enough to… for me.” He wiped a tear away.

Susana giggled. “Yes, Pansy, I insist. I want you to be the cutest girl at Las Rosas. Like my boyfriend George told me last year, dresses and such are part of being a girl. It’ll help you attract your own boyfriend.” She led George to a rack in the “Misses” section and picked our a lemon-yellow cotton sundress with scalloped white hems and large pink buttons up the back. “Try this one. No, wait.” She picked two more, one a size larger and one smaller. “See which fits best, then come out and show me how it looks on you.” When he reappeared after a struggle with the back buttons, Susana told him, “That’s absolutely darling! You look as pretty as a flower! But come here, you need to adjust it.” She showed him small loops on the underside of the shoulder straps. “I see your bra straps. You’re supposed to clip these loops around the straps, so they won’t be quite as obvious. Now look at yourself in the mirror. Aren’t you the prettiest little thing?”

And he was. The bra supported and shaped his immature bosom. His light-brown hair, cut into neat bangs over his forehead and held by flowery pink barrettes on the side, cascaded over his bare shoulders. He raised his hand to his mouth in consternation, showing the nail polish that matched his rose-pink lips. Suzi had said he looked fourteen, but he thought the girl in the mirror appeared younger than that. He shut his eyes and looked away.

When he opened them again–carefully not looking into the mirror–he saw Susana looking at him critically. “You’re going to be a good-looking woman, I think. Your bust is adequate–and Father says it’ll grow more anyway. Your hips are a bit narrow–the skirt doesn’t hang quite right–but maybe they’ll pad out a bit with time.” She nodded. “Yes, I think a dress rather suits you now. I don’t think you’ll be wearing pants again, so I’d better get you some skirts. First, though, I’ll take a picture of my oh-so-cute girlfriend.” George began to object, but quickly shut his mouth as he recalled the result of the last protest. She pulled a camera out of her purse. “Smile, chica!”

Soon George had acquired two more dresses, five skirts, half a dozen blouses, a dozen pantyhose, two slips, and four pairs of shoes, to be delivered to Las Rosas. He also smelled slightly of Arpege. “I think that’ll do for now,” Susana told him. “Now, care for a coffee and doughnut? There’s a new Dunkin’ Donuts half a block from here.”

“Yes, please. It’s been way too long since I was in Dunkin’ Donuts.”

Hector joined them when they left the store, and the three walked towards the shop, George’s new open-toed pink pumps clicking on the sidewalk. He was acutely aware of his light skirt swishing against his hairless legs, and the ventilation afforded by the skirt left him feeling undressed. Susana noted that he was slouching and commented, “I imagine you feel a bit self-conscious, as if all eyes were on you. Am I right?”

“Why would I be self-conscious? I’m just a man in a bright yellow dress.” He added bitterly, “I’m a freak!”

“If it’s any help, no one’s paying attention to you. You probably attracted a lot more attention running around in a tight top without a bra. You looked like a tramp. In that dress, you’re just another pretty teenager–and in truth, you’re not all that pretty, especially slouching like that. Now stand up tall. Throw your shoulders back. You have a decent figure; act as if your proud of it. Flaunt it, girl!”

He obeyed, and Hector remarked, “You know, Seá±orita, I got to find me a new girlfriend.” He grinned. “You look a lot nicer than when I seen you last. Maybe I’ll ask Don Pablo if I can take you out on a date.” George flushed and ignored him.

Soon they reached the shop. Hector waited outside, and Susana and George entered. No other customers were at the counter. “Let me guess,” she said. “You want a medium coffee, cream and sugar, and a jelly doughnut.”

He smiled–the first time during that day. “Yes, please. You have a good memory.”

She turned to the attendant: “Two medium coffees, one black, one cream and sugar. Also, a plain doughnut and a jelly doughnut.” To George, she acknowledged, “Yes, a very good memory. But I won’t bring up our past now. In return, don’t ask me for help.” She held up a finger. “First, I won’t help you. I rather like what Father’s doing to you.” Another finger: “Second, and more important, if I did ask him to free you, he wouldn’t. He has his own reasons for putting you into a dress. If you can accept that, we can talk.”

“I suppose I have to accept it. At this moment, anyway. But what do we have to talk about?”

“Don’t you have any interest in your child? ‘Flesh of your flesh’ and all that?”

He felt the prick of guilt. “I… Is it a girl or a boy?”

“I told you this morning. You’re not very attentive.”

George flushed. “I’m sorry, Suzi. I have… Other things’ve been on my mind. I’ve been… distracted.”

She looked at him, sitting there in a yellow sundress and pink pumps, and giggled. “I can understand that. But…” The attendant signaled, and she told George, “Go get it, Pansy. Here’s the money.” She handed him 100 lempiras.

He returned, handed her the black coffee, and sat, crumpling the skirt underneath him. Susana remarked, “You’ll have to learn how to sit in a dress, sweetheart. You’re supposed to spread the skirt under you with both hands as you sit. Otherwise it bunches up and gets all wrinkled. As it just did. And you need to keep your knees together.”

He stood and arranged his skirt properly as he sat again, his knees together. “I… You know I don’t have any experience with these damned female clothes.”

“Of course I know. But you have to learn. Not to worry, though–you’ll have lots of practice. Father says you’ll be positively sooo girly for the next year and a half, you may forget what it’s like to wear pants!” George winced, and she looked down. “I apologize, Pansy. I don’t mean to harass you, but you hurt me badly, and it’s hard not to hit out at you.” She took a sip of coffee. “Do you really understand what a pendejo you were? I doubt it.”

“Suzi, really, I’m sorry about what I did. Yes, I do understand. But I can make it up to you. Please…”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think you understand at all. You’re just desperate to escape.” But then she added, more sympathetically, “And I can’t blame you for that. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

He picked up the cup, then put it down. “Look, Suzi, I was a bastard, yes–but there are limits to… I mean, isn’t your father… Doesn’t he…”

“No. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I didn’t find out what Father had in mind for you until I saw you this morning. Oh, he told me you’d be working for me–but not that you’d be a maid. A real female-type girl-shaped maid. I want to know, just how far does he plan to go? Do you have any idea?”

George took a sip while he chose his words. “He wants me to become a Honduran peasant girl. He’s crazy, of course, or maybe just exaggerating. It’s not possible, not literally. But he can make me look an awful lot like one.” Now that’s an easy prediction, he thought: It’s already true! He bit into his doughnut and closed his eyes. He could almost forget his position as he savored the sweet fruity flavor. But he couldn’t stay in doughnut nirvana forever. “Suzi, ask your father if I can work for you now. With the new baby and all, you must need help. I’ll work hard for you.” He bit into the doughnut again. A little jelly dribbled down the side of his chin, and he wiped it off.

“I can’t take you yet. I told you, Father has his own agenda. And I see his point. You told me this morning, you’re not really a woman, and you’re right. You meant physically, of course, but it’s even more true mentally. You don’t walk like a woman, sit like a woman, talk like a woman–you’re a man in a dress. With really cute little boobs, granted.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Wait a minute–he didn’t just say a woman, he said a Honduran peasant girl? If that’s what Father said, then he won’t give you to me until you’re a lot more like a Honduran peasant girl. He uses words precisely.” She took another sip of coffee. “Maybe if you try acting more like that peasant girl he’s looking for–giggle a lot, show some interest in pretty clothes and boys–he’ll let you work for me sooner. I don’t know.” She smiled. “I’ll be very curious to see just how feminine you become. I said you’re a man in a dress, but that’s not really true. You may not behave like a normal woman, but you certainly look female. Not very much like a peasant girl, though. Not yet. Did Father mean you should look like one? Or act like one?”

George finished a mouthful of doughnut before he replied, “I don’t know. Ask him. Like I said, he’s crazy.”

“I agree, it seems unlikely.” She sipped her coffee, than giggled. “I admit, I’d love to see you in a maid’s dress, with long braids and dark skin–and maybe six months pregnant? ‘Pansy, get my drink!’ I’ll order, and you’ll curtsy and obey. A great fantasy! Well, at least part of it’ll come true. When you work for me, you’ll wear a pretty pink uniform–and I will have you braid your hair. And wear ribbons in it. You’ll look so cute! Can you picture it?”

Sourly George replied, “I can hardly wait.” The attire she planned for him was the least of his worries–and the uniform was hardly worse than what he was wearing at the moment.

“Don’t worry too much. Father says I’ll have to treat you with all the consideration I’d give any other family servant. He wants you to be… I think he said, ‘industrious and faithful’.” She bit into her own doughnut, then washed it down with more coffee. I don’t know if Father will succeed or fail. Either way, I like it. If he succeeds and you become a sweet little peasant girl–in your head, anyhow–then I’ll consider George to be dead, and I’ll be grateful for that ‘industrious and faithful’ maid. If he fails–if George Deon lives on–then I’ll be delighted to keep George in a skirt for the rest of his life, changing diapers and doing my laundry.”

“If George Deon lives on–and he will–George Deon will be out of here.”

“Yes, that’s possible. In all honesty, I can’t see how Father expects you to stay with me. You might as well keep the name ‘Pansy’, though. You won’t be a man any more. From what Father tells me, you’re not really a man now. You’re a real pansy, now and forever. Just look at yourself! The clothes you’re wearing–they fit you, in every way. Like I said, you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you as a man in a dress. From now on, everyone will see a woman, whatever you’re wearing. You’ll look good in a skirt for the rest of your life.” She pointed out to the street, where Hector waited. “You know, Hector’s been looking for a girl. By the time Father finishes with you, I bet you might just be ready to go out with him! How would you like that? You won’t have a girlfriend, you’ll be a girlfriend!” She giggled. “I hear he’s a good kisser. You can find out if that’s really true, and report back to me.”

George shuddered and looked down at his bosom. “Each morning, slightly larger,” the don had said. He had no answer: she was right, and he had been foolish not to see it. Without a word, he got up from the table and walked out the door. Susana watched, not certain what to do, then followed him to the door. He was walking blindly into the street, and she called without thinking, “George! Come back here! Right now!” A Pan Bimbo delivery van narrowly missed him, its horn blaring. He ignored it (and Susana), reached the other side of the street, and kept walking.

Hector had watched George’s flight. He hadn’t acted as quickly as he should have, but when he saw that George was safe from becoming a traffic statistic, he pushed a button, and his victim collapsed.

George awakened to see a chandelier hanging from a whitewashed ceiling straight above him. He was lying on his back, on a couch in the main room of the casa at Las Rosas. Sitting up and shaking his head to dispel the grogginess he still felt, he saw Don Pablo and Jaime sitting around a table. Don Pablo told him, “You have caused us some trouble, girl.” He waved a hand and Jaime left them alone.

How had he gotten here? He sat up. “I… What…?” He looked down at himself. He was wearing a yellow dress–and filling it out nicely. He remembered the shopping trip. “How did I get here?”

“You fainted,” the don told him. “Susana and Jaime brought you back here. But you left Susana without permission. I do not know what you were thinking. Were you trying to run off?”

“No! I was…” What had he been doing? “I… I don’t know. I just… I had to get away.” Then he panicked: “Please! I wasn’t… I was…”

Don Pablo sighed. “I know. Susana told me about your conversation, and she pushed you too hard. I have scolded her; she had been warned to treat you gently. But I am more to blame. I should have known better than to send her with you. It was too great a temptation, to gloat over the agent of her downfall.” He leaned forward. “But what is most interesting is this: the comment that made you despair was her taunt that you are no longer a man. I told you much the same thing a week ago. It would seem that you did not believe me then; and further, you did believe my daughter, else her observation would not have shocked you as it did. Tell me, then: Are you a man?”

“Yes!” George insisted.

“I told you I intend to remove the last vestiges of your male organs, which are nonfunctional–permanently nonfunctional–in any case. Will you still consider yourself to be a man?”

“Yes! I couldn’t get a girl pregnant, but my personality–the ‘me’ in me–would still be male. And my DNA would still be male. And certainly I wouldn’t be a woman–a real woman! I’ll never be able to bear a child!”

“I agree, you retain physical traces of masculinity. And your mind, your personality, is only slightly changed. After we remove as much of your male anatomy and physiology as possible–a minor task now–and replace them with female equivalents, we will then attempt to change the ‘you’ in you, as you put it. It should be easier then.”

A knock announced Jaime’s return; he delivered two cups of coffee, then left. George took the one with cream in it, sipped it–it was still too hot–and put it down. The don remarked, “Pansy, you have been in denial; but now, in spite of your protestation, your subconscious accepts Susana’s taunt as truth. That explains your shock.”

“No, Seá±or.” Desperation lent urgency to his tone. “I am a man!”

“A man who calls himself ‘Pansy’. I will be very curious to find out how long it will take before you sit before me and state freely, ‘Yes, Seá±or, I am a woman.’ I would wager, before the end of this year.”

“I don’t call myself ‘Pansy’, Seá±or. I accept the name from others, as you insist. But I don’t…” He hesitated. Disobedience was foolish. “I can’t call myself by that name. My real name ‘George’ is too… too deeply rooted.”

“I understand. I will help you with that, soon enough. ‘George’ will be uprooted, and you will find that you can call yourself ‘Pansy’, with no difficulty at all. Now, another matter: Do you have enough brassieres?”

“Yes.” The answer was clipped.

“Probably more than enough, for someone who claims to be a man. But they seem to fit well, yes?” George didn’t reply, and Don Pablo lifted his cup. “We grow excellent coffee, I think you would have to agree.”

“Yes, but I’d rather be back in a Starbucks–or a Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“Of course, of course.” He tasted the coffee and sighed with pleasure. “I cannot require, or expect, that you be grateful for all the attention–and money–we are lavishing on you.” He sipped again, then set the cup down. “Now, I believe you told Susana last year that men wear pants, and women should only wear dresses and skirts. So be it, Seá±orita. As you spoke, so shall you live. I freely admit, I am applying additional pressure to your subconscious. It will reason: I have breasts, therefore I am a woman; I wear a skirt, therefore I am a woman.”

“No!”

“No, you will not wear a skirt? Or no, your subconscious will not accept that you are female?”

“I… I’ll wear whatever you give me. What I must. I have to obey you. But I’ll never believe I’m a woman!”

“But you will be a woman.” He took another sip of coffee. “Given your hormonal balance and the shape of your body, already you are closer to a woman with a penis, than to a man. Your present clothing is proper for you. You should not wear trousers again.” When George didn’t respond, the don dismissed him: “Report to Conchita tomorrow after breakfast–wearing one of the skirts Suzi so generously bought you, as is now proper for you, Seá±orita. You have forfeited the right to wear pants; until you are freed, you will wear skirts and dresses. You will also wear your new shoes. ’Chita will have your schedule of chores.”