It was the twilight of the seventeenth century, and the dawn of my life–or lives.

The Story Of My First Lives, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

Chapter 6: Concerning The New Circumstances Of The Inn

Our days rolled one after another, with only the regular marking of Sunday Mass and the irregular marking of each girl’s day without work. There were also birthdays to celebrate in our own small way. I had moved from mending clothing to making my own clothes, and my present to each birthday girl was always a prettily embroidered blouse. I was able to return most of the clothes the girls had originally gifted to me after Franciska’s decree, and now wore those of my own making.

We celebrated Church holy days, of course, and had a quiet Christmas. The inn was situated so close to the lake that the weather was somehow milder than it was in the village, but still, that first winter was severe. There were few guests and less to do and we all became irritable from boredom. I was able to retreat into my world of translating–again, being thought devout–and managed to avoid some of the confrontations. Franciska continued to be a terror, of course, capricious and mean.

She stormed into our sewing room one day and demanded that I answer for a poor job done on her skirt. Ilka gave me a frightened look; we both knew that I had not done the work–Ilka had. Most likely it was during one of my monthly days without work; I had never seen that particular skirt. Nonetheless, I took the blame, knowing that the sewing had been fine and was not the object of Franciska’s wrath; it was I. As Franciska paced back and forth, yelling how lucky I was that her parents extended ‘Christian charity’ and did not throw me out, I ducked my head and pretended to cry. She paused and I could feel her cruel smile. I took the chance and begged her to let me dress like a boy again and work in the stables. She threw her head back and laughed, ridiculing me for my lack of manliness and increasing her punishment.

Our inn, over time, had many guests of quality interested in a romantic interlude distant from prying eyes. The girls that worked as maids would tell us of how the noble women dressed and acted, sharing details in excited giggles. While removed from a city existence, we kept abreast of the fashions, and the new punishment imposed by Franciska was that I varnish my nails; apparently this was a new fashion. Somehow Franciska had stolen a small jar of lightly colored varnish from one of the guests and she demanded that I wear it daily; she would make surprise visits to make certain that my nails were varnished.

When she returned with the varnish, she added yet another demand, that my cheeks and lips be rouged. Ilka gasped and cried that it would make me look like a prostitute. Franciska spun on her and warned her that Ilka would join me in the punishment if she wasn’t quiet. Franciska said that she had seen ladies of quality with the rouging and that it was the height of fashion, and then produced a rouge container and demanded that I apply both. I had no choice but to comply, although I continued begging with her to relent and let me be a boy again. She haughtily dismissed my pleas as Ilka, shaking with fear, held a small mirror. I knew Franciska well enough to know that no matter what amount I used, she would demand that I apply more. She did so, and laughed triumphantly and, sated by her torture, finally left us.

Immediately I washed my face but then surprised Ilka by reapplying a tiny bit of rouge again, lightly blending it in my cheeks and reddening my lips. I told Ilka that Franciska would return; an hour later I was proved correct. I begged and pleaded to ‘let me remove the horrid stuff’ but Franciska said it must remain and left, this time for good. Ilka stared at me for my smile and I explained that my humiliation was what fed Franciska’s evil furnace and she was now satisfied, and it might be weeks before we crossed paths again and she would probably have a new set of demands. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side I regularly applied the tiniest bit of rouge to my cheeks and lips, and wore the shiny nail varnish. In time I grew to fancy how pretty my nails looked as I stitched. Several of the girls shyly asked if they could borrow a bit of the varnish and rouge when they planned to spend their monthly workless day with a village boy.

I had a deep concern, though. Franciska had stolen the varnish and rouge from guests; what else had she stolen? Obviously her thefts had gone unnoticed so far, but for how long? I knew that one of the reasons Franciska had given me the expensive stolen goods was to shift blame to me if the thefts were reported by the guests. The only mistake she’d made was producing them in front of Ilka, but her need to have a witness to my humiliation overrode any caution. Even if Franciska announced that I was the thief, it would be hard to prove as I had not set foot in the inn proper for months. I only had the reports of the maids as to the status of the inn, which seemed to be falling on hard times. Meanwhile, Mrs. Ganz grew fatter and more sedentary while Mr. Ganz and Tomas seemed to both stay in the stables–Mr. Ganz had even taken to sleeping there. Whether it was by choice or banishment was the subject of much speculation.

There were always fewer guests in winter, but the spring brought no returns of our noble guests. One of the maids, a very bright girl named Aliz, whispered that there had been complaints that the special qualities of the inn were no longer in evidence. My mother had always had a wonderful touch with food, and while Cook was a nice lady, her abilities were not up to the quality of my mother’s cuisine, nor would Mrs. Ganz allot the necessary funds for the better meats and produce. There were occasional guest complaints–those that had returned to us again and again over years–that the service was not up to the previous standards. My father had been able to anticipate the guests’ every need, and both of my parents made all guests feel welcomed. That spirit was gone, and over time the returning guests stopped returning, and the newer guests that began arriving in the spring were of a different class and breeding.

We had always had traveling merchants, but they had been prosperous gentlemen with established businesses in towns and cities. Now the travelers were merchants or vendors who seemed to have no fixed address, moving from town to town peddling their wares, which they often carried in wagons. There were more horses for our stables to care for, but now I heard reports of guests and Mrs. Ganz haggling over the price of rooms. The girls reported some guests taking liberties with the girls, or at least attempting to. Several girls left, including Aliz, preferring to take their chances elsewhere. When she hugged me goodbye, Aliz whispered that her grandmother had The Sight and Aliz had a touch of it and that I should leave as soon as I was able; she felt a darkening cloud over the inn.

As spring gave way to summer, new girls arrived in the rooms. These girls were different from our first girls, coarser, almost slatternly, causing a few more of the original girls to leave, which in turn brought even more new girls of rude quality. Ilka and I kept our heads down and eyes focused on our work, and the few times I saw Marta, she looked haggard and worried. I hugged her and told her I loved her and she said the same, but that whispered that she wanted to run away and that I should come with her, but she lacked the courage to leave.

In short, it became apparent that Mrs. Ganz brought the new girls to provide sexual favors to the guests. Ilka came back from her day in the village to tell me of our inn’s new reputation as a house of ill repute. That was even a more crushing blow to me than my loss of station. There was nothing to be done for it, though, and we found that some of the girls, indolent after a night’s ‘service’, would order us about as if we were their inferiors. The pleasant little community that we girls had shared last summer was now gone; there was a new hierarchy in place and we were at the bottom.

There were also rumors that, business being bad, Mrs. Ganz had entered into an arrangement with smugglers of some sort. I know that a storage building was added to the property, down by the lakeshore, and that we were now forbidden from going anywhere near it. From time to time, looking out one of the upper-story windows that had a lake view, strange men could be seen in the distance either placing items in or removing them from the small building. They arrived by boat and departed by boat, and some of the girls had seen one or more of them up close and said they were rough, frightening men.

Then a merchant’s horse brought me my long-overdue ‘mushroom luck’; as usual, in a convoluted way. The horse had been badly shod in the past and his hooves were wearing unevenly and as Tomas came to examine the damage, the horse kicked out and caught Tomas, opening a nasty gash across his leg. Mr. Ganz treated it as they usually did, but the wound would not heal and was beyond the abilities of the Ganzes; finally Mama Nusa was sent for.

I did not know any of this, other than the laundress commenting on the amount of blood she’d needed to wash out of Tomas’ pants, and a later complaint about the foul-smelling crusted goo on cloths used to bandage his leg. Mama Nusa arrived and treated the delirious Tomas with a cleansing emetic and a poultice and asked for a girl to teach how to care for Tomas until he healed. She was given Tzigane, one of the new girls and a bit of a lazy slattern. I believe that she was assigned to nurse Tomas simply to give her something to do, and to get her out from underfoot. She proved to be unable or unwilling to remember the simple directions, and Mama Nusa demanded a replacement. As I later learned, Mama Nusa had first asked for me; that is, she had asked for the boy Jules and was told there was no such person at the inn. Tzigane, on being replaced, had said, well, there was the ‘sewing girl Juliska, but she’s just a little thing’. Mama Nusa remembered that day I used the name to her cousin, and so I was summoned.

I gave Mama Nusa a joyous hug on seeing her, and then she stood me back and stared at me. Needless to say, I had changed, even beyond the day I had worn her granddaughter’s shift with my hair loose. Now my hair was quite long and braided as a country girl’s, with small blue and white flowers. I wore a sleeveless embroidered white blouse and a blue patterned skirt of my own making, and open-toed sandals. My cheeks and lips were lightly rouged and my nails were shiny with varnish. There was also the matter that when I spoke, my voice had a girl’s melody and my hands waved delicately. Mama Nusa raised an eyebrow, pursed her lips, and then gruffly told me the simple procedure to treat Tomas. Then she went into the inn, but turned to look at me one more time. I was so happy to see her; I waved and blew her a kiss. Mama Nusa nodded, a smile creased her careworn face, and left.

Chapter 7: In Which I Learn Some Ways Of The World

The next step in my current flow of ‘mushroom luck’ occurred due to a cruel prank and my own ignorance. Tzigane was petulant at having been dismissed from the task of caring for Tomas, and affected her revenge the next day, in the evening as we all sat behind the inn, watching birds alight in the lake. Tzigane asked how Tomas’ convalescence was proceeding and I reported that I’d changed the poultice twice and that he was mostly sleeping but still somewhat delirious when awake. Tzigane nodded and said perhaps she would have changed it three times but Mama Nusa said she should also–and then she brushed any further comment aside.

I asked that she tell me, and she said that Mama Nusa had given her the full instructions but thought she was stupid; it was just because Tzigane’s southern Magyar made her sound that way to some people. To prove it, Tzigane asked if I had prepared the poultice properly, naming the ingredients and application. She truly had learned the process, and I agreed with her that she could have treated Tomas as she had been instructed properly and retained the information. Tzigane then casually asked about ‘maintenance of the root’. I had no idea what she was talking about; I searched my memory for any root or vegetable stalk that was used in the poultice but could think of nothing.

Tzigane then shrugged it off, saying it probably didn’t matter and that he’d get well enough, most likely. This was such a casual dismissal of his chances at full recovery that I was afraid I’d been so full of joy to be reunited with Mama Nusa that perhaps I hadn’t listened properly. I was terrified of letting her down, and terrified, too, to consider going to ask her about the proper care. I begged Tzigane to tell me about the ‘maintenance of the root’ and she seemed annoyed that she’d have to repeat Mama Nusa’s explanation but I seemed like a nice girl and, well, all right; she’d tell me.

Being called ‘a nice girl’ was unremarkable to me; it had been over a year since Franciska’s imperious order that I become Juliska, and there were the new girls–such as Tzigane–who may or may not have known that I was, in fact, a boy. I was just the little girl with a sewing ability, and didn’t feel the need to state my maleness, and to do so would only invite Franciska’s wrath, as Marta had pointed out.

Consequently, as Tzigane gave me the supposed instructions of Mama Nusa–while actually setting her prank in motion–she began by asking if I had ever seen a male’s member, his root, and I replied, truthfully but cryptically, yes I had, on a small boy. I meant myself, of course, but ever mindful of Franciska, I kept my own counsel. Tzigane rolled her eyes and said that it was very different for a man, and as Tomas was almost fully a man, I would have to be instructed. She bade me fetch a carrot or cucumber and some plums from the kitchen. When I returned with them, puzzled, Tzigane held the cucumber vertically in the palm of her hand and then placed two plums at its base, holding them all in her hand.

Tzigane instructed me that the male root could grow rigid and tall, very like the cucumber. There were several causes, impure thoughts or anger, for instance. If the member were floppy, I must do thusly, and she stroked the length of the cucumber. When the resemblance of the root to the cucumber was achieved, it was full of pressure. The pressure must be relieved for his health, she said seriously, at least once daily. While I could continue to stroke the root, and she demonstrated on the vegetable, it was best for me to take it in my mouth. She bent slightly and inserted the tip of the cucumber in her mouth and her lips pursed fatly as she sucked at it. Taking it out, she said it was best to take as much of the root as I could in my mouth, and the pulsing sucking action should be like a heartbeat. She demonstrated, to giggles and strange comments from some of the other girls.

The things the girls said I took to mean that this was very common knowledge among females, and I felt proud that I was being taught such a grown-up skill, knowing that they still considered me a child. I listened dutifully to Tzigane’s instructions as well as the remarks from the other girls, such as licking the length of the shaft, and kissing the tip affectionately. Innocently I asked them, was this truly the result of anger? I was told with laughs that many a woman had turned a wrathful male into a docile lamb by this practice.

The plums and cucumber were handed to me and I dutifully followed their instructions. Two of the girls came over and took the items from me and demonstrated and I repeated their actions once I held the items again, more confident now from their demonstrations that this was, in fact, knowledge that was common among girls. I was instructed about the gentle touch necessary for handling the plums, and also told that a raging madman could be tamed by painfully squeezing them and kneeing or kicking them for maximum crippling. It was shocking news to me, as my own ‘plums’ had yet to appear and I was truly ignorant of their fragility. As the girls continued their instructions, I felt a wonderful sense of belonging, truly feeling that I was growing up for a change, and as I have stated, I had no qualms about being considered every bit as female as they.

One set of instructions, however, gave me pause. I had to ask in greater detail about the spurting the girls mentioned, because of course the cucumber was inert. They made it plain that it was different from urine and was beneficial, both for the male that was relieved of it and the female that received it. One girl said she didn’t care for the saltiness of it and would spit it out, but the others said she was a northern girl with a delicate palate and could not bear salt on any of her food. The other girls were quite happy to swallow it down, and two of them said they would greedily suck the root dry, almost as if drinking the male energy, and feel happy afterward.

Puzzled, I asked how the spurting could be beneficial if swallowed, if the same material was so harmful to be retained in the male. The girls looked at each other, searching for an explanation, and it was decided that the energy was harmful only when contained in the rigid male root but was harmless when expelled. This seemed to make sense, so after a few more demonstrations, I was deemed fit to minister to Tomas. To this day I do not know if any of those girls had knowledge of my male existence; if so, it was a particularly vicious prank. It is my belief that–other than the wicked Tzigane–they merely thought they were instructing a young girl in necessary and familiar skills, not seeing it as a vice or a sin, and in my ignorance there was no evil or distaste connected with that skill.

Desperately afraid that I had betrayed Mama Nusa’s confidence in me by failing to heed her instructions to perform this daily service on Tomas–as I’d been led to believe by Tzigane–I went directly the stables. I had not seen Mr. Ganz since I had been found unsuitable for stable work. In the time since then, perhaps he had seen me from afar when I was with the other girls at lakeside; the Ganz family did not attend the same Mass as we did, nor did I have any evidence they attended church. Now I stood before him, demure and submissive, feet together and hands clasped before me, in an embroidered skirt and lacy blouse of my own making, my hair long and plaited, with my nails varnished, cheeks and lips rouged. His eyes widened and an immense sadness came to them, and a touch of something else. I realized later it was shame.

I was blushing and stammering that I had come to administer to Tomas in Tzigane’s place, and that I hoped to speed his recovery. With a slow nod, Mr. Ganz directed me to Tomas’ bedside in his small room over the stables, where he lay on sweaty sheets, still semi-delirious. I had changed his poultice earlier and decided that it was still good for the night, so I sat on the edge of the bed and carefully untied his breeches and lay the front flap down, exposing his male parts.

I let out a little gasp at their size and furriness. Tzigane was right; there was absolutely no correspondence between the bald, finger-long object between my legs and the massive root before me, and the ‘plums’, which I knew he called his balls, were ropy with veins. I had to admit that Tzigane’s cucumber and plums were a very accurate substitute for what lay between Tomas’ legs.

My instructions were clear and I applied them properly. With one hand, I began stroking Tomas’ root while my other hand cradled his balls, and as described, his root stiffened and grew in length and thickness. I thought it interesting that he was not quite awake and was still delirious but that his male member acted as if on its own initiative. When it seemed nearly as long as my forearm and fully fit my grasp and would grow no larger, I licked its length as the girls instructed and then inserted the shaft in my mouth. After sliding in and out, as far in my mouth and throat as I could without gagging, and vigorously sucking as I drew it to its length, I was rewarded with a clenching and then a copious spurting of his male energy, which I dutifully swallowed. It was salty, slightly sour, and warm, but not objectionable and certainly better than some medicines and potions I had swallowed when ill. I sucked his root dry, as Tzigane directed me, and then kissed the tip as if in goodbye, as another girl said she liked to do. It brought a smile to me and I felt a sense of accomplishment, especially watching the effect on Tomas, who had tightened before the spurting, had bucked a bit, and then relaxed in a peaceful lassitude. The girls were right; any anger and bad feelings had been removed from his body.

I gently rolled Tomas this way and that to change the sweaty sheets under him and then covered him gently and returned to the rooms. I could not understand the looks that passed between the girls when I reported back to Tzigane that I had accomplished my mission; I know now that they were suppressing their laughter and disbelief. Since the evening’s instruction had implied that my actions were commonly known of and practiced by all adult women, I did not boast or brag or even discuss what I had done for Tomas with Ilka or Marta any more than I would have boasted of changing his poultice.

Chapter 8: In Which I Am Asked Questions Of Import

The second day that I ministered to Tomas, he was awake and clear minded. I changed his poultice, noting the improvement already, and thought that perhaps it was because I had ‘completed’ the ministrations with my oral servicing the night before. I actually sent a prayer of thanks to Tzigane for helping me improve my ministrations. Then I smiled at Tomas and started undoing the front of his pants. He startled and asked me what I was about and I told him to lay back and let me minister to him. He was already semi-rigid and gasped a bit when I touched him and really gasped when I bent and took him in my mouth. He made numerous utterances such that I paused and told him to keep quiet; nobody wanted to hear about his medication. He grinned at that and while he bucked and gurgled back comments, he was quiet, even when rising off the bed while spurting. I kissed his tip again and did him up and then told him to roll over as I would change his sheets. I am only now fully aware of the magnitude of his astonishment when I smiled and left.

Tomas grew stronger daily and by the fifth day was able to return to work in the stables. Yet a message was passed to me that I was needed there; Tomas met me in his room and requested I orally administer to him again. I pointed out that he was cured, for the most part, and he grew insistent, and then demanding, even grabbing my arm and twisting it, forcing me into a kneeling position before him. I remembered one of the girls saying that I could transform his rage into docility so I did not resist. He fumbled quickly with his pants, exposing his rigid red root, and I thought, aha, the girls were right. His anger is being caused by the pressure within his member. I could easily use both hands on his shaft and balls, although I had to stretch up from my knees to get the height to place his unbending root into my mouth. Tomas’ hands instantly changed from grasping, threatening claws to soft palms that caressed my hair, gently urging my head forward onto his shaft. He had to grab the edge of his bed for support when he began spurting, but recovered quickly and was all smiles. Then he told me that it would be my daily duty to minister to him and that we were not to bother telling any of the others as it was his personal medical recovery.

I wasn’t too concerned about that; it was the work of five or ten minutes, no more, and would give me a break from my labors in the sewing room, but that very night I received a shock. I was sitting with Tzigane–whom I still mistakenly took to be a new friend–and one of the other girls, when the subject of Tomas came up and I thanked them for their instructions. They giggled and nodded, and then I asked, in very loose terms, about the spurting material, since I’d just that day seen a vivid display of anger dissipated by the oral service. Again I asked, how could the anger, the evil energy, be beneficial if swallowed? From one body to another, but the material didn’t change so how could its nature change?

Tzigane replied casually that it was because it was male energy and had no effect on females. I was too stunned as the implications came to mind, and they took this to be incomprehension. The other girl explained, patiently and slowly, that the universe was divided into males and females, male energy and female energy, both positive and negative, light and dark. The male energy gave them their drive, their desire to fight and wrestle and best each other in sport–very different from female enery. When that male force, contained in part in the spurting material, was expelled from the male body, there was that lassitude I’d noticed in Tomas, but not for long–the male body was continuing to manufacture the substance and the whole process continued. Tzigane pointed out that as males grew older, their bodies produced less and less and that accounted for the lack of fire in older men. It all made perfect sense to me. It was not right, of course–or perhaps, partially right in intent if wrong in substance–but their casual reassurances that, as a female, the negative male energy would have no effect on me chilled me to the bone. I thanked them and went to sit in my room, desperately wondering what to do about my situation.

As it was almost summer and not late, I suddenly knew what must be done. I went back to the stables and told Tomas that I had urgent need to see Mama Nusa and that his health depended on it. A small lie, but effective–Tomas certainly wanted to continue receiving his daily ‘oral medication’. Dinner was already over and duties done, so Tomas saddled a horse and swung me up before him on the saddle and we galloped to Mama Nusa’s house, some distance away. When we arrived, I told Tomas that he must not come in or try to overhear us; he replied that as long as I would service him he was content and was going to take the horse to water from Mama Nusa’s stream.

Mama Nusa was somewhat surprised to see me at that hour yet not too surprised to see me, it seemed. Thinking that the oral service had been part of her instructions, I began by dutifully telling her about Tomas’ recovery, the state of his wound, and the application of the poultice. Then I began telling her of his responsiveness to the oral ministrations and she stood, wide-eyed with anger, and demanded I explain myself. I burst into tears at her response, misunderstanding its cause, and admitted that I hadn’t heard her instructions on this matter but that Tzigane had relayed them to me. Mama Nusa suddenly collapsed over me in a hug and was crying herself, which shocked me.

At this point I explained the reason for my call. I was concerned about the negative male energy extracted from Tomas’ root having negative effects on me. Tzigane and the other girls took me to be female and I told Mama Nusa their reasoning, that being female protected them from the male energy. But since I was male–although a poor specimen of the breed–was I causing myself injury? And if I were to stop the oral service for fear of that potential injury, what of Tomas’ healing? It was an insoluble dilemma and had caused my flight to her side for answers.

What I never expected was for Mama Nusa to throw her head back with laughter. She had been weeping uncontrollably before, but now it was tears of laughter that seemed difficult to stop. She stood and pulled a chair over to the front of me and took my hands in hers and tried to speak but couldn’t for her mirth. While she got control of herself, I looked at my hands in hers, seeing the great contrast. While not a large woman, Mama Nusa’s hands dwarfed mine. Her hands were rough with age and work and potions, with a few age spots and short, clipped nails. My own hands were small, delicate, white, unblemished, and with varnished oval nails.

Finally, Mama Nusa gave me the most sad and yet warmly loving look, and began by calmly asking how I felt about my last two years. I was shocked, absolutely rocked, to realize that my father had died, my mother was murdered, I was poisoned, I lost my inheritance, and now sat before her, to all intents and purposes, a lowly sewing girl–all within but two years. I was too stunned to answer at first, so Mama Nusa took a different approach. She said that I had a right to full information about what had transpired, but she would tell me later as we had little time before nightfall and Tomas would need light to guide the horse back to the inn. Instead, she was going to ask me a question: She asked if I would like to continue as a seamstress at the inn, or come to live with her and learn to be a healer. She knew I had intelligence and was literate, and we seemed to have some affection for each other.

I was about to answer, still feeling the direction, when she held up a hand and said there was a second question to be asked, and while it had little effect on the first question, it must be asked. Did I feel that I was a girl or a boy? Did I wish to spend the rest of my life as a boy or a girl? Again she held up her hand and said for me to not answer. I was to think on these things. Without answering, as she’d directed, I asked Mama Nusa two questions of my own. First, while I was currently a seamstress at the inn, what were my prospects in the years to come? And second, was it truly possible for me to live a full life as a male, and was it truly possible for me to live a full life as a female?

Mama Nusa put her head down in silence, then answered that I was right and wise to ask; I needed her answers before considering her questions. She said she would tell me absolute truth, and it would burn. I readied myself. She said my inheritance was no longer possible. I would never reclaim the inn as Jules Schneider. Any attempts to do so would probably result in my death as my mother had been poisoned, or a convenient ‘accident’ of some sort. My only chance at survival was to remain the meek, subservient seamstress. The inn was falling on hard times; the Ganz family had no skill as innkeepers and had entered into a deal with the devil that they could not win–working with the smugglers. The inn was already perilously close to becoming a full-time brothel as it was, and the alliance with criminals would only hasten its decline. Assuming I didn’t run away and take my chances on the road, with no funds and no experience, there was only one likelihood. Since I had become proficient in the oral service I practiced on Tomas, I would most likely be pressed into performing on guests and would become some kind of half-male, half-female whore.

She stared at me, unblinking, as the full horror of that vision sank in. My throat was clenched and I felt ill, but she put a hand on my cheek. She said the answer to my second question was a yes and no at the same moment.

As to living my life as a male, yes, it could be done. However, I would always be small and delicate, I would be easily threatened for my feminine mannerisms which were such a natural part of me, and it was questionable whether I would ever be able to perform sexually as a male.

As to living as a female, she said it was already accomplished; I was feminine in every way–but as a ten-year-old girl. I would be growing in years if not in height, and yes, there were ways she could assist me in growing as a girl. With the exception of my bit of maleness between my legs, which was always tucked away in my undergarments anyway, I would be able to develop the breasts and curves of any other female. I would be indistinguishable from any other female while clothed, and difficult to distinguish even when unclothed. She said to not get my hopes up, but she had some understanding that there were ways to remove the maleness, as well, but she knew for certain that, even if the maleness were to remain, it could be controlled and minimized. Of course, even if it were to be removed, I could not give birth, as that is a God-given ability of born females. But other than that I could live a full life as a female.

Now it was time to call Tomas, our conversation over, and return to the inn before full nightfall. I was moving as if asleep, my head and my heart too full of things to consider. Mama Nusa explained to Tomas that she had shared a great deal of information with me and that I was struggling to remember it all, and for Tomas to not bother me or talk to me on the way home. She would come to the inn the next day, in her small pony-cart, and hoped Tomas would care for her pony while she determined if I had retained the night’s information and then spoke with Mrs. Ganz. Mama Nusa implied strongly that this all concerned his health and advised him to follow her instructions to the letter. She added a burst of Magyar that I couldn’t understand but made him pale; I assumed she was threatening him somehow.

It was a silent ride home, but feeling Tomas’ arm around me, and looking down at my thin, smooth legs and the flow of my skirts compared to his thick leg and pants sitting astride the horse, added to my thoughts. Although we arrived late, I did not sleep that night but stared at the ceiling trying to imagine every possibility of a future for me, and trying to reconcile what my mind told me with what my heart told me, and trying to determine the very nature of my soul.

End of Part 2