Something Feels Strange…

"It is okay to cry a little," Mom tells me when she sees me holding back. "You are a girl now. One of the benefits of being a girl is that you can show emotion."

A few tears do find their way down my cheeks.

"The only problem with crying" she observes, "is that you have to fix your makeup afterwards."

She drags me back into the bathroom, where she shows me how to touch up my makeup from the repair kit found in the purse.

Chapter 8: Deportment & Dad Time

After checking out of the hotel, Dr. Quinn and Joe transferred all my Scout camp bags from the family mini-van to the Mercedes. My new luggage ends up in the mini-van and Mrs. Quinn's overnight bag follows my scout supplies into the Mercedes. There is a young man in a scout uniform that I don't recognize waiting for us. I don't know where he came from and no one seems to want to explain it. He is, apparently, a decoy used to make it look like Dad and I left town together. We let him use the room to change out of his uniform before we finished checking out.

Like I said earlier, this cloak and dagger stuff gets pretty complicated. I worry that there are just too many people involved in this charade. Oh well, I am just a minor player in the game. Who am I to question the powers that be?

Mrs. Quinn is watching my every move as we leave the hotel room and head out to eat. She had to stop me from helping the men move the bags around. She whispered in my ear that it is good to let the men do the heavy lifting. That is what a normal girl would do.

The girl lessons continue. As a matter of fact, I suspect that they have barely begun.

After climbing into the mini-van, I am told that I walk like a boy and also enter a car like a boy. I wonder why? I ask myself with no small amount of sarcasm.

"Okay, Kris," Mrs. Quinn begins, "you need to take slightly smaller steps and put one foot more in front of  the other. You walk like John Wayne after he has finished a long trail ride. Even a tomboy is more feminine than that. Bring your elbows in a bit too. Girls walk with their elbows in and hands out more than guys do.

"And," she continues, "when a girl sits in a car, normally she sits first then swings her legs in with her knees together. Getting out is the opposite motion. This technique comes from wearing skirts. Sitting any other way looks inelegant and will give a cheap thrill to any guy in the area. Maybe we should have gotten you a tight skirt to wear. That might force you to walk and sit more like a girl. Some high heels would help to."

Bad idea, is what I think – if that counts for anything.

"When we get to the restaurant, take some time to watch the other girls," she continues. "Pay particular attention to how they walk and sit. I suspect that you will probably try to sit like a guy. In fact you are doing it right now. Try to keep your knees together or cross your legs like you see women do. Sometimes girls will sit with legs spread like that, but it is not appealing on a female even when wearing jeans. Don't get too worried about mistakes at this point – we can write off any mistakes to your tomboy wilderness background – with the body that you have now, no one will ever suspect that you were once a boy. Regardless, please try to move like a girl. You won't stand out if you act like a typical girl. If you act strangely you are likely to get a lot of ribbing or outright meanness from your new peer group. Teen girls can be pretty ruthless when someone behaves differently from the way they think they should."

Dr. Quinn drives us to the IHOP restaurant down the street. Joe and our decoy follow in the Mercedes. They stay outside while we go in for breakfast. I pay attention to my car exiting and walking procedures as we head across the parking lot. I reach to open the door for Mrs. Quinn but Dr. Quinn steps in front of me and holds the door for both us girls. It looks like I have yet another habit to break.

We are seated at a booth near a window looking out at the parking lot. As I start to climb into the booth, Mrs. Quinn touches me on the arm and gives me a look that says 'act like a girl'. I get the hint. I turn, sit, swivel (holding those knees together), then slide into the booth. Once seated, she whispers to me, "Better Kris, but keep practicing. It needs to be smoother and automatic. Be patient. I expect that it will take time to get it perfect."

Oh boy! So much to think about.

I try crossing my legs, something that I have never thought was comfortable as a boy. In the my new body, it seems much easier. It must be the wider hips and lack of obstruction in the crotch that makes it so.

I observe a group of five teenage girls about my age walk across the parking lot and enter the restaurant together. A couple of them are wearing high heeled sandals and are taking rather short steps. Whatever it is that they are talking about has the gaggle in giggles. I notice that they tend to be more expressive with their hands than guys. They also seem to enjoy personal contact as they hug or get close to each other frequently. The five cram into a four person booth without a second thought.

Looking at how they are dressed, I realize that I am dressed more conservatively than they are. Mom, I know, would not approve of how low some the tops are cut and how almost all the tops don't quite match up with the tops of the pants or skirts that they are wearing. Two of the girls are wearing short denim skirts, two are in very low cut jeans that have no extra room, and the last is wearing shorts. Two of the girls should have tried for looser clothes as they definitely qualify as muffin tops. They look gross with their extra flesh bulging over the waist-bands of their bottoms. It doesn't seem to bother them though. They are having a good time.

"What'll ya have, Honey?" The waitress snaps me out of my observation.

I've been to IHOP many times in many places, so I know what I want without looking at the menu. I am starving so I go for my favorite order.

"I'll take the Double Blueberry Pancakes, with sausages and two eggs, over easy, and a large class of milk, please," I say.

She looks me funny. "A girl with a healthy appetite," she comments.

After taking the grown up orders, she heads back to the kitchen to place the order.

"Kristina, that is a lot of food for a girl," Dr. Quinn observes. "I think that you might find that you can't put it away like you used to."

I am used to eating anything in sight. All the running and my young male metabolism have kept me skinny despite my eating habits. My parents have complained that our food budget is severely strained by my food intake. They expected to get rich this summer just from the savings at the grocery store.

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Quinn begins, "You will find that girls can't eat as much as guys. For one, they are smaller. Also, their metabolisms tend to be slower. If you are not careful, you can easily end up looking like some of those girls that you've been observing."

Great object lesson.

"When your food arrives," she continues, "don't feel obligated to eat it all. Eating is not a macho test for you anymore. Also, try to resist shoveling it in like you are prone to do. You need to slow down some and take smaller bites."

The girl lessons are coming thick and fast this morning: watch how you walk... watch how you sit... let men help with the heavy things... let men open doors for you... watch how you eat – I am sure that the list will only get longer. I almost think that I need to be taking notes.

"I'll try to remember that, but I am starving right now," I lightly complain. "So, where do we go from here?"

"After we have some breakfast," Dr. Quinn says, "my stunningly beautiful wife" – Ugh!, there they go again! – "will be returned to her car, which is hidden near the beauty shop, by Joe who will also drop off our decoy. You and I will continue to a soon-to-be-disclosed location so that you can catch your flight. On this flight, you will be further schooled in the art of girlhood by a qualified professional, or so we are told. After dropping you off, I am going to find a nice quiet spot to do some fishing for the rest of the afternoon, then head home to a much more peaceful household with all the prospects for a relaxing summer."

I ignore the good hearted jab at the effect of my departure from home.

"What's with all the secret stuff?" I ask. "We are away from home."

"Your Aunt Jennifer tells us that we may have people watching us," Mrs. Quinn says. "Even if they are not, we need to be careful. The creation and debut of Kristina Jeffers is being carefully orchestrated. We don't want to do anything that jeopardizes the project."

About this time the food arrives and we focus on my eating habits again.

The parents are right. Again. As usual? My ability to pack away the food has been seriously diminished. I polish off the eggs and sausage, but only get half way through the pancakes before I get to the point where it hurts to eat any more. I should have stopped at one pancake. Trying to tackle four was way beyond my new capacity.

I finally lower my fork and call it quits.

"I don't think that I'll need to eat again today," I moan.

"I see that you still have that male competitive spirit." Mom observes. "Girls don't need to prove themselves every time they turn around, sweetheart. No one will care if you don't beat everyone in sight or finish what you start if it is unwise."

Another girl lesson.

Mom decides that we need to fix our makeup after eating, so she drags me off to the ladies room while Dad pays the bill.

The women's room: A sacred place where men fear to tread.

As I confront the door, I hesitate. Mom sees this.

"Better sooner than later, sweetheart. In we go!" She whispers to me as she takes me by the hand and literally drags me inside.

She is obviously trying to get me through as many girl lessons she can before she has to turn me loose.

The room is small. Small restaurants aren't known to have large restrooms. I observe that it is not too unlike the male side. The big difference is that the urinal is missing and in its place is another toilet stall. There is are only two stalls in this restroom. There is also a small counter with a couple of sinks and with a large wall mirror above it. There is also the stock air hand drier, liquid soap dispenser, paper dispenser, and large trash bin. This room also has a wall mounted dispenser where feminine hygiene products can be purchased – I am NOT ready to go there!

I am a little disappointed. I'm not sure what I expected, but this room does not appear to be anything mystical.

"You have a lot of traveling to do today, Kris," Mrs. Quinn points out. "Women seem to need to go to the toilet a lot more than guys – one of the downsides of your new sex. You will soon learn to take every opportunity to use the facilities." She ducks into one stall and suggests that I use the other.

As I drop my jeans and panties, I feel really out of place. The panties down past my knees are not a normal sight. Sitting down on the toilet I try to relax and let things flow. The need to urinate is not very strong and I am not having success. It is clear that the muscular structure in my crotch is different from my old one. I try contracting and loosening the unfamiliar muscles, all to no avail.

Giving up, I stand up and pull up my panties and jeans.

Mrs. Quinn, who was successful, is washing her hands at the sink. I join her.

Next is a makeup repair lesson. As I don't have much on to get messed up I am instructed to just reapply my lip gloss. This time I try doing it on my own. I don't stay between the lines and have to try it again. It is passable on the second try, but not quite up to standards. The third attempt is acceptable, but I can tell that more practice is in order.

We finish up and find Dr. Quinn waiting patiently by the door. I can see it in his expression, but he is wise enough not to say it – What takes so long? He gets a quick kiss for good behavior from his wife.

Standing by the family car, Mom wraps me in a big hug. She is misty eyed. "Sweetheart, we are going to miss you around the house this summer. This job of yours sounds exciting. Just don't get yourself into anything dangerous. Hopefully you can come over to see us from time to time. We love you and look forward to your return in August."

My parents may be a little unreasonable at times, but it is good to feel loved. I know that they have my best interests at heart. I get misty eyed too.

"Mrs. Quinn, I love you too, but I don't want to mess up this makeup. I don't think I can redo it by myself!" I joke.

She gives a final squeeze then lets me go. "You need to work on that, sweetheart."

"I hate to break this up, ladies, but we need to hit the road," Dr. Quinn interjects before giving his wife her six-second kiss.

"Remember everything that I taught you," She admonishes me.

"I will," I reply. It is a difficult parting.

I climb into the front seat of the family car in a lady-like fashion and Dr. Quinn heads for the freeway.

"Kris," Dr. Quinn begins, "I'm having a real difficult time seeing my son in this pretty package. I can see your personality, but it is hard to make the connection with the old Chris. I hope you don't take this wrong, but I think that it easier for me to view you as the new Kris – someone else's daughter – right now. It is as if I have already dropped my son off at camp for the summer and I am giving the niece of a good friend a lift to the airport."

"I know what you mean," I reply. "I think that I am looking at someone else when I look at my current self. It's like I am along for the ride. I don't really know this girl. It is difficult, though, being an outsider to the Quinn family. I guess, to maintain my cover, it is best to be on the outside. It will take some getting used to."

We drive along in silence for a few miles, each lost in their own thoughts. A typical male approach to dealing with problems. We both feel comfortable with the approach.

We take a turn north on I-5.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"I have been asked to deliver you to Travis Air Force Base," he explains. "You will be flying north on a military aircraft. Something about not having any recent record of you having traveled to Alaska commercially. Also, a specialist will be using the time to give you some kind of training. That would be hard to do on a commercial aircraft."

"Dad," I want this to be a father-son chat, "why are you going along with this plan?"

"I've asked myself that a lot recently," he answers. "I guess the most important reason is that I have faith in your abilities. I was worried at first that this might be too much for you. The change in sex, the difficult time that you will have sorting out your relationship with Laurie, the change in your summer plans, the challenge of helping to find the spy. That is a lot to take on.

"Your mother and I have had long discussions about this, trying to decide on the best thing to do. We want to do the best thing for you as well as the best thing for the Lab and for national security." He continues; "Believe it or not, your well being is our primary concern. The security team psychiatrists have done a thorough job in analyzing your character, with Laurie's help, and assure us that you will pull through this.  They are convinced that you have the potential to make a great contribution. Apparently, your commitment to ideals of integrity and the ability to focus on mission-oriented goals should allow you to excel in this assignment. These character traits are also those that will allow you to come through this experience with strength.

"Apparently, it's rare to find a teenager like you. One with such integrity and maturity. We've always known that you were a special child, but it is nice to get that confirmed by experts," he says giving a wry smile.

"So, you're not just doing this for the sake of your research?" I ask. "The way that Mom painted the picture last night, you'd think that was your main motivation."

"Well," he admits, "that was a strong consideration. I guess that the threat to my work is what got my attention enough to consider the proposal. But don't think for a second that I wouldn't shut down my project for a season if I didn't feel that you were ready to help. The work that I am doing right now is highly classified. It has great potential for both good and evil. If recent discoveries from my team were to get in the wrong hands it could be used to do great harm to many people. The same is true of other research teams at the Lab. The espionage has caused all of the projects to slow down significantly as we have had to adopt new procedures that are designed to feed false information to the spies. It is hard to generate false information at the same time as seeking valid results. Particularly if you don't know whether or not one of the bad guys is a part of your own team.

"You need to realize that you are just one part of the system being used to catch the bad guys," he continues. "There are other efforts going on right now that you will be supplementing. No one knows if this ruse will work and you will probably never know if you helped or not. Your job, as I understand it, is to act like a sensor. You just collect requested information and feed it back to those who will combine it with information from other sources in an attempt to find where the leak is.  You will not be a part of the analysis or decision functions, neither will you be part of the apprehension or punishment of the culprits. In fact your job could get to be pretty boring."

"It doesn't sound as sexy as was portrayed last night," I comment. "I was hoping to be more like a teenage James – make that Jane – Bond."

"I don't doubt that you could do it," Dad laughs, "but we have the experienced trained professionals directing the show. But they are, after all, government employees so they could be like the keystone cops. We'll see. You will need to look out for yourself the best you can. If things appear to be getting out of control, let us know and we'll find a way to pull the plug on the operation."

"I will for sure," I affirm. "We need some kind of special password or something that I can use to let you know how I am doing."

"Apparently the security team is way ahead of you on that idea," he says. "I suspect that that will be part of your training this week, but, I think we need our own special code word in case the security team itself is a part of the problem. Any ideas on what we should use?"

I think for a few minutes. I am searching for something that only I and my parents would know. This is hard to do on the spot.

I have it!

"Why don't you ask me how my training is going, since I will still be a runner?" I suggest. "If I ever tell you that I am training for a 3k race, you will know that something is very wrong and immediate action is needed. If I say a 5k race, you know that things are not going well but that we have time to work something out. Anything longer means that things are okay. If I say a marathon, you will know that things are going extremely well."

"What if you really are training for one of those races and you just want to talk about it?" He asks.

"Good point. How about this: If I use the term 'jog' instead of 'run' then you will know that we have entered code mode" I say. "For example, if I say I'm going out JOGGING to prepare for a 3k race, then you know I am in trouble. If I say I'm going to RUN a 3k race, then you know that that is what I am going to do."

"That seems simple enough," he admits. "If I find out that you are in trouble and don't know it, I will suggest you go jogging instead of running."

"Good idea," I say.  Every serious runner I know, cringes when someone suggests that they go jogging.  Jogging is for wimps.

"I'll let your mother know and we will keep it among the three of us as our own code," He concludes.

We spend some more time talking about the ins and outs of the job as we each know right now. I am feeling better about the job and my parent's decision to support it. My commitment to the project is increasing.

We turn off the interstate onto CA-12 and head west. As we cross the Sacramento river into Rio Vista my bladder begins to complain. On request, Dr. Quinn stops at the local Chevron station to gas up the min-van. There is a McDonald's next door, and knowing the state of gas station restrooms, I opt for trying the one at McDonalds. It turns out to be a single person bathroom and I have to wait for the current occupant to vacate the premises before I can get in.

I find that releasing the flow is easy when there is sufficient pressure. I also begin to recognize which muscles do what. A few more times at this and I should have it worked out. Cleaning up, I return to the car and we continue on our way.

Eventually we pull up to the gate on the north side of the base and Dr. Quinn tells me to get out my ID card.

The guard inspects both my card and the one that Dr. Quinn produces, then waves us through. It is apparent that the good Doctor knows his way around here pretty well. We pull up outside a large hangar and park the car. Gathering my luggage, we approach a guard at the door to the hangar.

"Welcome back, Dr. Quinn," the guard says with a smile. Now that is interesting!  It looks as if Dr. Quinn is a frequent guest.

"Corporal Smith, it is good to see you again." Dr. Quinn says. "How is your new little girl doing?"

Dad should have been a politician. He has a great memory for people.

"Fine, Sir," Corporal Smith grins as he opens the door for us. "She is sleeping through the night now! Your plane is waiting. I will notify the pilots that you are here."

We enter the biggest room that I have ever seen! It looks like it can hold two 747s with room to spare. The only thing in it right now is a white Gulfstream business class jet. In this big hangar, the jet looks like a toy. A small toy.

An airman sees us and comes over to collect the baggage. I hang on to the book pack and my new purse while he stows the rest.

Standing by the plane are two women talking with each other. One, a tall brunette is wearing the flight suit of an Air Force officer. The other is casually dressed in slacks and a conservative blouse.

Dr. Quinn introduces the tall brunette as Major Compton and the slightly shorter red head as Mrs. Harrison, a Lab employee. I recognize her as the mother of Ben Harrison who is also on the school's cross country running team. Major Compton is an Air Force medical doctor.

Two female pilots in Air Force flight suits arrive as the introductions are being made. I am introduced simply as Kris.

The pilots try to herd us on the plane as they begin their preflight checks.

As the women enter the plane, Dr. Quinn pulls me aside and gives me a big hug.

"The Jeffers are lucky people," he says. "I hope that they treat their daughter well, knowing that she is only on loan. We look forward to seeing our son again in a couple of months. Remember that we love you. Don't hesitate to call any time – day or night – if you need anything."

"Thanks, Dad," I say with a watery eyes. "I am looking forward to the job. I'm also looking forward to returning. I really like being a Quinn. I love you." I stand on tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. I figure that is what a girl would do. It feels right too.

His eyes are misty. I've not seen that before.

------------------

Many thanks again to Gabi for polishing this chapter!