So far Kyle has found it difficult to keep a deal he made with his mother: That if he wears girls’ clothes for a month that she would buy him a moped (a motor scooter). Hehas lost his friends, convinced his mother that he’s gay transsexual and dating a boy named Steve, posed as a lesbian named Demi in order to charm the grandmother of his girlfriend Joannie, who preferred that she wore the pants, and he, the panties, in their relationship, been tricked into appearing as a girl in front of thousands of people, and inadvertently started feminizing his body. In part 10, Demi started to take over Kyle’s life full time, willingly, in response to Joannie’s enticements, and unwillingly, in response to an ultimatum from the gangs at his high school.

Anything for a Moped? - Part 11 by: Dawn De Winter
Chapter Fourteen: Who’s the Most Feminine Boy at Hoover High?

"Well, well, well. I can see that you don’t do things halfway. That’s a fetchingly feminine outfit you’re wearing. You call that pink thing a halter top, don’t you? And those red slacks — what are they called?"

"They’re stretch red moleskin flares. They’re made out of Spandex."

"Well, they’re most becoming on you, as are those high-heeled sandals. To be totally frank, I had no idea that you’d look so … well rounded. Those breasts — are they real?"

"No, they’re breast forms. They were a gift from my girlfriend."

"What a truly odd gift for a boy to get from his girlfriend. Did she also give you the padding that gives you such a full figure?"

"Joannie gave me a bodyshaper, but my mom also helped out with a panty girdle that I can put pads into. You said it was odd to give boobs to a boy. Yeh, you’re right about that. But Dr. Loupi, I’m not really a boy. I’m a girl."

"But Demi, you have the body of a boy. You were born a boy, weren’t you?"

"Yeh, but something went wrong. I should have been born a girl."

"Now why is that, Demi?"

"Because if I had been born with a girl’s body, then I’d have real boobs, and a … well, you know what I’d also have."

"Would you like to have real breasts, Demi?"

"You bet I would. I would like to have breasts just like Joannie."

That last part slipped out. Kyle hadn’t meant to say it. "Joannie’s got me bewitched," he thought. "Every time I hear the word breasts, I end up asking for breasts just like hers. But you up there. If you’re listening, cancel the last order. I definitely want to keep my boy’s chest. Do you hear me? It’s a deal, okay?"

"Well, Demi, as I’m sure you know, there are ways for a boy to acquire breasts. Through implants, for example, or by taking hormones. What would you say if I were to tell you that we could start you on feminizing hormones this very day?

It was pure bluff. No one could treat Kyle without his mother’s consent, and Dr. Loupi was a PhD, not an M.D. They kept him well away from drugs. But Demi wouldn’t know what kind of degree Dr. Loupi had, and so was bound to take the suggestion as a real and present danger. Dr. Loupi expected Demi to show a lot less interest in becoming a girl if there were any real risk of it actually happening. He was acting on the vice-principal orders, Cudmore having told him, "Kyle James is no more of a transsexual than you are. He’s a fake. Prove it."

Kyle knew that there was only one safe answer for Demi: He couldn’t reject hormones out of hand. The doctor might then decide he wasn’t really a transsexual. And if that were the doctor’s diagnosis, the gangs might keep their promise to make Demi into a real woman. Suddenly, the perfect lie occurred to Kyle. He marveled at his own cleverness.

Demi carefully replied to Dr. Loupi: "I’m already taking hormones. There’s no need for any more. I’m already on my way to changing my body forever."

"Yeh," Kyle smirked — "like I’m soon going to have such big muscles and such a heavy beard that no one will ever again confuse me with a girl."

"Ah, you’re already taking hormones! And which doctor is supervising your gender reassignment? I will need his name for my records."

Who could it be? It had to be Dr. Olds, his family physician. There was no one else whose name Kyle could remember.

Dr. Loupi was genuinely impressed that Dr. Olds had agreed to help Demi to feminize: "I always thought he was so old-school. I wouldn’t have thought he knew the meaning of ‘transsexual,’ never mind diagnosing and treating you as one. Truly, truly remarkable."

The hormones were, for Dr. Loupi, definitive. By prescribing them, Dr. Olds had confirmed that Demi was so obvious a transsexual that even a senile dolt could recognize her core identity as female. But to be absolutely sure, and to create a file big enough to impress Vice Principal Cudmore, Dr. Loupi decided to give Demi a ‘gender identity’ test.

"I do hope that Demi passes the test," Dr. Loupi said to himself. "If she’s really a boy in her own head, then there will be no academic paper for Dr. Loupi, and no escape from Iowa."

A graduate of the most important Hungarian-language university in France, Dr. Loupi could never fully fathom the misfortunes that had stranded him in Des Moines. But he intended to get back to the big time. Demi would be his ticket.

But first she had to prove she was really a girl, despite her male body. Demi understood that she had to pass the gender test. Otherwise, she’d be soon gone and Kyle would be a goner.

Dr. Loupi’s test was not, however, an easy one to pass. It was, for a start, profoundly idiosyncratic. The doctor had created his own test by lifting questions from the questionnaires developed by various psychiatrists, clinics, HMO’s, and government agencies. He omitted most of the questions whose answers would be, in his opinion, "too obvious" to anyone trying to fool the tester. For example, someone who wanted to prove that he was "all male" would definitely know that he had to prefer football to soccer.

No, there weren’t going to be any obvious questions or answers on Dr. Loupi’s test. No indeed. As a result, Demi was often hard-pressed to pick out the answer that would prove that she was a transsexual. Her quandary started with the Rorschach ‘inkblot’ test. As Dr. Loupi thought it a waste of his own time to show his patients the more innocuous inkblots — you know, the ones where the only sane answers are "I see a man on a bicycle" or "I see a spider about to devour a housefly with a screaming human head," he had winnowed his stock of inkblots down to, in his opinion, the five most revealing.

Dr. Loupi figured that all five inkblots showed two lesbians having sex. But would Demi see them that way? Well, she did, but she dared not tell her interrogator that all of the inkblots appeared to be sexual in nature. So she told Dr. Loupi that she thought that all five of them featured two women.

"What are the two women doing?" Dr. Loupi asked rather breathlessly.

Demi figured that only a boy as crude as Kyle would think the two women were having sex with each other. So she said, "I think the two women are probably the same woman. She has … a split personality."

"Like you, Demi?" Dr. Loupi wondered. He wasn’t sure how to score this one. He’d never heard this particular answer before. He decided that it was consistent with Demi’s being a transsexual, but a rather frigid one who’d need hours and hours of therapy before she’d be able to have a ‘normal’ sex life.

The inkblots out of the way, Demi had a multiple-choice exam to write. She found it an extremely difficult one to ‘ace.’ To her, the correct answer — the answer that would keep her in lipstick and panties — was far from obvious. It was all very frustrating, for Demi expected to be asked such questions as whether she preferred gossiping to doing calculus, or window shopping for new clothes to playing war games on a playstation. Instead, Dr. Loupi wanted her to pick the correct ‘transsexual’ answer, the "I-really-am-a-girl" answer, from questions such as these:

1. Which of these gems is the most beautiful? (a) emerald; (b) diamond; (c) ruby; (d) sapphire.
2. Which of these is your favorite color? (a) pink; (b) lavender; (c) fuchsia; (d) magenta.
3. Which of these would make the best centerpiece on a dining room table? (a) African violets; (b) American beauty roses; (c) green carnations; (d) orchids.
4. Which of these would be the most embarrassing to be wearing if you were run over by a car? (a) torn, soiled underwear; (b) pink satin panties; (c) nerdy sneakers; (d) a British schoolboy uniform.
5. When I am happy, I (a) smile; (b) laugh; (c) giggle; (d) chuckle.
6. Which of these is the best reason for a boy to dress up like a girl? (a) to sneak into the girl’s locker room; (b) to become a cheerleader; (d) to get a seat on a lifeboat; (c) to please a strict, lesbian aunt.
7. The most fashionable clothes come from (a) Rome; (b) Paris; (c) Fifth Avenue; (d) a boutique.
8. Which desert is the best place to get a suntan? (a) Gobi; (b) Sonoran (c) Sahara; (d) Arabian.
9. What would a genie have to offer you to persuade you to change into the other sex? (a) the most sex ever; (b) a billion dollars; (c) Hollywood stardom; (e) a longer life.
10. If you were a girl for a day, which would you do? (a) flirt with boys at the mall; (b) tidy your room; (c) go dancing; (d) hang out in the girls’ shower room.
11. Which statement couldn’t possibly be true? (a) Every boy fantasizes about being a girl; (b) Most boys have tried on panties; (c) Some boys look good in a dress; (d) Most boys would wear a skirt to school if it improved their chances of having sex with the "best looking girl" in their class.
12. Which of these should a girl on a diet most avoid? (a) eating chocolates with the girls; (b) drinking brewskis with the boys; (c) being fed by her grandmother from the ‘Old Country’; (d) a bikini.
13. Romance stories teach us (a) what is chic; (b) the etiquette of dating; (c) the rewards of chastity; (d) beauty tips.
14. I am most likely to look at a boy’s (a) eyes; (b) clothes; (c) muscles; (d) girlfriend.
15. Which is most beautiful? (a) gold; (b) a rainbow; (c) a butterfly; (d) a wedding dress.
16. Which would be the most fun to wear? (a) a grass skirt; (b) earrings; (c) strawberry lipstick; (d) bracelets.
17. I most like the smell of (a) lilac; (b) perfume; (c) clean laundry; (d) dinner.
18. If you changed your sex, would you be (a) taller; (b) cuter; (c) more popular; (d) a better dancer.
19. Which best describes you? (a) love machine; (b) teacher’s pet; (c) sex pistol; (d) afraid of spiders.
20. Which birthday present would you prefer? (a) a DVD of the "Little Mermaid"; (b) a ticket to the ice follies; (c) silk pajamas; (d) roller skates.
21. Which of these is the most fashionable? (a) bell bottom pants; (b) a beehive hairdo; (c) a pony tail; (d) K-Mart.
22. Which is the most erotic? (a) being spanked by a woman dressed in leather; (c) wearing four-inch spiked heels; (c) dressing up like Alice in Wonderland; (d) riding a stallion bareback.
23. If a boy told you he thought you were "real pretty," would you (a) hit him; (b) cry; (c) smile bashfully; (d) correct his grammar.
24. Who is the most heroic? (a) a Zulu warrior charging a machine gun ; (b) a Roman gladiator fighting a lion; (c) a single mom raising six kids on her own; (d) a cross-dressing virgin burned at the stake.
25. In a car, which is the most essential? (a) gas pedal; (b) brakes; (c) carburetor; (d) vanity mirror.
26. Which statement is least true of teenage boys? (a) they always think about sex; (b) they are rude; (c) they are reckless; (d) they think girls are stupid.
27. What would a genie have to offer you to persuade you to change into the other sex? (a) great sex; (b) a billion dollars; (c) Hollywood stardom; (d) a longer life.
28. Which would be most fun to do with your mother? (a) shop for clothes; (b) talk about boys; (c) attend a ballet; (d) tan in the sun at the beach.
29. Which feels best? (a) silk; (b) satin; (c) denim; (d) hand cream.
30. Girls have more fun than boys because (a) boys flatter them; (b) they have pajama parties; (c) they get more attention; (d) they have more choice in what to wear.

Overall, there were precisely sixty-nine questions. Demi did her best to think like a woman, but she was far from confident about the outcome. Indeed, she became more and more anxious about her fate as Dr. Loupi laboriously checked and rechecked her answers. She really thought she was in trouble when he went over the test for a third time. It was obvious he couldn’t believe the results.

Finally the doctor spoke: "Demi, I don’t know if this is good news or not, but there is no question that you are a transsexual. Or, to be precise, you scored like a female. In fact, and this is definitely a first, you gave the most "feminine" answer to every question. Sixty-nine out of sixty-nine! It’s remarkable. None of the actual, anatomically correct girls to take the test ever got 100%. For starters, no else got both the gem and the desert questions right. You’re the first person, Demi, to be so complete a woman that you knew the best place to get a suntan and the most beautiful gem for a woman to wear. This is really, really exciting! Demi, you’re the most feminine person I’ve ever met!"

Demi was, to put it mildly, non-plussed. While she had wanted to score like a girl, it was profoundly unsettling to be told that she had unerringly chosen the feminine answer. Half the time she had been guessing wildly. Which gem was most beautiful? How could Demi know? So she had just picked the one with the glitteriest name — and she had gotten the answer right! Every time! Now what did that suggest to Demi? The same thing it said to Dr. Loupi — that maybe, just maybe, Kyle wasn’t the all-American boy that he claimed to be.

The test results shook Kyle to his very foundations. They said he thought more like a true female than most of the girls he knew. The rest of the session with Dr. Loupi was a total blur, as though it were happening to someone else. Kyle nodded vacantly as he was asked whether he had ever considered ‘sex with another girl,’ and as a follow-up, whether Demi was likely to be a lesbian after her sex change.

Kyle’s nodding acquiescence became even more mechanical and mindless as he was congratulated on making the right choice in feminizing his body to suit his mind; as he was told that Dr. Loupi would insist on the school administration’s accepting Demi as a girl; and as he was asked to sign a consent form to allow Dr. Loupi to write up Demi’s ‘remarkable story’ for a medical journal.

Kyle was in such a daze that he even thanked Dr. Loupi for promising to help Demi to lobby the state medical association and attorney general’s office for permission to have ‘the operation’ while she was still a minor. Befuddled, Kyle even nodded vacantly as the doctor thought to flatter him by saying, "If there was ever a pubertal boy who was the ideal candidate for sexual reassignment surgery, it must be you, Demi. Sixty-nine out of sixty-nine! Extraordinary, simply extraordinary!

Kyle didn’t even utter a peep when the doctor promised to write the various authorities that very afternoon. "If Dr. Loupi, the esteemed graduate of Gabor University has anything to say about it, you, Demi, will have a perfect female body in time for you and your pretty girlfriends to really celebrate your sixteenth birthday. Ah, sweet sixteen …."

As the doctor seemed then to sink into a reverie, Kyle took his leave. The boy came away from the session with a deep sense of failure, even as Demi delighted in having passed with flying colors — namely, pink, lavender, fuchsia and magenta. Yet Kyle was in such a blue funk that Demi didn’t get her way this time. While Demi was anxious to tell Joannie the ‘good news,’ Kyle decided instead to play hooky from the next class. He needed some time to think, and so he retreated to the most private place in the entire school — to the Demijohn. Once there, he secreted himself into a stall to brood.

Within minutes he heard someone sneak into the room. Fear was Kyle’s first response. Since no other student had permission to use the Demijohn, Kyle figured that the newcomer was up to no good: "Jeez, it could be Jason or Rob. Maybe they have knives. Maybe they’re here to finish me off now that Derek and Steve aren’t around to help me. Or maybe it’s one of the gang members who doesn’t agree with Markko and Sherm about letting me live a while longer."

Anxiously he peered through a crack in the door. He saw someone standing at the urinal, peeing. It should have been a guy. Considering what was going down, it had to be a guy. But it didn’t look like a guy! Those were definitely girls’ clothes. And that hair sure had a feminine cut.

And then the person at the urinal turned to face the stalls, and Kyle could see that it was Vicky Andrews. Totally awesome! The quarterback’s girlfriend for the last year and a half was a GUY!

Curiosity demanded that Kyle emerge from the stall and that Demi find out how Vicky Andrews had the nerve to use a space that had been reserved for Demi’s exclusive use.

"What are you doing here?" Demi asked. "This is the demijohn. I’m the only one allowed to use it because I’m the only one who is …" Demi stopped before she said something really stupid. Instead, she spluttered, "You’re actually a guy! Is that why you’re using the Demijohn?"

"How brilliant of you, Kyle, to figure out that I’m a guy after you spied on me at the urinal. You’re such a mental giant. God, how I hate you! You think dressing up as a girl is some big game. Ha! Ha! Ha! But for some of us it’s dead serious. I really hate you. You’re the reason why I’m being forced to use the Demijohn."

"Huh? You’ve always been a girl for as long as I’ve known you. That’s got to be at least two years. Where have you been taking a leak before now? Not in the girl’s bathroom?"

"Of course, I was using the girls’ washroom, and their locker room. As far as this school was concerned, I was a girl, plain and simple. My records said so. Miss Cranston, the gym teacher, accidentally discovered my secret, but she didn’t give it away. She made sure I had privacy whenever I showered or dressed — even after I joined the cheerleading squad. Everything was going great … until Kyle James got it into his stupid boy’s head that it would be a lark to dress up like a girly. Oh, I hate you so. You’re so selfish, Kyle James. You’ve ruined everything!" She began to cry.

"I don’t understand, Vicky. Everyone thinks you’re a girl, so why did you stop using the girls’ washroom? I didn’t tell you to stop going there."

"But Miss Cranston did!" Vicky wailed. "She told me that the principal himself sent out a memo stating that if any teachers knew of any other cross-dressing males at the school, that their names had to be given to him, and that ‘said transvestites would henceforth have to use the lavatory facility known as the demijohn.’ Miss Cranston told me she’d lose her job if she continued to protect me now that she had express orders to send ‘my kind’ here. So you see, Kyle, it’s all your fault." Then she bawled some more.

So Vicky Andrews was really a boy, a boy who had successfully passed as a girl for two years at Hoover High? A girl who had been dating Brad Mitty, the quarterback, for eighteen months? And he was a boy who had frequently boasted about ‘screwing the head cheerleader’? These questions led to another, which Kyle was indelicate enough to ask: "Won’t Brad go ballistic when he finds out that he’s been having sex with a boy?"

Vicky Andrews stopped crying long enough to study Kyle with amazement: "What are you?" she asked, "a demi wit? Brad is very aware and very grateful that I’m a boy."

"You’re not saying the high school quarterback, Coach Bryant’s pet, is gay? You can’t be saying that! No way!"

"Kyle, you’d better stick to being a boy, ‘cause you’re much too thick-headed to be a successful girl! Not only is Brad gay, but he’s infuriatingly passive. Just once I wish he’d agreed to be on top."

"No way!"

"Yes, way! In fact, though nobody else knows it yet, we sort of broke up on Wednesday night after I told him he was undermining my femininity by always insisting that I do it to him. There I was, pumping away, Brad with his legs high in the air, and I said to myself, ‘Girl, this has got to stop. You are not acting like a lady.’ So I told him I’d no longer go steady with him. He cried a lot but he understood in the end why I need to look around for a real man. And Kyle, that’s man clearly won’t be you."

"A lot you’d know," he blustered. "I can be a real man anytime I want to, but right now I’m getting off on being a girl. And I don’t want you to call me Kyle. When I’m dressed like this, especially when you’re in my space, you’d better call me Demi — just like everyone else does."

"Well, De….mi, thanks to you, the whole school is soon going to know that I’m a boy and that Brad Mitty is as ‘queer as folk’. I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Demi James, for if you’re weren’t so selfish Brad and I wouldn’t be on the verge of becoming even bigger jokes around here than you are!"

As Demi glared, Vicky suddenly realized how stupid it was to pick a fight with the only other cross-dressing boy in the school. "I can’t believe he takes his cross-dressing seriously. Everything is always a joke with Kyle. But he is, I have to admit, forcing a lot of people to confront their prejudices about transgendered folk. I’ve heard more people talking about whether it’s ‘okay’ for a person to ‘change their sex’ in the past three days than I’ve heard in my entire life. Whatever his motive, Kyle has not been entirely bad for the cause."

Yet she had to know whether any part of ‘Kyle’s act’ was sincere. So she asked Demi straight out: "A lot of the people around here think you really are a transsexual. I don’t think you are. That’s why I’m so angry at you. I don’t like frauds. Admit it, Demi. Admit to me that you have no real desire to be female. Come on. I’ve told you about Brad and me. You owe me the truth: what’s your game? What’s the real reason Kyle’s been mincing around the school pretending to be Demi?"

Was Kyle tempted to confess all? Did he contemplate telling Vicky about the moped? Now, those really are, if you think about it, two dumb questions. Who would be foolish enough to spill the beans to Vicky Andrews, a ‘girl’ who’d just related the intimate details of her sex life? Not Kyle! If Vicky talked spitefully about a boy she had dated, what would she say about a boy that she hated?

And so, Kyle chose the safest course, yet another lie. Or he believed it to be a lie: "I’ve become Demi for the same reason that you — is it Victor? — became Vicky. According to Dr. Loupi, the school’s shrink, I am definitely a transsexual. He told me that he’d never met anyone, boy or girl, with a more female personality than mine. So there!"

In the demijohn, it was a useful lie. It immediately transformed Vicky from foe to friend. She started weeping again. "I can’t believe it. At last there’s someone here who’s just like me! I thought I was the only one. Oh Demi, I love you so much!"

Then she put a bear hug on Kyle. To his horror, she gave him a big kiss on the lips. As the cheerleading had put some muscle on Vicky, for a few seconds Kyle was unable to pull away. As he struggled for air, Kyle’s life rushed before him: It ended sordidly in the demijohn, kissed to death by another boy. No, that wasn’t quite right — his obituary would actually say, "Demi had been kissed to death by another girl!"

"This can’t be happening to me," Demi thought. "I am not a lesbian!"

No, that wasn’t right either. "I am a lesbian. That’s what Joannie says I am." If Demi wasn’t a lesbian, then she was a compulsive liar, for there had already been many occasions when she had pulled away from Joannie’s lips just long enough to agree, breathlessly, that, "Yes indeed, there’s nothing in the whole world as good as kissing another girl."

But not this girl! Demi was a ‘one-woman’ girl. There was no way she was going to cheat on Joannie with the quarterback’s boyfriend, even if she was his ex-girlfriend! So, Demi kept squirming until she was free of Vicky’s bear hug.

"Vicky, I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am. But I’m not the type who cheats on her girlfriend. I’m Joannie’s chick, and no one else’s."

"Don’t be silly, Demi. I don’t want to be your girl. I just want us to be sisters. If you hadn’t noticed, I go for the dreamy quarterback type. I’d much rather sex it up with your friend Steve than with you. Now do tell me: What does Steve like to do in bed? Brad is positive you’d be the one to know. Both Brad and I have been real curious about you two. Brad thinks you must have trouble sitting down after a night with Steve. But I doubt that’s true. I bet Steve’s the one who rolls over. What about it, Demi? Who gets to play ‘the boy’ when you two tumble?"

"What kind of girl do you think I am?" Demi spluttered. "I just told you that Joannie’s my sweetie. I don’t cheat on her. I’ve kissed Steve, just like I kissed you. But I’ve never had sex with him, and I never will!"

"And why wouldn’t you? He’s such a hunk. Don’t tell me you’re a lesbian, Demi?" As Demi’s blushed brightly, Vicky giggled, "You are, aren’t you? Wow, you’re the first dyke I’ve ever met who has a penis — you know, a real one. You do have a penis, right, Demi? Don’t tell me you’ve had the operation. I’d die with envy if you were the first to get rid of your willie."

Whatever Demi thought of the question, Kyle didn’t like it one bit. "That’s a stupid question to ask, Vicky. Just look at me. Of course, I’m all male still. Don’t be fooled by the makeup. If you look real close, you’ll easily see that I’ve got more guy hormones churning away inside me than nine-tenths of the boys do. I just know that it’s going to be real hard for me to cover up my beard in a month or so."

"Your beard? I don’t see one. And you’ve got about as much fuzz on your upper lip as a peeled peach. You may still have your willie, Demi, but it doesn’t take much makeup for you to look like a girl."

To herself, Vicky said, "You’re even rather cute as a girl. I heard several guys say that you looked ‘cute’ in purple. You’ll never be a beauty, Demi, but I can see why boys could think you were really ‘cute’. If I were a lesbian, I could go for you myself."

But handsome, virile Steve was more Vicky’s type, and so she asked, while Demi was still searching her mind for a more fitting metaphor for her ‘beard’: "If you’re not Steve’s girlfriend, do you think I could be? I’m dumping Brad. He’s yours if you want him. Do you think you could introduce me to Steve Lancer? That would be a very sisterly thing for you to do."

"Yeh, I suppose."

Demi to her own amazement was jealous. She wanted Steve for herself. It’s not that she wanted to have sex with Steve; after all, Demi ruled out ‘sex with boys’. It’s just that Demi delighted in Steve’s courting. He made her feel special. He made her feel pretty. She even liked the way he kissed. Thus Demi, even though she was Joannie’s girl, was very reluctant to see another girl move in on Steve. But what could she say to Vicky? There was only one thing she could say, "If you join our table at lunch on Monday I’ll introduce you to Steve."

"Thanks. But I’ll wait until word spreads, as I’m sure it will, about my being a guy."

"Do you still have your original male equipment?"

"Yeh, so far. If Steve knows I’ve got a boy’s body, then he’ll be more likely to pay attention to me when I sit at your table."

"Vicky, I could tell Steve today about you and Brad, and then you’ll be able to join us on Monday. How about that?"

"You’d do that for me? What a sweetheart you are! But do be discrete. It’s maybe possible that we can keep my sex a secret from the rest of the school. Brad won’t talk. He won’t want anyone to know he’s gay. Maybe we can keep everything a secret."

With a chaste kiss, they bade each other adieu — until their next shared class.

Outside the demijohn, both girls soon regretted their indiscretion. They were natural born gossips, as was Steve. Before school let out for the weekend, most of Hoover High, including the entire ninth grade, knew about the gay quarterback and the cross-dressing cheerleader, as well as the results of Demi’s gender test. Kyle was far from pleased that the news that he was "the most female person ever tested by Dr. Loupi" elicited far less surprise than did the news that the star quarterback was a "practising homosexual."

Demi also didn’t like the speculative look that flickered on Steve’s face whenever Vicky strolled by, which she seemed to be doing a lot. As Demi watched Steve obsessively, Joannie got jealous, and Brad Mitty got angry.

Brad Mitty? What’s he got to do with the love triangle that Demi, Joannie and Steve had been devising? Well, Brad didn’t understand triangulation. A sweet and simple boy, who had flunked two grades before he’d been identified as a ‘star quarterback too smart to fail’, he believed in love as a straight line.

And the line that he proposed to draw — now that virtually the entire school had learned that "Brad Mitty is queer," was one that would bind him to ‘gay’ Steve.

Less than a month ago, Steve had been friendless — apparently the only boy at Hoover to be ‘bent’ from the straight and narrow. Or so it seemed. Now, he was about to acquire two ardent suitors, Brad and Vicky, both of them eager to rebound higher than the other from their smashed love affair.

Steve was also about to receive the full-time attention of a matchmaker. From now on, Joannie was going to do her utmost to make sure that Steve settled for the cheerleader or the quarterback, and left her beloved Demi alone.

Yet would Demi leave Steve alone? As Joannie watched Demi watch Brad watch Vicky watch Steve, Joannie knew that she’d have to use all of her feminine wiles to make sure that Demi stayed true to her destiny — which was to become, and always to remain, ‘Joannie’s girl.’

Chapter Fifteen: Did Everyone Rave About Demi?

Elvira had never been more unctuous. It was late Saturday afternoon and she was praising Barb with faint damns: "My dear, I’m so pleased you’ve finally accepted Demi’s true nature. It took you quite a while, mind you, but didn’t you come through like a trooper in the end? Kyle was such an effeminate boy, it’s a bit surprising that he persisted as long as he did with boys’ clothes."

"Effeminate? Why Kyle was never that. Until recently he was, if anything, too macho for my liking."

"Oh yes, I’m sure Demi’s moods were always a puzzle to you. Your mistakes many mothers would have made. I’m sure you were trying to help Demi when you encouraged her to deny for so many long and fruitless years that she was, deep down, a girl as real as any other — maybe not in her body, but definitely in her spirit. Sometimes we mothers are deaf to the entreaties of our children, as we simply don’t want to admit that they are in pain. We don’t want to accept that somehow we have reared a transsexual."

"Elvira, you’re not being fair. It’s only in this past month that I had any inkling that Kyle wanted to dress up like a female, never mind be one."

"And yet, you once told me that Demi spent a huge portion of her childhood pretending to be Joan or Ark."

"Elvira, you’re exaggerating. Occasionally, Kyle pretended that he was a comic book heroine, but neither of us placed much importance in the gender of the heroes he emulated. To have done so would have been sexist, as I explained to him more than once when he was a small boy."

"Well, Barb, it is possible that you planted the seeds of Demi’s transsexualism, but I wouldn’t want to blame you for one of Nature’s mistakes."

"Don’t call my child a mistake!"

"Now, now. Barb you know I meant no harm. I was just trying to say that one out of a thousand girls is going to be special — like Demi is. They’re going to be born with the wrong genitalia. It happens. Statistically it’s bound to happen. I’m sure that Demi is a biological accident rather than the unfortunate product of a home with a dominant mother, and no father."

"Is that why your son is gay, Elvira?" Barb asked icily.

"Now Barb, I should tell you that I’ve concluded that Steve isn’t gay after all. He’s just a little confused. After all, any boy dating Demi is bound to get a mite confused."

"That’s not how I see it. My son, Elvira, was quite normal until your son started courting him. You and your son seem to be doing your utmost to turn my Kyle into a drag queen!"

Elvira patted Barb’s hand: "Now, now, I know you’re upset, and I forgive you. But be honest, Barb, you know full well that you gave birth to a daughter. Demi was conceived in the womb."

Suddenly, Barb burst into tears. "It’s true, it’s all true," she wept. "I’ve been so blind to my baby’s needs. Yesterday I got a call from the school psychologist, a Dr. Loupi, and he told me straight out — ‘Demi,’ he said, ‘is a transsexual. She thinks like a girl. She sees herself as a girl. She has always been a girl in her own mind." He then told me that he gave Demi a gender identity test and that she scored more ‘female’ than any of the biological girls who’ve taken the test!"

"So what did the good doctor recommend?"

"He advised me to ask the state health department for special permission to have Demi ‘sexually reassigned’ — you know, to have her body made as feminine as possible. He said it was normally impossible to find a surgeon willing to do the operation on such a young teen, but that he could convince the authorities that there was no doubt that Demi would benefit from immediate reassignment."

"Well, are you going to take the doctor’s advice? I think you should, Barb, for Demi has now started dating boys in earnest. And she, and the boys, would be a lot happier if Demi had the body of a normal girl. Steve told me that Demi has said on numerous occasions that she wished she had a vagina so that they could make love the normal way."

"A vagina? Really? But Elvira, what are you implying? Have they already had intercourse in an abnormal way?"

Elvira got huffy: "Well, I wouldn’t know that! There are some things that a boy doesn’t tell his mother, no matter how close they are."

"Thank goodness for small mercies."

"However, he has told me — and this proves how straight and normal my son is becoming — that he grooves on Demi’s femininity. We both know our two children are infatuated with each other, Barb, and it’s only natural, for your child is a girl and my son loves girls."

Barb crossed her arms: "I’m not sure that I should, in the circumstances, be agreeing to overnight dates. Shouldn’t I be trying to protect my daughter’s virtue from your son?"

"Barb, you cannot protect what already has been lost. Our children shouldn’t have to hide their sexuality from us. They have become, whether we like it or not, sexually active. We both are modern mothers. We should help rather than hinder the maturing process. And never fear, Barb, I’ve instructed my son in the use of condoms. As there is virtually no risk of pregnancy or disease, we should lighten up and let our children experience the unadulterated joy of first love."

Just at that moment, Elvira saw Demi descending the stairway of the James home. "Oh Demi, you look marvelous. I just adore Capri pants, and that halter top shows off your navel divinely."

To Barb, Elvira whispered, "She’s a very pretty girl. Now promise me you’ll immediately look into the operation that the doctor recommended. You don’t want to let Demi down again."

Barb rasped: "I’m giving the doctor’s advice strong consideration. But everything is happening much too fast. I’m not going to do anything until Demi gives me the signal that she wants the surgery. I’m not going to impose anything on my daughter."

"And who was saying that you should?" whispered Elvira. "Barb, you do get the oddest notions."

The whispering had to stop: Demi was well within earshot. And so, Elvira addressed both daughter and mother: "Demi, Steve didn’t come with me. He’s waiting for you at home with the boys’ clothes he, or should I say we, bought for you to wear to the dance tonight. Just think, Demi, how much fun it will be to fool some of the boys at the dance into thinking you’re one of them."

Demi gulped in panic, as she thought, "Some of the boys? Some of the boys will think I’m one of them? Cripes, if that happens, the gangs will murder me!"

To the two adults she said, "Oh, I don’t think I’ll fool any of the boys. They’ll all see through my disguise. Everyone will know I’m a girl no matter how I dress tonight."

It was false bravado. Demi was whistling past the cemetery. Yet Barb was impressed: "I can’t believe it," she thought, "but Demi is now so convinced of her essential femininity that she thinks it would shine through even if she dressed again as Kyle. It’s so obvious to me now that Dr. Loupi is right about Demi’s true gender. How could I have been so blind to reality?"

Even Elvira was impressed. For the first time since she had begun her campaign ‘to cure’ her son of his homosexuality, she wondered whether she had been inadvertently telling the truth about Demi. Maybe her son had indeed fallen in love with a transsexual! If so, she wanted them to consummate their relationship as quickly as possible. She assumed that once Steve had lost his virginity to someone who dressed and acted like a girl, that he would lose interest in boys. At least that had been the game plan from the moment she had learned that Kyle James was, for some reason, cross-dressing at school.

As Demi and Elvira headed down the path to the car, doors could be heard slamming in the house behind them. "I do hope your mother’s not cracking up," Elvira said virtuously, "she does seem to be under a lot of strain lately. She probably hasn’t told you, but we’ve been losing quite a few battles lately in our noble fight to save the prairie dog. Why, just last week, our Congressman refused to introduce a resolution to declare the prairie dog the national rodent."

"I didn’t know that," said Demi.

"There are many things that you don’t know, dear Demi. For starters, I’m sure you have no idea — unless you’ve been eavesdropping — that your mother has just agreed to your going to an NBA game with Steve. Isn’t that fabulous news! Now get in the car and I’ll tell you all about the date that we’ve planned for you, as I drive you to your girlfriend’s house."

"Did you say that Steve is going to take me to an NBA game? That’s too cool to be real. Is there going to be a exhibition game in Des Moines? I didn’t hear about one."

"Don’t be silly, Demi. Steve wants to take you to a real game, a league game. He wants to take you to Chicago so that you can see the Bulls play the Knickerbockers, his dad’s team."

The Bulls versus the Knicks? Whatever Demi thought of the idea, Kyle believed he had just died and gone to heaven. This was the most totally awesome news he’d ever heard.

Or at least that was Kyle’s reaction. Demi, however, wondered about the sleeping accommodations in Chicago. She didn’t want to be forced to share the bed of a boy who, she knew, lusted after Kyle’s body. So Demi asked, "Will you be going with us — you know, as a chaperone? And will we have two rooms?"

"Yes to both your questions. I’ll be the one to take the two of you to Chicago. And we’ll be booking two rooms at the Parker House. That’s quite an exclusive hotel, you know. Just think, Demi, you’ll have courtside seats to an NBA game and you’ll be meeting Steve’s father, and I’m sure he’ll be introducing you to some of the other Knickerbockers. Your mother has already agreed to the trip, provided that you spend only one night, a Saturday, away from home. May I tell Steve that he has a date with you in Chicago?"

"You bet! I can’t believe it! I’m going to a professional basketball game and I’m going to meet all the Knicks!"

This was such great news that Demi suddenly wondered why Steve hadn’t been there to tell it to her himself. "Where’s Steve?" she asked. "It’s hard to imagine that he didn’t want to be the first one to tell me that we’re going to a pro game."

"Dear, I decided it would be much too upsetting for him to be along for this ride. After all, he is fully cognizant that you are planning to cheat on him tonight with Joannie Smith. My son must be a true gentleman of the old school. That’s the only possible explanation that I can find for his imploring me to help his girlfriend to shack up tonight with a little tart like Joannie Smith!"

Demi pouted: "Joannie is not a tart! You have no right to talk about her that way!"

"Now, now, Demi, don’t get your panties in a knot. I’m sure you’re both good girls and that you personally are not into lesbianism, which, in my humble opinion, is a revolting practise. I expect you to keep your hands to yourself tonight, both of you, as good girls should."

"I can’t make promises for Joannie, and I’m not going to let you tell me what to do."

"Oh, aren’t you a feisty little girl! Well, Demi, you should heed my wishes. I’m sure you don’t want your mother to know what you’ve been up to."

"What are you talking about?" Demi worried.

"Well, for starters, that your date tonight is not with my son, as your mother believes, but with a lesbian to whom she has never been introduced."

"I tried to tell my mom about Joannie. She wouldn’t listen. Anyway, my mom would probably prefer me to date a girl than a boy. So you can’t threaten me!"

"Of course you may be right, dear Demi, about your mother forgiving your lies to her about Joannie. But what about your lies about me to Mrs. Smith? Your mother is a proud lady and she won’t be pleased, not one bit, that your lies had been damaging her reputation."

"I didn’t lie to Joannie’s gran about you," Demi blustered.

"Oh yes you did! When Joannie told her that two gangs of ruffians were threatening you with bodily harm, Virginia Smith got sufficiently concerned about your well being to telephone me. The call was very interesting, especially after she thanked me for allowing you to change into girls’ clothes at my house, so that your mother wouldn’t beat you. I’m sure your mother would love to have that conversation repeated to her."

"You … you … didn’t tell Mrs. Smith that I’ve been lying to her, did you? Please tell me you didn’t!"

"Of course not. Steve and I are your true blue friends, Demi. We’re the people you should never lie to. We truly have your best interests at heart. So naturally I backed up your lie. Virginia Smith is more convinced than ever that I’m a saint, and your mother, a brute."

Greatly relieved, Demi stupidly asked, "How can I ever thank you enough?"

Elvira told her in no uncertain terms: first, Demi and Joannie would behave themselves tonight; second, that Demi would in future dress in a more ladylike fashion when she was around Elvira’s son. "I want to see more skirts and fewer jeans," Elvira admonished. "And when we’re in Chicago, you’re to wear dresses, only dresses. Do you hear? This may be the most important date of my son’s life, and I want him always to remember you in a tight dress that showed off your curves."

"And third …"

There was a third condition? Demi had a good idea of what it might be. She was, however, perplexed by her reaction to what she heard next: "And third, Demi, I insist that you stop being such a cock tease. If you’re not prepared to give him what he wants, what any red-blooded boy needs, then you should stop dating Steve entirely. That would mean, of course, no more basketball games. And I must warn you that I am definitely not prepared to lie to my friends and your mother in order to protect my son’s ex-girlfriend."

"Does Steve know we’re having this conversation?"

"My dear Demi, he doesn’t yet know he’s going with you to Chicago. But I have arranged for everything and I’m sure he will be as delighted as you are to see an NBA game and his father. You mustn’t spoil this date for Steve. And so if you give me a kiss right now on this cheek, then I’ll know that you agree that Steve should never be told anything that would distress him. As a rule, Demi, never forget that women are tougher than men. We have, therefore, a duty not too burden men with too much information about what’s going on around them. We girls must keep our girlish secrets. Agreed?"

After a brief deliberation, Demi kissed Elvira on the cheek. Malevolently, Demi applied maximum suction, but failed to give the ‘wicked witch’ a hickey. For the rest of the trip to Joannie’s, they were both silent, as Elvira gloated and Demi pondered the implications of the sexual thrill she had gotten out of being ordered, more or less, to spread her legs for Steve.

As Kyle had no intention of ever having sex with another boy, he planned to trick the Lancers into leaving Demi in peace when they all reached Chicago. He wasn’t sure just how he’d manage to sleep alone, but he did know one thing — it wasn’t at all helpful that his body, unlike his mind, did seem to be interested in making it with Steve.

"It’s Demi’s fault," Kyle reflected, "She’s a girl, so she’s interested in boys that way."

Joannie was not pleased with the timid peck she received from Demi at her front door, but once inside, away from Elvira’s prying eyes, Demi made it lustily clear that Kyle had told another lie. Since Demi could count on Joannie to keep their lovemaking a secret from the Lancers, Demi couldn’t think of a single reason in the whole wide world for keeping her hands, and her lips, to herself.

Joannie, however, was anxious to get Demi into her ‘boys’ outfit,’ and so after some eager fumbling, she whispered, "We can’t do that sort of thing in the front hall. We’ve got to go up to my room. Wait till you see the clothes I’ve got waiting for you."

When they got to Joannie’s room, the two girls stripped to their underwear. Joannie even removed her bra. Once again, Joannie made sure that Demi associated sexual release with the feel of her own satin panties and her own breathless request to "have breasts just like Joannie’s."

As Demi took her shower, Joannie laid out their clothes for the "Hell’s Vixens" concert. As promised, everything had been designed for a man to wear. Even so, Demi needn’t have worried about looking too ‘masculine’ in the clothes that Joannie had ordered from "The Fantasy Male," a shop that catered to the clubbing gays of West Hollywood.

Thus the store’s ‘pirate clothes’ were inspired by those historians who argued that the women they held for ransom were far more likely to leave their ships with their virginity intact than were their cabin boys. While Joannie had no idea that a pirate ship was a gay sauna with sails, she had been thrilled to discover that the store carried ‘guy clothes" that would accentuate, rather than challenge, Demi’s intrinsic femininity.

Normally, Kyle would have found the outfit appalling. It would have required a promise of actual intercourse to have coaxed him into it. But, under gang orders never to dress as a male in public, Demi broke into a huge smile when she saw the ‘boys’ clothes’ that Joannie had selected for her to wear. Shyly, Demi tried to put on the first item, a silver gaff, while still wearing her towel like a dress. However, she couldn’t figure how it worked, and in her confusion, the towel slipped to the ground. For the first time, Demi stood nude before Joannie.

As Demi’s face became as red as the apple in the Garden of Eden, Joannie gruffly asked, "Why should you be embarrassed, Demi? We girls see each other naked all the time. Now, come over here and I’ll show you how to put on your gaff. If you haven’t already guessed, it’s designed to tuck away your boy parts so that you’ll look totally feminine down there even when you’re wearing only your panties. I’ve got a couple of gaffs for you, and I think you should always wear one of them, so that if rude boys try to look up your skirt or yank down your slacks, they’ll never guess that once upon a time you were one of them." She tucked Kyle into place.

"Are you sure you got this thing at The Fantasy Male?" Demi asked. "It doesn’t look like the sort of thing a guy would wear."

"I did get the gaffs at another store," Joannie confessed. "But Demi, sometimes you say really foolish things. Why would a girl wear a gaff? It’s obviously an item of boys’ clothing."

"Yeh, I guess you’re right: only a guy would wear a gaff. So it must be boys’ clothes. You’re real clever, Joannie." Naturally, he kissed her.

Next came the tights. Black-and-white stripes, they definitely resembled the sort of stockings that pirates used to wear. Of course, the pirate stockings normally disappeared into knee britches. Demi would be showing off a lot more leg than the usual pirate, since she’d be wearing black vinyl shorts — zipper-less, pocket-less, and so short that they covered not a speck of leg. Indeed, they didn’t completely cover her butt cheeks. Demi was, therefore, grateful for the tights.

The combination of the gaff and the skimpy shorts fascinated Demi. As Kyle had always worn loose-fitting clothes, it never had been possible to know his sex simply by looking between his legs. His own tastes, and the need for discretion, had meant that Demi’s clothes hadn’t revealed much either. In these shorts, everyone would be able to check out Demi’s sex at a glance. And everyone would know she was a female.

To ensure that the tail of Demi’s pirate shirt wouldn’t be so long that it bunched up in her shorts, marring her feminine lines, Joannie had bought the smallest size that she thought Demi could squeeze into. As Demi was going to the concert dressed as a boy, there was no question of her wearing a bra. Her breast forms accordingly strained against the white linen shirt. Both teens noticed that the nipples, permanently erect, could be seen through the thin fabric.

Given her mature bustline, Demi was bound to look feminine in a white linen shirt, but this particular one accentuated her femininity since it had lots of ruffles and big puff sleeves. The gold chain with an ankh, a fertility charm, helped to feminize Demi’s look, even though it was, as Joannie pointed out, "something that boys wear."

The pirate shoes were perfect — they had the big brass buckle that you’d find on the shoes of Captain Hook, but their three-inch heels guaranteed that Demi wouldn’t have to work too hard at ‘walking like a lady." In fact, Demi usually remembered to keep her stride gracefully feminine, for all her friends had agreed to tell her, for her own protection, when she walking "like Kyle."

As Demi was going — for Goth reasons — as a pirate ghost, Joannie spent a lot of time on her makeup, using a lot of white, back, gray and vermillion, and eyebrow plucking, to make her look like a female ghoul. Her hair, teased to look as feminine as possible, got a heavy dusting of silver powder.

To make it clear that Demi was going to the dance as a "male" pirate, Joannie drew on a big moustache with an eyebrow brush, and toppied his head off with a wide-brimmed pirate hat, made out of black velvet, save for a fearsome looking skull and crossbones devised from red rhinestones.

Kyle was upset when he got a chance to see how he looked, fully dressed, in the mirror: "Yikes," he thought. "I don’t look at all like a boy. Yet everything I’ve got on is boys’ clothes. I’ve even got a fake moustache. Still, I look like a girl. Jeez, what’s happening to me? I told my mother that I’d look like a boy no matter what I wore, even girls’ jeans. Cripes, I used to think that I’d look like a boy even in a girl’s swimsuit. And now, I look like a girl no matter what I wear!"

Kyle, resentful that Joannie had somehow ‘bewitched’ him, grew sullen. His mood became even more somber when he saw that she looked more masculine in pirate garb than he did. Her hair she had stuffed into the pirate hat. Her makeup she had applied to harden her appearance. Instead of a moustache, she had given herself a two days’ growth of beard, using the "Unshaven Look" kit sold by The Fantasy Male. Her breasts she had tightly bound, and her pirate shirt, severely cut, did not have a single inch of unnecessary cloth. Around her waist she had added some padding, eliminating her own curves, while adding just a hint of beer belly. Beneath her tight-fitting, sailcloth breeches she was wearing a man’s sheath, a type of thong in which she had stuffed a sock and — into the sheath for the penis — three handkerchiefs. She was convincingly ‘well-hung.’

That evening no two people could agree on the true sex of the raver who told everyone "my name is Jo," although the consensus was "it must be a guy." As for Demi, if there was anyone at the dance fooled by her pirate outfit into thinking that Demi was a male, that person kept his gullibility a secret. One or two of the Hoover students risked the wrath of the Jets and the Sharks by joking with students from other schools that the girl in the pirate ‘drag’ was, deep down, actually a boy. But none of the teens was willing to buy such a tall story, for Demi just had to be a female. And she was both friendly and enticing.

Demi and Jo were well-placed to be watched. They had standing room immediately in front of the Hell’s Vixen band. There amid a throng of kids high on weed, beer and ecstasy, they surrendered to the driving beat. Though sober themselves, they danced like the possessed. High on Kyle’s favorite music, Demi wouldn’t stop dancing even after Jo had tired.

On and on Demi danced, at first by herself, and then with a succession of male partners. Though Hell’s Vixen had no slow, romantic music in their repertoire, the boys who flocked to Demi found ways to maximize physical contact. They’d pull her close enough to dance cheek-to-cheek, pelvis-to-pelvis, no matter how jungle-like the beat, with their hands roaming freely down and past her back.

Finally, Jo cut in, and her hands, the busiest yet, seemed to confirm the rumor going around the dance that Demi was "an easy lay." Who had started the rumor? Why, Markko and Mika of the Jets! They had been spreading the word in the hope that it would eventually reach the Greeks, the most deadly gang at Central High. The two Jets had seen several of the Greeks in the vicinity of Demi, and had decided it would be great fun to con their gang rivals into dancing with Demi as they were photographed, if all went to plan, by a ‘spy’ camera that Mika had purchased on the Internet.

Demi would have run for her life had she known she was flirting with four Greeks. They were truly a gang to be feared, for they were even more blade-happy than the Jets. As were many of the students at Central High, the Greeks were Hispanics, their actual name being "Los Grecos," a name that commemorated the most famous dude ever to live in their home town of Toledo. "El Greco" they’d called him — the Greek. It was the sort of name you got when people were too intimidated to call you Pancho, Tio Pepe, or Joselito.

These guys were as tough as Toledo, a town that made swords that could cut your head off in the blink of an eye, a town that told General Franco to ‘go shove it’ during the Spanish Civil War. This heritage was bound to make the tall, angular Greeks a vicious crew, but they also bitterly resented how their parents had been forced by unfair immigration laws to sneak into the United States as wetbacks, with all their worldly possessions stuffed into a picnic hamper as they jumped off Spanish yachts at sordid ports of call like Provincetown and Fort Lauderdale. The families of the Greeks found poverty and constant insinuations that they spoke Spanish like a girl — with a lisp — and it didn’t take much of a red flag to induce their sons to gore you like a bull.

And Demi had danced with four of them! She had been oblivious. Sure, it had seemed odd that four of her dancing partners were so much taller and older than the others, but she hadn’t realized that she was setting them up for pictures so incriminating that the Greeks would screw almost anyone to get them back — including Demi.

Nor did she know that the Greeks had tossed a coin, with the result that Paco Rabin, the brawniest of the four, had won the right to bed Demi first that night. Nor, in all the excitement, did she see that Paco was hovering nearby to claim his prize.

Demi only started to get clued in after Joannie had a brief conversation with Derek, who seemed to have been driven to a frenzy by the music. At least, his facial features looked so contorted that it looked like the Devil himself had taken charge of his head. Derek was shouting, but Demi heard not a word, as the lights and the music overwhelmed her. Transported, she didn’t even notice that the boy dancing with her had the busiest hands yet.

Suddenly, Joannie pulled Demi away: "I’ve got to pee. I need you to help me to scare off the druggies hanging about the toilets. We’ve got to go right now! Come on, hurry!"

"Coke? The only coke that Demi had ever had was made by the Coca-Cola company, and even that he wasn’t sure was the ‘real thing’. But he obediently followed Joannie, who was running like a fullback through the dancing throng. As Joannie cleared the way, Demi weaved her way through the grasping hands of boys who remembered the way she danced. Once in the girls’ room, she manhandled Demi into a stall while other girls laughed about "dykes who are so horny that they can’t wait until they get home to make out."

"What gives?" gasped Demi. "What was all that about?"

"What was that about?" repeated Joannie incredulously. "Do you have any idea, Demi, of what’s going down? Do you know who those tall guys are — you know the ones who’ve been getting to know your inner thigh?"

"Nah, never seen them before. You’re not jealous, are you? You know I’m only interested in sex with you. I’m not into guys."

"Well, they may soon be into you, Demi. Those guys you’ve been leading on are Greeks, the gang at Central High. And Derek just told me he overheard them planning a gangbang. Guess who’s got the starring role?"

"Me? No way!"

"Yes, way. Demi. They’ve been told that you’ll spread your legs for anyone. So why not them too? After all, you gave every one of them a woody. But I’ve just started to tell you the bad news."

"How could it get any worse?" Demi begged to know.

"Derek told me that the reason he was loitering around the Greeks is that he wanted to find out whether they thought you were a girl or a boy. He said he had to know once two of the Jets told him that you’ve been helping them to make fools of the Greeks."

"How?" Demi asked, but her sinking heart meant that she was beginning to figure out what had been going down."

"Derek said that Mika Koistinen has been photographing you each time you danced with a Greek. Each time, Demi, you danced like a slut. Once word gets back to the Greeks that they all made a pass at the same cross-dressing boy, well, Demi, it may be time to get out of town."

"I’m a dead man walking," was all Demi could say.

"Not necessarily," Joannie replied. "Derek says he’ll run interference, making it look like an accident so they won’t kill him, if we bolt for freedom. But we’ve got to do it now before they discover, one way or the other, that Demi hasn’t got the right body parts. Demi, I do wish you had breast implants, so that there’d be less risk of guys figuring out that you were born with a boy’s body. Will you do something about getting the implants?"

"Sure, sure, if we get out of here alive," Demi said carelessly.

Joannie gave Demi a lingering kiss — for fear that this might be the last time; out of gratitude for being her lover; and to seal the deal they had just made. As Demi had promised to get implants if they survived the dance, Joannie no longer had any qualms about tricking her girlfriend into signing the release form that would grant them both fifteen minutes of fame on the Vera Smuttee show.

As Derek ‘accidentally’ tripped Paco Rabin, their closest shadow (a service for which Derek got a black eye), Joannie and Demi fled for an emergency exit through the closely packed crowd. Since they were smaller and faster than the Greeks, the two teens were able, despite Demi’s detours around the more lecherous-looking boys, to make good their escape. They kept running as they hit the fresh air, afraid to look back to see if the footsteps receding behind them were those of the Greeks or of the rent-a-cops who hadn’t understood how appropriate the emergency exit had been for Demi.

They ran so far and so fast that they arrived at the Smith house on foot just as Virginia was about to drive to the arena to enforce their 11 p.m. curfew. For half an hour the two teens excitedly told Joannie’s gran everything about their evening, except for the fact that the Jets and the Sharks had been using Demi as a Trojan horse to fool the Greeks. They talked so rapidly that both Demi and Joannie kept losing their breath.

Perhaps, giddiness was the reason why Joannie had to correct Demi three times before Demi realized that her girlfriend had decided on a name change. As Joannie explained, "I really liked being called Jo by everyone at the dance. It’s the perfect name for me."

When Demi asked whether Jo came with or without an ‘e,’ Jo answered, "Without an ‘e’, of course! But I think it would be sort of cute if you used the ‘e’ whenever you wanted to write me a really special letter — you know, like a Valentine. If I saw a letter addressed to ‘Joe,’ I’d know it was from you," Jo sighed.

Demi wasn’t so sure about the spelling, but she did like the sound of Jo’s new name, and so used it thereafter. "It’s an efficient name," thought Demi. "I’ll be able to say it twice as often as I tell Jo how much I love her."

That evening, the two teens showed each other how much they loved each other, as they slept in the same bed for the first time. To Demi’s delight, Jo wore no clothing, while Demi wore a satiny nightgown. By the morning, they had consummated their relationship, as much as they would ever would, considering that Jo was interested only in ‘lesbian’ sex, and Demi was interested only in pleasing Jo.

Kyle at one point intruded in the lovemaking of the two girls, but retreated quickly when Jo testily insisted on reciprocity: "If you insist on sticking something into me, then I’ll have to stick something into you. Do you want that?"

"No," said Demi; and Kyle went back to sleep.

It was the logical night for Demi to lose her virginity. Not only had Jo planned the occasion, but the dance concert had left both teens tingling with excitement and, in Jo’s case, some unease. Yet again Demi had shown too much interest in boys, and so Jo had decided that, "Yes, indeed, this has to be the night. Once Demi has made love to another woman, she will never again be interested in straight sex with a mere boy."

That was Jo’s firm conviction, and fondest hope. And she remained more hopeful than ever when she awoke to find this message scrawled across the bathroom mirror in red lipstick: "Demi loves Joe."

Demi was flying high, especially after they celebrated Sunday morning with another round of lovemaking. She gave not a first glance or a second thought when Jo asked her to sign a consent form so that they could go on the Vera Smuttee show. After all, Demi agreed with Jo that they loved each other more than any other teens in history — even more than Romeo and Juliet. It made sense to tell the world how much they loved each other — just as Jo said.

But Jo said nothing about the implants. Nor did she encourage Demi to read either the form she had signed or the one she was taking to her mother to endorse. Jo figured she could count on Demi not to bother reading the forms that shaped her life.

The two ‘girls’ chatted for a while about the implications of Demi’s being on the ‘shit list’ of the Greeks. While they were unlikely to go hunting for her on the home turf of the Jets and Sharks, they might jump her if they saw her at the mall — either because they still wanted a gangbang or because they’d been told that she had made fools of them all. And how long, both Demi and Jo wondered, would the Jets and the Sharks keep their mouths shut? Weren’t Hoover’s gangs liable to post Demi’s dance photos on the Internet sooner rather than later? Demi agreed with Jo that it might be a good idea for them both to "get out of Dodge City" for a while.

"Tell you what," Jo promised, "I’ll do some research and find a school outside of Des Moines for us to transfer to. If I start looking now, I bet I can find us a new school before Christmas."

Demi said, "Sure, go ahead and look for a school. It can’t be very expensive, though, ‘cause my mom doesn’t have a lot of money. Okay?"

"My gran’s not rich either. Don’t worry. I’ll keep cost in mind." And she thought to herself: "And distance from Steve will matter too. Demi, if I can get you to leave Hoover High, I just know you’ll be my true love for the rest of our lives. You’ll be my girlfriend, my most excellent girlfriend, with a perfect body." Jo’s eyes misted at the thought of spending the rest of her life with a boy who had remade himself as a girl — out of love for her!

A couple of hours later Demi charged into her home. In her exuberance she forgot to be a lady. Kicking off her shoes, she ran up to her mother and gave Barb a big smack on the lips. "Mom, I just had the most totally awesome night of my life. I’m so stoked! The show was super. I had an awesome time at … the Lancers. Wow! I feel really grotty, so I’m going to shower, all right? Be right back! Oh mom, can you sign this form? If you do, then Jo and I can go on national television. Isn’t that cool?" Then Demi bounded up the stairs like a teenage boy.

"Who’s Joe?" Barb wondered as she unfolded the consent form. As she read it, everything became blindingly unclear.

To be continued in Part 12 where the star of this story finally makes an appearance. Put on your seatbelts for you’re in for a wild ride!