SO far Kyle has found it complicated 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. Somehow he has become Demi, a full-time cross-dresser with a gay boyfriend and a lesbian lover. Everyone believes that Demi’s a transsexual, including her mother. Only Kyle knows he’s taking sex hormones, and only Kyle knows that he’d still rather be a boy. Part 16 ended with Demi finally in bed with Steve. Everything is going well. He is even convinced that he can convince Demi to become Kyle again, until Steve discovers the "lumps" that convince him that Demi has breast cancer.

Anything for a Moped? - Part 17 by: Dawn De Winter
Chapter Twenty-One: What Did the Doctor Say?

It was definitely a case of good news, bad news. First Dr. Olds gave Demi the good news: "Demi, you’re perfectly healthy. You definitely don’t have breast cancer." And then came the bad: "You don’t have lumps, you silly girl; you’ve got breasts."

As Demi was speechless, it was left to Barb to ask the obvious question: "But how can that be, Dr. Olds? However she may now appear, Demi is still very much a boy. How could a boy grow women’s breasts?"

"Before I answer you, let me pose a question to Demi."

He fixed her with his stern gaze: "It’s important, Demi, that you give us an honest answer, for your entire future may depend on it. Have you been taking female hormones, Demi? There are pills and ointments being hawked on the Internet — quite irresponsibly in my opinion — to help boys … like you to grow breasts, to put flesh on their hips, and to shrink their testes." (Dr. Olds had added the latter because Demi’s genitals showed signs of atrophy.)

"Now, Demi, your mother and I need to know whether you’ve been taking any pills or using any creams to make yourself more feminine. Now tell us — have you?"

"Jeez, what a dumb question!" thought Demi. "I’ve been gobbling down male mones to make myself more masculine, not less."

To Dr. Olds she said, "There’s no way I’d take hormones to give me a girl’s body. I’m happy being a boy."

"Oh really?" asked the doctor, his eyebrows arching so high on his never-ending forehead that they looked like McDonald’s golden arches towering above the Iowa plain. Demi seemed, on the contrary, quite happy being a girl in another new outfit wheedled from her indulgent mother: a pink (shading to lavender) sleeveless cotton sweatshirt, with one word "ANGEL" in white block letters across her bust, that showed off her navel; matching eyeshade and lipstick (and matching nylon underwear underneath); dangling, pink and black earrings; and dangerously low across her hips, black side-lace bell bottom jeans with a back zip. Only the platform sneakers in burgundy-colored leather weren’t brand new.

"Demi’s a confused girl right now," Barb explained. "But we’ve got to expect that, for it’s got to be tough for anyone to change their sex, and doubly tough for a kid who’s still in grade nine. There’s no question that Demi would like to have breasts. She even tried to go on a television show in order to "win" them. But I’m positive she’s not taking hormones, for it’s breast implants she really wants, and they’re also what I want her to have as soon as (she now turned toward Demi and smiled) … as soon as her school year ends."

Demi tried to protest, but Barb held up her hand in pacifying benediction as she explained to a nodding Dr. Olds that an implant operation had the virtue of being easily reversible, in case Kyle ever changed his mind about becoming a girl for the rest of his life.

"Doctor, you can be confident," she summed up, "that Demi is not taking female hormones. If she’s growing breasts, there has to be some other explanation. What might it be?"

"Statistical probability," was the doctor’s answer. "Demi has a common condition known as gynecomastia — which is a fancy word for ‘female breast tissue’. Between forty and sixty percent of all boys Demi’s age — that is to say, about half of all fourteen-year-old boys — grow some breast tissue as a result of a temporary hormonal imbalance brought on by puberty. In most teens, the breast growth ends after a few months as the imbalance ends, and within a year the boy’s own pectoral development will hide any evidence that he’s ever had gynecomastia."

"So Demi’s breasts are bound to disappear in a few months?" Barb asked hopefully.

"Almost always that is the prognosis. However, surgery is sometimes indicated if the breast development has been too extensive. That does occasionally happen. My own theory is that it’s most likely to happen to the sons of women with large breasts of their own."

Dr. Olds, Barb and Demi all blushed when their quick glance downward established that there was a distinct possibility of Demi’s being amongst the two percent or so of boys with gynecomastia who’d eventually need a mastectomy — assuming that they weren’t thrilled to have noticeable breasts.

"I’m sure that Demi will never need an operation to correct her gynecomastia," Dr. Olds said soothingly. "It’s almost always a self-limiting condition, a short-lived accident of puberty. Therefore, I definitely prescribe a policy of ‘wait and see.’ That’s the usual recommendation, and in this case the only logical one, given Demi’s transvestitism. Indeed, I would have thought that the two of you would be overjoyed to learn that there is some possibility of her acquiring female breasts without the cost of an implant operation or the side effects of hormone treatment."

"The doctor’s right, Demi," Barb trilled. "Your guynamassia is a wonderful blessing. It solves so many problems. It almost makes one believe there is a God who actually looks out for the Demis of the world."

"Or there’s a devil who’s screwing with my life," thought Demi. "I’m the victim of black magic! I’m growing breasts ‘cause I stupidly asked that friggin’ fish with the helmet for ‘breasts just like Joannie’s.’ And now I’m getting ‘em! I’ve been a fool! I’m cursed."

She tugged at her budding breasts.

"Bothering you, are they?" the doctor asked. "It’s no wonder. They’re enflamed because of friction from your breast forms. You’re going to have to stop wearing them immediately."

"But Dr. Olds," Barb replied, "Demi’s likely to become a butt of jokes at school if her breast size dramatically shrinks overnight. She doesn’t need anything more than an AA cup bra for her own breasts now, but everyone knows her with a rather ample bosom."

"Well, Barb, I’m sure you women can find a way to amplify her breasts until they’ve grown to more ... er, impressive proportions, assuming that they ever do. A little bit of padding goes a long way."

That was the doctor’s last piece of advice, as he suggested that Demi come back every three months so that he could check on her breast development.

As there was no way, none whatsoever, that Demi was willing to go to school looking like a popped balloon, she and her mother spent the rest of the morning shopping for padded bras. As they included Macy’s lingerie department in their expedition, Melanie became one of the first people in Des Moines to learn that Demi was growing breasts. Naturally, she was disappointed. The Vera Smuttee show would have no use for Kyle now.

However, after Demi and Barb had left the store, Melanie had another bright idea: she phoned "Ripley’s Believe It or Not". Fortunately for Demi, the show never called Melanie back. They must have known how common gynecomastia was in fourteen-year-old boys.

The students of Hoover High, however, claimed never to have heard of it. Indeed, no one was willing to admit that a boy could ‘accidentally’ grow breasts. There were different theories, of course, about the origins of Demi’s ‘hooters’, but all of them assumed her uniqueness. Such a thing could only happen to her — that was the opinion of the entire school, from the principal on downward.

Everyone at Hoover knew about Demi’s new breasts. She wondered who’d started the gossip. At first, she suspected Steve had done the talking. He had, of course, been the first she’d confided in at school. After all, he needed to know that she didn’t have breast cancer.

Yet Steve had kept her secret. After all, he didn’t want anyone to know that the boy he’d been avidly courting had breasts. If word of that got out, it wouldn’t be only his mother who’d start trying to hitch him up with girls. As Steve had his reputation as a ‘gay male’ to protect, he tried to scotch all talk of Demi’s ‘boobs’.

So who talked first? Why it had been Jo, naturally. Demi had told her about the breasts to calm her hysterics. Jo had been shaken badly by Demi’s failure on Monday night to return her calls, and by her unscheduled absence the following morning. Jo had feared the worst — that Demi was dead or had run off with a ballerina. Steve’s lugubrious looks and refusal to discuss his trip to New York had heightened Jo’s anxiety to a fever pitch. Only the truth could calm her down.

To say that Jo was delighted with the news would be an understatement. Indeed, no single word could capture her excitement. She insisted that Demi take her to the demi-john so that Jo could see her breasts. Once there, Jo did her utmost to convince Demi that her breasts were now her prime erogenous zone.

Afterwards, Jo couldn’t wait to tell everyone about Demi’s breasts, for they were proof positive in Jo’s mind of Demi’s love. "Demi loves me so much," she told anyone who’d listen, "that she willed herself to develop breasts. She grew them to please me. She willed it to happen, just like some people use their willpower to conquer cancer. Demi ordered her body to become more feminine, and it did. Isn’t that incredible?"

Four of the ninth-grade girls agreed that Jo was incredibly lucky to have Demi. They wished their boyfriends loved them enough to change their bodies — to become, for example, more muscular or taller — but they had to admit that Demi was truly exceptional: She was the only person they’d ever met who could by sheer willpower change her sex.

Surprisingly, Jason bought into this argument, though he made it sound less noble — to him, Demi’s new breasts proved that the body of Iowa’s biggest sissy had finally given up all hope of making a man out of him.

However, most of Hoover High thought Jo as balmy as Kyle was strange. No guy, they held, could simply decide to become female. Then how had it happened? Some of the guys agreed with Demi that she was being punished for tempting fate.

She’d asked the nether world for breasts, and Satan had arranged for her to get them. Of course, he’d make her life on earth a living hell, before tormenting her for all eternity. And what would be a suitable punishment for Demi’s fatal wish to "have breasts just like Joannie’s"?

"To spend eternity as a woman," said some of the guys to annoyed looks from their girlfriends and a quizzical one from Demi. She could see no punishment in spending eternity as a female, just as long as she could live the next few decades as a male.

Indeed, it would be a fair trade in her opinion, especially as she knew from Christmas ornaments and television movies that angels were basically female anyway. Sure, there was the occasional cigar-toting rebel, but he was clearly destined to spend eternity puffing away in the bitter cold outside of Heaven’s pearly gates, on which there was certain to be hung a "No Smoking" sign. As far as Demi was concerned, being a female angel was something to look forward to, especially if lesbians made it to, and in, heaven.

Most of Hoover High considered Demi’s explanation as outlandish as Jo’s. They couldn’t believe that Demi’s body had changed because her mind or Satan had willed it. Opinion therefore generally divided between those — Vicky, Tim and Derek among them — who believed that Demi had been taking female hormones, and those, notably the Sharks and the Jets, who maintained that the boobs confirmed what everyone already knew from the TV broadcast of Demi’s snatch: She’d gone to New York City for a sex change.

Reaction to the news that Demi had gone at least halfway to becoming "a real girl" was definitely mixed. Vicky was so envious that she burst into tears upon being allowed to see Demi’s new breasts in their shared sanctuary. Demi tried to stop the flow of tears by offering to use some of her aunt’s money to buy breast implants for Vicky, but the cheerleader, touched by Demi’s generosity, became even more lachrymose.

Vicky did her best to explain in between sobs: "I can’t have the operation. I don’t know for sure that I want to live my life as a woman. I think I do, but I’m not sure. After all, I’m just a kid, and what do kids know? I’m going to wait until I’m much older before I do anything drastic. I envy you, Demi, for knowing what you really want and then going for it like a fullback at the opposition’s one-yard line." (Vicky still talked like she was dating the quarterback.) "By having your sex change at fourteen, you’ll end up with a much better body than I’ll ever have."

"I’m not going to have a sex change, ever. I’m happy being a boy," Demi protested.

"Then why are you taking female hormones to grow breasts?"

"I’m not!" blustered Demi.

"Sure, sure. I believe you, Demi, when you blame your breasts on magical incantations. But it never hurts to consume a few magic potions as well, does it, Demi?"

Despite her skepticism, Vicky felt much closer to Demi after seeing her budding breasts. Sure, she wished that Demi had confided in her about taking hormones, but she concluded that her girlfriend was simply trying to protect her source, who was probably providing them illicitly (given her tender age) under-the-counter or over-the-Internet.

Yet the important thing, as Vicky saw it, was that Demi’s breasts proved that she was a genuine transsexual, and not just Kyle playing a game of dress-up. She now forgave Demi for her own inadvertent ‘outing’. In fact, Vicky became as committed as Jo to Demi’s rapid transition to full womanhood. In Vicky’s eyes, Demi would be the trailblazer. If she did get a sex change for her fifteenth birthday (one of the rumors going around the school), then Vicky would have a year or two to assess the implications of sexual reassignment surgery for her friend before her own body had betrayed too much of its inherent masculinity to the world.

Demi’s breasts also drew her closer to Derek. A couple of days after "they" made the debut at Hoover High, Derek intercepted Demi on her way home from school. Apparently he had waited till the last moment, until she was a few steps from her own yard, so that he could talk to her alone.

"It’s super that you’re wearing your black tee shirt today," Derek began. "I love to read that pink ‘Demi’ on your … chest."

Demi and Derek both blushed.

"I just wish you didn’t have to wear that blue-and-white scarf. Demi, I want you to know that you’ll never have to become a full member of the Jets. You’ve got a lot of friends in the ninth grade who’ll protect you from them."

"Thanks," Demi quietly said. "I know I can count on you, De…rek."

She said his name as though she were blowing a kiss. But having said it, she became so flustered that it was obvious that Demi had, for the first time ever, consciously flirted with Derek.

Emboldened, Derek next told her, "It’s super news, Demi, that you’ve got real breasts. I bet they look totally awesome on you."

Derek, realizing that he’d perhaps gone too far in his praise, began blushing like a red light in a California rolling blackout.

"Thank you, Derek," Demi demurely replied. To her own surprise, she meant what she said. It had actually thrilled her to have Derek comment on her breasts. Normally, Demi didn’t appreciate having her breasts mentioned or praised.

Jo had been the grand exception to this rule, for Jo’s praise took the form (first in the demi-john, and later the same day in Demi’s bedroom) of focusing on the breasts in their lovemaking. During sex with Jo, Demi was thankful to have breasts.

Derek was acting strangely. Demi suddenly realized that he wanted to kiss her. He was leaning towards her, his lips within striking distance of hers. She froze, her only movement being a slight parting of her lips. Derek was saying something about "digging how feminine she was becoming," and he was looking about, apparently to see whether they were truly alone.

They were not: A familiar voice could be heard calling to them.

"I’ve got to run," Derek hurriedly said. "I just wanted to tell you how foxy you look, now that you’ve got real knockers. You’re changing into a girl is the best thing that ever happened." He then scrambled off before Demi had a chance to reply.

What would she have said? Probably not much more than stuttering. Demi found Derek’s flattery exciting, but also confusing and alarming. While Derek’s attentions were sexually stimulating, it was definitely confusing and alarming to have an old friend suddenly develop an interest in her. She could tell that Derek preferred Demi to Kyle. Understandably, Derek made Demi’s breasts perk up; whereas, Steve made them droop.

Even so, Demi didn’t see much of a future for Derek and herself, since she expected to have left for The Amazonian School before her friend ever got around to asking her out on a date. Besides, Demi wondered if it was fair for a lesbian to date boys.

"Hi Demi," said Steve to end her deliberations about Derek. "I was wondering whether you want to shoot some hoops?"

In mid-November? It was beginning to get too cold for outdoor basketball, and the occasional icy patch made the game more dangerous than its founder intended, but Demi agreed in order to prove to Steve that she wanted them to remain best buddies, even if their romance had died in New York.

There were so many possible explanations for its demise that it would be almost impossible to identify the "one thing that went wrong." True, Elvira’s machinations had done a lot of damage. Certainly, Steve would always remember his first night in the hotel room with Demi more vividly than his second.

Yet it would be unfair to heap all the blame on "Auntie Elvie," for Steve and Demi weren’t particularly compatible sexually. After all, Steve preferred "real men", and Demi, "real women." Mike may also have a hand in killing the romance, as he advised his son to look "for a real male," and not to settle for a "demi-sexual" just to please his mother.

And one must recognize that both teens, their sexual curiosity about each other satisfied ‘by a one night stand’, would have moved on eventually to new partners. There aren’t too many fourteen-year-olds who mate for life, especially when both are technically boys.

Finally, neither teen could forget Steve’s response to the discovery that Demi had breasts. He had shown horror rather than joy. He had mistaken wellness for illness, and in birth, he had seen death. Both teens knew that every time Steve touched Demi’s breast they’d both be thinking of the "Big C". For their own mental health, it was time they found new lovers or, in Demi’s case, stuck to one, her girlfriend Jo.

As Demi felt sorry for Steve, she used their game of one-on-one to chat about Hoover’s dating pool. First she mentioned Vicky, in Demi’s mind her own logical replacement.

Yet Steve wasn’t interested in Vicky: "Don’t you understand, even now, Demi, that I want to go out with a real guy — you know, with a dude who’s so proud of having a dick that he wants to wear tight pants to flaunt it? Anyway, I think Vicky’s going after Tim these days. He’s the one she sits beside now."

"Are you sure? I think she sees you as the ideal replacement for Brad. You’re a lot alike."

"Well, I used to catch her staring at me. It really bothered me because I’ve never been interested in her. But she’s not looked my way even once since our trip to New York. No, Tim’s the one, thank God."

Demi found that hard to believe, for as she told Vicky in the demi-john the next day, "I don’t think Tim is interested in sex. I’ve been trying to figure out whether he’s gay or straight, and as far I can see, he’s neither. He’s a sweet kid, but I don’t think he’s decided which sex he wants to date when he grows up. In fact, he may never date."

"Precisely," Vicky replied, "unless I help him. I think you’re right about Tim. He doesn’t seem to have much of a sex drive, does he? I’ve also been watching him, and I’ve never caught his eyes wandering to a girl’s bosom or a boy’s crotch. I think that’s super!"

"Huh, what’s so super about it?" wondered Demi out loud. Now that she was sexually active she pitied the virgins of the world.

"Because it means, Demi, that he may be the one for me! If he’s not especially interested in either boys or girls, then I’m perfect for him. I’ve got the best features of both sexes!"

Yes, yes," she said as she saw a frown flicker across Demi’s face, "I know I’ve got to move very slowly. If the thought of sex hasn’t yet entered Tim’s head, he might run home to mommy if I make a pass or try to kiss him."

"So how are you going to get Tim interested in having sex with you if you can never let him know you’re available?" asked Demi.

"That’s what figure skating is for!" proclaimed Vicky. "I found out that Tim is as good an ice skater as I am. He’s agreed to be my partner in the pairs competition. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together this winter, practising cheek-to-cheek, and body-to-body, and I’m certain that Tim will know by Spring thaw that he is indeed interested in sex, but only if his partner is TG."

Demi expected Vicky’s plan to succeed. She had, after all, become head cheerleader and the quarterback’s girlfriend. Why not now the skating and sex partner of Tim, whom Demi’s friends thought the "nicest boy in high school"?

Knowing Vicky, she and Tim would become so good a skating team that the International Olympic Committee would one day have to rule on whether a TG girl could, along with Tim, represent her country in the pairs competition. Would the IOC dare say "no" to a determined Vicky? Demi didn’t think so.

If Vicky was determined to teach Tim the joys of the Triple Axel (including its horizontal , bedtime version), then who was there for Steve to date? As there hadn’t been that many choices to begin with, the answer was obvious to Demi as soon as the question had been posed: why Brad, of course! He was the ideal boyfriend for Steve.

"So what… do you… think of… Brad Mitty?" Demi asked Steve between gasps for air, as she tried to catch her breath after being beaten badly, as usual, in a game of one-on-on. "He’s really cute, isn’t he?" she added, so that Steve would know she was hunting for something positive.

"Yeh, Brad’s one of the best looking guys in the whole school. I think he’s … sexy," Steve said rather bashfully. He wasn’t used to talking this openly about guys, even with Demi.

"Then why don’t you ask him out for a date?" Demi urged.

"He’d say no, and then I’d be too embarrassed to continue sitting at his table. Jeez, guys like me don’t ask the quarterback out for date. What do I have to offer him?"

"How about a great body and a sweet personality? And you’re awfully good in bed. You must be blind, Steve Lancer, if you don’t know that Brad Mitty can’t take his eyes off of you. Everyone’s been laughing at the way he moons over you, laughing because he’s too shy you ask you out."

"What? You mean Brad wants to go out with me?"

"Heck yes! And I’d be willing to bet a whole chunk of change that he also wants to stay in with you. Come on, Steve, see what happens. I promise you that Brad won’t say no to a movie."

Nor to much else, as it turned out. Brad and Steve ended their first date at the flicks (where they guffawed their way through a touching fable about a college football coach beloved by his players) with an hour of wild passion at Brad’s house.

Once the two boys discovered, to their mutual surprise, that they were sexually compatible, they became inseparable friends. Indeed, Steve even joined the football team as a wide receiver so he could spend more time with his lover. He and Brad both thought it a marvelous joke on Hoover High that the quarterback and his favorite, on-field receiver switched roles whenever they hit the sack.

As four of her best friends became preoccupied with sports, and with each other, Demi found life at Hoover High a bit lonely at times. True, Derek positively beamed whenever she sat amongst the black shirts, but he rarely talked to her when anyone else was about, and Jason’s glares made it difficult to relax with her old gang.

Inevitably, Demi became even more dependent on Jo for solace and company, and more receptive to her arguments in favor of their going away together to The Amazonian School. As they dreamed, Jo was careful not to disabuse Demi of the notion that she’d be able to attend the new school as Kyle, a boy, so long as she bound her breasts tightly.

And when Jo showed Demi’s some of the school’s publicity, copied from its homepage, she excised any reference to its being a school for "girls only." Surprisingly, there weren’t all that many gendered references to remove, for The Amazonian School, determined to get its girls "to rise above the limitations imposed on them by a sexist society," did its utmost to avoid pronouns, considering them inherently sexist and limiting.

Consequently, entire pages would scroll by without a single ‘she or ‘her’, as the school’s website talked about "our students" or "the Amazonians" rather than about "our girls" or "our women." In fact, if a prospective student didn’t see the preamble at the top of the first page — and Demi never did — she’d never know that the only boys attending The Amazonian School were pre-op transsexuals.

Photographs from the website were just as ambiguous as its text, because these almost always featured the Amazonians in competition against other schools. To build up its students’ self-esteem, The Amazonian School preferred to compete against — and to soundly beat — boys’ teams.

Through a series of aggressive, equal-rights lawsuits, it had forced its way into every male league, organization, and association in its district. No male bastion had remained intact. As a result the photos of famous Amazonian victories, whether they came in a contact sport or in debating, contained lots of boys, though most of them were lying facedown in the mud.

As Demi glanced over the photos that Jo had provided her, she delighted in the fact that her new school encouraged girls to play against boys. She knew that Kyle would take great pleasure in tackling or wrestling the most ‘stacked’ of the school’s young women.

There was no doubt in Demi’s mind that The Amazonian School was the solution to all of Kyle’s needs. It had incredible sports facilities; indeed, the school even encouraged Amazonians to skateboard and to race bikes competitively.

Daily Demi badgered her mother to enroll her as an Amazonian starting in January. But Barb knew they’d have difficulty affording the tuition, and so she put off a decision. She deferred it until Demi finally admitted to Dr. Olds that she had been taking female hormones for weeks. This revelation shook Barb to the quick. Not only did it prove that Demi’s addiction to femininity had become powerful enough to compel her to lie about her ‘drug’ dependency, but it also suggested that her mental health was becoming fragile.

"Demi’s right," Barb concluded; "she does need to change schools. How can she become a well adjusted female at a school where everyone remembers Kyle?"

Demi’s momentous admission to Dr. Olds had its genesis in her first meeting with Dr. Loupi after he’d learned of her breast development. Naturally, he was thrilled. He’d known for weeks that Demi was taking female hormones, and was pleased for her that these were finally bearing fruit. The breasts were, of course, further proof of his basic hypothesis: Namely, that Demi, the psychologically perfect transsexual, would experience an unproblematic transition to full womanhood.

Dr. Loupi’s mood positively soared when he learned from Demi that the eminent Dr. Johansson of New York City had confirmed his diagnosis. As Demi’s own physician was already prescribing female hormones to her — or so Dr. Loupi had been led to believe — it would take only a few more signatures, including those of Demi and her mother, to schedule her sexual reassignment surgery. With luck, it could be timed for late summer to coincide with one of Dr. Loupi’s conference papers.

Dr. Loupi’s mood soured quickly, however, when Demi openly contradicted his thesis that she was the world’s best-adjusted transsexual teen. He couldn’t believe it: Despite what she had told him and the evidence jutting in front of his own eyes, Demi was now denying that she was taking female hormones.

"Female hormones? I’d never take them. I couldn’t possibly have told you that I was on female hormones." (It was, after all, male steroids that Demi was gobbling down, now more than ever, as she desperately sought to counteract her breast development.)

"Well, young lady, how do you account for those breasts of yours? If they’re not the result of female hormones, then to what do you attribute their sudden efflorescence?"

"Dr. Olds thinks they’re something every fourteen-year-old boy gets," Demi replied. "But I suspect he’s wrong. I think I got them because I’m cursed by a fish that works for the Devil."

Satanic fish? Oh, oh, this did not sound good. Demi was supposed to be the one kid in a thousand who could change her sex as easily as most people change a shirt after they’ve found that it’s lacking a couple of buttons. The thirty-second draft of Dr. Loupi’s paper said she was unusually healthy psychologically, and now she was sitting in his office babbling like a schizo!

A demented Demi was not going to boost Dr. Loupi’s career. "They’ll blame me," he glumly thought, "for not realizing that she was always wacko. They’ll even say I misdiagnosed her. They’ll say she wasn’t ever a transsexual! They’ll say she’s delusional — that she only thinks she’s a transsexual! Oh my, oh my!"

Dr. Loupi became even more fretful when he suddenly remembered what Demi had said about Dr. Olds -- that her family doctor thought her breast development a fluke of nature.

"But how could Olds think that," Dr. Loupi wondered, "if he’s been prescribing female hormones to Demi?"

The truth was sickening, but Dr. Loupi could not avoid it: Demi was giving the hormones to herself, which would explain why she was so coy about taking them.

"It’s that damn Internet," Dr. Loupi muttered under his breath; "she’s been buying pills or creams from some quack who’s not bothered to verify her true age or circumstances. There are so many people out there who are totally lacking in professionalism. Sometimes I think I’m the only true professional working in America. It’s such a land of amateurs!"

He confronted Demi directly: "Now, I want the truth. If I don’t get it, I’ll tell Mr. Cudmore that he’s been right all along, and that you are, as he says, a hopeless liar. He will then expel you from Hoover High. Your only choice then will be an industrial school, which will train you to flip burgers. Now, we don’t want that to happen, do we? And it won’t have to happen if you tell me the truth. Will you at long last tell me the truth?"

After those sorts of threat, Demi was going to tell Dr. Loupi whatever he wanted to hear, even the truth. "What do you want to know?" she warily asked.

"The answer to three questions: First, have you ever taken hormones? Now let’s not quibble about the details. Have you have taken any sort of hormones at any time? Second, are you currently taking hormones? And third, did Dr. Olds or any other licensed physician prescribe them to you?

Demi took refuge in monosyllables: yes, yes and no.

"Just as I thought! Well, young Demi, there is no way that I can allow you to continue medicating yourself. How would that look to my fellow psychologists! I want us to resume our daily explorations of your femininity, but only after I’ve heard from your family physician. He’s Dr. Olds, right? I’m also going to be talking to your mother. We’re going to have to put your hormone treatment on a more regular basis. Now off you go. I’m sure you’re anxious to do whatever it is you girls do after school."

Dr. Olds was furious to learn he’d been duped. He agreed, however, in his phone call with Dr. Loupi that Demi’s lies and deceit proved how desperate she was for a sex change. In other words, he bought into Dr. Loupi’s analysis that Demi had kept the hormones a secret from her mother and doctor because she was afraid that either or both would insist she wait until she at least eighteen years old before taking such a major step in her life.

Dr. Olds had to agree with Hoover’s eminent psychologist that Demi was an exceptional case of transsexualism. While he thought that Demi’s feminization shouldn’t be pushed too rapidly (for fear of negative side effects), he concurred with Dr. Loupi that he should take control of her hormone treatment. There would be no more self-dosing. Instead, Dr. Olds would regulate her hormone intake so as to give Demi appropriate-sized breasts by the time she’d reached sweet sixteen. He also said he’d sign the necessary forms for Demi’s sexual reassignment surgery.

"I’ll leave it to the real experts to decide when she should have it, but I’ll give Barb James the consent forms that Demi needs," Dr Olds told the psychologist.

"Your concurrence with the diagnosis of Dr. Johansson and myself — namely, that Demi should have her sex change some time within the next year — will go a long way to convincing any hospital to perform the operation. After all, you’re the physician who knows her best."

With the James’s family physician firmly on board, Dr. Loupi finally met with Demi’s mother. As Barb was having to take time off in the middle of her workday, the meeting was necessarily a rushed one. Indeed, Dr. Loupi saw it solely as an opportunity to impress on Barb the inevitability of Demi’s sexual reassignment surgery, and thus the desirability of having it as soon as possible, while Kyle, still a young teen, remained androgynous enough in his appearance to make a pretty, convincing woman.

Dr. Loupi decided to shock her into seeing the wisdom of his advice. So he immediately informed her, as soon as they’d agreed that she alone would be on a first-name basis, about her child’s duplicity: "Barb, I want you to take a deep breath before I reveal something to you that I believe may upset you."

In panic, Barb’s breathing became so shallow and rapid that she was feeling a bit light-headed when Dr. Loupi gave her the ‘bad news’: "It’s my duty to inform you, Barb, that Demi has been lying to you for weeks about a very serious matter. I’m sure that must bother you."

"A very serious matter? What could it be?" Barb almost passed out from all the possibilities, many of which would entail jail time. It was with tremendous relief, therefore, that she heard Dr. Loupi explain, "Demi lied to Dr. Olds and you, her loving mother, about her breasts. They’re not a fluke of nature. They have been growing by Demi’s own design. She lied to you about the hormones. She’s been taking them for weeks, apparently after getting them from some sleazy company on the Internet."

Relief that Demi was not about to go to jail or to the hospital may have been Barb’s first emotion, but it soon gave way to a mixture of anger and sorrow that Demi hadn’t confided such a momentous decision in her.

"I don’t understand why she felt she couldn’t tell me about the hormones," Barb lamented. "I would have agreed to her taking them, though naturally I would have insisted that a doctor be involved."

"Well, Barb, I don’t always know what’s going through Demi’s mind, but I’m fairly certain that she was afraid that your family doctor would refuse to prescribe the hormones, in view of her tender age."

"That’s possibly true," agreed Barb.

"Well, Barb, Demi shouldn’t have worried about Dr. Olds. I’ve been talking to him, and he not only is ready to oversee Demi’s hormone treatment, but he’s also signed a consent form for her sexual reassignment surgery, which you’ll be able to pick up when you take Demi in for her next appointment. Do you know when that will be? It should be as soon as possible."

"So that’s why Dr. Olds insisted on seeing Demi this afternoon! She has an appointment to see him right after I get off work."

"That’s fantastic, Barb. That means Demi will no longer have to play foolish games with her health. A competent medical practitioner will now be taking charge of her feminization. My advice to you, Barb, is to proceed with her feminization as rapidly as possible so that she can start the next school year off as a girl at another school where there’ll be no ghost of Kyle to haunt her."

"Dr. Loupi, Demi has been begging to go to a private girls’ school this coming January. I’ve been putting her off, as it would cost us a lot of money, and I do feel that it’s too early for us to give up entirely on Kyle. I still wouldn’t be surprised to see my son come downstairs in a grubby sweatshirt and boxer shorts to see what’s been left for him under the Christmas Tree."

"Barb, I can understand why you’re resisting the remarkable change that is taking place in Kyle’s life. But I assure you he is definitely gone, and will never return. It is the considered opinion of doctors Johansson and Olds, and myself, that the only responsible course of action at this point is to schedule Demi’s operations so that she can be done with them before next autumn." "

Barb, it’s time for you prove how much you love Demi. Find the money somehow for the private school and the surgical procedures. Mortgage your house if you have to, Barb, but you must get over what we psychologists call ‘denial’. I know you’ll do the right thing. I’d appreciate knowing the date of the last operation, as I’ve grown fond of Demi and would like to visit her in the hospital to congratulate her."

He then looked at his watch, and dismissively said, "I’m sorry, Barb, but that’s all the time we have. There’s a student I have to see. He’s been seeing me about ‘anger management,’ and I’m sure you agree that it’s important in this day and age to make sure that students learn to control their tempers."

Bewildered by his peremptory dismissal, Barb stumbled out of the office in such confusion that she accidentally bumped into the waiting student. To her amazement, she recognized Kyle’s friend Jason.

"He’s always been such a quiet, considerate boy," she thought. "It’s a sad commentary on today’s youth that Jason, of all people, feels he needs help in controlling his anger!"

Curious, Barb lingered outside the door just long enough to learn that Jason was having "girl trouble," for she heard him admit, "It’s true. I still want to slug her every time I see her. I can’t help myself. I want to hit her so bad. But, like you suggested, I’m trying to find ways to get even with her without getting violent."

"So have you found a way?" Dr. Loupi probed.

As Barb had to rush off to work, she didn’t hear Jason’s reply: "Yeh, I talked one of the computer geeks — he owes me a favor — into hacking all the government data bases we could find Kyle’s name in. We got a good laugh changing his official name to Ima Asshole, but we finally decided to give him the frigging name he’s so frigging desperate to have."

Jason elaborated, cackling as he did, "According to vital statistics, my ex-friend was born a girl, with the name of Demi Sissy James. Do you like the middle name? That was the geek’s idea. Isn’t it perfect for Iowa’s biggest sissy?" His grin became especially malevolent.

"Jason, how do you feel now? Are you beginning to see there are non-violent ways to deal with your emotions?"

"You’re right, doc. I feel a lot better. When I saw Demi this morning, for the first time in weeks I didn’t get the urge to hit her. I actually found myself chuckling about her official name, you know, the one that will take her years to talk the government into changing. Also, you know, it felt good to take charge: I’m the one who made Demi officially a female. Isn’t that prime?" His face had a pretend smile.

"So Jason, am I to conclude that you no longer want to strike Demi?"

"I still get the urge. So I’m going to work on ‘managing my anger’ — as you call it — by signing Demi up for every beauty contest I can find. I’ve got some friends ("unfortunately, none of them black shirts," he muttered under his breath) who’ve been helping me fill out the forms. It’s a hoot: Demi’s officially entered in the Miss Teen Iowa contest as well as two or three dozen local contests to be Miss Buttermilk, Miss Tractor Pull, the Corn Princess, or The Snow Queen — whatever we could find. Some of the towns are so small that she may be the only entrant. That’s going to be so choice — when the ugliest, dumbest ‘girl’ in Iowa becomes Miss Hicksville!"

Dr. Loupi was alarmed: "You haven’t been forging Demi’s signature, have you? I certainly hope not, for forgery is a felony."

"Forgery? Heck no. We didn’t try to duplicate her scribbling. Instead, we signed her name each time with block letters, as though she were a moron. But she is, isn’t she?" Jason cackled once again.

That was pretty much the end of their substantive discussion. As Dr. Loupi reflected on his session with Jason, he gave himself a mental pat on the back. Thanks to his counseling, Jason was making more constructive use of his anger. For a while, Dr. Loupi had worried that Jason might show up to school with a firearm. That fear he could now put aside, for Jason in his own way had finally made his peace with Demi.

Jason didn’t fool Dr. Loupi: His actions were more eloquent than his words. Jason had stopped resisting Kyle’s transition to girlhood, Dr. Loupi decided, and was now trying to facilitate it. Thanks to Jason, Demi would never have to go through the legal hassle of formally changing her sex and name.

"Just imagine how much good I could do," Dr. Loupi declared to his desk lamp, "if I could counsel the entire nation on anger management!"

He decided that he would persuade Demi to keep the commitments being made in her name. "Yes, yes, I know that you have no desire to be beauty queen, but somehow your name got entered — probably by one of your admirers — and the organizers are counting on you to show. If you don’t there will be a lot of people upset with you."

If Demi won any of the contests, which wouldn’t be too difficult in some of the small town events, where all the other girls would weigh in at 180 pounds or more, then Dr. Loupi would have the ideal grand finale to his academic paper and, in time, the perfect cover photo for his book. He could envisage it now: Demi S. James, Apple Blossom Princess of Madison County.

Tears filled Dr. Loupi’s eyes as he thought about the fun Demi would have competing for titles that would attract lesbians to her like bees to … well, to apple blossoms.

Alas, this was not to be. As long as Barb was in position to intercept Demi’s mail, Dr. Loupi never got a chance to talk his favorite teen into entering a swimsuit contest. Stunned, yet again, by her daughter’s desperate craving for attention and validation, Barb decided there would be no beauty contests until after Demi’s sex change. Barb saw no point in going to court to force Iowa’s beauty pageants to admit a cross-dressing boy, when the fight that really mattered to Demi involved her rights as a transsexual.

As Barb anticipated that some people, and some events, would have trouble in accepting Demi as a female even after her operations and hormonal treatments had removed all but her chromosomal vestiges of maleness, Barb decided to conserve her resources for the future..

Once Demi had completed her transition, Barb was prepared to fight all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court to force the Miss Teen pageants of Iowa to accept Demi as a contestant. Though her daughter was unlikely, as Barb saw it, to win any of the major beauty competitions, she did have good odds of becoming Miss Congeniality, a title that might do wonders for Demi’s morale.

But first things first. If Demi were going to be entering beauty contests, she’d have to develop beyond an AA cup. On the same day as she finally saw Dr. Loupi, Barb took her daughter to Dr. Olds to be put on a regimen of female hormones (and at the doctor’s suggestion, a mix of testosterone suppressants).

Dr. Olds indicated to Barb that he wanted to talk to Demi alone — well sort of alone, for given Demi’s age and "sex", he asked his nurse to remain in order to observe the proprieties. The doctor wanted to find out whether Demi would be more truthful in her mother’s absence. He certainly hoped she’d be, for it was important to Dr. Olds to have his patient’s full confidence.

"So Demi," he began, "let’s start by finding out who’s been providing you with your hormones. The company’s name, please?" Dr. Olds thought this the best approach: to catch Demi off-guard by treating her hormone consumption as a given.

And the stratagem worked: "I don’t get them from a company. A friend gives them to me," Demi replied. Naturally, there was no way she was going to rat on Steve, and so she refused to divulge the name of her source.

"I think you should tell your friend that he can get into big trouble peddling hormones without a medical license," Dr. Olds sternly said. "You tell him that he should stop doing it immediately. As for you Demi, you are never again to administer hormones to yourself. From now, you will be taking them under my supervision."

At this point, Demi was a bit confused. Since her doctor had never mentioned Dr. Loupi, she wasn’t sure where he’d heard about her hormones. Possibly there had been a bust, and Steve’s source was now behind bars. She wasn’t quite sure what was going down, but she did know enough to make sure that Dr. Olds understood that she had no desire to take anything that would make her more feminine.

She still hoped that her male mones could reverse the curse of the helmeted fish, though she was losing faith in them, for her breasts seemed to be growing daily. "Maybe," she thought, "the doctor can at least stop my breasts from growing any bigger while I hunt for a book of spells, which will tell me how to reverse the fish’s curse."

It was worth a try: "Dr. Olds, I can’t believe how fast my breasts are growing. Are there any hormones that can slow things down?"

"Certainly, Demi. That’s in fact my plan. Like most teens you’ve been too impatient. We’re definitely going to slow things down, so there are fewer side effects. After all, we don’t want you to become an emotional wreck. Slowly, slowly, that’s my philosophy."

"So if I take mones from you, my breasts won’t grow as fast?" Demi asked.

"That’s right, Demi. Nor will your hips. So it is a deal? Will you throw away your own stash of drugs and trust me to do what’s right for you?"

Their deal was sealed with a handshake, by the supervised destruction of her stash at home, and by Demi’s dutiful ingestion of hormones he prescribed in the weeks that followed. She had no idea that she had switched to female hormones, or that the testosterone inhibitors she was now taking would ensure that her body would continue to feminize as rapidly as it ever had (indeed, even more rapidly around her nipples, whose growth had hitherto lagged behind her breast development).

No, Demi didn’t know she was now taking female hormones; all she knew, or really cared about, was that Dr. Olds had told her — in all sincerity, since he didn’t know the true score — that her body would feminize less rapidly if she put herself in his care.

After their handshake, Dr. Olds asked Demi if she’d wait in his anteroom while he talked to her mother. Barb now learned that her daughter had definitely been taking female hormones, but was now concerned that she might have overdone things. "So, I’ve slowed her transition down. My plan is for her body to catch up to the other girls her age by her next birthday. By then, she’ll be needing a B-cup and some new jeans, for I doubt her hips will still fit in those she’s wearing today."

"Barb, I had long talk with Dr. Loupi, the mental health expert at Demi’s high school, and he is as convinced as I am that Demi should have early surgery. I’ve been told that Demi has been asking to transfer to an all-girls’ school. That’s quite understandable, and desirable, for I’m sure that it’s awkward for Demi to attend an institution where the students once knew her as Kyle. I’m sure you recognize that she’d be happier at a school where she can start anew."

"You’re obviously right, doctor. Until now I had my doubts because Demi is always talking about becoming Kyle once again. But she couldn’t have intended to be a boy again, if she’s been deliberately giving herself female breasts."

"Elvira Lancer has been telling me, over and over again, to pay more attention to what Demi does, and less attention to what Kyle says. So from now on I’m going to ignore the blather. Dr. Loupi will be pleased to know that I’m no longer in denial. From now on, I’m going to do whatever it takes to ensure that Demi gets her sex change as soon as possible, so that she’ll make a convincing female as an adult."

Later that evening, as Barb tucked Demi into her perfumed Pocahontas sheets, Barb took a long careful look at her daughter, her hair in curlers for the first time, her breasts poking ever so slightly out of her pink nylon nightie, and she wondered why it had taken so long for her to accept the obvious: that Demi was as permanent as the prairie wind.

Barb finally made her decision. Taking Demi’s hand into hers, she announced, "Sweetie, I can see that you’ve got to change schools. So I’ve enrolling you in The Amazonian School. I know that they have space for one more student. Until today, I wasn’t hopeful that I could convince them that you belonged in their school. But, it now appears that I was worrying needlessly. I’m sure they’ll take you."

"After all," Barb thought, "two medical doctors and your school psychologist have signed the necessary forms for your sex change, and you’ve started your hormone treatment. That should convince the school that you’re serious about becoming a true Amazonian."

To Demi she said, "Wait just a second. I’ll be right back. As you’re always rushing about in the mornings, this is probably the best moment for you to add your own John Hancock to the admission request form."

"Hurry back, mom. Wow, I’m going to become an Amazonian! This is awesome news, the most totally awesome news I’ve had in weeks. In little more than a month, I’ll be making way for Kyle. He’ll get his life back, for it will be goodbye Demi, hello Kyle!"

Demi was so excited to be changing schools that she scarcely read a word of the two forms she was signing, even though Barb twice warned her never to sign anything without carefully reading it first. There was not much to concern or inform Demi in the first form: It was a standard school admission form, save for clause 37, which specified that the school could ask her to leave at any time "if she failed to pass a physical inspection within one year of admission."

The second form Demi should have read, as the two signatures on it — hers and Barb’s — authorized the medical staff of the Amazonian school, including its resident psychiatrist, to oversee Demi’s feminization in order to ensure that it was complete by January of her second year — or earlier, if at all possible.

The second form, entitled "An Agreement to Come into Conformity with the Amazonian Norm," committed Demi to surgery. True, it was not ironclad, even though Barb in a third form would be giving prior approval to any procedure the school thought necessary for Demi’s successful feminization. But American kids have rights, and no one was going to castrate Demi against her will.

Nevertheless, by signing this agreement, Demi had created the legal presumption that she yearned to be feminized as quickly as possible. This presumption would affect every medical decision being made for her from then on. Once she got to the Amazonian School, she’d have to be very wary about signing medical consent forms, for the school’s medical staff were famous for piggy-backing procedures, in order to keep down the cost of medical care, especially for those — like Demi — who could barely afford the school’s tuition.

Thus, if Demi required a tonsillectomy, they’d consider it the logical time to ask her to consent to having her Adam’s apple reduced in size or her vocal chords restrung to give her voice a higher pitch. Similarly, if needed an appendectomy, the might ask Demi and her mother if they could move ahead the operation to eliminate her need for a gaff.

At every step, the surgeons would ask Demi for her informed, written consent, and so she’d have no difficulty keeping her current body (including its breasts) intact — provided she really listened and insisted on carefully reading everything she signed.

Was there any hope of Demi learning to read the big print on the forms she signed? (As far as the small print was concerned, she was a hopeless cause.) Possibly, if she remembered the third form that Bard had sheepishly offered to her that evening for signature.

Demi should have read it. Demi should have torn it up. Demi should have done anything but sign it. It was the bill of sale for her beloved (yet padlocked) moped!

Demi hurriedly signed the bill of sale without pausing to read it, for she was in a great rush: Jo had just phoned to say that her Gran had unexpectedly gone shopping for a couple of hours, which would give them enough time for Jo to prove, yet again, how lucky Demi was to have real breasts.

Afterwards, Barb could only hope that Demi had actually read the bill of sale, for Barb was acutely aware of how much the bike once meant to Kyle. As she watched Demi’s back recede down the lane, Barb thought to herself: "My child, you have changed mightily if you no longer care about that moped. Your mind must have feminized as much as your chest."

Upon second reflection the following morning, Barb decided that Demi had been relaxed about selling the moped because its new owner was going to be Elvira Lancer, who would give it to Steve, who’d allow Demi to ride it whenever she pleased.

In any case, Barb was pleased that Demi realized that they had no choice but to sell her bike if they were to find the tuition for her first semester at The Amazonian School. It was going to be an expensive school for her to attend, given its frequent field trips, sports junkets, and Demi’s medical treatments.

Elvira had been hinting for a couple of weeks that she was willing to buy the bike (at a small discount), if Barb needed extra money for Demi’s transition. The two women had struck the deal over coffee that afternoon. Oddly, it was the first time that Barb had ever visited Elvira’s house. Even more oddly, Elvira listened rather than lectured.

Elvira also made no attempt to hide her mixed emotions at hearing the latest news about Demi: "I’m thrilled to hear that she’s going ahead with her sex change," she told Barb as she poured herself a her third cream sherry, "but I wish she weren’t going away to school. I’ll miss her. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, Barb, but I’ve begun thinking of Demi as my … niece."

"And you’ll probably be thrilled to know that she now calls you Auntie Elvie."

"Yes, I do love that name. That’s why I’m pleased to help you out by taking the bike off your hands. You can always get Demi another moped in a couple of years if she still wants one. In the meantime, it’s a distraction. She’ll be a happier girl if she puts away her boys’ toys."

"I suppose you’re right, Elvira," Barb sighed. "Anything, I have little choice in the matter. I need to raise the money for her schooling, and it’s either the moped or the car. I just hope that Demi will forgive me for selling her pride and joy."

"You shouldn’t fret, Barb. Demi’s far more interested in clothes now than she is in motor scooters. Like most girls her age, she always looking for novelty; and the moped is yesterday’s news."

At first, there was no way of knowing whether Elvira was right, for the moped stayed in Demi’s garage until two weeks before Christmas, to hide it from Steve. Worrisomely, Demi behaved as though she still owned it, for she dusted it every second day, and polished its chrome once a week. Barb dreaded the day when Elvira Lancer would come calling for Kyle’s moped.

In the meantime, life for Demi finally settled down to a routine. Virtually everyone had gotten used to her, although the younger boys still copped the occasional feel to keep track of her breast development. Most of her time away from school she spent with Jo, though rarely at Jo’s house since Virginia still refused to forgive Demi for leading her granddaughter astray. Most of the lovemaking between the two teens accordingly took place between the Pocahontas sheets.

Jo did her utmost to make Demi thankful to have breasts, while trying to persuade her to ask for a vagina as well. However, Demi had learned her lesson, and she insisted on putting a time limit on all her requests, especially to the helmeted fish, which had migrated to her room to be close to their lovemaking.

Thus, no matter how sexually aroused Demi became, whenever she asked "for a body just like Jo’s," she’d add "but just for a week," or "just for two weeks." Jo didn’t like the time constraints, and so worked to ease them. By mid-December, she had skillfully used a vibrator — added to their sexual activity soon after Demi’s return from New York — to persuade Demi to ask the helmeted fish to give her a girl’s body "for at least two weeks."

As Demi became addicted to the vibrator, she became even more convinced that Jo was right about their both being lesbians. And yet, she craved Derek’s attention -- which she continued to enjoy. True, he was still terrified of being seen with her; but he was watching her so closely that he was the first to notice in early December, as he sheepishly admitted, that Demi was no longer padding her bra.

It was fortunate that Derek was such a stalker, for it was Derek who sounded the alarum the afternoon of December 10th when the Greeks, the gang from Central High, grabbed her from the front lawn of Hoover High.

While it’s unlikely that the Greeks set out that day to kidnap Demi, they were definitely up to no good. After all, their orange and yellow Kia was cruising so slowly as they passed the home turf of their arch rivals, the Sharks and the Jets, that that they just had to be looking for trouble. And they found it the moment the Greeks espied Demi heading home from school.

Paco Rabin, their leader, yelled out — "It’s her, the cock-tease from the Hell’s Vixens rave," and at his command, three of the Greeks tumbled out of the car like crash test dummies. Manuel got to Demi first. She flailed away at him, but he was too strong for her. Her only hope was Derek, who was shouting for help. Would it come in time? Terrified, she realized she was already within three feet of the Kia.

Soon, Demi’s head and shoulders were inside the car. She was kicking and screaming and holding onto the doorposts for dear life, but her capture seemed imminent, for Manuel was prying loose her arms while Paco yanked on her hair.

Demi feared for her life more than her chastity. She realized they were intent on rape, but how would they react to the revelation that she was actually a boy. Wouldn’t they be enraged by their own humiliation? After all, her forcible abduction would ‘prove’ the rumor, spread by their foes, that their name celebrated their sexual tastes more than it did their supposed origins in Toledo, Spain.

What would the Greeks do when they discovered Demi’s gonads? They were infamous for carving up people with their knives. As they finally forced her into the Kia’s backseat, Demi totally freaked: She’d figured out what they’d do after they’d decided that she’d played them for fools. They’d give her an operation!

To be continued in Chapter 22, where we will learn whether Demi was skewered by the Greeks.