Synopsis:

Byron is a bastard. Will he become a good woman or a bitch? That remains to be seen - or read.

Story:

Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
 ©2004 Turn Right Productions

This story was conceived by the merging of two events in May of 2003. The first event was my rereading of H.G. Well's "The Island of Doctor Moreau" followed closely by the second which was a result of my cleaning out of my classroom closets prior to retirement after 37 years of teaching. I found material dating back to the '60's in those closets! A lot of it consisted of things I had acquired thinking to use them in class, then totally forgot about, and never used. One of those items was a copy of "True Love Stories" magazine from May, 1930. As I leafed through the magazine, it became apparent that it was close to crumbling to dust. There was no way I could save the whole magazine, but I had been impressed with the illustrations and decided to try to save them long enough to scan them. I eventually saved nine illustrations from five different stories. As I looked at them. an idea began to form. I printed each one on its own sheet of paper and began shuffling them around on my dining room table. After several shuffles, the story which you are about to read formed in my mind. Because there are nine pictures, "Byron the Bastard" will be posted in nine chapters, each inspired by one of them. I hope you enjoy it.

This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare, Gwen Lavyril, and Maddy Bell, who have honored me by including me in their stories. You two are in this whether you like it or not! :-)

Part 1, December 24, 1933, Angel

It was christmas Eve, and as the taxi drew closer to the Bromley estate in suburban Wilmette, Angel could tell that her friend, Carol Bromley, was getting a bit nervous and she thought, *I hope to hell this works!*.

Carol's father, Alexander Bromley, was a self-made man. Born dirt poor in Oklahoma 1880, he had worked his way out west to Washington, where he was in a perfect position, at age twenty, to work his way north to Alaska and take advantage of the Gold Rush of 1901. He had not struck it rich, but like Levi Strauss before him in California, he had come up with something the miners desperately needed, a new and improved form of snowshoe, and made a fortune selling it. His snowshoes were smaller and lighter in weight than the traditional ones, and much easier for the miners to work in. It later turned out that his snowshoes worked equally well in sand, and he had increased his fortune by selling to the British and French in the desert regions of their empires. During The Great War, he had come up with a military version, which he manufactured and donated at no cost to the Allied forces, earning the praise of the British French, Russian (Angel, on a visit to Bromwood, the Bromley estate, had seen a picture of him displayed on the piano receiving a medal from the Czar.) and American governments. The shoes had been endorsed by none other than Lawrence of Arabia.

In 1910, Alexander had married the beautiful Sissy Rowland, heir to the Rowland seed grain fortune, and in 1913, Carol had been born. It was a difficult birth, and Sissy, it was found, could have no more children. The couple lavished all their love and money on Carol, but, unfortunately, Sissy never fully recovered from her daughter's birth and died in 1919, when carol was six. She was brought up after that by her father, who retired to do the job. Their joint grief over the loss of Sissy only strengthened the bond between the two, and Carol grew up as beautiful as her mother and with her father's intelligence and work ethic. Hence Carol's employment at Moreau Imports, even though she was heir to enough money to buy several European kingdoms.

Over the year and a half that twenty year old Carol had worked at Moreau Imports in Chicago's Rogers Park, the two young women had become good friends. Angel Moreau O'Hare was the grand-daughter of the founder of the company, which imported artifacts from the Far East, and had been working there since she graduated from high school, five years ago.

When Carol had started at the store, she had been a bright-eyed happy newlywed, and every other conversation was about how much she loved her apparently god-like husband, Byron, and how happy she was. It had been Byron this, and Byron that; it seemed as though the man had no faults.

They had decided to live, she told Angel, with her invalid father on the family estate because he needed her. It had been Byron's idea, she had stated proudly. She had wanted to buy a small home of their own close by, but he had convinced her that "father" needed them close at hand. Such a wonderful, caring man!

But five months after she started work, her beloved father had died. Angel had been by her side for three days straight to comfort her distraught friend, and had held her while she cried and threw the first handful of dirt into the open grave. Angel had thought at the time that it should have been her husband comforting Carol at this time, but when she looked over her friend's shoulder as the dirt rattled on the coffin six feet below, Byron was nowhere near. She finally spotted him over fifty feet away engaged in a heated conversation with a man she recognized as the Bromley family solicitor, Jack Flyer.

Carol had changed after the funeral. There was less and less talk about the wonderful Byron, and when Angel would mention happy times with her husband Bob and their twin daughters Teesee and Tammy, Carol would sigh and get a wistful look in her eyes. Angel suspected all was not well on the Bromley home front.

Today, though, there had been a change for the better. Carol had requested the morning off, and had come into the store at one o'clock beaming and humming "Away in the Manger" She told Angel she had the perfect Christmas gift for Byron, one that was going to make things all better. "I don't know if you've noticed," she opened up to Carol, "but I haven't been happy for quite awhile now. Byron used to compliment me and treat me like a princess, but since the funeral, nothing I do seems to be right. My feelings have been hurt, but I think the poor dear has been under a lot of stress. He claims he wants to buy us the house we talked about before marriage, but there seems to be a problem with Father's will and the sale of Bromwood. Uncle jack comes by often, and, while he is sweet Uncle Jack to me as he always has been, he seems cold to Byron and the two of them argue, mostly in places where I can't make out what they are saying. I love Bromwood, but was willing to give it up as it was way too large for just the two of us," here she smiled, "but now, my present will, I think, make Bromwood just right for us and relieve Byron of the stress connected with trying to sell it. I'm going to tell him on Christmas morning."

At that, Angel began to suspect the nature of the gift that Carol was talking about, and was not surprised when she finally couldn't contain herself any longer and, drawing her friend into a massive hug blurted, "Oh, Angel, the rabbit died; I'm PREGNANT! With twins Dr. Burrows thinks!" She danced her friend around the shop and, while Angel couldn't help being infected by her friend's joyous mood, she cringed as many a far Eastern antique came perilously close to becoming a pile of china or glass shards or broken pieces of wood on the salesroom floor.

Carol had invited Angel to come home to Bromwood with her after work for a girl's evening in of gossip and, of course, baby talk, and to help her decorate the house for Byron's arrival late that evening, and Angel had agreed. Angel's thought in the taxi that she hoped this pregnancy worked was sparked by the experience of a friend of hers, Sally. Sally had also thought that a baby would fix a marriage gone rocky, but the opposite had occurred, a divorce followed, and sally was trying to get by now as a single mother with a four year old. She was not about to rain on her friend's parade just yet, though, and tried to remain upbeat. "Honey, don't worry," she said, giving her friend yet another hug, "Byron is going to be thrilled!" *I hope* she thought to herself. The hug lasted until the taxi pulled into the driveway off Sheridan Road and stopped before the gates to Carol's estate.

In 1922, Howard Carter had discovered the virtually intact tomb of the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamon, and the British Empire and the United States had been swept with a passion for all things of an ancient Egyptian nature. It was in 1923 that Alexander Bromley, caught up himself in the craze, had hired architects to design what was to become Bromwood, he and ten year old Carol's new home. As the taxi pulled up to the gates of the estate, Angel was once again awed by the massive facing statues of Ramses III that served as gateposts. The gates themselves were wrought iron with what Alexander had liked to call, tongue in cheek, the "Bromanhotep" cartouche designed by himself worked into each side. Carol exited the cab and, unlocking a plate in the chest of the right-hand Ramses, flipped a switch causing the gates to slowly open.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on one's point of view, plans for the main house at Bromwood had been finalized before Alexander caught the Egyptian bug, and so was built not in the tradition of an ancient temple or pyramid. But it was still an impressive structure, almost a throwback to the imposing castles built by the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers of the latter half of the last century. Angel's family had not been poor, and she and her husband and children lived comfortably in the converted top two floors of the building that housed Moreau Imports, but she still felt a moment of awe every time she saw Bromwood House.

The cab driver dropped the two off at the front door, and Angel was surprised when Carol fumbled in her purse, pulled out a key, and let them into the house herself, rather than ringing the bell for the butler. Seeing her friend's confusion, Angel explained that their long time family butler and maid, a husband and wife team, had retired to florida a month ago. several new servants had been tried, but had not worked out. The way carol said that made Angel suspect that Byron was the reason, but she decided not to pry ... yet.

As soon as they were inside, Carol's mood brightened considerably, and the two girls were soon giggling and singing carols as they decorated the living room. They had it decorated to Carol's liking by 6:30pm, with Byron's gayly wrapped presents - "But not the BIG present!" Carol had giggled - piled artfully under the tree. But when Angel had made to go home, Carol urged her to stay and say hello to Byron, who was due to arrive at 7:00. Suspecting that there was more to this request than just socializing, she agreed to stay, and the two settled down with Coca-Colas to wait for Byron (Neither woman indulged in alcohol, even though the new 21st Amendment had at last repealed prohibition.)
7:00pm came and went, and so did 8:00pm and 9:00pm. Finally at 9:30, they heard a car screech to a halt out front and a few moments later the door was thrust open. Carol, a smile of both relief and greeting on her face had leaped up and run to the door, with Angel following behind at a slower pace. It should have been a happy romantic scene, the loving and lovely wife waiting to greet her darling handsome husband with her gorgeous best friend, happy for the two, looking on. Two-thirds of the participants looked their parts. Both women were dressed in elegant dresses, carol having decided sometime after 7:00 to change out of her work attire. She had insisted on loaning another elegant gown to Angel, since they were the same size. Angel had agreed, thinking that playing dress up would help pass the time and calm her friend a bit. In keeping with the season, Carol was in red and Angel in emerald green.

But then Byron actually entered the entrance hall. Angel would have been hard put to think of Byron at all as "darling", but she had always found him handsome. Under normal circumstances he was. Very. At a slender 5'10", he filled out a tuxedo nicely and, with his slicked back coal black hair, both women agreed he looked rather like the movie star Fred Astaire. Tonight, however, Byron's good looks were mitigated by a slight stagger in his walk; his suit was disheveled, and there was a scowl on his face. He reeked of cheap booze and just a hint, Angel thought, of a woman's perfume that wasn't Carol's.

No "I love you." No "You look lovely tonight, Dear." Not even a "Sorry I'm late, Honey." Instead Byron stared at his wife as if disgusted and asked in a surly voice, "Get paid today?"

A shocked Carol replied, "Why, yes..."

Before she could continue, Byron thrust out his hand and in the same surly voice demanded, "Give it here, then!"

Carol could only stutter, "Bu ... bu... but, Byron ..." Angel was speechless with shock.

Interrupting her again, Byron raised his right hand and advanced menacingly on his wife. He was almost shouting now. "Carol, give me your pay envelope, you stupid slut!"

Blanching and cringing slightly, Carol reached for her purse which was lying on the small end table by the door and, opening it, pulled out the envelope with her pay in it. She thrust it into Byron's hand and he turned without a word and made his way out, slamming the heavy door behind him. The start of an engine and the screech of tires finally seemed to release the two women and Angel moved quickly to catch the sobbing Carol in her arms.

Many tears later and a phone call to Bob explaining that Angel would be late, Angel put her friend to bed and reluctantly prepared to leave. She wanted to stay with her friend, and only agreed to leave when Carol called "Uncle" Jack.

Jack Flyer was a widower, and both of his sons were overseas, so he had no Christmas obligations. Indeed, Carol had invited him over for Christmas dinner the next day. He regarded Carol as the daughter he never had, so he was more than willing to come over and stay with her. He'd never liked that bastard, Byron!

Christmas morning found a somewhat bleary from lack of sleep Angel putting on a good front and laughing along with Bob as Tammy and TeeSee ripped through their Christmas presents. She had almost forgotten her friend Carol's plight, when the telephone rang. It was Jack, telling her that Carol was in Lake Forest hospital and in surgery.

Part 2, December 25 - 31, 1933, Carol

The closing front door left Carol alone. She had had to argue quite strongly in order to get Angel to leave before Jack arrived, but she was sure, she told her friend, that Byron was off somewhere drinking up her pay and wouldn't be back till morning. She wanted Angel to get home and get to sleep; she didn't want those two darling angels Tammy and Teesee to have a grumpy mother come Christmas morning.

No longer having to keep up appearances, Carol wandered back into the living room and collapsed into her special chair to the right of the fireplace. she didn't cry - She had cried herself out in the arms of her friend. - but her thoughts were in a whirl. How could Byron be like this? And on christmas eve, too? Her happiness at her condition had disappeared, replaced by apprehension. Would the Byron she had seen tonight rejoice with her over the news of their baby ... babies?

She loved Byron deeply, though, and soon began to make excuses for his behavior. It had been, after all, Christmas Eve. Glancing up at the big clock over the fireplace, she noted that it was now 12:05, Christmas morning. The clock was unique; set into a slab of gold bearing rock, it had been made for her father by a Yukon gold miner who attributed his striking it rich to her father's snowshoes. As it ticked away, Carol became calmer. Byron had probably stopped after work to toast the season with some of his friends and just got over enthusiastic, she rationalized. Everybody it seemed was drinking a lot these days, she thought, probably the result of the release of pent up desire after the repeal of prohibition. By the time she heard a car in the driveway, she had convinced herself that Byron had simply needed the money to pay back a friend who had lent him money to buy drinks. he would be his old self when he returned in the morning. She got up and went to the door to let Jack in.

It wasn't Jack. Byron walked in. He walked past her as if she didn't exist, went into the library and lifted the small statue of the Egyptian goddess Hathor in her cow form that rested on the fireplace's four inch thick granite mantle. The horns of the cows' heads of two anthropomorphic statues of Hathor supported the mantle, and the "Bromanhotep" cartouche was carved into it's front. This tableau surrounding the fireplace was the only concession to the Egyptian furor of the early twenties in the house. It was also a concession to the 18th amendment. The lifting of the statue caused the two flanking statues to pivot outward revealing a well stocked mini-bar on either side. It was not a coincidence that Hathor was the Egyptian goddess associated with alcoholic beverages.

Byron poured himself a tumbler of newly legal Canadian whiskey, downed it in one quick swallow, and refilled his glass. He walked over to his chair, to the left of the fireplace facing Carol's, set the drink down on the end table by it, and collapsed into it, all this without a word to carol. He picked up the glass and continued drinking. Carol sat opposite him, waiting. Nothing. No apology for earlier. Nothing. Thinking of the babies, she put aside her hurt feelings. She decided, quite wrongly as it turned out, to give Byron his big present ... their big present. In a conciliatory tone she started, "Byron, dear, I ..."

"What?!" he snapped

"I just thought," she continued, now nervously, "that you seemed so agitated earlier, and that you might want your christmas present a bit early. We can open the ones under the tree in the morning, but this one is special, and," she glanced at the clock, "it IS christmas."

Byron shook his head as if to clear his mind. "Christmas? he asked in a puzzled tone. Carol's heart sank. He had forgotten Christmas! But then he gave a thin smile. "yes, I suppose it is Christmas. well, let's have it! What is this special present?"

Carol got up, walked over to him and knelt before him. The firelight reflected off her red satin gown and revealed the depths of her green eyes, shaded by long luxurious lashes. In her kneeling position Byron could, had he cared to look, seen the milky white tops of her breasts gently rising and falling as she breathed. She radiated the message, "I am woman." Her scent was the scent of a woman in love. New maternal feelings caused her to glow. Any man would feel lust; a husband would, should, feel love ... but not Byron. It seemed only that his annoyance at being interrupted in his drinking was momentarily outweighed by his mild curiosity over this mysterious present his wife had gotten him. "Well? ..."

Carol rushed to get it out, the same thing she'd said to Angel. "Oh, Byron, the rabbit died!" When no response was forthcoming she glanced up, just in time to be almost knocked over as Byron abruptly stood up.

"What!? You don't mean..."

"Yes, I'm pregnant! Twins, most likely said Dr. Burrows!" Carol was glowing and smiling. Then she noticed, as she stood and tried to embrace him, that Byron wasn't smiling back.

"Damn!" was all he said. He turned from her and picked up his drink from the end table. Downing it in one gulp, he slammed the now empty glass down and began pacing in front of the fireplace. He acted as if Carol wasn't even there. She, her whole world in ruins at that moment, just stood there and began to silently cry. Byron finally noticed her and something faintly - very faintly - like concern crossed his face. He grabbed her arm and began to pull her from the library. "Let's go to bed." he muttered distractedly.

Carol's mind was in a confused shambles, all her happiness at Dr. Burrows' news gone for the moment as her grand Christmas plans for renewing their marriage collapsed. She slowly realized there was pain in her arm where Byron was gripping her and pulling her along at the same time. She really focused on his face for a moment and he was scowling. The first hints of fear appeared in her mind. As mean as Byron had been to her in the months since her father's death, he had never before hurt her physically. Where was Uncle Jack?

'Damn!' thought Jack, glancing at his watch as he wrestled with the spare from the trunk of the big Buick. 'What a time for a flat tire!' He was worried. While Carol hadn't said any more than that Byron had been drunk and had left her alone and she wanted company, he had thought he detected fear in her voice. When Carol had first introduced Byron to him months before their wedding, he had disliked the man on sight. Byron had been a perfect gentleman then, though, and he had put it down half seriously to jealousy at a stranger taking away "his little girl." He had tried to like Byron, for Carol's sake, as he saw how happy she was, but all of that changed at Alexander's funeral.

Jack had met Alexander in the Yukon when both had been young men. He had set Alexander's broken arm, and Alex had paid him with a pair of his new snowshoes. The two had become fast friends. They had lost track of each other when jack had left the Yukon to undertake the courting of the woman who would become his wife, but both had been overjoyed years later to find that the other was also in Chicago.

Alex and Sissy were both remarkably healthy and there had been no need of a doctor until Sissy began to experience problems during her pregnancy. A look in the phone book turned up the name "Dr. Jack Flyer". could it be? Yes! The two friends were reunited and Jack delivered Carol. He had also tended the dying Sissy. As a widower himself, he was able to help his old friend through his grief, and it helped that he had also become a lawyer during the intervening years and could deal with all the legal as well as the medical problems surrounding the death. This gave Alex and Carol time to help each other deal with their grief over losing wife and mother. He truly did think of Carol as as much his little girl as Alexander's, and knew that she did indeed love her "Uncle Jack".

He had not expected to have to reprise his role as chief comforter when Alexander died, believing that role to now be Byron's. Thus he was surprised when at the funeral, Byron had dragged him away from the grave site to ask about selling Bromwood. He had looked over and saw that fortunately there was a young woman comforting Carol. He had sharply told Byron to return to his wife and that they would talk at a more appropriate time. He, as executor of Alexander's estate, would be calling soon to arrange for the reading of the will. Later Carol had introduced him to Angel; her he had liked on sight.

Not surprisingly, the will left everything to Carol. While these were the 1930's and not the bad old days when a woman's property automatically became her husbands, the laws of the state of Illinois - Privately Jack believed chicago should secede from the rest of the state and become its own state. - did give Byron some rights in regard to it. It became increasingly clear to Jack that Byron wanted to sell Bromwood. The man was a male gold digger, a gigolo! He could not bring himself to confront Carol about this, though, and destroy her happiness. However, when he had received her call a short while ago, all his ill feelings about Byron had crystalized and it was with a sense of urgency and dread that he had thrown on some old clothes, jumped in the Buick, and headed for Bromwood. He had automatically grabbed his physicians' bag and thrown it into the front seat alongside himself.

As he was recapping all this in his mind he was also finishing the changing of the Buick's right front tire. He picked up the journey to Bromwood just as Byron pulled carol through the door into their bedroom.

"Byron, you're hurting me!" exclaimed Carol, as he dragged her through the bedroom door. She was really crying now. As he pulled her to the bed, she glanced in the mirror and noted that there were no black streaks. 'This new waterproof mascara really works!' was her odd thought, as her mind tried to cope with the serious things that were happening. Looking back to Byron she saw that his scowl had deepened and his face was red with anger.

"You little bitch!" he snarled at her; "You have to go and ruin everything!"

She cringed. "I thought you'd be pleased, Byron. Our children! You wouldn't have to worry about selling the house; we'd need it with our children."

Then the unkindest cut of all. "Our children? How do I know the brats are mine, you slut!" And he slapped her. Hard.

The slap sent Carol reeling backwards. Her heel caught on her satin bed slippers lying on the floor. She fell, first across the night stand, which caught her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, then hitting her head on the hard wood of the bed side rail. She looked up at the red angry face of the man she still loved. "I love you so much, Byron, but I swear to God that's the last time you'll ever hit me!" she managed to get out as the blackness closed in.

Carol awoke and knew immediately where she was. The smell had been with her almost constantly in the months that her father was dying. she was in a hospital. She opened her eyes and saw Jack sitting beside the bed along with Dr. Burrows. "Uncle Jack! The babies ...?" she managed to get out. The darkness descended again as she saw the sad look on both doctors' faces.

When she next awoke, it was Angel looking down at her. "Damn, girl, you look like shit!" was Angel's comment.

Angel's completely uncharacteristic comment had the desired effect, and Carol burst out laughing as Angel pulled her into a very careful and very gentle hug. Then came the tears. Then Jack was there again. She felt a prick on her arm, and blackness returned.

The next time she awoke, Angel was there again and helped her stand and shakily make her way to the bathroom. Carol found she was able to function, although there was an ache in her heart. She let Angel get her dressed and do her hair and makeup to be presentable for Uncle Jack. He might be her Uncle, but he was still a man and she didn't want him to see her looking disheveled. She knew. of course, that he had seen her looking a mess while she had been unconscious, but that was different. She was sitting up in bed, with Angel in the chair by her side when Jack came in. He thought she had never looked prettier, until he noted the sadness in her eyes.

Her only questions were "What happened?" and "Where's Byron?"

Jack explained: When he had finally arrived at Bromwood, he had entered only to be passed by an exiting Byron. Realizing that something bad must have happened, he rushed through the house, first to the library, where he noted the open bar, the two-thirds empty whisky bottle, and Byron's empty glass, and then to the bedroom, where he discovered Carol unconscious and bleeding profusely from what he quickly determined was just a scalp wound. Fortunately he had automatically grabbed his bag from the front seat of the Buick and brought it in with him. He had stopped the bleeding and checked her vital signs, but couldn't get her to regain consciousness. He called Lake Forest hospital and Dr. Burrows. Then, finding her number in Carol's personal phone directory that he had found in her night stand, he called Angel. Then, he told Carol, he had sat with her head in his lap till the ambulance arrived, singing her every lullaby he knew.

He continued the singing for several hours at the hospital, he continued, till Angel had arrived. The staff, he chuckled, were overjoyed to see Angel as she had a much better singing voice than him. This, too, like Angel's previous comment, got a laugh from carol, with the added benefit of a hug.

Byron, Jack went on, was in police custody, picked up for drunk driving. What the hell, he asked, had happened?

Carol lied. She said Byron had tried to hug her and, because he had reeked of liquor, she had backed away, catching her heel on her bedroom slippers and fell. Jack reluctantly accepted the story and left at her request to deal with a, he hoped, VERY hung over Byron and the police. Carol suspected he didn't believe her, but knew he would accept her story, at least for now.

She told the truth to Angel. She didn't know how she felt about Byron. Hate, certainly; he had cost her her babies, after all, and she and Angel spent a good deal of time crying about that, but she still loved him and wondered if there was a way to deal with him short of divorce. Angel agreed about divorce, but had no such reservations; to her, simple divorce was too good for Byron. He needed to be punished!

Carol agreed, but added that he needed to be rehabilitated, too. What could they do? Angel, remembering a locked trunk in the attic of her and Bob's building, thought she might have a solution. The trunk had belonged to her great-uncle, the infamous Dr. Moreau. Listening to Angel, Carol, seeing the evil smile on her friend's face, thought briefly that if Byron could see that smile, he would leave Chicago as fast as he could. She smiled, too.

to be continued
The TG starts in part 3, I promise.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Byron made a big mistake pissing off the granddaughter of Dr. Moreau. ... and what about Bob?

Story:

Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
 ©2004 Turn Right Productions

Since I started this, I have also uncovered among my salvaged school materials several Montgomery Ward catalogs from the early '30's, so there will be more illustrations. Each chapter will, however, continue to be built around one of the original nine illustrations from "True Love Stories" of May, 1930.

This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare and Maddy Bell, who have honored me by including me in their stories. You two are in this whether you like it or not! :-)

Part 3; January 1 - April 1, 1934; Angel

Over the next several days, Carol recuperated, first in the hospital and then at home. Byron was serving 90 days in the cook county Jail for public drunkenness and drunk driving. Only Angel knew the truth about what he had done, and it was consistent with her evolving plan for him that he have this little "vacation". Now all she had to do was convince Carol.

It was 10:00am on New Years Day, and Carol was sitting up in bed when Angel came in to her bedroom at Bromwood. She set the tea tray she had brought down on the night stand and took a good look at her friend. "Well. it's about damn time!" she said, hands on hips.

Carol looked good. For the first time since she'd awakened in Lake Forest Hospital, she had taken the trouble to fix herself up. She had done her hair in an attractive style and had even used some makeup. She was dressed very prettily in a pink nighty. She looked a sweet confection with a pastel blue bedspread surrounding her and propped up by pastel blue pillows. "And a fine good New Years morning to you, too, Miss Grumpy." she said to her friend laughingly, and Angel flushed guiltily. Then she turned serious. "1933 was such a horrible year for everyone in so many ways, and, of course, for me personally at the end, that 1934 just has to be better. I just decided to take President Roosevelt's words to heart, 'We have nothing to fear but fear itself.'" She noticed Angel still standing and smiled again. "Here, come sit by me and fix us the tea."

Angel moved to do so. She fixed Earl Gray for herself, plain, and green tea for Carol, two sugars, as she liked it. They sipped in silence for a moment, broken finally by Angel. "Well, I'm very glad to see my good girlfriend back." she started. "Jack and I ... all your friends ... were worried about you. How do you feel now about the ..." And she glanced at her friend's tummy, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

Angel watched as Carol's smile disappeared. Her mouth didn't slide all the way into a frown, though, she noted with relief. "The babies?" Carol asked. "I feel sad, of course, but not so bad as I would if they had been more developed. And I am SO angry at Byron!" She began to get herself worked up. "That bastard! Do you know, Angel, that he had the nerve to call me from jail last night and apologize ... and then ask me to get him out!? Angel, he murdered my babies!" She broke into tears, apparently more upset about the loss of the babies than she had thought. "An...and I still love him. Ohmygawd, Angel, what am I going to do about Byron?"

This was what Angel had been waiting for, and while holding her friends hand, she took advantage of the question. "What if you could teach him a lesson, Carol? A REAL lesson. what if you could make him walk a mile in your shoes ... your high heeled shoes!" She watched as confusion replaced anger on her friend's face.

"M...my shoes?" And then there was an abrupt switch to giggles. "And my dress ... with lipstick? Oh, wouldn't he look silly! Are you saying we dress him up like a girl? And take some pictures, maybe? Are you suggesting blackmail? Oh, he's the right size, not too big; he might even be cute!"

Angel giggled too. She knew Carol loved her giggling; most people did. She didn't know why, but it had sort of become her trademark, and she had learned to use it to her advantage. Soon the two women were giggling in unison, one innocently, the other deliberately to get her friend in the right mood. Finally when she knew she'd put carol in a receptive mood, Angel began. "Oh, Carol, she said between giggles, "he WOULD look sooo funny, but that's not what I meant. We might have a hold over "her" for awhile but there're too many chances "he" might find a way out, and get us in trouble to boot. Besides, while we might get our revenge, he wouldn't learn anything; he'd be resentful and constantly plotting escape. We need a way for "her" to be completely dependent on us for his return to manhood - although you may not want "him" back if my plan works.

"Of course I'll want him back!" said carol indignantly. "He's my husband and I do still love him." Then she giggled. "But I wouldn't mind if he endured a little girlishness first - like a period or two!" Both girls laughed, but Angel could see that carol was puzzled. "But how can we get him in the position you mentioned?" she asked. "We can't actually turn him into a girl."

"Oh, no?" Angel smiled. "Look," she said, "you still need to rest. Why don't you come to my place tomorrow around noon. Bob will be working downstairs and I'll send Tammy and TeeSee to my cousin for the day. We'll do lunch and I'll explain a little more what I have in mind for your ... husband. 'Let Carol wonder for awhile about that pause before 'husband'.' she thought. She fluffed Carol's pillows for her, kissed her on the forehead, and picked up the tea things. Carol was already snoring softly as Angel left the room. She left a book on the night stand along with a note. The note read:

Carol,
Have you read Mr. H.G. Well's book, "The Island of Doctor Moreau"? If not, or to refresh your memory, I'm leaving you a copy. It's relatively short; read it before you come tomorrow. Trust me.
Huggles, girl. Angel.

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

The next day, Angel sat in her living room waiting for the doorbell to signal carol's arrival. She was dressed rather casually in a rose print shirtwaist. A medium sized victorian looking chest, approximately eighteen inches long and deep and about a foot wide rested on top of the coffee table. A split second before the doorbell rang, she got up to go answer the door. 'I must be a bit psychic.' she thought.

When she opened the door, she was once again pleased to see that her friend's appearance was back up to it's pre-Christmas standard. Carol was wearing an ankle length brown wool coat with matching gloves and hat; the hat had a little mesh veil to add a touch of extra femininity. She took off the coat revealing a brown business suit and matching pumps, and she looked very professional; the look was softened by a spray of white ruffles at her throat and wrists. "Why so formal this morning?" Angel asked, as she led her into the living room.

Carol explained that she was going to the Cook County Jail to see Byron for the first time later in the afternoon. "I want him to know that while I'm a woman and his wife" - She held up her hand so Angel could see she was still wearing her wedding ring. - I'm not going to take any more abuse from him!" She stated angrily as the two seated themselves. The trunk was positioned so that when it's lid was lifted both would be able to see inside.

"You may want to rethink your presentation for Byron after you've heard and seen mine." said Angel. "Did you read the book?"

Carol frowned. "yes, but what could that have to do with Byron? You certainly can't mean we should change him to a woman by putting him through such surgery as is mentioned in the book! That is all fiction. I've read others of Mr. Wells' books - Martians, time travel, changing animals into people; he has quite an imagination, your Mr. Wells, but a true story? Never." She paused. "besides, I could never put Byron through such pain as Dr. Moreau inflicted."

"It is true." Carol smiled and looked up expecting her friend to be smiling, but she wasn't. Angel continued. "The island was and is real. Dr. Moreau was real as well as his sadistic experiments. He did indeed, through surgical vivisection, create the semi-human monsters described in the book. Edward Prendick, although that is not his real name, was real, and his nephew did tell a real story to Mr. H.G. Wells. I know, because Dr. Moreau was my great uncle and his brother, my grandfather. His son, my father, started Moreau imports. He passed on to me his father's story as well as his legacy, the trunk you see before you."

Carol was shocked. "Bu ... but no brother was mentioned in the book."

"Dr. Moreau and my grandfather, also Dr. Moreau, Bernard to his Frederick, had a falling out before Mr. Prendick arrived on the island, a falling out of such dimensions that I am not surprised that Frederick did not mention his brother to him. You see, my grandfather was sickened by the pain inflicted by his brother upon the helpless animals of the island; he believed that what his brother was trying to achieve by surgery, he could achieve with much less pain by chemical means. He retreated to the caves beneath the islands, established his laboratory, and conducted his own experiments. Ultimately he was much more successful than his brother." Here Angel lifted the lid of the trunk.

The top of the interior of the trunk was a tray divided into twenty-seven two by four inch compartments. About two-thirds of the compartments held two two inch diameter cork stoppered blue glass bottles, and the rest held four one inch diameter bottles of the same color; all the bottles were approximately three and a half inches tall, the stoppers increasing their height to four inches. There were hand written labels on some of the bottles, typed labels on others. There were three empty compartments, dust circles on the bottom showing each had contained two bottles. Angel Spoke. "There is another identical tray beneath this one. the bottom of the trunk is filled with my great uncle's journals and medical notes and my father's journal."

Carol giggled nervously. "Love potions, Angel?" ...

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

In pissing off the niece of Dr. Moreau, he picked the wrong woman ... and what about Bob?

Story:

... Angel didn't crack a smile. "Some, partially, yes. These potions - well, they're really called elixirs - developed by my grandfather can do to animals what my great uncle did by means of surgery, with much less pain and a very much higher survival rate." She paused. "To animals ... and people." Carol,..." She looked straight into her friend's eyes. "...The elixirs in these bottles in the top tray can change a person's sex, male to female, female to male."

"You can't mean it!" said a shocked Carol. "Give Byron a ... well, a ... you know? ... And breasts? That's impossible!" Then she giggled again. "It sure would make a funny looking Byron! Oh, you're just having a joke with me, aren't you?"

"Not at all." Angel replied seriously. "And no, "she" wouldn't look funny; she will look like Byron would look if he had been born female - like Byron's fraternal twin sister, so to speak. Carol, I'm not joking, I'm not being silly. My grandfather's elixirs work! I know because I've used them.

She watched Carol's eyes get big. "Y ... you used to be a man?"

Angel laughed a little at that. Grabbing recessed handles, she pulled out both trays and set them on the other end of the coffee table. She reached in and pulled out a fairly new volume that looked like a photo album. She opened the album to the last page that had pictures attached. "Look at the Kodaks." She told her friend; "Work through toward the front."

Carol looked at the first pic. "You, Bob, Tammy, TeeSee, ... and Byron!" she commented in surprise. "I remember; I took this last July when we went to the zoo together. It was right before my father died."

"Keep looking."

On the next page were pictures of Angel and her family, the earliest being of Angel and Bob with Angel holding baby Tammy. Next came wedding pictures and a picture of Bob and Angel sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant; Bob was holding out a ring box to Angel, and a smiling Angel was reaching to take the ring. But then the pictures changed. on the next page were Kodaks of Angel and a girl Carol didn't recognize, but who looked familiar. The two were kissing - not air kiss kiss girlfriend style but deeply, passionately, lovers style! "Who? ... what?" Angel could tell carol was shocked, and just motioned her friend to keep going. The remainder of the pics were of the two women happily doing all sorts of activities that normally a dating couple would do together.

"That's my 'friend' Jez; look closely at her, Carol." Angel told her. "Who does she resemble?" She watched her friend's eyes get big and her mouth drop open as she realized the truth.

"Bob! ... His sister?" asked Carol, hopefully, but knowing she was wrong.

"Carol," started Angel, leaning forward in a confidential manner, "you've become my best friend, and you have a problem. I think I know how to help you solve it, but you have to believe first. I've never told anyone this, and I promised Bob I never would. Having heard about Byron and you from me, he's made a special exception for you. You must promise never to tell anyone what you're about to hear. That might prove hard. can you?"

A confused Carol just nodded. then she, as angel had hoped, pulled herself together and gave an emphatic "Yes!" She paused and then went on. "I feel as if you're my best friend, too, Angel. There's Uncle Jack, but he's more like my step-father and, besides, he's a man. I don't know what I'd have done without you this past year, and here you are now, doing your best to help me again. Of course, Yes.

Now it was Angel's turn to nod, and she continued. "When I was eighteen, Caro, I committed a sin, the sin of falling in love with my best friend Jez - really Jezebel, but she NEVER used that - who happened to be another girl. To my surprise, I learned that she felt the same about me. The process was, as you might imagine, not simple, and I won't spell out the angst ridden details. The bottom, tragic, line though was that neither of us was a lesbian. There seemed no acceptable way for Jez and I to consummate our love privately, let alone go public with it. We both sank into depressions, Jez more so than I."

Angel paused, held up her empty teacup and gave carol a questioning look. Carol nodded, and Angel refreshed their cups.

"Jez and I had been best friends since we were about four when Jez's family moved into Rogers Park. When my Dad went off to fight in the Great War, he took me aside and showed me the trunk and explained everything. My mom was already dead, and I suppose he thought I, as I might become the only remaining direct descendant, ought to know. I was only nine, so I didn't understand a lot of what he said, but the important thing was I knew what the elixirs could do and that the journals and records about them were also in the trunk, ready for when I was older. Here's the thing, I promised my Dad I wouldn't tell anyone, but I lied. Within a day, I had told Jez. Beginning to see where this is going?

Since Carol just held up her hands and shook her head no, Angel continued. "As I've told you, my dad never did come back from the Great War. I have his posthumous Croix de Guerre, but I would rather have had him. He was an only child, so my Aunt Gwen on my mother's side moved from California to take care of me and run the business. She didn't know about the trunk, and I never told her. She loved me, still does and it's mutual, but she never did adapt well to Chicago weather. When I turned twenty-one and she had taught Jez and I, for we were going into business together, all she knew about running Moreau Imports, she Moved back to California. We exchange monthly letters, and she came back to give me away at Bob and my wedding..." She paused and took a deep breath. "... which brings us back to Bob."

"As I said, Jez was the more depressed over our situation of the two of us. To make a long story short, One day, after being gone for a week on business, I walked into my bedroom to find a man who could have been Jez's twin brother sitting on the bed in his underwear. He simply held out his arms to me. I knew immediately what had been done. No words needed to be spoken ... then. I started shucking my clothes at the door and was naked as a jay bird by the time I reached him; by that time, he was minus his undies. We made grand glorious love for a whole day straight." She smiled a soft smile, remembering. "After about an hour, in a snuggle break, he spoke. 'Hi, I'm Bob.' he said, and I swear, if we'd been in position to do so, I think he would have stuck his hand out for a handshake. He kissed me instead and that led to another round. During the next snuggle break, I said, 'Bob?' and he just said, 'Yep, Bob.' My spouse never has explained how he got from Jez to Bob, but he did explain, the next day, how Jez became Bob."

Carol put her hand up in a "stop" gesture. "Oh, my, Angel, I believe I need something stronger than tea!" she said, shaking her head. Since neither woman, nor Bob, for that matter, drank alcohol, Angel could see that her friend was really shook up and needed a break. Angel went to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey from its hiding place beneath the removable bottom of the under sink cabinet. It had been there since Bob and her anniversary party three years ago when a Canadian guest had smuggled it in as a gift for them. It had never been opened, but Angel could not imagine that there would ever be a better time. Her quirky sense of humor came to the fore and she poured the liquor into Tammy and TeeSee's matching Radio Orphan Annie Ovaltine mugs. she put the mugs on a tray and started for the living room. before she got to the door she paused, turned and grabbed the bottle. Radio Orphan Annie might very well have to broadcast more than once, she thought.

She was right. Carol threw her mug back and offered it for another hit before Angel was fully seated. Angel waited for her friend to finish coughing and then, sipping her drink, returned to her story. " Bob told me that Jez, about two months before my business trip, had decided to kill herself, that she felt there was no hope for us. That scared me badly, but I hid it and continued listening. While she was trying to decide how to do it, he said, she remembered my grandfather's trunk, and my father's long ago story of what it could do. Desperate, and grabbing at any straw, she went one night when I was out down to the basement, where the trunk was kept, jimmied it open, and found what you see before you, Carol. She read my grandfather's and my father's journals and medical notes, and decided with a calmness born of 'nothing left to lose' - to use her phrase - to turn herself into a man, a man who could then become my husband. ... And it worked."

Reaching into the trunk. Angel removed one of the bottles from a two bottle compartment. Handing it to Carol, she continued. "The elixir in this bottle prepares the body for the changes it will undergo. It has to be taken sixty days before the next bottle, which will initiate the actual changes. Jez had to add a Teaspoon of her blood to the second bottle 24 hours before drinking it, and Bob told me that getting that blood was by far the hardest part for her. The actual changes take several hours to complete. Bob says Jez simply went to sleep, and he woke up. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers, his legs and underarms were still smooth shaven, his hair was still in Jez style, and, like the blonde she was, he told me smiling, Jez had forgotten to provide male clothes. His height and weight hadn't changed much, though, so he was still able to fit into Jez's clothes. He told me he actually had to cross dress like a girl to go out and buy himself some male clothing. Getting a haircut was the most embarrassing thing he said, as the barber he went to kept teasing "her" about being a tomboy. And you know the rest. We concocted a story about Jez leaving for Europe for her health, while her twin brother had come to chicago to take over her end of Moreau Imports. Most of our friends were secretly, I think, a little relieved because they suspected, as one admitted to me, that Jez and my relationship was becoming 'a bit unusual'. One of my father's friends who had taken a protective liking to me - sort of like your "Uncle" Jack - and had kept in touch with me through the years was in some shady businesses, worked with Capone I think, and he was able to get Bob a birth certificate. We married two months after the change." She shrugged, indicating that that was the end of the story.

"WOW!" was all Carol could manage. She held out her Ovaltine mug for a third hit of Canadian Club. Both women sipped their whiskey in silence for a moment. Finally Carol commented. "I would never have suspected, Angel; Bob doesn't act the least bit effeminate."

"It wasn't easy for him, Caro." Angel replied. "He had to unlearn all Jez's feminine mannerisms, and Jez was a very feminine woman. He misses her, too, as do I. You mustn't tell a soul, but every once in awhile, if it becomes too much for him, he dresses and makes up as Jez, and we go out as two girlfriends for dinner or dancing." She laughed. "One time we ran into my father's friend who had gotten the birth certificate for Bob at a jazz club; he danced with Jez and never suspected a thing! Tammy and TeeSee have even met their "Aunt Jez", although they don't know that she's also daddy yet; we'll tell them when they are a bit older and better able to keep secrets. Now that you know, you'll have to meet Jez sometime. You and Bob get along well, and I'm sure he won't mind. As I said, he knows I'm telling you all this."

"I think I will really enjoy that!" laughed Carol, and then continued, shaking her head. "I believe you, Dear Friend, but you gotta admit this is really wild. And we can do this to Byron? What about changing her back to him? I don't want my husband a woman permanently. I have no intention of becoming a lesbian."

"I don't think you could, dear; I think they are born, not made. But, yes," Angel said to give her friend peace of mind, "'she' can be changed back. Bob and I used two more of the elixir sets to change a male dog to female and back. We had a vet examine the dog after each transformation. No complications at all."

"Still," said Carol, "I'd want Uncle Jack in on it."

Angel was delighted that her friends statement indicated that she accepted turning that bastard into a woman, but was concerned about involving a third- party - well fourth, since Bob was included. "Do you think that's wise?" she asked.

"Jack Flier was my father's best friend, and those two shared some wild adventures. He's very open minded, and he very much dislikes Byron, so I don't think there will be any problems getting him to believe and help, Ange. You'll have to get to know him better and let him tell you some of his stories." She giggled. ("Oh, no," thought Angel, "Is that my influence or the liquor's?") Maybe I'll have You and 'Jez' and Jack over for a small gathering after Byron is transformed. Miss New Girl can practice the feminine skills we will, I'm sure, (Angel grinned at carol's evil grin.) have a great deal of fun teaching 'her'. I can get to know Jez, and Jack can tell us some tales and you can get to know him." The grin and giggles disappeared. "Seriously, having both a physician and a lawyer in on this will, I think, be a big help." Switching gears, she asked, "What do the four smaller bottles do?"

Angel shook her head, looking at the now one-third empty whiskey bottle, which was a little blurry. "No more of this!" she said before answering Carol's question. She grabbed the bottle and stood up - carefully. "Do you mind?"

Carol, who, having had one more drink than her friend, was afraid she wouldn't be able to stand up, waved her away with a "No, not at all."

At the door to the kitchen, Angel turned back. "Remind me when you leave," she said grinning, "that I need to rinse these mugs before Tammy and TeeSee get home. I'll bring us a couple of Coca-Colas" And she hid the bottle back under the sink, even though it no longer needed to be hidden. "Out of sight; out of mind." she thought.

She returned with the Coca-Colas, and after settling down again. Finally answered her friend's question. "I don't know what they do for a fact, as Jez didn't use any and at the time we didn't see a point to trying them on the dog, although looking back on it, we probably should have. What they are supposed to do is to initiate mental changes to go along with the physical ones. They are submissive feminine, submissive masculine, dominant feminine, and dominant masculine. A full dose of subfemme ..." Here Angel copied her girlfriend's earlier evil grin. "... supposedly will make 'Byronia' your eager sex slave and ...."

Carol pulled herself up straight. "Angel, NO!" she interrupted sharply, surprising her friend. "Let's get one thing straight. I know you don't like Byron; you certainly have no reason to. I don't like him much at the moment. But he IS my husband, and I DO love him. I don't mind teaching him a lesson, and I don't mind if we have some fun at 'her' expense while we are doing it; he deserves it. But I don't want a slave, sex or otherwise. I want a temporary girlfriend, I guess. She'll have enough trouble adjusting, without being mentally sandbagged as well. The fact that we are her only way back to manhood should be enough to keep her in line and get her to learn the lessons we want 'him' to learn!

Angel held up her hands in a compliant gesture. 'Wow,' she thought, 'a feisty side to my friend!' "OK," she said. "It was just a thought. Wouldn't hurt to fantasize about it though; Byron in a cute little nighty, begging you to, well, you know..."

Carol giggled. 'I wonder if this inane giggling is Angel's influence or the liquor's?' she thought. "OK," she said. "I must admit fantasizing about it DOES sound fun, but that's all!... Destroy that bottle of hooch, Ange; that's EVIL stuff!" And she started giggling again, as did Angel. Byron, permed and made up, in a pink, really really feminine nighty doing, well, you know ...!

After pulling herself together, and seeing that Carol had as well, Angel said, "Seriously Caro, Dad's notes said a small dose of sub elixir would just help the transformee accept his/her necessary changes for her/his new role better. Just think about it. Now, getting down to business, despite what I said earlier, I now think you should stick to you original plan for visiting Byron. That suit suits you and your plan very well, by the way." she added as an aside, and giggled. 'NO more Canadian Club EVER!' she thought. "Make him think you really will divorce him!" Can you bring him anything? Any food?" she asked, getting an idea.

"Candy bars and stuff." Answered Carol. "Why? I didn't bring him anything today; I was too angry with him."

"Don't worry about it today, hon," Angel replied. Next time you'll bring him something that will make him sick - sick enough that he'll need a doctor. That'll be our excuse to get Jack into see him; he can administer the first bottle of elixir and Byron can unknowingly be preparing for womanhood while he's finishing his sentence. At the same time, we can be fixing up a really girly-girl room at your place for our new little doll. Won't that be fun! We'll have to get a few outfits for our newbie, but then we'll introduce her to the joys of SHOPPING! Too bad we can't age regress 'her'. Wouldn't you love to have an adorable little Shirley Temple look alike to play with?"

Carol out and out laughed as she got up - carefully - to gather her things. "My dear girl, you are EVIL. It's a good thing for 'Byronia' - we'll have to come up with a better name, but we can wait on that. - that I'll be around to balance you!"

Handing Carol her purse, Angel put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Becoming your daughter would be justice served, Caro." she told her seriously. "Remember, if you start getting cold feet, what that bastard cost you!"

Carol pulled her friend into a hug. "I do, Ange, and I will!" she promised. "I'll call Jack as soon as I get home and get him to call you. You and he can set a time for him to come over and get "The Explanation" - without the Canadian Club, though, I think." She grinned. "Oh, don't forget to rinse out the mugs;" she said as she left. "The Ovaltine people are probably getting psychic headaches because of their abuse!"

After Carol left, Angel sat down and realized the buzz from the hooch was being replaced by a king sized headache, She got up, went to the kitchen, washed out the mugs, and then retrieved the bottle of Canadian Club from its hiding place. she poured the remaining contents down the drain. 'It makes you feel too good before it makes you feel bad.' she thought.

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

In the ensuing weeks and months, the two friend's plans were put into effect. Jack proved surprisingly easy to convince. Angel supposed Carol had been telling the truth about his interesting life and looked forward to hearing his stories and getting to know him better. Byron, made sick by a doctored Baby Ruth Carol gave him, called for a doctor, and the police, notified by Carol that Jack was Byron's doctor, called him. He administered the first elixir by means of a shot in Byron's rear. Jack used a dull needle. By the time Byron's sentence was up at the end of March, all was in readiness at Bromwood.

Byron was tired as he walked through the front door of Bromwood House for the first time in three months. His hair was about two inches longer, down below his ears, almost to his jaw line and below his collar tickling his back in back; he had wanted to get a haircut from the prison barber, but Carol had convinced him that prison barbers were butchers and that he should wait and go to his own barber. His suit had obviously not been properly cared for while under the control of the prison authorities, and he looked quite disheveled. There was no "You bitch!" with threatening gestures about him now. While he definitely was looking forward to sex with Carol, who seemed to have forgiven him, he decided it could wait till tomorrow. Little did he realize that it would be a lot longer than that, if ever. Carol helped him undress in her room and get into herf bed. She went down stairs and quickly brought back a hot toddy for him; it was laced with the contents of the second bottle of elixir. Jack had drawn the necessary blood from Byron on his last prison visit, and carol had kept it refrigerated till yesterday.

After Byron had slipped into the elixir induced sleep, Angel, who had been in the next room waiting, came in and joined Carol. She sure as hell wasn't going to miss this. Soon it began. "Look!" exclaimed Carol, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and noticed the changes first, "The subfemme elixir is working even as SHE sleeps!" Angel got up from her chair to look just as Byron's facial features began to soften and change, skin clearing, lips getting fuller, nose smaller with just a bit of cute little upturn, cheekbones more prominent. "Ohmygawd, she's going to be a beauty!" said Carol, in awe.

"Jealous already?" teased Angel.

That succeeded in lightening the mood. "Oh, you!" laughed Carol, punching her friend playfully on the arm. "Go get Jack and Bob; they wanted to see this happening too. They're in the library; Jack's probably already raided the bar. I'm sure poor Hathor will really be glad to have Jack around now that everyone ..." She glanced at the changing Byron. "... in this household will be teetotalers. He'll be her only worshipper."

Angel laughed and left to get the two men. Jack's interest was medical although he was human enough to want to see Byron get hi ... er, hers, also. Bob had, of course, missed her own transformation, and was curious. The men, however, didn't stay in the bedroom too long. Jack was nervous with a "There but for the grace of God go I." uneasiness. Bob, while he enjoyed playing Jez occasionally, didn't want to be reminded that he could BE her again; being her had cost him his love, and almost his life.

The two women watched through the night. Toward morning when the changes were complete and the new, and, they hoped, improved Byron was just sleeping soundly, they cleaned her up. Byron's mustache and other facial hair had just fallen out and was laying on his face. While not all his leg and arm hair had fallen out, all that was left on them and under her arms was that normal for a woman who hadn't shaved. They cleaned off the no longer anchored hair, but didn't shave her; they were going to leave that pleasure for her to do herself. Carol ran a brush through her hair to tidy it, but didn't attempt to style it; another pleasure they wanted her to experience. When carol looked up from her brushing, Angel brought out a bottle of Revlon's "Where's The Fire" very red nail polish from behind her back and silently mouthed "Please?" at her and pouted. Carol frowned at first, then the frown slowly turned to a smile and she whispered, "What the hell, go ahead!" Angel gleefully spent the next half hour giving their new lady a manicure AND pedicure. Finally they had the new Byron as ready as they wanted her, dressed in a pastel blue silk chemise V-neck nighty festooned with oodles of lace - matching panties underneath, of course, with plenty of ruffles across the bottom. They wanted his first sensations of girlhood to be ultra feminine. Giggling quietly, they tiptoed out. They wanted her to think himself alone when he realized the changes. They had, however, installed a one way mirror and a false heat duct grill between their soon-to-be-only-Carol's bedroom and the room next door, the room that had been Byron's room, a typically male room that was now the girly-girl room set up for the new woman. they would be able to see and hear everything.

"Ooooh, Byron is going to be soooo mad!" giggled Angel. as she viewed her and Carol's handiwork.

"We can't keep calling HER Byron," Carol giggled back, "and I hate Byronia!"

"Well, whoever we call HER, HE's going to be mad, M A D!" Angel spelled it out and laughed out loud, since they were now in the other room. She always wanted the last word.

'Mad. Mad.... Hmmmmmm' Carol thought, and then she joined Angel in getting comfortable in front of the one way mirror. Time to watch the fun.

Byron groaned and opened his eyes slowly. Something wasn't right. Something felt, in fact, very very wrong. As his vision cleared, he looked down at herself. what he saw was a veritable field of blue silk and lace. And out of that veritable field jutted two VERY prominent hills.

The first words the women in the other room heard were uttered in a lovely feminine soprano. They were, "Oh, shit!"

to be continued...

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Byron is transformed and doesn't like it one little bit!

Story:

Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
 ©2004 Turn Right Productions

Since I started this, I have also uncovered among my salvaged school materials several Montgomery Ward catalogs from the early '30's, so there may be more illustrations. Each chapter will, however, continue to be built around one of the original nine illustrations from "True Love Stories" of May, 1930.

This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare, Maddy Bell, and Gwen Lavyril who have honored me by including me in their stories. You three are in this whether you like it or not! :-)

Part 4 April 1, 1934 Byron/Maddy

"Oh, shit!" Byron's vision was clearing rapidly and as he jerked himself up into a sitting position, he could feel those twin lace and silk covered hills move. "What the hell???" He hooked his finger in the V of what he realized was a woman's nighty and pulled it away from him. Breasts! And they sure as hell looked real. He touched his right nipple and an electric shock ran through him right down to the ... the ... "OHMYGAWD!" he screamed, and didn't recognize the woman's voice doing it. 'REAL!' he thought, 'AND MINE!' He pulled up the bottom of the nighty and discovered he was wearing matching panties. He frantically worked his hand under the lacy waistband, only to find inverted what had always been extended. "HOLY SHIT!" came out of his (?) mouth several octaves higher than he was used to. He was a goddamned girl, a REAL GOD DAMNED GIRL! And the tits! Bigger than Carol's, he guessed. Carol. CAROL! Had she somehow done this to him, her and that bitch friend of hers, Angel??? But how? ... He'd worry about the how later; For now: "CAROL! CAROL, GET YOURSELF IN HERE NOW. WHAT THE GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGPITOFHELL HAS HAPPENED TO ME!" His voice! ... Her voice! By that time he (?) was standing beside the bed and, looking down, noticed for the first time his Fire Engine Red toenails; he glanced at his hands, and those similarly colored nails seemed to glint mockingly at him. Toes painted; fingers painted; dressed in a silk and lace nighty and panties. This hadn't happened to him ... but it had. It had been DONE to him! "CAROLYOUBITCHCUNTMOTHERlovingcocksuc... " What finally temporarily defeated him was the fact that his shouting did not sound at all threatening in his new girlie voice - that, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror and saw "her"self ... drop dead gorgeous, terminally cute herself, every inch, it seemed, a female. He did the female thing. Byron collapsed back onto the bed and cried till he ... she passed out.

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

Angel started to laugh, but caught herself when she glanced at Carol. Her friend was staring through the "window" at the sobbing girl who had been her husband, and she was, probably unknowingly, crying herself as well, silent tears of anguish. "oh, Ange, she's miserable! Why did we do this to him?" There was anguish in her voice.

Angel felt a bit ashamed at the pleasure she was experiencing at Byron being miserable. She would, she decided, really have to control her dislike for Byron for the sake of Carol. *My gawd, she really does love the bastard!* she thought. It looked like Byron had plenty of tears left and then he ... she would probably sleep some more. She pulled her friend onto the bed and sat beside her, hugging her.

"Remember what he did, what he cost you, hon." She gently placed her hand on Carol's tummy. "Also, remember this isn't supposed to be about punishment, but rehabilitation. We're not out to humiliate and debase "her". Once she accepts the change, We can make this an enjoyable experience for her." *And if you believe that, dear friend* she thought *I have this bridge for sale ...* She didn't believe for a minute that that misogynist bastard in the other room would enjoy any of the experience, and she didn't care, but "she" WOULD damn well pretend she did. She would make sure of that.

"Let's move her in here, so she wakes in her very own girlie girl bed in her very own girlie girl room." she said to Carol. Carol shook her head and Angel could see from her body language that she was pulling herself back together to get with the program they had agreed upon.

Carol glanced around the room and giggled. "It is sooooo little girlie, isn't it Ange. I do believe we've outdone ourselves."

Byron awoke the second time. For the second time he noticed his new configuration and wardrobe and realized that neither the first time impressions nor the impressions his senses were sending him this time were dreams. The sensations coming from his crotch, where the material of his (?) panties had worked its way up into what shouldn't have been there, reenforced his initial finding that what should have been there was missing. Further up, the rubbing of the silk nighty across his (?) nipples indicated once again they were not "his" nipples anymore. Automatically one of HER hands had risen to caress those nipples while the other descended to enter the new valley; the sensations HIS mind was receiving were definitely NOT unpleasant, so when HIS mind realized what HER hands were doing and what HE was feeling he drew both hands away. For the moment, anger was replaced by helpless horror mixed with a bit of awe at the power of someone who could do this to him. "Ohmygawd," he whispered, "I really am a girl."

If her own body was not enough to convince him, feelings of girlishness were confirmed by the room she was just beginning to take notice of. The placement of the window and the view from it confirmed that this was indeed his room, or rather, had been his room; it was now very definitely HER room. The walls were painted a light pink with a foot wide border of garden flowers against a pastel blue background circling the room at ceiling level twelve feet above the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier held the electric lights. The one large window was curtained in pastel blue chintz and looked out over the estate's formal flower gardens, green with just a few flowers beginning to bloom in this early spring season. There would be plenty of flowers to fill the vases in the room an another month, she thought, and HE was aghast at that thought, HIS first feminine thought, and realized that this new body might betray his mind. Against the wall opposite the bed was a ten foot wide by ten food high by three feet deep Louie XIV armoire, white, with pink and blue trim; the door had a floral pattern painted on it. In fact, all the furniture was Louie XIV. There was a writing desk under the window, and a dresser and a vanity flanking the door.

Every trace of him was gone. His tennis and other sports trophies had been replaced by dolls and stuffed animals. His masculine toilet articles and jewelry box had been replaced by cosmetics, a very feminine comb and brush set, and a woman's jewelry box - or, rather, more like a little girl's jewelry box, as it had the doll figure of a ballerina in second arabesque position on the lid. The pictures of English hunting scenes that had been on the walls were now ones of kittens, more ballerinas, and flowers. He shuddered to think of what was in the armoire that had replaced his brown oak one.

His survey of the room brought him back to the bed she was lying on. The sheets covering her were white with a pink border and the comforter was a pattern of roses. looking up, he realized that there was a ruffled canopy over her, also pink. The bed itself, like the rest of the furniture was Louis XIV, white with rose decoration. Her hand with the bright red nails, symbol of his betrayal, brushed against something heretofore unnoticed. It felt like hair, and, glancing to her side, he realized that it was. A doll lay beside her, a larger doll dressed in a mass of lace and ruffles that even he recognized as victorian fashion, and his hand had brushed against her hair. Even he had to admit she was quite pretty.

The doll was the straw that broke the camels back. Byron was drowning in femininity! He pulled herself up so that she was sitting with her back against the headboard. She was trembling, and he didn't realize that he had pulled the sheet up around her in such a manner as to cover her breasts even though she had the nightie on. So very feminine. He shook her head in confusion mixed with wonder, and didn't realize that he was speaking out loud. "This can't be me! I'm a man!" Her body betrayed him again, as she automatically it seemed grabbed the pretty victorian doll and hugged it to her. Betraying tears formed in her eyes as waves of estrogen poured over the sides of his mental ship of male identity. "This can't be my room," she sobbed, "This is a GIRLS room!"

As if on cue, Carol entered the room, followed closely by Angel. "Of course it is, dear." she said proudly. "Angel, Bob, Uncle Jack, and I worked very hard to make this room extra special pretty for our new girl."

"Where's all my things? What is this I'm wearing? Where Are my pajamas? What HAVE you DONE to me!?!," Byron tried to sound angry, but it came out as a wail in her new pretty voice.

"Why these ARE your things, and this IS your room, dear." said a smiling Carol, as if talking to a child. "And that nighty is so much more becoming on a lovely girl like you than those old drab pajama's of Byron's. "Don't you think everything is just so pretty?"

Carol stepped to the side, and Byron was blinded by a flash as Angel took HER picture. "Oh that is so precious, Byron," she taunted, "Your tear stained face surrounded by curls in disarray, you holding your sheet pulled up to cover your bosom while clutching your pretty dolly - why, you're the very picture of a distraught but lovely little girl. This is indeed a moment to be captured by a Kodak!" She quickly wound the film, attached a new flash bulb, and took a second picture. (*kodak Moment,* she thought, *nice turn of phrase; wonder if ... naw, they'd never buy it.*) "Now tell Mommy Carol and Auntie Angel what it is that's bothering you, sweetheart," she mocked

"Are you worried that that pretty nighty is all your new clothing?" Carol chimed in. Byron was getting angry again. He could tell that Carol and Angel were enjoying his predicament and, while he had suspected it before, this proved to him beyond a doubt that they were somehow responsible for it. The anger built as Carol pulled out one of the dresser drawers. "See," she continued indicating a mass of silk, lace, and ruffles in various pastel shades that lay within, "you have plenty of adorable lingerie, and see," she pointed to where Angel stood, having opened the armoire, revealing what byron could only assume were only women's clothes, all in ultra feminine styles, "all the clothes a pretty girl could need."

"Aren't you the lucky one!" exclaimed Angel.

It was too much. Byron threw aside the sheet and sprang from the bed, throwing the doll into the corner in the process. He faced the two women in a very masculine stance, which looked absolutely ridiculous given her nicely curved and femininely shaped body. Both women broke into laughter, and Angel took another picture. "Look over there! In the corner! On the floor!" she shouted. He spun around presenting her backside to the women and bent at the waist to look. There was nothing there, so he looked back over her shoulder just in time to look right into a blinding flash from the camera. "OHMYGAWD, it worked!" she cried. "What a pic! Oh, little miss ruffle butt, what a pretty girlie pin up pose you gave me!" Suddenly a vision of what SHE must look like; HER ruffled pantied bottom presented to the camera, the surprised over the shoulder face SHE was making inscribed itself on HIS mind. Byron had had such a picture of Hollywood starlet taped to the inside of the closet door in his dorm room during his college years. Both women were almost bent over laughing at HIM!

"Little Miss Ruffle Butt!" exclaimed Carol. "Perfect! Didn't you tell me, Ange, that that's what your Aunt Gwen called you when you were a little girl and acting up? So perfect!"

"WHAT THE GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGPITOFHELL HAVE YOU TWO CUNTBITCHES DONE TO ME!" Shouted Byron, finally snapping and rushing at Angel - probably because she had the camera - with fists raised. "CHANGE ME BACK! ... NOW!

It should have been funny, but what with the old Byron would have caused fear in the two women, just looked pathetic to them coming from the new Byron. Byron had retained his male height as a lady, so she was taller than either Carol or Angel, and quite possibly stronger, but her shapely breasts and butt made her center of gravity quite different from what her mind, still keyed to the old male body, was used to. What was meant to be a fluid and precise strike, quickly became a stumble, and the threat of her hands balled into fists was negated by their small size and the glint of red on their fingertips. Angel, having set her Kodak on the dressing table, prepared to deliver a slap but was surprised when carol beat her to it, delivering a slap so powerful it spun Byron around and sent her sprawling face down over the bed. Like an avenging angel she moved to hover over the shocked new woman. "Oh, Byron, my dear HUSBAND!" - she made a mockery of the word, as months of pent up anger spilled out. "Are you MAD at us?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question, as she didn't stop for an answer. "You don't know what MAD is, you bastard!" I, you SHIT, AM MAD! And as to what we've done to you, why I think it would have sunk in to even you by now. You're no longer a bastard; you're a bitch. We've changed you into a woman. But you know, as a woman, you're just a little bitty bitch, and you know, Angel and me, why we're your worst nightmare, HONEY, because we are the biggest, baddest bitches around," Now she was shouting, and Angel had moved so she could restrain her if she got dangerously physical. "and WE ARE EXTREMELY MAD AT YOU!! Suddenly her anger vanished and she started to collapse, sobbing. "You cost me OUR BABIES; oh, Byron, how could you!" And she fainted.

Angel moved to catch her, but to her surprise, it was Byron who managed to keep her from hurting herself by pulling her to land on the bed beside her instead of on the floor. *Hmmmmm,* she thought, *maybe there is hope.* and she decided to play good cop, although it wouldn't be easy. After she had taken Carol from Byron and placed her gently in one of the chairs, she returned and stood over Byron who was still lying sprawled on her stomach on the bed. She trembled. Carol had just scared the shit out of him, and he shuddered - It came out as her trembling - to think about Angel's anger. He was pretty sure Carol loved him despite everything, but he was also pretty sure Angel detested him.

Angel smiled at him as if she could read his thoughts. It was not at all a nice smile; it was in fact, a very predatory smile, but she spoke to him in a mostly normal tone of voice. "Look, GIRLFRIEND, I'm going to try to be nice, but it'll be hard because, SHITFORBRAINS, you have hurt my dearest friend, and hurt her badly. So don't give me any, not any, excuse to become angry with you. I'll give you you're anger; I'll even name you for it. Your ex-wife came up with it. Yes," she replied to his startled look, "EX-wife, because you're a woman now and for the foreseeable future, and she is not a lesbian, not to mention the legal prohibitions. You're new name is MADeline, and we will call you MADDY. Maddy Belle; Belle, because it sounds really feminine to us, and you, my dear, are going to become the most feminine of women, the most girlie of girls! Maddy Belle O'Hare, my cousin, my Aunt Gwen's daughter. Byron has disappeared, heading west last we heard, and good riddance. Won't it be sooooo nice, cuz, us related?" She laughed and Byron imagined it must be because of the look on her face at that remark. To his own surprise, a small, tentative laugh emerged from her lips - small and tentative, but still a laugh. Angel looked surprised but pleased and continued. "Good first step, Maddy, if you can laugh, maybe there is hope. Look," she got serious, "we can change you back, and we plan to, but not for awhile, not for months, maybe even a year or two, but we WILL change you back - if you cooperate and really learn the lessons we will teach you. We want you to experience being a woman so you can understand what you did to your wife. Are you going to feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes, at least at first. Will we enjoy that? Yes. But, while this is certainly meant to be punishment for you, it is also meant to rehabilitate you so that you are a better person when it's over." She paused. "You were a bad man; now be a good girl! If you try, you may even come to enjoy the experience." She abruptly turned away from her and moved to see about carol, who was sighing and showing signs of coming out of her faint.

*Enjoy the experience!?! The hell I will!* Byron thought to himself, any good feelings he had felt forgotten. But he realized that for the moment, the ladies held all the cards. He had no idea how they had done what they did to him, and no idea how to reverse it by himself. He didn't know anything about this new body he was in, either, and if he was going to be in it for awhile, as seemed certain unless a miracle occurred, he wanted to keep it healthy. He had known a woman out in Frisco who had had a good case of the clap, and he certainly didn't want to end up like her ... or, it suddenly occurred to HER, end up pregnant. OHMYGAWD, that was possible now! Having a period would be bad enough, and he knew he would need carol's help to get through that. Better he decided, if Maddy took over and went with the flow - he did chuckle mentally at his unintended pun. Then, in their mind, BYRON turned and opened a door. On the other side was a very masculine lounge - pool table, radio, bar, the works; HE entered. Where he had stood, Maddy remained; SHE was in charge.

Besides, thought Maddy, SHE would get even; SHE would find a way. After all, SHE was now the female of the species and, as had been pointed out to the now and for the foreseeable future third person Byron, SHE was more deadly than the male.

Her new confidence and resolve were challenged almost immediately, however as her bladder's needs coincided with Angel's reentry. Angel's arms were loaded with ominous looking rubber equipment. Taking in Maddy's body language, she gave an evil chuckle. "Time for first tinkle, love? Let Auntie Angel help. And," she held up the equipment, "No time like the present to learn about feminine hygiene."

Inside the mental lounge, Byron cringed.

to be continued

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Part 1: A reflection on masculinity and femininity, a woman's look at her boyish past - not what you think - and a brother gone bad.

Story:

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 1
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****

The ladies were there, as usual. Anytime the weather was halfway nice, the same three or four. They were on an ornately decorated balcony, two stories up, of an ornately decorated building - 1930's Art Deco style with a smattering of incongruous ancient Egyptian influence, he guessed. Below the balcony were the windows and door of an establishment calling itself, by means of a gilt lettered sign and feminine script, simply "Vaingirls". An oval shield, approximately three feet in diameter, gold edged, containing a bright red lipstick in a gold case, flanked by the Red letters "V"and "G" hung in the middle of the balcony railing. There was a curved wrought iron staircase with a gilded railing from one end down to the sidewalk.

The ladies posed themselves, draped might be a better word, languidly, leaning on the railing or against the walls, watching the world go by. While they were all different and favored slightly different styles, all were extremely beautiful and leaned toward the chiffon and lace school of femininity, casual elegance. Hair, all ribbons and tendrils impeccably made up. They ran the gamut, blonde, redhead, brunette, and the most striking of all, a midnight-haired goddess, a tall Elizabeth Taylor in her prime.

The young man looked at the ladies as he passed by, and only turned away when he could feel the twist in his neck that indicated he was past them. This time there was something different, something to indicate that his interest in the ladies over the past month had not gone unnoticed. The Goddess gave him what he later came to think of as "The Look". The Look pierced him, gave him the idea that this woman knew him intimately, to the depths. It was only a fleeting feeling, and then he was by them.

Over the next 24 hours, he tried to convince himself that he'd been mistaken, but when he passed the balcony the next day, he found that he was the recipient of "The Look" from all of them, as they languidly turned and let their eyes rest on him. It was not a hurtful or particularly terrifying look, but a sizing-up look, an examining of potential; today it was followed by three lazy smiles and, almost in deliberate contrast, an almost feral smile of possessiveness from the black haired goddess. It was almost as though he had passed some kind of test, met some hidden set of criteria. He tentatively smiled back.

The four Vaingirls, Jessica, Elizabeth, Bethany, and Joyce, their black-haired leader, exchanged satisfied smiles. 'Another one,' thought Joyce. 'Honey, have we got a dress for you!'

Joyce pulled the red and gold front door of Vaingirls closed and locked it from the inside. Turning off all but the emergency lights, she turned and headed toward the back of the store. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she looked at the shimmer of satin and the glitter of rhinestones and sequins reflecting the emergency lights passing through a Romanesque arch into the back room, she grabbed her mug and filled it with steaming coffee from the ever-full pot. The mug was black with gold trim and had the Vaingirls' VG lipstick logo on one side and "Joyce" in gold feminine script on the other. There was a rack on the wall holding perhaps twenty mugs just like it with different girls names on them. She plopped down in one of the two makeover chairs and took a sip of the coffee.

'Not very ladylike, I'm afraid,' she thought, 'but then there's nobody to see me and it has been a long day.' She sank further into the chair. 'Long and profitable!' In more ways than one, she thought about the young man. 'He'll be gorgeous. And he wants to be; she just doesn't know it yet!'

Vaingirls was a boutique and Transformation salon. To most of the citizens of Chicago, it catered to upscale ladies, selling prom, bridal, and other formal fashions, and providing makeovers for weddings and other events. To those in the know, it was a haven for the transgendered, a place for men who either wanted to look like or to actually become women. Everything needed to turn John into Jennifer, from stiletto heeled feet to tiara'd big hair, was available, along with Joyce, Elizabeth, Bethany, or the newest salon girl, Jessica to mother them through the transformation. Once transformed, the client could go "her" own way, take advantage of "field trips" organized by Vaingirls and led by one of the four to various TG friendly restaurants shops or clubs, or could simply relax in Vaingirls' basement library/coffee bar/rec room. The truth was ninety percent of Vaingirls' TG clients were male ninety-nine percent of the time and never left the store while enfemme. Only a very few intimates knew that of the four salon- girls, only one, Joyce, was real.

What really made Vaingirls different from other Chicago area beauty establishments that offered transformations, was that Joyce, the owner, was a true believer. She believed that some men were indeed women trapped by an accident of the flesh. However, she believed that these, the true transsexuals, were relatively rare. Her passion was the belief that almost any man would become a better man if he could only be convinced - or, in some instances, made - to experience and enjoy the girl within himself. After the experience, a man might never dress enfemme again, or he might do so, as a crossdresser, from time to time, enjoying the best of both worlds, or he might become a she-male and live full time as a woman; the point was, he would be a much betterperson. While she tolerated the female to male transvestites, she could not understand them; why would a woman, who could have the best of both worlds, formal gown one day, jeans and a sweatshirt the next, for simple example, would want to limit herself so, she couldn't say.

Pure masculinity was, she truly believed, evil. She had grown up in a household fueled by testosterone, the only girl among six men, her father and five brothers, her mother having died when she was four. Her mother had dressed her in lace and pretty dresses, but when she died, the lace and pretty dresses wore out or were outgrown and not replaced. She had, by necessity and her father's wish, worn her brother's hand-me-downs. She had also, in self-defense, become a tomboy, as her father did not tolerate what he called "sissies" and made no distinctions between raising his sons and his daughter. To his credit, her father had never tried to abuse her, but she had seen and heard him abuse plenty of grown women, and had seen her brothers abuse their girlfriends.

That she had been spared, she believed, was because she had become so successful at being "one of the boys." Every so often, though, as she did some particularly male task, dressed in male clothes, the memory of her mother, of them both in lace and dresses, would come upon her and a tear might trickle down her cheek. In the interest of self-preservation, such thoughts were shoved down and locked away, but they were never completely gone. As she reached her teens, it became increasingly hard to conceal the fact that she was definitely not one of the boys, and she was seriously considering running away, when the event that changed her life took place.

Joyce's coffee grew cold in her cup on the table alongside the chair as she relived the memories.

*****

It was her freshman year, and she was 14 years old. Her youngest brother, George, was an 18-year-old senior. Of her other four brothers, one had graduated from high school, married a submissive little cheerleader, and was happily turning her into a baby factory in Akron, Ohio, where he sold insurance. The other three were in various universities on athletic scholarships. George had never been as big as his older brothers, or as successful athletically; he made up for it in super-macho meanness, of which their father approved. It was her brothers' meanness that had caused Joyce to accept the discipline needed to achieve a black belt. One throw across the room had been enough to keep George away from her.

As the winter holidays came on, though, Joyce began to notice changes, good changes from her point of view, in her brother's behavior. He quit teasing her and actually behaved politely toward her. When, one evening, their father having left for his favorite tavern immediate following dinner, he actually, voluntarily, helped her clean up afterward, she knew she had to find out what was going on. As if it had been the most normal thing in the world, he had worn an apron the entire time!

Joyce determined to follow her brother to get to the bottom of his strange, but pleasant, behavior change, but, as it turned out, she didn't have to. On Christmas Eve, several members of the cheerleading squad came by and dropped off gaily-wrapped presents for George; again, their father was out. Peeking in from the other room, Joyce observed the girls standing in a circle around George, and her brother, her previously super-macho brother, was positively cringing!

Charlene Whitney, the black haired leader of the squad, was speaking to him in what could only be interpreted as a commanding tone of voice. "Now Georgie"- No one ever called her brother Georgie! Before, those would have been fighting words. - "Remember, you must open these presents in front of your father and your sister. And..." Threateningly "...we want them to know how very much you just adore them! Is that understood?"

Now her brother was whimpering, begging. "Oh, please, Miss Charlene, not my family, please!"

Charlene reached out and grabbed his chin, looking at him with a malicious grin "Hmm, defiance, is it? How would you like to take a little trip with us right now? My sister Jacqui's salon is open, and there's time for a perm. I know she's just dying to get her hands on that gorgeous hairof yours. What do you think, girls? Curls in an updo with a rhinestone comb? And a blonde? Definitely a blonde!"

George looked terror stricken until one of the other girls, Sally Ann, came to his aid. "How about just his sister, Charlene? His dad is mean, and we don't want that pretty face damaged, after all."

Charlene hesitated. "Would you agree to that, Georgie? Would that be acceptable? Would you be properly grateful?"

Totally fascinated, Joyce couldn't tear her eyes away. George was like a condemned man suddenly granted a reprieve. "Oh yes, thank you, Miss Charlene, thank you, thank you!"

"Very well," Charlene couldn't keep the note of triumph out of her voice, "But... " George cringed again. "...your father's going out of town in two days right? Wednesday evening?" George nodded. "To show your gratitude, you will voluntarily accompany us to my sister's salon for whatever gifts we may choose to bestow upon you. And you will be happy to do so, won't you? And you will enjoy yourself and act just like our little airhead sissy that you are, right, princess?"

'Sissy!!!???'

George nodded in abject submission, almost in tears.

"Now Sissy Georgie, is that any way to thank us?" George's "friend", Sally Ann, chimed in. "You'd think we were torturing you instead of planning nice things for you that any sissy would squeal in delight over. In fact, when you open these gifts in front of your sister, we want to hear some squeals of delight, don't we girls?" The other pretty heads bobbed in agreement.

"Make sure you turn your little tape recorder on right at the start." said Charlene, taking charge again. Meredith is going upstairs right now to set up the mini-cam in your bedroom. Turning on the recorder will turn it on as well. "Remember positioning, we want to see the pretty you, dear, but we also want to see your sister's reaction. We have bets going as to whether she'll be horrified or delighted."

With Meredeth's approach to the stairway, Joyce ducked back into the under-the- stairs closet and missed the closing act of the drama, but she had plenty to think about. Whatever the girls had on her brother ought to be dynamite, she thought. Christmas day should be very, very, very interesting.

The Christmas presents opened that Christmas morning had been expected. Their Dad had given George and Joyce identical Chicago Bulls jackets. Joyce had received a new pair of running shoes, boy's style she noted, while George had received a new set of Thrush mufflers for his car. George and Joyce had gone together to buy him a bottle of Seagams top-of-the-line Crown Royal; he never questioned the fact that neither of them was old enough to buy liquor legally. There was a method to their madness, and things worked out as expected. Their Dad moved into the TV room, turned on a ball game, and was snoring lustily by noon; the bottle was a quarter empty. Then things got interesting.

"George?" suggested Joyce brightly, after they had ascertained that their father was going to most likely sleep the day away, "Why don't we clean up the house for Dad?" George had never so much as lifted a broom to do housework before the evening he helped her clean up after dinner.

Instead of the usual snarl such a request would have brought in the past, George looked thoughtfully (and a bit fearfully, she thought.) at her. "Uh, sure, sis." In an agreeable tone of voice "What would you like me to do?"

This was going to be even better than she had thought. He was voluntarily, without giving it a thought, putting her in charge! She decided to push the envelope a bit. "Why don't you pick up in here and then dust and vacuum, while I do the kitchen." Then she threw out the line. "Be sure to wear your apron. You don't want to get your nice clothes dirty." She brought it out from behind her back and held it out to him. He looked at her strangely but slipped his arms through the shoulder straps docilely enough. "Here, turn around and I'll tie it for you." She tied it in a nice big bow. "There, now you'll look sweet and stay clean too."

'Not a peep!' she thought, 'Interesting and more interesting!' She turned and went into the kitchen to do her part.

It took her about an hour to clean up the kitchen, and as she worked she could hear George in the living room. At the half hour mark, she heard the sound of vacuuming, which lasted for about fifteen minutes. After five minutes of silence, she peeked out the door. Her brother was sitting on the couch, apron still on, head in his hands, shaking. As she watched, he lifted his head and looked at the front door, as if considering; then he gave it a "no" shake and dropped it back into his hands.

'Wondering how he's going to go through with what he's been ordered to do' she thought. 'I could have some fun with this!' But then she reflected that she liked the way her brother had been this last week. He'd actually acted human toward her - more than that, he'd acted nice! Maybe she ought to encourage him, she thought, not humiliate him. The cheerleaders certainly seemed to be doing enough of that. Making her decision, she walked into the living room. 'Let's see what develops', she thought. She had a pretty good idea of what kind of things were in those packages he had to show her. "What's up, bro?" She said.

George looked up nervously. "Whadayathink, sis?" he indicated the room with a sweep of his arm. It was tidy and spotless.

"Great job! Thanks for helping. Guess we can relax now; Dad will be out for hours yet."

"Uh, sis, uhm I uh have a few more presents I didn't want to open in front of Dad. They're up in my room. Wanna come up and open 'em with me? You and I don't do enough stuff together, and with Al, John, Mike, and Earl gone, and Dad the way he is, all we've got is each other."

'He really sounded sincere on that last part! Nice is definitely the way to go.' "Sure, George. Who gave them to you?"

"Oh, just some of the cheerleaders." he said, as he started for the stairs.

Following him, Joyce could sense the tension. At the top step he whirled around to face her, causing her to flinch back a bit and start into a defensive posture.

"I deserve that." he said bitterly. "Look, sis, just sit down here for a minute." Joyce sat on the step below him. "What's going to happen when we get to my room is going to be humiliating to me. I can't tell you ahead of time what it is, because your reaction has to be genuine or they - " At her raised eyebrows he gave a bitter little laugh, "Charlene Whitney and her crew - won't buy it. Without going into details, what they've done to me and made me do has made me realize that I deserve what I'm going through. I've been a macho shithead jerk to you, just like my brothers, and I was to those girls too, which is why all this is happening to me. I just want to tell you I'm sorry for the way I've treated you all these years, and I won't blame you if you want to join them after you see what's in the packages and how I behave; it'll be how they told me to behave."

With that, he got up and started for his door. As he went in, he reached behind the dresser andpressed on something. His whole demeanor changed - to exaggerated femmey swish!

"Oh, Joyce!" he squealed

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Part 2: 'Tis the season to be jolly - NOT !! A sister's tough love.

Story:

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 2
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****

Her brother actually squealed??? 'Well, they told him to' She acted surprised and gave him a "What's gotten into you?" look.

"I am so glad you're here to open these packages from my girlfriends with me, sis. I just know there are going to be some yummy things in them!"

Hands on her hips. 'I can act, too, bro!'

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

He pouted. "Oh Joycie, you can be such a bitch! Be nice, it's Christmas... Please??

She plopped on the bed, quartered to where she knew the camera was so it could catch both her and George. 'One less thing for him to worry about - OK, bro; let's give 'em a good show!'

"Ok, Ok, open one, whydon'tcha."

George skipped over, closed his eyes and picked a package from the pile. With a smile on his face he returned to the bed with it and sat next to her, curling his legs under him in girl fashion. He carefully removed the paper. "This paper is so pretty I can't bare to rip it up." He smoothed the paper out and laid it on the bed. Then he opened the box. Inside was a complete set of manicure tools, and some nail strengthener, ridge filler base coat, clear top coat polish, and, the piece de resistance, a bottle of "Love That Pink" polish. There was also an instruction book and a note on a piece of pink stationary. Joyce could see her brother's smile falter for a second, but he managed to quickly put it back in place.

"Kind of a femmey gift, isn't it?" She asked with raised eyebrows. "What's the note say?"

"Georgie, Sweetie," he started reading in an overly cheerful voice. "I noticed the other day that your nails are such a mess. I know it's just because you didn't have any good friends to point it out to you before. Can't wait to see how they look when you've used the materials in this kit - all the materials. Maybe your sister can help you. Hugs, your friend, Meredith" His voice had faltered on the 'all the materials' but he had finished back in character. He held his hands out in front of him, nails spread, the way a girl would do. "You know, sis, I really never did notice before, but they are just terrible. Meredith is such a sweetie; her nails are always so pretty. You will help me, won't you? Please?"

Joyce responded in a shocked tone that was only partially acting. "You, my macho brother, you're going to do your nails? And you want me to help? Are they making you do this, got something on you?"

"Oh, no, sis. It's just that, well, the girls have been so nice and they help me to see parts of myself I never knew were in me before. And..." Here an actual giggle "...I'm having so much fun! Please say you'll help?"

"Well, you know I'm not really into that stuff." Joyce looked at her own nails, but with her palm turned toward her, nails in palm, like a boy would. "Hell, my own nails aren't much better than yours...."

"We could do them together; help each other!"

"And what's dad gonna say? If he doesn't like me doing stuff like this, he's gonna kick your butt into next Saturday." This was a real question, and one that Joyce thought needed a real answer, because their dad would kill him... and probably beat her to a pulp also.

"We'll do it right away, and then you can come with me over to Meredith's house to show her. Before dad wakes up. We can take the polish off over there. Please?" George pleaded.

'If she'll let you' thought Joyce.

"Well, Okay; I kinda would like to see how my nails look too... but shouldn't we open the other two packages first?"

"Ooh, I was so excited I almost forgot!" George picked up the two remaining packages and returned to the bed. Just as carefully as he had the first one, he opened the larger of the two. Whatever was inside was wrapped in white tissue. When George pulled the tissue aside, Joyce caught a glimpse of pink, but that was all because George jumped up and then up and down in feigned excitement. "Ooh, I knew it; I knew it; I knew it!" another squeal "Isn't it just darling?" It was a short-sleeved angora sweater, pink. He held it against his chest and shivered in apparent delight.

'He's delighted my ass!' Joyce thought, but "Just adorable..." Was her spoken sarcastic response. 'He oughta win the Academy Award for this!' "...is there a note with this one?"

George rummaged around in the box and pulled out another piece of the pink stationary. "Georgiekins," he read. "I saw you admiring my Angora sweater last week, and I knew you'd love to have one just like it for yourself. You will look so cute; I can't wait to see you in it! I bet we look like twins. Meredith and I will be at Charlene's Christmas day afternoon, do wear it over and model it for us. Huggies, Sally Ann." He jumped up and started to reach for the telephone. Oh, I must call Charlene right now; I can't wait another minute!"

Shaking her head in wonder, Joyce indicated the remaining package. "One more, first."

"Ooh, yes," sighed George, returning to the bed, "I forgot, I was so excited. This one must be from Charlene!" Having some idea of what was in this package, it was hard for him to keep up the act, but he managed to keep the smile on his face as he opened the box. It had the Victoria's Secret logo on it.

'Oh no!' he thought cringing inwardly, 'not this; it can't be this?' It was. Inside was a pink Second Skin Satin bra, with the by now expected piece of pink stationary.

"Georgie, dear," he read. It took all his willpower to keep up the act. "Sally Ann showed me the adorable sweater she bought you. I know you will look just dreamy, but I knew it needed something extra. Now you'll feel pretty underneath as well as look pretty outwardly. I added something so you'll feel sexy bottom as well as top. Can't wait to see you, Kiss, Kiss, Charlene." Sure enough, when he lifted up the bra, matching full cut satin panties with lace trim were underneath. Both shimmered in the light as the satin slid through his hands.

This time Joyce's reaction was not faked. "My Gawd, George! You're not actually going to wear a bra are you? And panties?" Then she was back in the Act. "Why are you doing this? Are you really a sissy and enjoy this, or do those girls have something on you? Where is my jock brother?!" Then pensively, "Although, you have been a lot nicer person these last couple of weeks; maybe what's happening isn't so bad." And then, as if coming to a decision, "Let's not call Charlene; let's surprise her. Come on, let's go to my room and do our nails... sis."

George got up and followed his sister out. Once in the hallway, out of camera and microphone range, He staggered and almost collapsed. Joyce caught him and led him into her room. She could tell he was on the verge of tears, so she went to get a couple of Cokes to give him time to haul himself back together. While getting the cokes, she shook her head in amazement. This certainly was a change in her macho asshole brother. And, as far as she could see, a change greatly for the better.

'How can I keep my new nice brother, and somehow keep him from being further humiliated?' She wondered. Joyce didn't think much of cheerleaders, and she doubted that the three would stop with punishment to fit whatever crime her brother had committed against them. While she hoped she was wrong, she believed they would simply continue to abuse and humiliate him till he was totally ruined in their town. As she entered her bedroom, she could see that George, while not by any means a happy camper, had gotten control of his emotions, and was sitting quietly on her bed. Silently she handed him a coke.

"Well, sis, are you thoroughly repulsed by your sissy brother?" He asked, head down, in a voice that expected a "Yes" answer.

"I think you'd better tell me exactly what you did to cause them to do this to you, and what they have over you to make you go along with this." she replied, sitting next to him.

"It's not any one super bad thing. I didn't rape any of them or hit any of them. Bad as Dad is in some respects, you know he taught us better than that." He shook his head. "I was dating Charlene, when Meredith hit on me. I was flattered so I started to date her too, lying to Charlene. Then it mushroomed on me. Pretty soon I was romancing the whole squad. Since I was spread so thin, I was pretty obnoxious to each one. It was only a matter of time till they found out. I can see that now, but at the time I thought myself stud muffin invincible.

"One night Charlene and I were at her house, and she handed me a beer. She'd never done that before, and I thought 'Hot Damn' and chugged half the bottle. Almost immediately, I started feeling dizzy. I knew the game was up when right before I passed out, I saw them all enter the room.

"I woke up in my car, with nothing apparently different. On the seat next to me was a note on top of a packet of photos. It read: Georgie, darling. Your keys are on the park bench under the Oak tree about fifty feet from the car. When you feel well enough, go get them. Wouldn't want you driving under the influence now, would we? Take a look at the fab pics we took last night. You were such a riot, and we had so much fun. Probably don't remember it at all do you, though, poor dear. Come to my house tomorrow night at 6:00pm. I wouldn't keep us waiting, if I were you; that, of course, is not the only set of pics. Love you, sweetie; we are going to have so much fun ... well, we girls will anyway. Charlene.'

"There were two sets of pics. The first set of pics showed me dressed as a girl, a French maid to be exact, in a number of revealing poses doing humiliating things. I was not wearing makeup or a wig, so it was clear it was me, they had seen to that. As humiliating as the first set was, the next set was dangerous, because it showed me, fully male, abusing the girls - stuff that could send me to jail. I looked at myself in the car mirror. I appeared normal, dressed in the clothes I had worn to Charlene's the night before. I didn't remember a thing, still don't. It wasn't till I got home and undressed that the reality of what happened hit me.

"When I removed my socks to take a shower, I saw my toes had been painted a bright red. I, of course, kept the appointment with Charlene and company, and they've been making me ever more sissified slave boy ever since. With these presents, though, there's no doubt they are escalating things. They wanted me to open them in front of you and Dad! To avoid that I had to agree to the little scene we just acted out, and I had to agree to go to Charlene's sister's beauty salon tomorrow and act happy about whatever they are going to have done to me. I think they are going to make sure that everyone thinks I'm such a femmey sissy boy no girl will want to date me again. And you know what the worst thing is, sis? I deserve it!" He really did start to cry at that point.

Joyce considered her words carefully. "I don't think you do; at least you don't deserve any more of it, and, if you're right, certainly not what they have planned. We need to find out more, and I think that can be done best if they think I'm in agreement with them. I've got sort of a plan. Let's get started on our nails, and I'll tell you, see what you think.

Surprised, George asked, "Our nails? You're really gonna do yours, too?"

Joyce responded seriously. "George, look at me. I'm a girl who's been forced to be butch, just like you're being forced to be femme, only dad's been doing it to me for ten years, ever since Mom died. For me, doing my nails will be fun! Now here's the plan..."

Later that afternoon, cars that might have traveled down the street on which Charlene's house was located found themselves detoured to other streets.

Joyce, with a very nervous and embarrassed George in the seat next to her, drove the three blocks to Charlene's street, around the detour sign, zipped into an ally about a block from her house, and parked. "I can't get any closer." she told him. "You have to look like you walked the whole way."

It was easy to see why George was embarrassed. His nails were done in "Love That Pink" and extended 3/8 inch beyond his fingertips. He was wearing the panties, bra, and sweater, but the sweater made clear that the bra held... something, not a lot, just a hint, but enough to be noticeable. As if that wasn't enough, his hair was in the usual ponytail, but it was gathered high on the back of his head instead of at the nape, secured with a pink scrunchie matching the sweater, and had obviously seen the use of a curling iron. His face, though, was devoid of makeup and was clearly recognizable as his face. He was also wearing what were clearly boy's slacks and shoes. They walked up the steps to Charlene's front door and rang the bell.

The walk had had the desired effect, and George's face was flushed, as if he were wearing blush. Charlene opened the door, looked at George, did a double take and looked again, and then looked at Joyce, who had a big grin on her face.

She turned her head and called into the house, "Girls, come here. You've got to see this. Right away!" She turned back to George. "Well, Georgie, I see you're wearing our gifts, and have even added some extras. How nice. You look just adorable." By this time Meredith and Sally Ann had come up and were peering over Charlene's shoulders, big grins appearing on their faces as well.

"Oh, Georgie, Charlene's right; you look just yummy!" from Meredith

"And you liked my sweater so much that you didn't wear a coat, wanted to show it off?" Chimed in Sally Ann. "How sweet. But what's happened to your chest?" she exclaimed in mock surprise. "You just can't wait to grow up, is that it? Why how precious! Well, I think they look just scrumptious! Come give us a kiss."

"Yes, do." commanded Charlene in the mock friendly voice they were all using. And the tree girls all turned their cheeks toward him.

An embarrassed George hung his head and hesitated. "Georgie!" said Joyce sharply. "The girls have complimented you nicely and here you are acting embarrassed? They might think you don't appreciate what they've done for you!

A look of fear flashed for a fraction of a second in George's eyes, and a look of respect aimed at Joyce came from the three girls. George quickly smiled prettily and gave an air kiss-kiss to each girl's cheek as he entered Charlene's house.

"Georgie, why don't you go up to my bedroom? There's the newest Cosmo up there, and feel free to experiment with any thing you find on my dressing table if you like." Said Charlene in a tone that indicated that he'd better like! "We want to get to know your sister; she seems like she'll fit right into our little sorority."

"Oh, yes, Charlene."- Here a fearful glance at his sister - "Joyce is just the sweetest sister a boy like me could have. It was she who suggested that this beautiful sweater - Thank you ever so much, Sally Ann; I just adore it - just wasn't being done justice by natural skinny me, and that perhaps we should help nature just a bit. And Oh, Charlene, the bra is gorgeous, but the cups just were aching to have a little something in them that I just couldn't provide, so sis found some old foam pads of our mom's and we stuffed just a bit, and now I feel ever so much prettier!"

As George gushed on, he shot a nervous glance at Joyce and saw her giving just the barest smile and nod of approval, both of which were not lost on the three cheerleaders. "And do you like my hair? Sis suggested it would have such a nice sway to it when I walked if I gathered it up higher on the back of my head, and see how the ribbon just matches the sweater! And then the little minx snuck up on me with her curling iron!

"And Meredith, Sis suggested that all the beautiful things in the manicure set you gave me would be wasted on my nubby nails, so she super-glued on some false ones and we did them with the kit. I hope you don't mind - and you and Sally Ann must have had your heads together, or how else did you find polish that exactly matched the sweater? You can't see, but we did my toes, too. Oh, thank you girls, for these wonderful presents!" Another quick 'am I doing this right' glance at Joyce, and George actually squealed. "Oh, I love them! Oh, and Joyce helped me pick out presents for each of you! She has them. Please don't open them without me!"

"Oh, we wouldn't dream of it, Georgie. Off with you now." As George went up the stairs, Charlene turned to Joyce. "Well, Joyce," exclaimed Charlene in a guardedly friendly and respectful tone, "You certainly seem to have gotten into the spirit of helping our little Georgie here express this new side of "him"self. And with enchanting results! Hasn't she girls?"

Meredith and Sally Ann couldn't contain themselves any longer. They burst out in fits of laughter. "Oh, yes!" gasped Meredith "He's even more swishy and femmy than we even considered!

"He actually let you stuff his bra?" giggled Sally Ann.

"Well, no, actually." remarked Joyce. "He balked somewhat at that, had to flip him over my knee and redden his bottom a bit. Then made him get the forms out of the drawer and insert them himself, smiling like he really was enjoying himself the whole time." Here she took a Polaroid of the just described scene out of her purse and handed it to Charlene who passed it around. "Got some real nice pics. Too bad I couldn't figure how to get one of him over my knee."

There was no longer any pretense among the three cheerleaders of nonchalance. Even Charlene was looking at Joyce in awe.

"How..."

"I'm a black belt. Self-defense. Came in handy."

Charlene visibly pulled herself together. "More to the point, why?"

"Watch me." Joyce turned, walked out the front door, down the steps and out to the curb, turned and came back. "If you didn't know I was a girl, would you think I was one?"

"Well, since you bring it up, no." answered Sally Ann

"Yeah" said Meredith. "You walk and act like a boy. A regular guy, not femmy like Georgie is now either"

"My mother died when I was four. My Dad hates anything feminine. I was raised like a boy, but I'm girl-sized. I've had to learn the hard way how to survive. My five brothers were praised for being macho shithead assholes. The older four got away with murder because they were superjocks, and I was too young to fight back; I pretty much had to put up with it. They're all gone now and I never got a chance to get even.

"George was the same way, but he's smaller, more like me and my mom, and I had my black belt by the time he started getting really obnoxious, so he left me alone pretty much. But I heard stories about him and other girls, how he was treating them worse than the older four, maybe to prove he was as macho as his brothers despite the size difference.

"Then, about a month ago, his whole attitude changed. He started treating me nice and helping with the housework when dad wasn't around. He even started wearing an apron, and when I teased him about it, he didn't react nasty like usual, but blushed and said he just didn't want to get his clothes dirty. I decided to push the envelope. I started talking girl talk to him; about how long and pretty his hair was getting, stuff like that. He took it, and didn't try to get back at me. I wondered why the change. Then he showed me your Christmas presents.

"I decided you guys must really have the goods on him because there's no way in hell he would act like he did normally! There was nothing I could do about my four older brothers, but I figured I could get in on your program. I "encouraged" him to go beyond what you asked for and take my"suggestions" to show you I'm serious. He's family, but I've got a lot of pent up hostility to work out and making poor Georgie into the femmy Sissy of the Month would take care of a lot of it. I don't know how far you girls want to carry this, but I'd like all the girls he's acted like an asshole with to see the new Sissy Georgie!"

"Welcome to the club, sis!" exclaimed a completely taken in Charlene. "That's just about what we had in mind. Have any suggestions?"

'Bingo!' thought Joyce.

"I think so, but why don't you tell me what you three have planned for him next. He gushed something about a salon visit?"

Charlene told Joyce about the salon visit, which Joyce, of course, already knew about.

"Ok, here's what I think." And Joyce launched into the story that she and George had agreed upon.

Later, in the car on the way home, Joyce explained to George who, sans sweater and bra, and with his hair in male tail mode was looking much more himself. "I'm sure they bought the whole ball of wax and think I'm really one of them. They are going to go along with the plan we set up. You'll be allowed to go to the salon by yourself, and not this Wednesday, but on the day of the Valentines Dance, six weeks from now. You'll be told only that you have to wear girls' undergarments and clothes, and have your hair, makeup, and nails done. Then you'll have to go to the dance. They will provide you with the undergarments, there will be a padded panty girdle, but the bra will be unstuffed. You will have to buy the outer clothes.

"I led them to believe that you would take advantage of every loophole they've left you to look as masculine as possible - androgynous hair, very pale pink polish and lipstick, slacks, girls loafers plain white blouse. I told them you would convince yourself you looked like a boy, that no one would really notice that they were girls clothes or that you were wearing makeup. In reality, with the perm curl to your hair and the walk resulting from the padded brief, everyone would notice and figure you had just become a femmy little sissy - and that's what they want, so no girl will want to go out with you again.

"They are also going to bring in this huge gay guy to put the moves on you. They figure that any resistance you put up will be interpreted by the crowd as an act. I also got them to agree that you don't have to act femmy at school, just be nice, polite and respectful, especially to the girls. And hang with the girls. Then everyone will wonder about your changed behavior.

"They are going to tell you this and pass it off as their being nice and letting up on you, but they really think everyone will wonder and then the femmy look and walk, etc. at the dance will cause them to think 'Oh, so that's why!' They plan to get a lot of pleasure out of watching you come to the realization of what's been done to you - what you in fact have done to yourself. Unfortunately, you'll still have to be their femme toy after school and I have to play along. I'll be able to help you keep Dad from finding out, though; I think that'll be the toughest thing."

"It's a good thing I'm leaving town as soon as this is over; he will kill me if he finds out." Sighed George. "I feel bad saying it, but I won't miss Dad." He turned the discussion back to Joyce's' negotiations with Charlene. "Still, it seems things went about as good as we hoped. I would be polite and respectful to the girls anyway; if nothing else, what Charlene and company have done has made me see what an asshole I've been, and I won't be one anymore. Still, I don't see how all this will help me. Will you tell me now the part of your plan that's going to get me out of this?"

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Synopsis:

Part 3: Epiphany time, the enjoyment of wonderful femininity

Story:

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 3
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****

Joyce girded herself mentally. 'Here goes!' she thought.

She really believed, no, she knew, that her plan would both save her brother and, in the long run, make a better person out of him. "There is no way out for George", she said firmly, "but there may be for Georgie." And as she outlined the rest of her plan, she watched her brother's body language first indicate shock, then defiance, followed by despair, and finally settle into acceptance.

On the morning of the dance, with Charlene's last words of "...and you'd better follow our rules or else we distribute copies of the tapes and pics to everyone, including the district attorney!" ringing in his ears, George set out for Charlene's sister Jacqui's salon. He was George - his oldest boy's jeans and a ragged Chicago Bulls sweatshirt (He wouldn't need those clothes after this morning.) no makeup or nails, hair in a male tail and carrying the undergarments given him by the girls in a paper bag. They also would be discarded, but in this case, for even prettier ones. A U-haul with all his personal belongings in it was waiting behind the school. Joyce had found an apartment and lined up a job in Cincinnati that started Monday.

He remembered what Joyce had found out about Jacqui. Jacqui, being five years older than George, had had no real contact with him and so had no personal score to settle with him, although she had gone to school with his brothers and thought they were assholes. When Joyce had approached Jacqui and told her the severity of what the girls planned and to what degree George had already rehabilitated himself, she was ready to listen. She confided to Joyce that when she had told Charlene that she couldn't wait to get her hands on George's hair and face, it wasn't out of a desire for revenge, but because Jacqui loved a challenge. She wanted to see how feminine she could make George, an average male, look. Charlene had led her to believe that George was a crossdresser, and would be a willing participant.

Joyce had outlined her plan, Jacqui had agreed, and the two girls, who became fast friends, had spent the ensuing weeks before George's visit, planning and shopping for it. Jacqui told Joyce that while Charlene could be a real bitch, she thought that her sister and her friends were basically nice girls, and that she believed the plan would work. For her reformed brother's sake, Joyce hoped she was right.

It was felt that it would be too dangerous for George and Jacqui to really meet ahead of time as Charlene might find out and smell a rat, but the two had communicated by e-mail and exchanged pictures. (Jacqui wanted a pic of the pre- Charlene George so she could plan ahead, and George had demanded one of her, so he could see in whose hands his future lay.) From their electronic communications, and with Joyce's wholehearted recommendation, George believed he could trust Jacqui. While was in the dark as to the specifics of what the two girls had prepared, heknew the general plan, and knew, as he walked through Jacqui's salon door, that it would not be George who walked out.

"Hi Jacqui; I'm Georg... ie. Do your worst!"

Jacqui looked at the nervous young man before her, but saw the beautiful young woman he -no, she - could become. 'I have to think of him as her if this is to work' she thought, 'and so does he.'

That she had deliberately switched from George to Georgie when introducing herself was a positive sign, Jacqui thought, but the attitude that this makeover to young lady was the lesser of two evils would have to go. Georgie had to want this, to delight in it, or she'd never be able to pull off the rest of the plan.

"Georgie, honey", she exclaimed cheerily, "we've got six hours to turn you into the belle of the ball, and I am going to give you the pampering of your life. When you leave here you are going to feel so good that the first thing you'll do when you hit Cincinnati is make an appointment with a local salon for another makeover day!"

Georgie looked Jacqui right in the eyes. "Jacqui, I need the truth. Can you really make me look like a beautiful young lady and not just a femmy sissy boy? I have to know if this will be all worth it."

Jacqui tried to put all the sincerity she could muster into her voice and body language. "Truthfully, honey, you're a little tall, and a little heavy for the norm, your never going to be able to shop in the junior stores and no one will ever refer to you as petite. But your feet aren't too big, you have androgynous features, and most women would kill for beautiful hair and eyelashes like yours.

"Yes, I can make you look like a beautiful young lady. Really, though, to do what needs to be done, to convince the crowd that this is what you want for yourself, that you're grateful to Charlene and her crew for helping you toward that goal, you have to be a beautiful young lady. If you can do that, if you can be that lovely lady inside you, then Charlene and her friends really have done you a favor; what they've made you do has given you the feminine voice and mannerisms to be physically convincing.

"Use that lovely lady, that feminine spirit, to bring the body to life! Start now. This is going to be fun. Revel in it, enjoy it! Are you ready?" And she turned toward the back of the salon, the inner sanctum of femininity, with her arm cocked at her side so "she" could link with it, and waited.

George felt it. Georgie was there inside him/her. All beautiful pastel colors, welling up, enveloping him. 'Oh, hell'' she thought, 'let's get gorgeous!'

With a big smile on her face, Georgie linked arms with Jacqui: "Let's go make me beautiful, Sweets" She said gaily, leading the way toward her new life. And George settled himself into his mental armchair and prepared to just go along for the ride!

With a big sigh of relief, Joyce stepped out of the supply closet from which, through the slightly open door, she had been watching with baited breath. This was going to work. She fished her car keys out of her purse and left the salon. She would wait at the school for her first glimpse of her new sister.

Georgie gazed at all the equipment and supplies filling every nook and cranny of Jacqui's back room, all designed to pamper and beautify a girl, whether she was biologically one or not. Then Jacqui opened the next door, the door to the clothing boutique. All Georgie could think of was that this must be like what Howard Carter felt as he gazed for the first time into the tomb of Tutankhamen, and when asked what he saw, said "Things. Wonderful things!"

'Whe-e-e-e-e!' she thought, as Jacqui descended upon her and the process began!

Bare minimum: Not too embarrassing, she'd had to strip before Charlene and crew. But tuck? Tuck was new; the girls had wanted his "bulge" to be visible. Jacqui knew what to do, and made it as painless as possible. 'Now where did she learn to do that' she wondered. 'Now where did it go?' he wondered.

Shave and a wax job, two bits: ("Let's get all the pain out of the way first, dear.") "Ouch!" But being smooth and hairless from the nose down felt kind of good, albeit a little chilly. Plucked, the eyebrows looked really nice, and, pierced, ear potential increased dramatically. She added earring shopping to her "to do" list.

Hair today... gone tomorrow: Washed, highlighted, rolled, permed, combed out, pinned up, sprayed, and highlighted by rhinestone combs. Wow, did having someone mess with your head ever feel good! Curls piled, ringlets softly framing: 'just like out of a Jane Austin novel!' she thought, 'Cool!'

Nailed: Toe and finger. She loved them. Deep shiny pink acrylic, with silver glitter. But she heard the tiny voice from the virtual armchair: 'How ya gonna change the oil in the Buick with those?'

The eyes have it: The makeup felt good, smelt good, looked good... Lipstick last, she deliberately did that herself. ('Just like she's been doing it all her life.' thought Jacqui) The lipstick tasted good, too! She looked in the mirror for the first time. 'Gorgeous!' From the neck up. Still male downward, albeit hairless. 'Time for Phase Two.'

Butt and Boobs and Hips, oh, my: ("No, dear, you can't be a double D-cup; that's George thinking for you.") 'A corset????' "Jacqui, you bitch!" 'Hmmmmmm, but I do look good!'

Dress for success: Length, cleavage 'Cleavage!' color, style, material, and accessories. What's a girl to do?? George, in his virtual armchair, picked up the virtual sports section and bowed out early; Georgie and Jacqui were having fun!

Jacqui, having exhausted two whole rolls of film in a marathon photo opportunity and extractedpromises of letters from Cincinnati, finally pronounced Georgie as ready as she ever would be. She watched from the door as she opened the door of her car, sat down sideways, tucking the skirt of her dress under her, and gracefully swiveled her legs into the interior, every inch a lady. Jacqui waved and turned back into the salon; Georgie would do just fine.

On the way to the school, as Georgie drove, George still in his mental armchair reviewed the plans for after the dance. Georgie would leave as soon as possible... ('Think again, drabbie; I'm going to have fun!' interjected Georgie.) ...leave when she wanted to, amended George, bowing to the inevitable. The transition back to him would take place in the back of the U-haul while Joyce drove. 'Cincinnati here I come!' (Georgie was on the point of interjecting another mental comment, when she thought better of it; she needed George calm and relaxed in his armchair for the rest of the evening.)

When his father returned home later in the day, he would find the letter explaining that he, George, had gotten a great job offer to work on an oil rig off the Texas coast - a suitably masculine job - and he had to leave immediately, so as not to miss the opportunity. He would write. - He wouldn't, but he doubted that it would bother his father much. None of his brothers ever wrote, and he knew his dad just made up stories about them to tell his beer buddies. If his dad felt bad because of the lack of contact, he never let on.

George put his thoughts on hold, because Georgie was pulling into the school parking lot, looking for Joyce and their dad's car. Georgie needed to be 100% Georgie for the next several hours. Sliding lower into the virtual armchair, he decided to take a nap; she would wake him when it was time to leave and it was his turn.

Joyce was standing by her Dad's car anxiously waiting. She was dying to see the finished product! There was George's car now, pulling up alongside. Through the open right side window came a soft feminine voice, "Close your eyes, sis." She did so, and listened as the car door opened and the owner of the voice got out. She could hear the sound of high heels clicking. By the enchanting smell of "Lady" perfume, she could tell that the person was very close to her. "Open em up, sis."

"Ohmygawd!" Joyce stared wide-eyed at the vision before her. "George?"

"No. It's Georgie, honey. You like?" as she did a twirl.

Georgie's hair was newly honey blonde with highlights and pulled up into a mass of curls at the back, secured by pearl accented combs; wisps of bangs caressed her forehead, while curled tendrils brushed her cheeks and neck. Her makeup was flawless. The high arched brows gave her a wide-eyed innocent look enhanced by long fluttery lashes and the subtle shading of her eye shadow. Her cheeks had just a hint of blush. Her lips were pink to match her nails. Pearl drops hung from her pierced ears. Her white dress had filmy chiffon cap sleeves and a deep V-neck to show a hint of cleavage that was accented by a pearl necklace with a pearl drop poised right above it.

It fit tightly from her bodice (After negotiation, George and Georgie had compromised on C-cup.) over nicely flaring hips to just above the knees, where a spray of white chiffon fell to a three-foot diameter circle that just brushed the floor. Pink above-the-elbow length fingerless lace gloves with wrists circled by pearl bracelets and three-inch narrow heels of the same color completed the outfit. She was a vision of loveliness; innocence on the brink of womanhood, just the look Joyce and Jacqui had been going for. Joyce threw her arms around Georgie. "Oh, yes, sis. Oh, yes, I like very, very much!"

Arm in arm, both girls walked from the parking lot, up the stairs, and through the front doors of the school. George, in his virtual armchair, slumbered on. Georgie threw a virtual comforter over him and forgot about him. 'This is it, girl, the Big Show, and the curtain's going up.'

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Part 4: Mae West was wrong. Goodness DID have something to do with it.

Story:

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 4
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****
Joyce opened the door to the gym. To the appropriate sound of The Kinks singing "Lola", they made their entrance.

Charlene, Meredith, and Sally Ann stood by the bandstand, and all three were dressed to kill. Charlene was wearing a red silk sleeveless sheath dress reaching to mid thigh. Black glitter tights ended in four inch heeled "FM" red pumps. Rhinestones glittered at her ears, neck, and wrists. Her black hair cascaded in soft waves to the middle of her back. Meredith and Sally Ann, both brunettes, had chosen blue as their color; fortunately, their dresses were different enough in style that, while mildly annoyed at the similarity of color, they were not at each other's throats.

"Where's Georgie?" asked Sally Ann. "Shouldn't she' be here by now?"

"Oh, I don't think it'll be she'", chuckled Meredith, "or he'. I really think it will be the appropriate pronoun, don't you think, Charlene?"

"Probably," answered Charlene. "I think we'll know if he comes in thinking he's really put one over on us. He'll be walkin' tall, won't have a clue how femmy he really looks. That's when we sic Ray, over there on him."

She gestured in the direction of a huge 6'6" boy in a black leather sleeveless shirt and tight black leather pants. Ray had been "purchased" for the evening, and had been instructed as to what to do to the person pointed out by Charlene.

"You know, I almost hope George does the unexpected. He's done everything we've made him do, and from what Joyce says, he really has changed his ways. I know the plan was to really humiliate him tonight, but if he really has changed, I hate to do it."

"You know, at first I really despised him," Mused Sally Ann, "both for the way he acted before, but also because he knuckled under to us when we told him we were going to sissify him. But then I watched a TV documentary on what happens to the lives of people branded as molesters. It's pretty horrible, and prison is just the beginning. It's even worse for child molesters, and we made ourselves look awfully young in those pics we took while he was drugged. I can see why he'd do almost anything to avoid being branded as one of them."

"And his Dad!" interjected Meredith. "I've met him. I can see why he was like the way he was."

"Yeah," said Sally Ann. "Remember some of the stories Joyce told us!?"

"Actually," commented Charlene. "In the last six weeks. His reaction to what we've made him do has changed. He doesn't act scared and humiliated any more, nor does he try to act really swishy and femmy to please us. He just acts feminine - like a nice girl."

"That's it!" exclaimed Meredith. "That's what's been nagging at me! Georgie has been a really nice girl - like I'd like to have as a friend." The others nodded.

"That's right; you're right Meredith!" said Sally Ann. "A nice person." And with dawning realization: "And we haven't been, have we?"

Charlene brought things back into perspective. "Well, we'll know when it arrives, won't we. If he uses the loopholes we left and reverts to his old self mentally, we'll know it. And we'll know we did the right thing, and will be doing the right thing in releasing the femme pictures. I have to tell you girls, though," she admitted sheepishly, "that I already destroyed the molester pics. We may be a bitch wolf pack, with me the lead bitch, but even I'm not that big a bitch. I saw the same documentary you did, Sally Ann."

"Oh, I'm so glad, Charlene!"

"Good for you, Charlene!" Both girls admitted they were having second thoughts.

"You know," mused Charlene, "maybe we should have taken Georgie all the way. I bet he would have made a really cute girl. "

"And a nice girl." added Meredith. "I really think there were feminine qualities there."

"That's right. Just waiting to get out." Sally Ann paused. "In fact, they did come out these last couple of weeks. Maybe what we call feminine qualities are really just human qualities."

"Now that I think about it," summarized Charlene. "I believe you two are right. Georgie would make a lovely lady, inside and out, and George, a gentleman. I hope we're wrong about the scenario we predicted for tonight!"

Unbeknownst to the three, Joyce had slipped into the shadows at the side of the bandstand and had overheard the conversation. Now she stepped out. "I'm glad to hear you say that," she said - they looked at her in surprise - "and you are wrong. Take a look." Three heads turned as one to follow Joyce's pointing arm. Georgie was on the bandstand, and the DJ was giving up the microphone to her.

"Who is...?"

"That's not...?"

"No, it can't be!"

"It is."

"Ohmygawd!"

"Ohmygawd!"

"Ohmygawd!"

"Gorgeous, isn't she. And it was her choice."

Jacqui just couldn't stay away. She had closed up, driven to the school, and entered the gym in time to see Georgie climb the stairs to the stage. She had noticed her sister and the rest over on the side of the bandstand and made her way over to them just as Joyce revealed her self and the exclamations had been uttered. "That's right, sis. I didn't force her at all; in fact she and I had a ball! Listen; she's speaking."

Georgie lifted the microphone to within an inch of her mouth and took a deep breath. The absence of music had caused most of the crowd to turn toward the bandstand. Most faces bore an expression of polite curiosity as to who the gorgeous young lady who had just taken the mike was. The growing consensus seemed to be that it was Joyce, all glamorized for the first time in her life. Here and there, there were a few "wait a minute..." and "I don't think...", but Georgie raised her hand for silence before anyone could blurt out the real truth and, amazingly, got it. George stirred in his virtual armchair, pulled the virtual comforter up around his ears, and cowardly retreated into the blissful ignorance of virtual sleep once again. This was a job for a woman! Georgie began:

"Two and a half months ago, I was George Hall. Tonight I stand before you as Georgie Hall!" The room erupted in noise. Georgie used the time to greet some of George's friends who were crowding the bandstand.

"Hi Steve. Yeah I know. Hard to believe isn't it?"

"No Mike, I haven't had the operation."

There weren't too many friends. The type of guys George had liked to hang out with BC - before Charlene - had rapidly deserted him as his behavior had changed, and were now muttering to themselves things like, "Knew he was a faggot all along."

Surprisingly, when one had the nerve to shout "Faggot!" at him, the girl next to him slapped his face, and a couple of guys indicated that he ought to shut up and listen to "the lady." The look of innocent vulnerability created by Jacqui plus the fact that almost everything masculine was asleep in the virtual armchair, were definitely affecting the crowd. The great majority wanted to hear what "the lady" had to say, and wanted to like her. As the crowd quieted down, Georgie continued.

"Biologically, this" she indicated her body "is still George, but up here" pointing to her head "and here", pointing to her heart, "I'm definitely Georgie Girl!" With a smile, she pointed to her head again. "I'm sure George is still in here somewhere. He's probably hiding. As you know, this is not his until recently macho image." A few giggles and a couple "That's for sure!" as she paused. "George was an A-1 asshole! - Just like you, Miklowski!" she swiveled and pointed at the former friend that had shouted, "faggot" at her. "A lot of you ladies know it, because a lot of his abominable misogynist behavior was directed at you, and I hereby publicly apologize to all of you who suffered because of his - my - bad behavior. Some of you decided to do something about it." Here she looked over at the group at the side of the bandstand. "And I'm so glad you did... Here she smiled. "...although George wasn't at the time. Charlene, Meredith, Sally Ann would you come up here please."

The three girls looked at each other. Was this some kind of trap? Surely George wasn't so dumb as to believe that they hadn't prepared for a trap.

Knowing what they were thinking, Joyce leaned over and whispered to them. "It's not a trap, girls, she... he... well... they're both really sincere. You three were really mean to George, but he realized he deserved it, and... Well, go on up and let him tell it. Trust me, the lady that you see up there is real, is enjoying her femininity, and thanks you for the opportunity to realize it."

There was a confirming nod from Jacqui. Deciding to trust Joyce and Georgie, and, of course, having the means to deal with it if it was some kind of trap, the three made their way to the stage. As each one reached the bandstand, Georgie gave her a big hug, and when they were all arrived, she picked up the mike again.

"I want all of you out there to take a good look at these three women. They are beautiful, feminine, women, but they are not wimps; they are strong women who won't put up with any of the macho bullshit crap that George and those of you assholes out there like George used to be dish out. Look at me; look at what George has become. We like what I am, but the process was acutely embarrassing and humiliating. You know; you all saw George, watched as he went through it. Be afraid; be very afraid! Ladies, if you're in a shit relationship with one of those macho assholes, pay these three a visit. You don't have to put up with it; they didn't." She turned toward the three. "Charlene, Sally Ann, Meredith, You made George see himself as others, particularly girls, saw him, and he didn't like what he saw."

She mentally approached the virtual armchair and gave George a shake. 'Wake up, sleepyhead, you're on'

"I'm going to let George tell the rest of this in his words." She smiled. "Cut him a little slack, as he'll probably be somewhat embarrassed to be looking like this"

'Thanks, lady. I was supposed to sleep through this, you know. - Good Lord, how do you stand these shoes!' George took over.

"At first, I went along with what they told me to do because..."(The three girls tensed up. Was Georgie going to spill the beans on them, accuse them of false blackmail now, when she had the crowd on her side?) "...Well, I won't tell you how they got me to do it because they may have to do it again, to someone else who deserves it!"(The three, in unison, gave a sigh of relief.) "Christmas was a particularly low and humiliating point for me. I had to pretend I was femmy boy and loving every minute of it to my sister, Joyce. Joyce!" she called. "Will you come up here also?" She beckoned. "Oh, and you, too, Jacqui. Might as well get the whole gang up here."

As Jacqui stepped up on the bandstand, Georgie mentally pushed George aside for a moment and gave her a curtsy. "This is Jacqui, Charlene's sister. She owns a beauty salon, and if you like what you see..." She curtsied to the crowd. "...and I certainly do!" Another curtsy to Jacqui "This is the woman responsible. George went in; I came out. Jacqui, this incredible woman, spent six hours today creating me!"

There was a smattering of applause that, to the surprise of the six on the bandstand, turned into a thundering applause, then a standing ovation. Reluctant boyfriends were given "The Look" by their newly empowered girlfriends and hurriedly joined in.

Jacqui grabbed the mike and shouted into it, "You - and George - created you, honey. I just helped!"

Charlene pulled Meredith and Sally Ann aside and into a quick huddle while the applause continued. "Listen, girls, she whispered hurriedly, "This can be nothing but good for us. Can you visualize it: The Three Ladies Boyfriend Reformation Service'. I say we call ourselves even with George and give up all the pics and tape; it looks like we've actually done some good here."

"Oh, Charlene," came thankfully from Meredith, "I'm so glad you said that because it's what I've been thinking."

"Me, too." added Sally Ann, "But don't you wonder, girls, who we'll be giving the pictures and tapes to?" All three giggled, and broke apart embarrassedly as they realized that the applause had died down and everyone could hear them.

George forcefully took back command 'Sheesh, what a pushy broad. you woke me up, you know!'

"I was talking about Christmas. My sister saw through my act, and I had to tell her everything. We concocted a plan to get even with these three." She indicated the three cheerleaders. They looked shocked; this was news to them. "Yes, ladies, that Christmas tape and visit were an act to get you overconfident, and it worked!"

She/he turned back to the crowd. "But as the time of this dance approached, I came to realize that many of the feminine things they were teaching their reluctant pupil," She/he indicated her/himself. "were really human things. And I began to really try to learn them, so that I could use them, in modified form, to remake myself as a better man when the ordeal was over.

"Then they made an error. (He didn't want the girls to know that he knew that this was no error but a part of their plan.) The final phase of their plan for me was for me to go in and enthusiastically ask for a makeover from Jacqui here at her salon, and then attend the dance tonight. If I did this, they said, they would consider us even, and they gave me written instructions for what I had to ask for from Jacqui. The thing was, those instructions were worded so loosely that I could have come here tonight looking almost like my old self. I had come to know that theseladies are basically honorable women, nice women. They would keep their word, and I could gloat about how I'd outsmarted them in the long run. (Charlene blushed; this was exactly what they'd expected, knowing he wouldn't realize how femmy he really looked.) And that's what I intended to do.

"But then something strange occurred. The closer it got to the dance, the more I felt that it would be really mean to do that to them, for in reality they'd done me a good turn in the long run. When the word mean changed to bitchy in my mind. I knew this new person; Georgie would be going to the dance. I wanted to show you three that you'd succeeded, that, whether George or Georgie, I was going to be a better human being. And what better way to do that, then to be the best woman I could be." The applause started up again, but he put up a hand for silence. "And here we are Georgie and George. We don't know which of us will stay and which will go. I like Georgie; she likes me. Maybe we'll both stay and switch back and forth. We don't know. But now, I'm through. This is Georgie's night! Charlene, Meredith, Sally Ann, strange as it may sound, thank you. Thank you so much for the rest of my life!"

'You're on, babe; it's back to the armchair for me. Wake me up when we're ready to be Cincinnati bound. Enjoy!'

There was no overt change, but the fact that it was Georgie and not George who turned and hugged all five other women on the bandstand was undisputable. Right before returning the mike to the bandleader, she yelled into it, "Let's party!"

The bandleader took the mike and put it back into the stand. He picked up his guitar, and thought for a moment; then he called his band mates into a quick conference. He turned to the crowd. "We don't usually play this kind of music, but we know this one because we learned it for my sister's bat mitzvah. Given the circumstances, I think it's appropriate. This one's for our new girl, Georgie!" He gave a quick riff leading into a rock band version of West Side Story's "I Feel Pretty."

Georgie did feel pretty. She was riding on a high of "I love it when a plan comes together." but more than that, the high of a pretty girl who knows she's pretty and feels really good about herself, secure in her femininity and ready to have a good time.

Ray watched the proceedings waiting to see if Charlene would still signal. His mind drifted. The thing was, from a disinterested employee ready to embarrass a femmy boy to make a few bucks, he had, during the course of Georgie's speech, become a sympathizer. In fact, Ray wasn't a bad sort down deep. Being bigger than most guys, and gay, he had grown up an outsider. Considered different by his peers, he had compensated by becoming a badass brawler that nobody wanted to mess with. Very few people knew he spent his free time enjoying classical music and reading and writing poetry. He really hoped Charlene would not give the signal. Also, it didn't hurt that Georgie was his fantasy dream date made real, a gorgeous young woman who had his preferred kind of equipment between her legs!

"Hi, there..."Ray jerked his head up and stared into the eyes of his dream date. "...wanna dance?" Ray couldn't believe it. He glanced toward Charlene. She didn't give the signal, just waved and mouthed, "Enjoy!" to him.

"You'll have to be patient;" Georgie smiled at him. "... I've never danced the girl's parts before."

"I'd love to." Ray took her in his arms and they danced. 'Thank you, God!'

Georgie and Ray had a wonderful time. George pulled the virtual comforter over his head during the slow dances. Ray was disappointed when she told him she was leaving for Cincinnati directly after the dance, but gave her his business card so they could keep in touch.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Part 5: Follow the pink brick road.

Story:

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 5
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****

As the dance wound down, it seemed like every girl had to come and give Georgie a hug, and many of the guys, too, but finally she was standing outside by the U- Haul. Joyce had already gotten in and was behind the wheel. Charlene, Meredith, and Sally Ann were there.

"I know what you said on the bandstand, Georgie", said a contrite Sally Ann, "but we were so mean to you... to George. Can you... he... really forgive us?

Georgie put her hands on Sally Ann's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. The voice was George's. "Sally Ann," She/he made eye contact on either side "and you two also. I meant every word I said. Thank you for the rest of my life! You three made me see what I was, and I realized that I had been following a role model, my Dad! My Dad... you all know him... my Dad was me thirty years ago and look at him now. Joyce has told you. He bowls once a week and swaps drunken stories with his buddies, and I don't think he really even likes them. No decent woman will have anything to do with him. Joyce is a girl, and she can't even dress or act like one at home. He made my four older brothers into Neanderthals. Now 'Cat's in the Cradle' is coming true for him; they never come home or call him. I think about how Al, my oldest brother, treats his wife, and I begin to understand why our mother died young. Now he's just a bitter, aging, lonely old man. Thank God for you three! Because now, no matter whether George or Georgie, I will never turn out like him!"

Georgie took over and swept the three into a group hug; Jacqui joined in and even Joyce got out of the U-haul. There wasn't a dry eye in the group

Charlene was the first to sniff back tears and back out of the hug. She pulled an envelope out of her purse and held it up, as the rest of the group broke apart. "Here's the damning evidence. I destroyed all the molestation stuff weeks ago; I'm not totally a bitch."

"Just ninety-five percent one." said Jacqui, as she swatted her sister on the side of the head. But she was smiling affectionately as she said it. Their relationship had taken a turn for the better tonight, and that would continue.

"Anyway," continued Charlene, smiling, "before I hand it over, I think I and my friends here would like to know who we're handing it over to. Who's going to Cincinnati, Georgie or George?"

"You know," said Meredith teasingly "if you were staying here, we'd make you stay Georgie. We wouldn't want to lose our new girlfriend!" And she gave Georgie's arm a squeeze.

Georgie laughed. "Well, I know Roy wouldn't be too happy..."

"You sure made his night, honey!" interjected Jacqui. "You know, he turned out to be a pretty nice guy. Proves the old 'Can't tell a book by it's cover' thing."

"...but you'll be turning it over to George. He'll take over mentally and physically as soon as the U-haul gets underway. I'll change in the back while my underage co-conspirator here..." She indicated Joyce. "...drives. - We've gotta get you a fake license, sis - I've got a job waiting for me, and I don't think my employers are expecting someone in a dress." (At that, Joyce's face broke out in a somewhat guilty grin. Fortunately Georgie/George didn't see. It wasn't time yet.) "But you guys come visit sometime. Joyce will have my address and phone number. And maybe, when you come, it'll be your girlfriend Georgie that you hang with"

With that, Georgie climbed into the passenger's seat, while Joyce got in on the drivers' side. Charlene came up to Joyce's window and spoke to both of them. "You know we're going to continue this, don't you." And she related her "Three Ladies" concept.

"I figured you would." said Joyce, with an enigmatic smile on the lips. "We'll be in touch."

"You go, girls!" came enthusiastically from Georgie. "George will be living proof that your methods work!"

Charlene stepped back and through a few sniffles terminated the goodbyes. "You take care, hon. You too, Joyce; really do keep in touch." Jacqui came to the window and, reaching past Joyce, hurriedly shoved an envelope into George's hand.

Joyce put the U-haul in gear, backed out of the space, and pulled out of the parking lot. She could see Jacqui and the three cheerleaders waving in the rearview mirror. She thought Jacqui had a rather guilty look on her face, but then they were around the corner. A very masculine voice aired a very female complaint, followed by an audible sigh of relief. "These heels are murder; my feet are killing me! Oh, yes, yes, that's better. Well, sis, we did it. Thank you, sis, from the bottom of my heart. You could have really taken Charlene and Company's part, and you had every right to, given the jerk I'd been. But you didn't, and you've saved my life; I'm convinced I would have ended up just like Dad. You probably saved those three from turning out life-long bitches, too. And now I've got three friends I can remember fondly rather than three enemies to resent and plot revenge on."

Unconsciously, George laid his hand on Joyce's arm in a very feminine Georgie- like manner. Joyce noticed it. 'Good. She's not gone.' It confirmed in her mind that what she was about to do was the right thing.

George continued. "I second every word Georgie said back there, and both of us had a wonderful time tonight, but it's time for her to retire and George to come back. I'll just duck in the back and change."

He started to get up, but Joyce put her free hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the seat. "I don't think you'd better do that just yet."

"Huh! Why not, sis?"

"George, pull down the sun visor and look in the vanity mirror. Look at your face. Whose face is it? Really look before you answer."

"Ohmygawd!"

"That's right. It's Georgie's face. You can take off the makeup, but those eyebrows are a dead giveaway. Your hair? Jacqui gave Georgie a permanent, didn't she? And she added highlights, didn't she? Look at your nails; those are acrylic, they don't come off! And I bet Georgie insisted on them, didn't she? I'll bet under that beautiful dress, that body's completely hairless. Waxed?"

In shock, George nodded.

"I thought so. My poor, dear, brother, when you walked into Jacqui's, you surrendered the whole playing field didn't you? It's a good thing there wasn't time, or you'd be sitting here now with breast implants, right?"

Another nod.

"As it is, I bet those breast forms are glued on with surgical adhesive, aren't they. Even with the solvent, they're gonna be hell to get off. That kind of adhesive is meant to biodegrade over a period of time as a wound heals. Plan on a C-cup month, bro; at least. Anything else?"

By this time, George had his head in his hands. When he raised his head to look at Joyce, it was turning bright red. Now it was her turn.

"Ohmygawd! She even went for the fake vagina, didn't she? Glued on? Same adhesive?"

Two nods.

"Oh...My...Gawd, sis, plan on a month of peeing sitting down, too!" Joyce pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, turned off the engine, and put on the hazard flashers. The sister and brother/sister looked at each other. Gradually George's look of dismay was replaced by a slight smile.

'Thank you, God!' thought Joyce and she allowed a smile to grow on her face. Soon the sisters were laughing in each other's arms.

"Well, sis, guess I'm stuck... as her... for at least a month." Gulped George, fighting down residual giggles.

'Georgie, get your butt outta that armchair.'

"Can't say I'm too upset. After all, she is me, and vice-versa I guess we just merge."

'Right? - Right!'

"But what am I gonna do about Cincinnati? About the job Monday? Georgie doesn't have a drivers license, a social security card, credit cards, anything."

"Well", said Joyce, "hang on to your seatbelt, because there's been some changes in the plan."

Heavy sigh: "I figured. By the way, the name's Georgie Ann now, we merged. It'll just be G.A. when I'm in male mode."

"Wow!" exclaimed Joyce, genuinely surprised. "Jacqui is taking care of all your new records. And since you were George Andrew Hall, She did put Georgie Ann Hall down on everything. This has got to be a sign! Did you read her note?"

"No."

Georgie Ann took out the envelope and opened it. The note, on pink stationary, read: "Dearest Georgie, my new girlfriend, if you're reading this, please turn things back to George. I think it'll only be for a few minutes. George, I hope when you look in the mirror and realize what's been done, you're not too angry with me. Everything about you is what Georgie wanted, and, frankly, we were having so much fun I got carried away and completely forgot about George - even when attaching the boobs and vagina! I hope you and Georgie can just get together and enjoy. I think it'll work. Why? If Joyce hasn't explained it yet, she will. Love ya, hon, whether George or Georgie. Your friend (I hope) Jacqui."

Georgie Ann looked from the note to her sister. Resignedly: "OK, sis. Explain."

"Well, sis, there was a job in Cincinnati for George, but it fell through weeks ago. I knew we still had to get out of here tonight, but I didn't want to bother you with this little glitch because you were doing so well carrying out the plan. Then I got to thinking. You were doing well. Your emerging feminine side was making you into a better person. Were there other Boys and men out there who would benefit from the same 'treatment'?

"I did a little research and found, at least according to women nationwide, that there were probably thousands. I thought to myself, that I could help those women get rid of the obnoxious men in their lives, and help the obnoxious men - men like you used to be, Sis - to become better persons. I could use, in modified and expanded forms, the methods used by Charlene and Company. They had the market at home, so I needed to go elsewhere. Also, I couldn't bear the thought of staying at home, with you gone, alone with Dad. I can't be his pseudo-son anymore, Georgie Ann. I'm a girl; I want to act like one, look like one, be one!

"You've experienced your feminine side for what, two months, tops; I've experienced my masculine side for ten years. Now's my girl time!" Here Joyce paused, gulped, and girded herself for what she now had to admit. "I decided to go with you - we're going to Chicago, by the way - but I knew George, masculine protective George, even the new George, would never agree. I'm only fourteen. I needed... need ... help, and you're eighteen, legally an adult."

Here it comes. 'OK, Joyce, girl; get it over with and see if you're on the way to Chicago or hitching a ride back home.'

"But, I set you up! I needed Georgie, not George. From the way George was changing during the weeks before the dance tonight, I was pretty sure that what actually did happen at Jacqui's would happen; that he would 'go girl'. Although," Here, she chuckled. "I did not expect the vagina!" She looked straight at her brother/sister. "I wanted Georgie not to be able to turn back to George tonight!" She waited. The face across from her was a mask. She couldn't tell if George, Georgie, or Georgie Ann was in control.

All she got was, "Keep going" in a gender-neutral monotone.

That was scarier than rage or tears, she thought. 'Oh, well, he' - she assumed George was the one listening - 'hasn't pushed me out of the car yet.'

"And it worked. You're stuck, brother dear. You will at least look like Georgie for a month. And, if you're wondering, Jacqui wasn't in on this. She just responded to Georgie's natural enthusiasm, like I knew she would." Again an involuntary chuckle, "But, I repeat, I did not expect the vagina!"

Serious again "But you do have choices. You can take me back, go to a medical clinic for help, and leave alone as George, although I think you'd still be an effeminate George. You can make me get out here and continue on, and try to survive as Georgie on your own; here are the documents she needs that Jacqui had prepared."

She took an envelope out of her purse and handed it to George. When he made no move to take it, she laid it in his lap. "or, and here's what I hope you'll do, you can be Georgie Ann for a month and help me get Vaingirls started. I admit, I can't do what I've planned without her - or..." reluctantly "...George - I need an adult but..." and here she pleaded, "...I also need a girlfriend! God, Georgie Ann, you're more feminine than I am!

"I've been a boy, for all practical purposes, thanks to Dad, for the last 10 years. Charlene and Company may have had you as the target of their 'girl campaign', but they made me see too, and to remember Mom, and being a little girl. I want to be a girl! You, you're ready to pass anywhere, but I don't think you think you are. I think Georgie Ann wants my help. Be Georgie Ann for a month. We'll help each other. If you do, and if at the end of that time, you want to be George and go you're own way, I swear, I'll do everything in my power to help you. Please, Georgie Ann, we can help so many people, and help each other, and it'll be fun; I know it will!" She'd given it her best shot. She waited.

"Vaingirls?" definitely in George's voice.

"A transformation salon. A place for boys who want to be girls - or who maybe don't want to be but need to be, like you. Do you know what crossdressers, transvestites, transsexuals, all the transgendered go through? I didn't, but I learned, I researched. Sometimes their lives are a living hell. Undeserved feelings of shame, self-loathing from violating society's standards of what's proper."

'Society's standards' brought scorn to Joyce's voice.

"Femininity should be enjoyed, treasured for the nurturing and compassionate qualities it brings to humanity! You know. You know you're a much better person, male or female, for experiencing your feminine side. No matter what you do in the future, aren't you glad now that you were forced to do it?

"But what if Charlene and Company really had been bitches and not basically nice girls? What if you had always wanted to be a girl, or just to dress like one, and had no one to help you, particularly living with someone like dad? While most dads aren't as bad as ours, they're not exactly TG friendly! Those boys and men who want or need to experience their feminine side need a place where that can happen in a friendly nurturing environment.

"All right, sometimes a not-so-friendly environment, too, but one developed by people who care about the Person and aren't out to humiliate him only for their own amusement! I - we - can do that! Jacqui believes I can, so much so that she will advance me $25,000 to rent space and build the physical plant. Then she'll move to Chicago and front the place, do the actual makeovers, teach me. But only if you, if Georgie Ann, will help! A fourteen year old can't do everything - not even me!" She allowed herself some self-pride here. Again she waited.

The silence stretched. No change of expression. George's voice: "Sis, you're crazy!"

Her heart sank, and she lowered her head. 'I won't cry!' she thought. 'I won't. I won't. I won't. Oh, the hell I won't!' But just as she was about to let the tears flow, she felt fingertips softly brush her cheek. She looked up to see a radiant smile.

"But I love you!" Georgie Ann's voice, as she swept Joyce into a big hug. "You want a business partner, girlfriend, and older sister for a month, sis, you got her!"

"Oh, oh, oh..." For once, Joyce was at a loss for words, and the two sisters concentrated on just hugging each other.

After the emotional tide had waned, Georgie Ann did go into the back of the U- haul and change, but into girls jeans and a halter top that showed off her silicon induced cleavage quite nicely. "For all the truckers watching!" she explained to her sister, who smacked her

"Tramp!" but in a loving tone of voice.

Georgie Ann, the one legal driver, changed places with her sister, started up the U-haul, and pulled back onto the interstate. 300 miles to Chicago, and a whole new life - for a month, anyway! Silence reigned, as each apparently was lost in her own thoughts.

"Sis," said Georgie Ann after awhile, staring straight ahead at the road, "just don't paint my office pink!"

Joyce had the grace to blush. That was exactly what she'd been planning to do.

*****

Twenty-eight year old Joyce shook her head. 'I oughta write a book' she thought. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips. The coffee was cold. 'Time for bed, but just a little clean up first.' She got up, washed her cup out and hung it back on the rack. Then she headed up the stairs to the apartment she shared with the other three "girls". 'Fourteen years' she thought, 'fourteen years!'

As she ascended the stairs, her thoughts returned to the present and the young man who was going to be gorgeous, whether "she" liked it or not!

*****

Georgie Ann had stayed more than a month, six months in fact, and she and Joyce and Jacqui, who did join them after the first month, had built Vaingirls. They had used $10,000 of Jacqui's money as a down payment on an old art deco looking building on Halsted Street, where they still remain. Built in the 1930's, it needed some repairs, but nothing the remaining money couldn't handle.

Jacqui's makeovers quickly became famous throughout Chicago's TG community, and she trained Joyce well. Joyce found, however, that she had a real talent for sewing and design, and, while always the "bosslady", she became Vaingirls' seamstress. Over the years the other three Vaingirls, all originally clients, were brought on board, and Jessica is now the seamstress. Vaingirls' is currently on the verge of launching a new line of ladies' clothing designed with the figure problems faced by its clientele in mind - all designed by Joyce.

Charlene, Meredith, and Sally Ann's transformation service, 'Three Ladies', prospered, and thegirls stayed in contact with Vaingirls. When Joyce decided it was time, 'Three Ladies' became the first Vaingirls franchise.

Ray ended up working for 'Three Ladies', and married a nice man he met through them. All theVaingirls attended the ceremony, and George was going to act as best man; however, when it was learned that Ray would be the one wearing the wedding gown, a 6'6" bride, Georgie Ann attended as maid of honor.

Georgie Ann had finally decided that going back to school was necessary, and that that could be accomplished more efficiently using the initials G.A. True to her word, although reluctantly, Joyce had helped her sister Georgie Ann successfully transition to her brother, G.A. There were some tearful moments on both parts as they packed away Georgie Ann's things, those not suitable for G.A., and I stored them in Vaingirls' attic.

G.A. completed his undergraduate work at the University of Illinois so successfully that he received a full scholarship to Harvard Law School. Upon completion, magna cum laude, he returned to Chicago and set up his own law practice specializing, to Joyce's delight, in gender issue cases. He was, of course, Vaingirls' lawyer as well as the personal lawyer of his sister and the three other "girls".

When, seven years ago, he became engaged, he made sure his fiancee got to meet Georgie Ann. Knowing her brother, her new brother that she had helped create, Joyce was not surprised that the fiancee he had chosen found Georgie Ann "adorable". While G.A. is around most of the time, Georgie Ann - and wife - come out to play with the Vaingirls a couple of times a year.

Five years ago, word reached G.A. that his father had died. There had been no contact since he and Joyce had left. His father had, it turned out, taken the time to find out where they were though, and had informed his lawyer to contact them, along with G.A.'s four brothers, upon his death. When the Hall clan gathered for the funeral, four because of hope of financial gain, two for old time's sake, because they knew better, it was Georgie Ann who attended; she thought that was fitting, and Joyce concurred. The brothers asked where "George" was, and Joyce told them he was dead and that Georgie Ann was his widow. In a way it was true. None of them recognized George in Georgie Ann.

During the funeral visit, Georgie Ann saw Al, her oldest brother, the one from Akron who had married the cheerleader, smack his wife several times. Georgie Ann managed to get her, Sharon, aside and told her she knew just the greatest lawyer. Sharon, definitely not the airhead bimbo Al had told everyone she was, confessed that she was on the point of leaving Al, but that she was afraid for herself and the children. How could she protect them and herself from an ever more violent Al? Knowing the limitations of the law in matters like this, Georgie Ann called Joyce over. Last Thanksgiving, the whole Vaingirls crew was invited by Sharon to Akron for the long Thanksgiving weekend. They were met at the door by a rather large but pretty maid named Alice. This time G.A. came, and he swore it was the best Thanksgiving he'd ever had!

End?

Notes:

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