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Who is Ms. Jane Thompson?

Jane Thompson is a symbol and an icon in much the same way that Uncle Sam is a symbol and an icon. She is the essence of School Teacher - strict, demanding, uncompromising on principles; and at the same time, deeply caring, assessing her accomplishments solely on the success of her students. She is the teacher everyone remembers with grudging respect ("Man, lemme tell ya about THAT Ms. Thompson - now THAT lady never took any sh**, but I learned more from her than from any other teacher I ever had."), and an ever growing and deepening affection as the years go by.

She comes from a time when people believed in things like personal integrity and honor; a time when a hand clasp between two people meant more than any ink stains on some lawyer's paperwork ever could mean; a time when manners were a sign of mutual respect - given even as it was demanded in return.

She is a woman of great strengths, and complementary weaknesses. Often, the weaknesses are her strengths taken to an extreme.
 
 

First and foremost, a characteristic that seems most unlikely in the beginning yet in the end is most obvious, is love for her boys. They are the family children she is physically unable of producing herself. She truly wants what is best for her students, regardless of the real cost to herself or the apparent cost to them - the stripping of false pride, the surface indignities that demonstrate the deeper source of dignity that transcends externals. And so she becomes, "Aunt Jane." It is, in almost all cases, a very demanding, very tough love, but a person does not put herself through what Jane has over a period of over twenty years for any motivation other than love. It is why she never gives up on any student who will try, and so demonstrate a desire to improve. It is why humiliation of her students is never an end in itself, but the threat of humiliation is used ruthlessly to lift a student to a higher level of performance than they could achieve in any other way.

Her second prime characteristic is intelligence. She can see what is going on in a student's mind better than he can, and so knows just how far to push to mold them without shattering - even when the student himself feels shattered. She is the teacher no student could ever, 'put one over on.' Jane is honest enough to admit that she needs help (aids) to gain the required insights, but she also realizes what they are (a senior student, 'spies' like Caro and Marie) and arranges for them.

Third on the list of key characteristics of 'Aunt Jane' is her pride - pride in herself and just as importantly, pride in her boys. The most fundamental basis for her pride is that she never asks anything of anyone that she's not prepared to do herself, knowing that the most difficult challenges are of discipline and self-control, not of cosmetics and clothes. She can, and so she knows that 'they' can as well, but she is still proud of them when they do because she knows precisely how difficult the tasks she set for them were and how hard the students had to work to meet each of her challenges.

Fourth is moral strength - the kind that means doing the right thing even when no one else is watching. Aunt Jane is not a 'do as I say, not as I do.' type of leader. Had Jane been an officer at Valley Forge, she'd have been out there freezing her tush off with the soldiers instead of in the warm cottages that many of the officers used. That doesn't mean she never relaxes, but she does not "let her hair down" when she's "on duty" (i.e., when there is a student under her responsibility who is not himself allowed to relax). Her moral strength is conscious and deliberate, recognizing that she can never falter in her own perfect compliance with her own rules or she will lose forever the respect and trust her position requires, and the proof that her standards can be met.

Jane's life is based on personal commitment, which justifies her high standards. She does not accept less than the best she or anyone she works with has to give. This shows in every aspect of a Jane Thompson program from the development of a long term strategy to the meticulous tactical preparations for each phase or exercise she plans for a student's particular needs.

As stated above, Jane's weaknesses are, for the most part, extremes of her strengths. Her pride can become arrogance, her intelligence can become hubris, her moral strength can become intolerance, and her commitment can become stubbornness and rigidity. The primary control on these is her love, which challenges her always to justify in her own mind that her actions are based on the good of her student and not just her own self-image.

She makes mistakes, but they are most often mistakes of 'too much' realization of those key characteristics, not too little. Her commitment to her standard program may cause her to rely overmuch on expected clues that sustain her judgments, and not enough on contradictions (like with Kendra or Caitlyn) but in the end, her intelligence will not allow her to reject data just because they conflict with her expectations, once the data are available.

The other important issue associated with her downsides is that Jane always learns from her errors and takes steps to correct those failings the next time. She reflects on these problems (typically taking an inordinate amount of blame upon herself) until she understands what went wrong and has a fix in mind.

Finally, Jane is (and is afraid of this aspect of her personality) more than a little playful. Her initial interests in petticoating and feminizing males first took root in that playfulness when she was still in college. This mischievous and sometimes darker side of Jane Thompson is why she enjoys watching her boys when they are most afraid, and why she takes some pleasure in contemplating their reactions to her wicked tests and tasks. However, her fear of this facet of her personality is why she so ruthlessly controls and restrains it even while she relishes it in her heart. It is why she often doubts and questions herself when she is alone in the dark with only her worst fears for companions.
 
 

In the event of an unplanned challenge, Jane's reactive response - energized almost without conscious thought - is to control the situation. If she feels things are getting out of hand, she will retreat to the fortress of her castle and rule there with an iron hand. If there is a threat to one of her students, she will take on herself the rear-guard action at the point of attack, controlling the defense while those for whom she is responsible are shepherded to safety. She will not consider a situation resolved until she is again fully in control, regardless of how tired she may personally be.

If her control is actively threatened, she will react like a mother cat defending her kittens, fierce and uncompromising. In her world the worst thing that can happen is the loss of one of her students, and the most likely cause for this would be an interruption in her program while they are vulnerable due to her manipulation. A challenge to her control cannot be ignored or postponed. She is extremely sensitive to them, but also always ready to recognize and deal with them since *every* student rebels at some point.

If her control of the situation is not at risk, then Jane will react in accordance with her principles. What is the disciplined path back to the plan? What is the moral/ethical approach? What will provide the best lesson for her students?
 
 

Any situation in the life of Jane or any of her students can be assessed against these characteristics. If she reacts as the person described in these notes would react, then she 'fits' within the universe of 'Second Season, Losing Season, Darla, Kendra, and Caitlyn - and is at least not inconsistent with Joel Lawrence's original creation in 'Seasons of Change'. If not, then the writer has taken the characters in a different and conflicting direction - which is that writer's right but may mean the story is not what a reader expects if they enjoy the Jane of my vision.

~Tigger & Brandy

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Image Credit: Aunt Jane by Brandy DeWinter 1997 ~Brandy.

Legalities: Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that: 1) You must have contacted the author, Tigger, and have asked permission first and received said permission to host this particular work. 2) No fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") or any form of barter or monetary transfers in order to access viewing this work *and* (3) PROVIDED that this disclaimer, all author notes, legalities and attribution to the original author are contained unchanged within the work. 4) The author of this work, Tigger, must be provided free account access at all times the work is hosted in order to modify or remove this work at his sole discretion.

This work is the copyrighted material of the respective author.

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. ~Tigger

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Well, I know I said that Kendra was my last "Aunt Jane/Seasons of Change" derived story, but well, there is another one in the works. Dunno how long it will take because life is happening right now, and the story concept seems pretty challenging to pull off. Already, I've had to trash hours of work because I found myself taking the "easy" way out.

Anyway, I have been corresponding with Brandy Dewinter on the concept and got into a basic discussion of Aunt Jane's character and make up, and being me, well, it sort of got a little silly. Still, it was a lot of fun and we thought we would share the result with you, our very good friends, and hope to give y'all a bit of a smile.

So...

LADIES AND LADIES, GIRLS AND GIRLS
CHILDREN OF ALL AGES
DEWINTER & TIGGER LTD.
PROUDLY (we think) PRESENTS . . . .

A Recipe for Aunt Jane

By Tigger and Brandy Dewinter

• Brandy's Baseline: Any woman who knows as much about femininity as Ms. Jane, must be incredibly feminine herself. I think her basic honesty would force her to dress up any time she requires the same of her charges.
• START with two parts of Joan Collins. First impressions are terribly important, and don't forget the somewhat dated look.
• Add a dash of Mary Poppins' smile, though only when the taster isn't looking.

  Tigger's Caution:
  But forget that "Spoon full of sugar that makes the medicine go down in the most delightful way."

  Oh yeah, and that tape measure she used on the two kids? The one that when she measured herself and came up with "Mary Poppins - practically perfect in every way"?

  Well, whenever Jane measures a new boy he always comes up short... at least until she gets him into his first set of heels.

• Add a dash of Queen Elizabeth the First, imperious, but with a hidden soft spot for a gallant rogue.
• Mix in a smile that is equal parts Joan Collins (Dynasty), Susan Lucci (All My Children) for when the taster IS looking.
• Whip in a little steel magnolia for strength in the face of challenge.
• Blend in the innate class and dignity of Sophia Loren for body - about two large ("D" size) cupfuls.
• Three pinches of Mata Hari for basic sneakiness - One obvious one at the end to show on the surface, one strong dusting to pervade the mixture, and a subtle whiff yet nonetheless quite sharp to make keep the taste buds from getting overconfident.
• A couple of dollops of Tina Turner for "in your face" attitude.
• A thorough basting of Lucille Ball for mischievous humor, and an ability to laugh at herself, while appearing to be horrified.
• "Season" to taste with the sharp intelligence, wit and steel-hard, self-taught discipline of Oprah,
• Spice with a sprig or two of Morgan Fairchild for the essential hard-assed, bitchy nastiness needed to efficiently demolish an overblown ego,
• Top it off with a subtle bouquet of Mother Theresa/Father O'Brien for heart - A delicate aroma that lingers in your mind though you're not entirely able to place it.

 
 
Editor's Note: After it simmers, place it in the hands of two our best writers.
Serve and enjoy!

~Tigger & Brandy

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I. Jane Thompson

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

B. Married to Art Thompson Philips (AKA Diana)

C. Character Synopsis

1. Every story (obviously!)

2. School Mistress of Seasons House

3. Originator of Theme’s Victorian Petticoat Discipline Reform Program

4. Program goal is to force young males to find alternative, better solutions by having protecting cross dressed masquerade at all costs. Knee Jerk reactions endanger revealing the student is secretly male.

5. Has Connections to Police, Judicial and Social Service Groups for Candidates for her Program

6. Has a Tight Cohort of (Mostly) Women who assist/enable her program in public settings

II. Marie (AKA Maria)

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

B. Fiance (unnamed) killed in military training before wedding

C. Character Synopsis

1. Never given a Last Name in any of the currently published stories

2. Every Story. “Origin” covered in Tales of the Season: Lora’s Story

3. Housekeeper, cook, ‘good cop’ when needed

4. Runs Seasons House

5. Make up Expert; helps with new student’s ‘fashion show from hell’ experience

6. Goes by Maria in A Losing Season

7. Secretly softhearted. With the program but sneaks treats and fixes favorite dishes to ease students’ path

III. Art Philips aka Art Thompson-Philips former Artemis (Diana)

A. Married to Jane Thompson

B. Introductory Story: Tales of the Season: Caitlyn’s Story by Tigger

C. Character Synopsis

1. Every Story after Introduction

2. Jane’s college lover whom she played her feminization games with. Birth Certificate name Artemis so Jane named ‘her’ Diana

3. Hated ‘Artemis’ and changed legally to Art. Jane likes to use Artemis to tease him

4. Clinical, Research and Teaching Psychologist. Providence College and Brown

5. Reunited to help Jane with Caitlyn’s issues and prevent having to send Carl (Caitlyn) to Juvenile Detention System

6. Continued Diana persona between Jane-years as a clinical tool and because he liked doing it. Continued after reuniting with Jane to assist as needed at Seasons House (and because they both liked doing it)

IV. Carolyn (Caro) Beale and Sandra (Sandy) Kash

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

B. Caro Married to Sheriff Bill Beale, former Jane student; Sandy no indicated partnerships or lasting relationships - portrayed in early stories as a bit of a wild-child party girl

C. Character Synopses

1. Every story

2. Owner/Operators of Marisha Chalet Beauty Salon Jane brings her students to be in public in highly feminine situations and to impose controlled situation stress.

3. Sandy is abrasive, overtly sexy and likes terrorizing the boy students in her salon chair. Sees herself as Jane’s program’s ultimate bogey-woman. Sometimes goes too far.

V. Brenda Franson (AKA Betty)

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

B. No known partner or relationships

C. Character Synopsis

1. Almost every story

2. Owner/operator of The Style Shoppe (a high end ladies clothing boutique and Millady’s Closet (a high end lingerie boutique).

3. Provides Jane with girl (girlie) shopping opportunities as well as almost-public fittings and lingerie modeling. Another controlled high stress experience. There are hints that Jane is a silent business partner to ensure venues are available for students’ public experiences.

4. Provides most of the students’ wardrobe requirements

VI. Michael Nash (Michelle)

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

1. Most follow-on Seasons House stories follow alternate universe story line introduced in A Losing Season by Tigger

B. Married to Janice

C. Character Synopsis

1. Almost every story

2. Principal student (victim) in original Seasons of Change, A Second Season and A Losing Season.

3. Attempted suicide in A Losing Season. Recovery had Jane taking a different tack with him, still involving the masquerade, but to help him deal with his emotional conflict over appearing and enjoying en femme.

4. Periodically comes back to help Jane with other students when a Big Sister is needed. Has concerns about program in early stories but has come to trust and love "Momma-Jane"

5. Research Psychiatrist after college and Medical School

6. Jane’s go-to for student medical issues in later stories

VII. Darryl Smith, AKA Darryl Thompson AKA Darryl Thompson-Philips (Darla)

A. Married to Audrey AKA Roxanne AKA Rocky AKA GiGi

B. Introductory Story: Second Season by Tigger

C. Character Synopsis

1. Every story after introduction.

2. Jane’s go-to Big Sister when she needs extra support with a student

3. Jane’s Adopted Son and biggest Cheerleader

4. Abuse survivor. Criminal older brother (deceased) forced him into criminal acts and repeatedly raped him before Darryl was caught and sent to Jane.

5. Met, courted and married Roxanne aka Rocky aka GiGi renamed Audrey in A Time for Every Season by Tigger

6. Medical School Student. Profession uncertain

VIII. Kenneth Roberts AKA Kendra; Sometimes nicknamed Barbie

A. Married to Barbara Anne (Skipper)

B. Introductory Story: Tales of the Season: Kendra’s Story

C. Character Synopsis

1. Almost every story after introduction

2. Sent to Jane by his mother under false pretenses to aid mother’s desire to ‘sissiy’ Ken. Faked criminal records and judicial documents to get Ken in.

3. Years of resisting mother taught Kenneth unreal self and emotional control in presence of individuals causing stress. Passively resists Jane’s treatments and answers stress situation with cold rationality. Cries in private so Jane looks for other answers.

4. Jane and Judge Ruth force mother to give up guardianship or go to jail. Judge Ruth becomes fosters and mentors Kenneth through law school.

5. Ellen Hayes had Ken become a body builder in Tuck Seasons; In Ken’s Barbie, he had toned down to more of a swimmer’s build and could again carry off the masquerade albeit as something of an Amazon.

6. Jane’s Attorney in later stories

7. Meets and Courts Barbara Anne in Ken’s Barbie

IX. Edith White

A. Introductory Story: Seasons of Change by Joel Lawrence

B. No spouse, partner or romantic relationship indicated (who’d want her??!?)

C. Character Synopsis

1. Most Stories

2. Stuck up, stiff-necked, vocal, opinionated, prissy, old-money dowager of the ‘higher classes’

3. Jane uses her as a tool to force students to deal with extreme etiquette social protocol situations as a female

4. Provides comic relief in some stories with her antics; provides hyperbole-exacerbated stress in other stories.

 

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Admin Note: Through prior verbal and written agreements between the author Joel Lawrence, and Tigger, this story is being posted here with Tigger's permission to be included in sequence with his works. Seasons of Change belongs to Joel Lawrence and the text, along with the textual errors remains as is. Copyright © 1989 and reposted by Karen Mitchell in the summer of 1996 at other sites. This is the story that inspired Tigger to delve within Mr. Lawrence's universe and to create his sequence of stories involving the character of Ms. Jane Thompson. ~Sephrena
 

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Chapter 1.
 
The train began slowing as it neared Westbury station. Michael know this was the name of the station because the conductor had passed through the car and announced it, and around him other passengers were heeding the suggestion that they check to ensure they had all their belongings. Michael gathered his books and the remnants of the snacks he had bought on the train and watched out the window and the train came closer to the station.

The scene had changed slightly from that which he had observed the last two hours. Rural surroundings had given way to the rundown environs of this old New England manufacturing village. He knew from experience that just outside the town grand mansions and historic farms still abounded.

Listening to the clack-clack of the rails wind down, he mused about the purpose of this trip. He had left St. Andrews just this morning, complying with his Mother's decision that he should spend this summer with her old school chum (his "Aunt Jane") when she left on her tour of Europe with Clifford Graves, her latest companion. He presumed that this decision was, in no small part, due to the straits he had gotten himself into the last semester at St. Andrew's.

It was clear that he was on very thin ice with the headmaster at St. A's. There had been the minor pranks, of course, but his involvement in the panty raid at Eastmore, and, the worse, being caught at it. During the extremely uncomfortable conference with the deans on Tuesday, he and his Mother had been advised of the suspension. He would be carried on the rolls of the school throughout the summer and Fall semesters, but would not be allowed to return until after the Christmas holiday, and then only if the school received some verification that satisfied them that his demeanor had changed.

His keen obsession his graduation from this highly regarded prep school had, in no small part, motivated his Mother's decision to send him to Westbury. Aunt Jane, she had said, was a certified teacher, which would satisfy state and school requirements that he be enrolled in school. Private tutoring, she had said to the headmaster. To Michael she had declared another motivation which he did not fully understand: that Aunt Jane was imminently equipped to convey refinement and discipline, a trait Mother had emphatically pointed out that he lacked. She had made vague references to "English methods", an allusion which escaped him, but which she said with a wry certainty that it was just what he needed.

He wanted to get back into St. Andrew's and this avenue seemed the only one open to him. But it was all of this uncertainty that weighed on his mind as the train neared the station. He knew nothing of "Aunt Jane", except a vague remembrance that he had met her at the estate in Connecticut one summer. He was to spend at least the summer with her, and, his Mother had said, dependent on Aunt Jane's sole judgement, might have to stay on until Christmas. The uncertainty of time, couple with his ignorance of the allusions his Mother had made about the particular "skills" this woman allegedly possessed, caused him some apprehension. More importantly, two other facts added anxiety; first of all, his Mother had been emphatic he was to submit totally to Aunt Jane's authority, and secondly that except for the small change he had left in his pocket, all his discretionary money had been placed in this other woman's control. Once he disembarked from the train, his options for self-determination would be minimal.

The train finally creaked to a stop, and he clasped his bag and headed for the entrance. The black porter had placed the portable footfall at the base of the stairs, and he stepped down to the station platform.

He was recognized before he noticed the woman. She called his name and he looked up to see a vaguely familiar face. She was an attractive woman, in her early thirties, dressed fashionably and with an air of superiority. Indeed, his first impression was that she purposely hid a softness about herself in the somewhat severe manner in which she wore her auburn hair....drawn back in a French roll. It was apparent that she shopped at only the finest stores, and he was sure he had seen her ensemble in one of his Mother's Bergdorf's catalogues just a month ago.

He was equally fascinated by the young girl he saw at her side, clearly her companion, for she followed Jane as she advanced toward him. The girl was about his own 14 years of age, yet strangely dressed in a style that seemed old-fashioned and oddly pubescent. She was a disarmingly pretty girl with long hair drawn back into a cascading pony-tail which was capped by a straw boater bonnet with a blue bow. She wore a patent shoes and a dress which was flounced out by petticoats evident to a degree at the hem. Her dress was a fancy one, the kind that girls wear only to formal or festive affairs. Her comportment intrigued him most, for she seemed reserved and shy, and clearly somewhat obsequious to the bidding of Jane. He was introduced to her and found her name was Beth. She seemed ill at ease, starting first to curtsy to him, then gingerly proffering her white gloved hand to his own.

The greetings were stilted, though Jane was cloying yet authoritative in her reception. With an air of superiority, she pressed a red cap into conveying his baggage and they set off through the terminal to the expensive car she had imperiously parked in the "No Parking" zone at the curb. His bags loaded, he climbed into the back seat of the car and his gaze alternated between the two females in the front seat and the countryside they emerged into. Jane's comments were few, though she made reference to his trouble at St. A's and the apparent conversations she had had with his Mother about "finding some 'temperance' (as she put it) in one's behavior. Jane concluded that, with time, all problems could be solved. He lapsed into silence and the car moved down a smaller road into farm country.

In time, they arrived at Jane's home, a large white Victorian house situate on many acres. She parked the car near the door and bade him gather his bags and follow her. The girl was no help, though she did hold the doors and steadied him as he struggled up the few stairs to the porch and into the foyer.

Jane suggested (or was it more "directed") that Beth escort Michael upstairs to his room to stow his overnight bag (his trunk was to follow) and then for the two of them to return downstairs to the study. Beth obediently complied, pausing at the foot of the stairs to await him. At the head of the stairs, she opened a white door and he entered, passing the girl and not noticing the room itself. It was only after he was inside that the incongruency of the room hit him.

The room was all pastel blue, but that was not its alarming feature. The four-poster bed was canopied, with a delicate flounce of sheer tiered fabric. Ruffles of eyelet and lace flounce cascaded from beneath the mattress, the bed itself covered by a bedspread of matching satin. Dainty shams of a wispy material sheathed the profusion of pillows at the headboard. The furniture was white and gold French provincial, chest of drawers and nightstands. A petite vanity draped with the same material sat beneath a large lighted mirror. Another three-sided mirror, like those in clothing stores, was implanted into the wall.

He was sure that Beth had directed him to the wrong chamber, but when he queried her about this, she diffidently assured him that there was no mistake. Appalled to be quartered in these dainty surrounding, he nevertheless deposited his small bag and followed Beth downstairs to where Jane waited.
 
 
Chapter 2.
 
Beth left Michael at the parlor door and he opened it and entered to find Jane seated in an overstuffed chair leafing through what appeared to be a sheaf of letters. At his entrance, she peered at him over the half-moons of her reading glasses.

"It is considered polite and refined, young man, to knock before entering a closed room."

"I...I'm sorry. I thought you had asked me to ..."

His words trailed off in response to the gesture of dismissal in the wave of her hand. "Never mind, we'll get to that later," she said, "Sit down," signalling the straight-backed Shaker chair near her own. He sat, chastened by the sharpness of her admonishment.

She continued to flip through the papers, pausing to read here and there, flipping backwards and forwards as though to confirm or recollect some point. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic sound of the clock pendulum and the rustling of the papers.

Finally she laid the papers in her lap and removed her glasses, massaging the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. The sigh that accompanied this action conveyed a sense of exasperation, he thought, and he felt unnerved at the continued stillness in the room. While she still kneaded with her fingers, she broke the hush that pervaded the parlor.

"I have been reading through the material your Mother sent me. It is clear that you have been less than exemplary in your first semester at St. Andrews, "she said, slipping the glasses back on and picking up the papers.

"Dean Hartwick's letter to your Mother is quite specific and equally condemnatory in detailing the circumstances of your suspension. He lists, by my count, some eight infractions in just three months." Removing the glasses again, she gazed at him scornfully.

"Are you hell-bent in being thrown out of there?", she queried reproachfully.

"Not at all, Jane. In fact I want very much to graduate. I can explain..."

She interrupted this unavailing attempt at explanation as though it were inconsequential to her.

"Well your deportment places the likelihood of your graduating seriously in doubt, young man. It says here that absent some documentation of a substantial change in attitude, your access to an Ivy school by way of St. A's is improbable. I know Dean Hartwick, partly by reputation, and he is not one to overstate matters. Perhaps you'd do as well to consider a public high school and a state university."

"Of course not," he protested, "I want to get back into St. A's. I acted foolishly, but I..."

"Ahh, some progress;" she broke in, "accepting even token responsibility is to be applauded. But these acts of yours are juvenile, Michael, and they convey a serious lack of self-discipline and obedience to established rules. Surely you can appreciate a school as old and traditional as St. Andrew's demands and enforces rules for a purpose." She paused, examining the letters again. "Look at these...'absent from dormitory at 3:00 a.m. and later detained by township police'...'open participation in and encouragement of a rebellious demonstration in the dining room'...." She peered over her glasses at him again before she added " 'a "food fight!"' ...participation in an extended course of deliberate harassment of one of the oldest and most distinguished members of this faculty....' My God, it goes on and on.

Doffing the glasses again and using them now as an accusatory pointer directed at him she added "It is in no small measure that your late father's generosity to his alma mater prompts their equally generous offer of a second chance. But I can assure you that the demands laid down for achieving that second chance are not permissive in the least."

His ears burned perceptibly as he sat mutely through the litany and then the commentary on his behavior. Finding it difficult to persist in returning her stare, he averted his eyes in chagrin as she went on.

"Tell me please, what prompted these childish acts? Rebelliousness? Pubescent childishness? Were you attempting some feeble defiance of the authority and the rules through some misguided act of independence? Tell me, Michael, what prompted this asinine behavior?'

"They weren't my idea, Jane." I just went along with..."

Again she cut him off, haughtily and abruptly this time. "Just went along. Good God, young man, it's indecent. Those men at that school are charged with imparting discipline to you young fools every bit as much as they are to teaching you Latin. I trust your Latin skills are superior to your proficiency at self-control."

The comment was gratuitous and demeaning, and he gazed again at the floor as she continued her harangue. She stood above him now, having moved from the chair to be a nearly overbearing presence before him.

"Self control is everything in a young man who aspires to success--true success in this world. Most young men your age seem to realize this in spite of themselves. You must develop a deep and profound respect for the rules of the institution in which you find yourself. Initiative is one thing, but the performance outlined in those letters is moronic and bizarre. Open and willful neglect of convention and tradition will never be tolerated in the circles you aspire to. Do you understand that?"

She glowered down at him and his return of her gaze was fleeting as he meekly nodded assent. She stood silently a moment and then returned to her chair and settled herself gracefully yet seeming somehow domineering at the same time. Again she perused the documents. Finally she laid them down, removed her glasses and spoke deliberately and obdurately.

"I must take it then that your excuse for this insolent behavior is to be excused because you yielded to the "macho" pressures of your crowd, some of whom have been expelled. Clearly you have let your distorted sense of ego and identity get in the way of your common sense."

The lecture was beginning to wear him down. Twice now he had resisted the urge to rebut her insinuations, but he was restrained again by his Mother's insistence that he accede to Jane's direction and possible reproach.

"I suspect," she went on, interpreting his silence as agreement, "that must be the case. And if it is true, it is a trait you must disabuse yourself of. Blindly following the rabble out of a misguided sense of male bonding is ridiculous. More importantly, it is a repudiation of convention that people of breeding hold important. It is not any individual action, but the pattern of them that makes me believe you lack significant sensibilities." She referred again to the top sheet of the Dean's letter and quoted " 'exhibits an insolent disregard of refined behavior....' Would you not agree with that assessment?"

I don't know," he relied feebly.

"You don't know!" she scoffed in return. "Well I do, and my experience with boys just like you compels ME to agree with the observation. Now if you are so intent on graduating from that school, what solution do you propose for a modification of your attitude and conduct?"

He deemed the question rhetorical and knew his only answer would be another lame "I don't know", so he simply shook his head.

"I ask that question," she continued "because I am something of an unwitting player in your betterment. Your Mother is an old friend, and Dean Hartwick's concurrence in you're being sent here indicates he places some importance on my reassurance to him in the Fall that you have become civilized enough to return to classes."

There it was, he thought: the commission for this woman to manage his existence these next few months stemmed not only from the decision of his Mother, but was further endorsed by the Dean. He felt a sense of dread, a feeling in no small part derived by his belief that all this was leading up to something ominous.

"You see, young man, I have had experience with instilling gentility and refinement in difficult children of both sexes. I was, for many years, a headmistress -- coincidentally at Eastmore, the very school where you engaged in your midnight foray through the girls' under-clothing. I have had some small measure of success at cultivating grace and polish. And after meeting you, I believe I am prepared to undertake this task, as a favor to your Mother."

Silence again, leaving him to his thoughts. Her last words drew him forbiddingly further from a retreat from whatever penitential blueprint her mind was now devising.

"Let me put it this way," she said, as if a declaration of finality was beginning to form in her mind. "It is beyond dispute that you will not be readmitted next year without my commendation, and I am not planning to dispense that approval unless I see improvement. Secondly, that approval is not to be forthcoming unless you accede to whatever program I devise and do it with cheerfulness and resignation. Would you agree with that assessment."

With absolutely no comprehension of what she had in mind, he nevertheless surrendered to the inevitable and nodded assent.

"I'm still curious about this so-called "panty raid" at Eastmore. So sophomoric! Did you find it fascinating to rifle through those intimate garments? I have always been curious as to just what is it that prompts a young man to do that?"

His silence lingered and she went on.

"Probably more of 'being one of the boys', eh Michael? Still, it does give me an idea. Maybe that's the key. You know there is a practice prevalent in England for curbing defiance. The English call it petticoat discipline. Have you heard of it?"

He had not, and shook his head. The literal implications eluded him, and he surmised it merely meant submission to a feminine will.

She stared out the window, seemingly deep in thought, while tapping the stem of her glasses against her cheek.

"Yes," she announced with resolve, "that will be exactly it. Michael, I must exact from you a firm promise that you will unhesitatingly obey every command I give you, no matter how unpleasant or disagreeable you may find it to be. It will be, at least a start, to see if we can instill some self-restraint. If at any time I detect resistance, I will not hesitate to wash my hands of this endeavor and advise the Dean and your Mother accordingly. Is that agreed?"

It was an open pit, a solicitation of a promise to comply with her carte blanche. Later he would reflect that it had been his ignorance of what was to come and implicit reliance on her conventions that induced his promise to her. As soon as he had agreed, and re-agreed after a further restatement of her "rules", she told him to wait outside in the foyer and to send Beth in to her. He rose and crossed to the door, finding Beth seated on the Parson's bench outside the parlor. After relaying the message, he, too, sat down and waited.
 
 
Chapter 3.
 
From where he sat, Michael took in the vast walnut panelled foyer and the living room and dining room adjacent. He could barely glimpse the half open door to the huge, paneled library. He looked around, admiring the size and quality of the place. The house, Michael surmised, was really quite large. It was also very old. By standing and glimpsing through the Tudor windows, he could glimpse a pool, what appeared to be a riding stable, and a great deal of wooded property. In the brisk New England winter, he thought, it might be possible to practice cross country skiing in your own back yard.

Michael had been aware that Jane had worked for a time as a school headmistress -- she had told him so -- but he also recalled that his Mother had told him that she had worked as a business consultant before moving to this area. Somehow, Michael thought, she must have been a hell of a consultant to afford to retire to such a big place.

He was lost in the myriad of his thoughts as another drama played itself out in the adjacent parlor.

Jane looked up as Beth entered the parlor, politely curtsied and stood waiting.

"I have given him the ultimatum, Beth, and we will start phase two now. I realize it has been some time and you may have forgotten, but we need time to have him think things over and set the stage for this afternoon. I trust you will be good enough to handle lunch for me. It has all been prepared."

"Yes, ma'am," Beth replied. "Do you think he will be trouble?"

"I think not my dear. In many ways he has more to lose than you did when you came just six months ago." Turning a fond gaze at her ward, Jane continued, "You can be assured that by supper-time our intransigent young man will be accutely uncomfortable in his new metier. Anyway, see that lunch is set and then join us. You will have ample time to arrange things while he sleeps. Remember to use the colored sherry glasses. Oh, and tell Marie she can begin to set things up upstairs while we have lunch. He should be asleep in about an hour and she can finish things upstairs when he is."

Beth curtsied again and left the parlor to begin setting the luncheon table. As she passed Michael still seated on the parson's bench, a sense of deja vu emerged as similar events of half a year before played themselves out. 'How would THIS young man react to what the day held in store for him?' The thought intrigued Beth and an inward smile materialized with the reflection on the feelings of terror and panic that experience brought back to mind. Michael would soon experience those feelings, along with the accompanying sense of defeat and humiliation. In a way, he was to be pitied.

In just a moment after Beth emerged, Jane came out and impassively announced it was time for lunch. Still brooding from his earlier encounter with her, he followed her into the spacious dining room and sat at the only remaining place-setting after she had seated herself. He felt mildly gratified that his momentary lapse of manners at failing to assist her in sitting was not commented on. Indeed, she seemed oblivious of his being there. He was mildly grateful that she did not continue with her diatribe.

The door to the kitchen opened and Beth entered with a tea trolley laden with small sandwiches and soup. She placed one serving before each of them and left the room. The meal progressed in silence.

Throughout the meal, Beth came and went. She poured the tea, served the cake, cleared the table. And she did all this wordlessly, as though she was well trained in such things. Strange training indeed, thought Michael, for a school girl. His hostess seemed to read his mind, for she smiled and pointed to Beth. "Now this girl, she gave her parents quite a hard time. Still, removed from a harsh urban environment, Beth has turned out rather well in my opinion"

Beth seemed to look a little embarrassed by the sudden attention. " Thank you, Ma'am,..." she began to say. Jane softly but firmly interrupted, "Beth, I was speaking to our guest." Michael was surprised as he saw the young girl quickly go silent. He mumbled something polite about what a nice girl Beth was."Ahhh, Yes!", Jane smiled broadly. "She certainly is. Now. Oh, but the trouble she gave her parents over the years. Well! That much is over with at last. We see new improvement every day."

Beth returned with a tray of small glasses, one blue, the other bright ruby. The blue one she set down by Michael.

"It is my custom to have sherry at lunch. I welcome you to my house, Michael, and hope your stay is beneficial," she said, raising her glass ever so slightly.

He sipped the warming liquid, not fully accustomed to the wine.

As Michael sipped the liqueur, tired from his long overnight trip, Jane continued to talk, mainly embellishing the earlier conversation about proper behavior and the need for gentility and manners. Michael noted an occasional reference to Beth, about her earlier demeanor and the improvement she had shown. The conversation was somewhat personal,and he was glad the girl was out of earshot through most of it. It was also lulling, and,along with the wine, causing him to stifle an occasional yawn. Despite his fatigue, he did not object to a second drink, served to him by Beth.

Jane was droning on. "Yes, in time, all problems could be solved. It's so important for young people to curb their destructive behavior. In earlier days -- in Victorian England -- they had stricter standards of behavior. Young men and young ladies then knew their place. And they made out very well. Yes, in those days, society avoided a whole cache of social problems that plague us today."

She made a half gesture towards Beth. "A fine young lady now, our Beth is. Aren't you, girl?"

This time, responding to a more direct question, Beth politely responded," Yes,thanks you, ma'am."

He could no longer stifle the yawns which welled up, and he gave in to a broad yawn which he quickly concealed. He was suddenly incredibly sleepy.

"But enough of this. Michael, you seem tired. You should rest. Go up to your room and lie down."

Michael peremptorily thanked his hostess and Beth, admitting that it had been a long day for him. He carefully did not admit, though Jane could easily surmise, that the potent Madeira wine was also new to him. He did venture to say that Beth seemed a very nice girl.Jane nodded gravely as if confiding in him, after Beth had left. "She WAS quite a problem to her parents. Raucous, disobedient, destructive. A year removed from her previous environment was just what she needed. As I said, Michael, the Victorians knew how to bring up girl's."

Michael simply nodded, trying to figure out what this obviously eccentric statement meant to him or to anything, having difficulty focusing on very much around him.

"Yes.", she continued, " I find that, nowadays, young people need much more supervision. Otherwise they become coarse and unmanageable."

Michael listened, only half understanding. "Well, I guess they do, at that.", he suggested,almost instantly regretting his response. Curiously, the response seemed to greatly please Jane.

"Do you, now?" she asked. "Do you indeed! Well, my dear, I'm sure you and I will get along just fine! This is very good, indeed." Michael was happy that his she seemed so pleased, so little of his existence having done so that day. It boded well for his stay, he reasoned. And, it also seemed, it might indicate a short stay as well and her good offices, as well, both of which suited him just fine.

'This may not be such a predicament, after all,' he mused.

With that, taking up the suggestion, Michael excused himself and headed off to bed.

He climbed the stairs in rickety stance, having twice to steady his progress with a hand on the great maple bannister. He reached the room, opened the door and entered.

The sheets of his bed were turned down, a bedside light was on. Shedding his clothes in a disorderly pile on the chair near the bed, he removed his shorts and slipped beneath the covers. In moments he was deep asleep.

Michael stirred from sleep, confused at first with the unfamiliar surroundings. He gazed upward, and in the dim light he saw first the gauzy haze of the bed canopy, an eerie blue in the deepening afternoon shadows. He did not know it was late afternoon until he had glanced at the luminous glowing letters of the clock-radio and mentally translated the 4:30 into time. It took some moments for his foggy brain to rearrange the recollections of the day, then it fell into place and he recalled falling into the bed and quickly asleep. He had slept for nearly 3 hours.

He surveyed again the delicate furnishings of the room. It was so bloody girlish, he felt alien in these surroundings. He made a mental note to gently request that perhaps some chamber less dainty might be preferable. He hoped Jane would understand.

As he shifted his legs, he became aware of the smoothness of the sheets, and suspected they must be satin, and found another reason to pronounce the room unsuitable. But the silky touch imparted an unfamiliar yet exotic feeling. Childishly, he persisted in the slow motion of his body enjoying the tactile sensation the cool, slippery fabric provided.

His eyes now accustomed to the dim light, he surveyed the room yet again. His first internal alarm bell sounded when he could not see the overnight bag on the bureau where he was sure he had left it. He mentally retraced his first movements when he had entered the room and convinced himself that was where he had left it. It was not there!

Though he had been very groggy when he came up to bed, he was fairly sure that the had either dropped his shorts alongside the bed (as was his habit) or flung them on some nearby surface. Yet they were not on the floor nor on the chair or table. He sat up in apprehension and astonishment, and carefully scanned every object and surface in the chamber. They were not there! Neither, he noted, were any of his clothes. In near frenzy, he leapt from the bed to search beneath it, and in doing so, he upset the lamp on the bedside table. It crashed nosily as he lifted the dust ruffles and both scrutinized and felt beneath the bed. There was no question; all of his clothes were missing.

He was totally perplexed. Where could they be? Hazy as those moments before he fell asleep were, he KNEW that he had come into the room fully clothed and had undressed. His single solution to the problem was that, while he slept, someone had removed the clothes from the bed chamber. The logical next question was "Why?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, puzzled and distraught, and it was then he noticed the gown laid neatly across its foot. He grabbed it and spread it out before him. It was a peach colored satin robe, quilted with a bib-like front that was edged in small lace trim; clearly a girl's robe. In a state reaching panic, he stood and began negotiating the room, in hopes his own clothes were still there. He held the gown in one hand, as if it remained some feeble insurance against his nudity. He opened drawers and closets, but his search disclosed only womanly attire and no trace of his own things.

The sound of footfalls and the knock at the door startled him, and he eyed the distance to the safety of the bed and its covers. Before he could move, however, the door opened, and he was obliged to use the robe as a shield to feebly cover his unclad body. It was Jane, and as she entered, she threw the switch lever which illuminated the room with light from the table lamps. Her first glance was at the bed, and seeing it empty, her eyes quickly found him attempting to secrete himself behind one of the closet doors, the gown still in his hand.

"You needn't hide behind that door, Michael. Put something on and come out."

He was dumbfounded by all this. "My clothes are gone," he said helplessly.

"Don't be ridiculous! I can see you holding something perfectly acceptable to put on. Put it n!" she replied.

"You want me to put this on? I can't wear this. It's a girls robe."

"Of course you can wear it. And you have precious little alternative. I want you to come with me this moment, and you will either go in what you have or nothing at all. It is of no concern to me."

Her tone was indisputably definitive, and he was again bewildered by what was happening to him. She stood and glared at him, waiting. Ridiculous as it seemed to him,he drew on the robe and fumbled with the buttons. They were 'backward" and he found it complicated to fasten them. Nevertheless, he did, and emerged from behind the door timorously feeling foolish in this ruffled get-up.

"You look quite fetching" she remarked with some disdain. "Come with me."

His face reddened at her demeaning comment, but he followed her brisk pace down the upstairs hall and through the door she opened. He glanced furtively from side to side, hoping against hope no other member of the household would see him in this ridiculous outfit. He hoped he would soon be able to persuade Jane to return his own things.

The room he entered was a study adjacent to her own bedroom, he later learned. She made a peremptory gesture indicating he should sit, and he did, facing her over the desk.

"It is time we began your lessons, my dear young man. You have had your rest and time to think about tour conversation this morning. I might add I found your behavior at lunch fairly boorish, but that merely bolstered my earlier conclusions. I am convinced we will have it out of you by Friday..two days hence. That is the last day I will trifle with your conduct. After that, it is, as I said, out of my hands." He chafed again at this condemnation from this imperious woman. Guilt and remorse about the events that brought him here surfaced again. Along with those regrets, he felt a developing apprehension that was, in no small way, reinforced by his feeling of vulnerability sitting there in this ridiculous gown.

"I am going to give you a brief overview of the routine, Michael, and you will hear me out. That promise of compliance I exacted this afternoon is decisive and final. After you have heard me you will choose either to comply or we will be done with all this and you will go home tonight."

Here it was, he thought. This was where he would learn where this absurdity was all going.

"First of all, that garment you are wearing; you didn't like putting it on, did you? "she asked.

"Frankly, no," he spat out. "Where are my own clothes," he replied.

"Gone for some time, I must tell you. Tell me, though, how does it feel wearing that gown? It feels nice, doesn't it?"

"I feel like a fool. This is a girl's robe!"

"How discerning," she said sarcastically, "and now you come to the crux of it. While you are here, and until I deem otherwise, girl's clothes are what you WILL wear! Perhaps you may grow to like them, perhaps you never will. it is of no consequence to me either way. What insignificant to me is that in time, I assure you that you will be as adorable and sweet as lovely Beth."

He felt a surge of outrage mixed with panic at her words. Was this what she had alluded to before? How could she possibly believe he would wear such things. The objections to her suggestion flooded his mind and then, abruptly, ran headlong into the threat she had eloquently delivered that afternoon.

"Moreover," she went on, "we are going to begin in just a few minutes. Within an hour, you will not recognize yourself as the impertinent moron you have been...even so recently as at lunch. Beth is at this moment busy preparing things. Your indoctrination begins in just moments, Michael."

He began to protest. He would not be subjected to this nonsense. He could not be!

She cut him off. "It was just this that you promised, young man! Leave now if you want...dressed as you are. I will not help you. Call someone..your Mother perhaps. Dean Hartwick. This punishment is my choice for you and you will bow to this decision or face the consequences."

He felt tears of rage and misery forming within him and beginning to well in his eyes. He did not want her to see these tears, and he averted his face from her, feigning enraged disgust. He felt both outraged and helpless. The prospect she described was repulsive and detestable to him. How could he possibly submit to such debasement and the servile state she envisioned?

He wanted to run away from this place...flee before it went any further. But as quickly as that thought passed through his mind, he realized its futility, the mental image of a boy in a girl's satin robe hitch-hiking on the road outside was burlesque.

She left him undisturbed in his thoughts, letting the gravity of his situation to sink in. She could see and sense the discomfiture he was experiencing and she smiled inwardly. Thus was it all with all the bold, brazen young men. From experience, too, she knew that the defiance would diminish in direct proportion to the feminization that lay ahead. With some degree of compassion, she walked to his side and softly fondled his tear- stained cheek. He stoically pulled away from her touch, but remained silent.

"You will conform and submit, Michael. You will come to know that it will all be better for you that way."

She cupped his chin and turned his face up to meet her gaze.

"Come now. Make it easy on yourself."

He closed his eyes tightly squeezing the accumulated tears to trickle down his cheeks, then let his head fall as she released her hold. He felt drained and chagrined; his spirit and will incapacitated.

"Come, Michael...come with me."

He sat motionless for a moment then, with passive resignation, he yielded to her exhortation, and followed her out of the room.

Her footsteps led him through his own bedroom and directed him through the mirrored door which separated it from the spacious bathroom. Clouds of steam filled the room as the bathtub was being filled. He glanced into the tub and saw billows of soap bubbles floating on the rising water. Marie, now dressed in a crisp white uniform, was arranging towels on the vanity. The pastel room, being prepared for feminine pursuits, was like a dungeon, and he yearned to be out of this place. He felt servile and embarrassed. He was genuinely fearful.

As he stood there, awkwardly, Marie turned off the flowing water, and Jane's voice behind him ordered him to disrobe and enter the tub. As if anticipating his modesty, Marie turned around and busied herself at the vanity. Concealing his nakedness behind the robe, he slipped it off and quickly sought refuge beneath the concealing blanket of lather and sank into the warm water, burying his body to his neck.

Jane stood over him.

"I need not tell you how to scrub yourself, I presume," she said, tossing a cloth into the tub, "but merely to tell you to do it thoroughly. Impeccable cleanliness at all times is the rule of this house."

She turned to accept the articles Marie had gathered. Holding up a bottle of shampoo, she again advised him to use it, three times, she said, leaving the lather on his head for at least three minutes, showing him the clock on the wall. She set the bottle down on the ceramic edge of the tub.

It was the sight of the safety razor that startled him, for he knew instinctively that she did not intend him to use it in the traditional male fashion. He was correct, for she was explicit in her directions that every single hair on his legs and under his arms was to be eliminated and that his failure would invite the penalty that it would be done for him. The razor was placed beside the decanter of shampoo. Jane spoke brusquely as she issued her initial instructions.

"You have precisely 30 minutes. When you are finished and completely rinsed, there are towels there on the vanity, "she said gesturing. "YOU will also find a pair of underpants you are to put on. If you are chilled, put the robe back on. But be absolutely certain you are wearing those panties. There is shaving cream near the sink. Every facial whisker is to be gone, so make it a very close shave. Come into the bedroom when you are done.

Then both of them left him alone in the steamy bathroom.

"Remember, 30 minutes, or we come in and do it to you ourselves." Jane had said as she closed the door.

He lay there a moment and felt a slight chill in spite of the warm sudsy bath. THe bottle was labelled "Miss Clairol", a brand name that was vaguely familiar, though he could not recall any significance about the product except that it was shampoo.

He felt very alone and depressed. Yet he knew that the minimal time he had been allotted was waning. Gingerly he picked up the pink disposable razor and gingerly applied its blade to the skin of his left leg.

Nearly a third of his appropriated interval was consumed by the shaving. He had some difficulty reaching the thigh areas, and he had been obliged to stand up to execute the maneuver. While standing he also used the reflection of his upraised arms to guide the razor through the thatch of underarm hair, feeling the stinging rasp as he scraped the tender skin smooth. The activity was novel, but not dissimilar to shaving his face, something he had to do twice weekly. Except for the uncertainty of events to come, the bath was a neutral experience thus far.

Likewise the washing of his hair. He poured some of the golden liquid into his palm and massaged it into foam on his hair, rinsing and repeated the shampoo three times as she had told him. He quickly rinsed off with the shower wand and opened the tub drain as he stepped out onto the soft pile of the bath rug. He towelled briskly off, then hurriedly shaved his face, his eyes occasionally straying to the diaphanous garment that sat prominently to his left. He managed to finish the shave without a nick, his beard being sparse to begin with.

The briefs, though made of satiny tricot and without a fly, were not remarkably different than his own shorts, and it was thus not much of an onus to slip them on. He was, however, aware of their silkiness in his groin, a thought that took him back to that moment he had awakened just an hour before. Notwithstanding their lack of frills or lace, he was accutely aware that he was wearing girl's panties. The thought mortified him.

Though he was not cold in the still steamy room, his sense of timidity about being so scantily clad in front of these women prompted him to put the objectionable robe back on. A glance at the clock told him he had completed his tasks with two minutes to spare.

His legs tingled from the abrasive edge of the razor, but they were smooth and bare of any trace of hair. He hoped these efforts passed muster, for he knew her threat to rectify any mistakes in his labors was not an idle one.

With one last glance in the mirror, and a check that he had satisfactorily rinsed out the tub and hung the towels, he reached for the doorknob with a growing sense of dread.

In his absence, the bed had been remade, the shammed pillows leaning against the headboard and a ridiculous stuffed animal lounged against them, facing a delicately dressed doll on the blue satin coverlet. Marie and Jane were both there, busy at the vanity. The room was still bathed in the pastel light that filtered through the dainty lampshades, but a blaze of light streamed from the ring of small bulbs that ringed the vanity mirror, and from the recessed florescent lights above the full length mirror.

"Sit here, Michael," Jane said. "We are about ready."

He sat in the chair she indicated, feeling not unlike a patient awaiting some dread medical procedure. All around him lay signs of the female world that was rapidly taking control of him. Even the chair he perched on wore a skirt! He wished he were a thousand miles away.

He could see them opening drawers and examining the contents. Within those drawers he could see mounds of wispy garments. The top drawer of the dresser was filled with panties. Girl's underpants. In an unimaginable profusion. There were dainty yellow cotton hip-huggers; the waistband trimmed in tiny eyelets. Much more substantial peach briefs with lace side vents. Ridiculous red and white stripped string bikinis. A waterfall of dainty, girlish pastels flowed before him. Michael grabbed a handful of panties. He smiled remembering the panty raid at school that got him in such trouble. A ruefulness hit him again.

Jane turned around to him and said "Stand up Michael and let me see the panties you have on." He stood and shamefully opened the robe to expose the panties with their silver satin ribbon trim.

Jane said to Marie, "Yes, I thought they were white. We'll go with the white things this time."

She gathered up an article of feathery fabric and held it up. It looked like a t-shirt, in a way, though with thin shiny straps. It had a silky look, airy and loose. It was definitely a "non-masculine" garment. The thin shoulder straps were fastened to the with embroidered bows on the front. Also, he hadn't noticed the delicate lace inserts on each side. "This is called a camisole, Michael, and it is worn when a slip is not worn. Please pay attention and learn this, for I don't plan to repeat it."

She set down the camisole and picked up an item which sent chills through him, for he knew precisely what it was before she even began to tell him.

"And this, of course, is a brassiere...a training bra, actually, for a young lady with so little in front needs just the least bit of foundation. You will wear a bra at all times while you are here. Even at night until I say otherwise. If you are caught without the proper attire at any time, you will be dealt with, and I mean it. Panties and bra, regardless of whatever else you have on. Do you understand? Now stand up and take off that robe."

He sighed, it help ease the queasiness in his stomach. He stood on rubbery legs and let the robe fall to the floor. Marie advanced on him bearing the shimmering band of satin which was to be his tribulation and guided his arms through the straps, moving behind him to fasten the back. This activity took some moments, and it was later, when he toyed with removing it, that he discovered that the hooks locked in a way that they could only be released with another's help. She then slipped the camisole over his head, directing again the placement of his arms so she could adjust the straps, and then she pulled and adjusted the smooth, somewhat constricting garment down to his waist.

"You may be seated again, Michael. What I have to show you now demands some lengthy explanation."

At first he thought that the garment she held up in front of her was a set of curtains. As she unfolded it, he could see it was a skirt- like affair, with delicate circles of soft lace and eyelet arranged around a cone of silk, cotton, nylon. It was long, soft and flowing, with a ruffle hem and drawstring at the waist.

"This, young man, is a petticoat. You heard me mention petticoat discipline this afternoon, and it is from this garment that that term derives. I can think of few articles of lingerie that are more girlish and juvenile. This little item is the symbol of your station for some time to come, and it gives me great delight to put you into it. In fact, you are going to be favored with four layers of these tonight."

He was more chagrined, not only at the flimsy skirt she held out to Marie, but at the teasing and abasing words which she had spoken. He followed Marie's request to step into it, and his eyes met the gleeful twinkle in Jane's as Marie pulled the band of the petticoat up to his waist and tied the drawstrings. Three others followed, these pulled over his head, making a rustling sound as they settled into tiers of frilly circumference around his mid-leg. The crinolines flounced outward as the bulk of each rested on the one before it.

He was thankful he could not see himself in this ludicrous predicament, but it was as though Jane read his mind, for she summoned him over to the lighted mirror and forced him not only to look, but to swirl the skirts back and forth. She was clearly not impressed with his manner of swishing the skirts, for she made an off- handed but exasperated comment to Marie about how much needed to be done.

Standing there, the brightly reflection looked back tauntingly at him, mortified and humiliated. He looked like a goddamned girl. He felt lower than he had ever felt. True, there was a strange delight in the touch of these fabrics, and, he had to force himself to admit, an odd sensation of titillation in wearing clothes so obviously feminine. Were it not for the proximity of the two women standing behind him, he might have managed a slight smile of pleasure. But, of course, they were there, and their's was a demeaning presence. Nevertheless, amid this strange mixture of impressions, the overwhelming one was indignity.

The chair he had earlier been seated in was now moved to the vanity and he was directed there. At this point Jane stood to leave.

"I leave you to Marie's expert talents, Michael. You will mind her as if I were still here. When she is completely finished with you, you will come back down to my study." With that she left.

Marie occupied herself arranging items -- some familiar, others foreign to him -- on the dressing table. A he stared at himself in the mirror, he was quite certain that he was not going to like what was coming next.

Marie began with a hair dryer, directing its warm flow over his hair, using a small brush to first dry it and then coax it into a lightly curled fullness. He saw this through half-closed lids, the air flow causing his eyes to water when it touched his eyes. When he did clear his eyes, and the warm air dried his hair, he was startled to see that his hair was a lighter blond than it had been. He could not readily account for this, then concluded that it must have had something to do with the shampoo. And indeed it had, for just that afternoon Jane had selected the proper shade of tint she wanted. The color was now a more golden color, not loud or garish, but a soft amber shade with gold highlights.

Marie busied herself now behind him, at the back of his head. He could see that she was taken hair pins and placing them there. What she was in fact doing, was making a knot of hair in preparation of the next step. When she had done, she moved into the bathroom and returned with what appeared to be a fleece, of a color remarkably...not exactly like his own. He would later learn that it was called a fall, and it had been washed with the same shampoo that his own had been, and Marie had curled and styled it while he had slept.

She inserted the comb of the fall into the knot she had fashioned at the back of his scalp, bring a tear to his eye as it pulled his hair. Some more pins anchored the artificial tresses to his own hair. She then returned to his own hair, and with a hot iron, drew ringlets of it into soft curls.

When she was satisfied with the curls, both real and artificial, she produced a large blue satin ribbon and, wrapping it around the juncture of the fall and his own hair, tied it in a bow.

The image that reflected back to him was a peculiar mixture of familiar and obscure. He knew it to be him, the features were his own. But the cascade of curls which brushed against his bare shoulders, locks (for they had to be so labelled, now), different in color from what they had been that morning...all these cast an alien representation of his true self. Not having lost a bit of the chagrin he felt at his plight, he was fascinated with what he saw, as though he were looking at a distaff twin of himself.

His reverie was interrupted by Marie's voice, and he again assumed a hang-dog look and manner befitting his feeling of distress. She was holding up a skirt (of tafetta, he was later to learn). it was navy blue, and though it had a sheen like satin, this luster was more muted. Marie slipped this carefully over his head and her handiwork and lowered it to settle atop the bollowing petticoats. The skirt fastened, Marie reached into the closet and brought forth a lighter blue, pastel blue garment. This one did have the luminous gloss of satin, and as it was put on him, it fell loosely over the top of the skirt, The cuffs were elastic, so that after Marie had adjusted the sleeves, they blooused out at the wrist. Michael had seen that the collar which dropped down the back was piped with a contrasting color, nautical style. He stood immobile as Marie adjusted the middy blouse and affixed at the neck a ribbon which matched the one in his hair.

The next item was one he could, and, indeed was directed to do himself. He put on the long white stockings she gave him and pulled them to their height to his knees. Unfortunately, this deed was not done to her satisfaction, and as she made him stand, he could watch in the mirror as she folded down the tops of the stockings and let the lace trim form a cuff just below his knees.

The shoes followed next. By this point, Michael was resigned to foloow the taciturn woman's insturctions blindly. He slipped his feet into the patent leather pumps and let her fasten the straps and buckles.

He was dressed. he preseumed this was all of it and he could depart to show tasha what she had wrought. He was wrong.

Marie had him sit once more at the vanity and she brought forth a tray of small jars. Here again was an operation that filled him with foreboding. She was going to make him up. he had been made up before, for the stage in school plays. But somehow, this occurrence imported more than just dramatic requisites. Nearly more than anything he had experienced thus far, the prospect that she was about to paint his face made him queasy.

She began with a thin brown pencil telling him to keep his eyelids as still as possible as she traced a fine line beneath and just above each eye. Next, she took a small spong-like brush and brushed it over a cake of light blue and trasferred the color to his closed eyelids in long, delicate strokes. Again he was bade to curb his fluttering eyelids as she withdrew a bristled wand from a tube and daubed sienna particles of mascara on his lashes, stroking synthetic length and body into them.

When he looked in the mirror again, he was astonished at how the cosmetics had softened his eyes and added to the feminine countenance that stared back.

Marie dabbed spots of carmine rouge on his cheeks and then roughly stroked them until they blended into a faint pinkish blush on his cheeks.

The final significant moment of that queasy, menacing feeling he had felt to a greater or lesser degree this last hour and half, came when he saw the tube of lipstick being uncapped and the ruby shank rise from it as she turned the base. Long after this night, whenever he either had lipstick applied to him or had to apply it to himself, he would reflect on this moment. It was as though it symbolized the finality of the transition and the submission.

He felt a sadness as he mimicked the awkward contortion of the lips she demonstrated, and the color was spread over his lips.

Now she sent him to Jane. He glimpsed himself briefly in the mirror as he left the room and felt like he inhabited another body.

Michael closed the door to the bedroom as he entered the hallway. Although he didn't realize it at the time, he was also closing the door on his past life. A new lifestyle, carefully crafted and controlled by women, was opening for him. In his present helpless condition, he was unable to resist. Gradually, events he was powerless to influence, would shape him into a new, far more pliable young person.

Standing out in the hallway for the first time was a disorienting experience for him. At least, in the bedroom, he was more enclosed; shut off from the outside world. Here in the wide, ornate upstairs hallway, with its rosewood end tables and Persian carpets, he felt naked. The light was much brighter, it seemed out here. Also, inside bedroom, he had been forced to don this costume. At least, much as he hated his petticoated predicament, he had an excuse; a means to rationalize it, this isn't my fault. Now, standing alone in the open hall, what could he say if anyone met him. Here I am, a 14 year old boy, in petticoats, skirts, and a middy blouse. It was terrifying. Terrifying, but also, he hesitated to admit it, a little exhilarating.

Everything felt new. For instance, he immediately noticed the feel of his naked legs. This must be how girls feel all the time when they're wearing skirts, he thought. As he walked, he was embarrassed by an annoying itching on his freshly shaven thighs. He stopped, placed a hand on the wall to steady himself, and rubbed his legs together in an attempt to sooth his itching thighs. It was then that he noticed the pleasing sensation of his smooth tricot panties, the playful tickle of the ruffle hems of his petticoats; all four of them, and the smooth silkiness of his chemise. It was, he had to admit, a sexy sensation. Surely if he wasn't being coerced into wearing these clothes, it might even be fun- for a little while. Alone, in the privacy of his bedroom, with no chance of anyone finding out, it could have been quite arousing. But Jane had not given him any choice, that much was certain. And he didn't even know how long he would be humiliated in this most feminine fashion.

With that thought, he remembered Jane, waiting for him in the downstairs study. After his tense, strictly timed experience in the bathroom, he know he had better be prompt, much though he hated it. He left the wall, half cowering behind an endtable, and walked to the stairs. Almost immediately the sensation of the numerous petticoats surprised him. It was almost impossible to walk with these frilly girlish undergarments tickling his thighs. But far worse was the sound! In the silent hall, with its expensive carpet, polished brass fixtures and heavy furniture, the sound of his own walking surprised him. It was awful! The skirts!--he felt so utterly ashamed, actually swished as he tried to walk. He had never expected anything so demeaning. He was sure everyone in the house would be able to hear him. How could he ever enter a room with other people present dressed like this. With every step, the billowing female garments pulled and bounced and swayed. The sound of all this material pulling over itself made an absolutely sensuous sound. But not with me in it, he thought. Not with me being forced to wear these clothes. He paused and shook his head in dismay.

Everything that had happened so far, he suddenly realized, was contrived to bring him more and more under female control. And each step was far more degrading than the previous one. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. If Jane ever actually wanted him to go outside like this, he was sure he would panic.

He stood at the top of the stairs fidgeting nervously. He squirmed his shoulders uncomfortable in their new restraining garment. To him, the bra, a symbol of utter degradation, had dozens of tight, biting elastic straps. He pulled his arms and shrugged his shoulders trying to relieve the bra straps awful bite. He felt utterly powerless. Still, he reasoned, at this point, all resistance was useless. He knew, with fearful certainty, that he had better submit to Jane's cruel demands, and right away, or face even worse, unimaginable punishments.

With that thought, he steeled his nerves for the awful walk down the stairs. He felt naked as he stepped, with unaccustomed daintiness, onto the huge open stairway. A wave of shameful humiliation washed over his as the multiple layers of petticoats rustled and tickled him with each step. Now, a new embarrassment, as he descended the stairs, his entire skirt actually "Bounced" on the floating petticoats. He wanted to close his eyes. By the time Michael reached the first floor, his cheeks had turned a deeper shade of red than Marie had initially painted them.

He sashayed, shamefully, towards the study. Besides his embarrassment, Michael began to worry what other unpleasant surprises his "aunt" Jane might have in store for him. He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes as he stood before the heavy wooden door of her study. As the tears flowed, he knew that he would have no choice buy to accept whatever Jane demanded of him. He would have to change his behavior, or endure more of this unbearable, girlish torture. Timidly, the panty clad boy knocked on the door. "I'll be with you in a minute," Jane explained after opening the door. "Now, show me that you're going to behave yourself, dear. Sit quietly on that bench until I'm ready." With that, and not a word about his girlish appearance, Jane re-entered the study and closed the door.

Michael surveyed the long, hardwood bench opposite the doorway. It was unusually plain, considering all the elaborate ornate furnishings Jane had selected for her home. The imagery of a young school boy (or, shudder! schoolgirl, for that matter) waiting outside the principal's office was not lost on him. With an unceremonious plop, he heaped himself, and his billowing costume, on the hard wood bench. Michael sat, with his ankles crossed and knees spread wide, in a most un-girlish fashion. He still seemed, despite his lovely long tresses, billowing petticoats and ruby lips, to be very much a boy in a skirt. From the careless way he had seated himself, his lovely petticoats were all bunched up beneath him. The hem of his pretty flared skirt had been creased. Thus it was, seated in this way, with his arms spread along the backrest of the bench, that Beth found him.

"Care for a jellybean?" she asked coyly. The poor petticoated boy was so startled by Beth, he nearly jumped off the bench. In an instant, he realized his plight. He felt so mortified, so embarrassed, so utterly ashamed, at being caught in a skirt, by a girl, his own age. What would she think of him? He turned away from Beth, sliding roughly to the opposite end of the bench. Michael stared at the ground, unable to stand the prospect of her inevitable teasing. Beth remained silent as she approached the shivering panty clad boy. She walked to his side of the bench, then turned, and with a practiced ladylike gesture, smoothed her skirt beneath her as she sat on the bench. The result was that her petticoats fell evenly and her skirt remained unwrinkled.

"If its any help, I think it's a nasty thing she's doing to you" Beth said with genuine tenderness. Michael, his trepidation and shame so great, could only gesture weakly. "Really, I do.", Beth added. "Most of the time, Jane`s not so bad. But sometimes, she can be so mean that I can't stand her." Michael, slightly relieved that he was not being further humiliated, was able to relax slightly. Beth offered a tissue and the skirted boy wiped his tear- stained cheeks. Gradually, he confided in Beth that he felt so utterly humiliated. For her part, Beth tried to be supportive, friendly and understanding. "Did she give you the speech about when SHE was the Head "Monstrous" of a private school?" Beth asked giggling. "Well, from what I've heard," She continued, "She got Bounced out of there. Seems she was too nasty for most of the faculty to stand."

Michael smiled in spite of himself. "How long," he asked Beth eagerly, " do you think she'll keep me like this?" He was still so embarrassed he could hardly look directly at her. Beth tried to reassure him. "She's only doing it to upset you, Michael.Just don't let it get to you. And above all, don't give her any reason to keep doing it." Michael shivered in his skirts. "But what does she want," he implored. "Look, just behave yourself, she'll soon see this is ridiculous. I'm sure she'll lose interest. I bet she's just afraid of you, Michael. That must have been some heck of a report.

In this way, Beth gradually, skillfully drew Michael out of his shell. "I guess I was pretty wild." he finally admitted. "There, you see", Beth responded. "Jane's a just afraid you'll wreck her place. Now, if you just play it cool for a little while, I'm sure she'll stop this nonsense." This last suggestion finally succeeded in gain Michael's confidence, as it was calculated to do.

Jane had learned long ago, through many similar experiences, that constant direct force and threats were an inefficient way to break the spirit of a rebellious boy. Even with prolonged petticoat punishment, the final result was always uncertain and never the complete degree of subjugation she desired. Which was why, in Michael's case, Jane had decided to subjugate him, not merely with petticoat discipline, but also with a sort of good cop/ bad cop treatment. Jane, of course, was the bad guy. She, with Marie's artful assistance, directly threatened Michael. It was Jane who forced the poor boy into panties and petticoats and he knew it. But Jane also planned to use Beth as the "good cop" in Michael's transformation; at least for the present. It was Jane who would force him onto each successive stage of feminization; but it was Beth's job to make him accept it.

Beth, for her part, played her role skillfully. She knew well, from personal experience, what Michael was going through. Still, she didn't let that knowledge mollify her manipulative actions. Beth knew well that her only chance for freedom lay in helping Jane completely subjugate and transform Michael. Besides, she recalled, she would only have to play the role of the good guy with Michael for a little while longer. Beth suppressed an inner smile of vengeful anticipation.

Meanwhile, Michael was anxious to have an ally, a friend, anyone to whom he could confide in. "What does she want me to do?" he asked Beth anxiously. Now was Beth's turn to expand on the treatment which Jane had so forcefully begun. "Just try to cooperate, for a while." Beth explained. Michael just snorted with indignation. Cooperate! after what she's done to me! Ohhh! What I'd like to do to her...", he retorted. "Well then," Beth sighed, "if that's your attitude, you better get used to petticoats, I think you're gonna be wearing them for quite a while. Yes, indeed, my dear," she added, "at least through the summer. Maybe longer." Michael was aghast. Petticoats, for the next TWO months! HE was mortified. He was actually scared at the prospect. It was too degrading to think about. "Please," he was actively pleading with Beth now, "what do I do? I could never stand it! HOW can she be so mean?"

Beth explained to him that if his behavior improved, Jane might relent. For example, she pointed out his unladylike manner of sitting. Under Beth's guidance, Michael uncrossed his ankles, placed his patent shoes flat on the floor, and pressed his knees together. He smoothed down the lap of his billowing skirt and folded his hands in his lap. "Much better", Beth praised him. "still, Jane can't like what you've done to your outfit. After all the trouble she went through to get you dressed up, and there you go wrinkling everything." She then pointed out to the petticoated boy his wrinkled clothing. Beth had Michael stand and helped smooth out his skirt. "The best way to get out of trouble with Jane," Beth explained, "is not to get into trouble in the first place. This is one of the first things she'll check."

Michael stood before his seated companion as she continued to give him pointers, subtle, girlish pointers, on how to behave around Jane if he ever wanted to regain his freedom and his pants. While Beth spoke, she steadied Michael with her left hand while smoothing down the folds of his skirt with her other hand. Repeatedly she ran her hand, delicately, gently, down the skirted boy's rear. Stroking the back of his skirt, ostensibly to smooth the wrinkles. But as Michael stood there, up straight, heels together, toes pointed out, hands folded in front of himself, he was aware of a different effect. The warmth of Beth's hand on his thigh, the gentleness of her stroking, the teasing folds and frills of his petticoats all combined to create a warm pleasing stirring deep within his tricot panties.

"And another thing," Beth explained, "try to avoid getting your petticoats all tangled up during the day. It's just something that happens as you walk around with all this lacy stuff." Michael said nothing but to himself thought that was the one pleasant thing about this situation. The pleasant way the ruffle frilled petticoats worked their way between his legs. "Never, what ever you do, try to fix your petti's by hand!" Beth admonished. "That's all the excuse Jane would need to punish you" As an alternative, Beth stood up and demonstrated a "more acceptable" way to walk. As Michael observed, Beth sashayed down the hallway and back. "We don't walk like this all the time, of course. But when you think Jane is watching you, or you want to unbundle your petti's, this is the safest way to do it." Beth then told Michael to try it. Although he was initially reluctant, he quickly conceded when Beth reminded him about Jane's strictness. With self conscious awkwardness,Michael tried to walk down the lush carpeted hallway outside Jane's study as he had seen Beth do. She made suggestions and had him repeat his attempt several times, "to make sure you can fool Jane." On his last attempt, as Michael walked with his back to Beth, she allowed herself a smile at the sight. Michael was attempting to walk as Beth instructed him; swaying his hips to the left and then the right with each step. Also, she emphasized the importance of taking only little mincing steps. The result was a young boy, a training bra, petticoats, and a skirt, promenading down the hall. She had to admit, he already had an acceptable mince!

He looked so funny, she had to bite her lip to avoid laughing out loud. The time for that, she recalled, would come soon enough. Surely Jane would be pleased with her when she reviewed Michael's progress. And the tape recorder hidden under the hardwood bench would confirm Beth's sincerity and commitment to Jane. Surely Jane would at long last favorably consider Beth's own desire for freedom. But she was afraid of hoping for too much too soon.

When Jane opened the door to her study a few moments later, she was indeed pleased by what she saw. Instead of the disobedient young man she had to endure that morning, she saw the facsimile of a lovely young lady. True, much of that effect was due to her own, and Marie's skillful efforts. But the deportment of the young man in question was also quite improved. This certainly wasn't the way a rebellious 14 year old boy would sit. Michael's hands were neatly folded in his lap, he sat up straight, (showing off the minimal padding of his training bra), his knees and heels were together and his shoes flat on the floor. Beth had done her job well, Jane mused. She admitted the petticoated prisoner. Michael, eager to please, and avoid prolonged humiliation, stood up and sashayed as instructed. He lifted his rear and swayed left and right, taking the little mincing steps he thought would lead to his freedom. How foolish. How little he realized the each step only brought him closer to complete feminized subjugation.

Jane seated herself in a leather bound wing back chair. "Come here, please." she ordered Michael. The bra-clad boy stood before her, trying to win his freedom by enhancing his subjugation. Michael stood with his heels together, toes pointing apart, and back straight. He looked up, pushed his shoulders back (trying not to cringe as the tight elastic of his training bra pulled at his flesh). Finally, as Beth had suggested, he clasped his hands behind his back; palms together, fingers pointing down. Michael felt fearful and degraded by this behavior. He knew how pathetic and ridiculous he must look. But somehow, he hoped, this would be sufficient to assuage this domineering woman.

Realizing exactly what her captive must be thinking, Jane made sure she rewarded the behavior she wished to promote. She complimented him and expressed satisfaction with his appearance. "But remember", she warned sternly, "you must continue this much improved behavior through Friday, or I shall immediately dismiss you." She spent some time reviewing her litany of complaints against him, but she held out the promise that he could be reformed. This greatly encouraged Michael, who assumed this indicated a release from his petticoat discipline. But Jane did not elaborate, preferring to allow Michael to deceive himself. After a short while, he was dismissed and sent to the dining room to await dinner.
 
 
Chapter 4.
 
Michael walked into the dining room to find that the table had been splendidly set and the smells of cooking drifted in from the kitchen. Beth was already there, standing demurely behind her chair. She advised him that it was a rule of the house that neither of them was to sit until Jane entered the room and was herself seated. He stood timorously behind the tall-backed chair, imitating Beth's diffident carriage and pose. Jane entered the room despotically, and sat and placed her napkin in her lap. Following Beth's every lead, Michael seated himself and copied each movement, constantly fearful of committing some error of manner which would incur Jane's wrath. Dinner passed slowly,it seemed,yet he knew when the clock sounded seven times it had not been that long.

Conversation was succinct, most of it limited to Jane's continuing lectures on deportment and good breeding. Michael was grateful that precious little reference was made to him, for he had expected some attention to be focussed on him. He stole an occasional conspiratorial glance at Beth, and smiled gratefully at the girl's apparent concern at his plight.

Supper ended and over the demitasse, Jane finally centered her deliberations on him.

"I think we shall make an early night of this.," she said, glancing at the grandfather clock. "It will take a while for you to be prepared for bed, Michael. You have not done too badly today, after you and I had our little talk. I expect even better conduct tomorrow,for we have a lot of lessons to cover."

"Now say goodnight to Beth, and go upstairs. Marie is waiting for you." With that the was dismissed. He folded his napkin, and flashed a shy smile of thankfulness in Beth's direction as he bid her goodnight. Standing, he painstakingly walked from the room,remembering Beth's exhortation about his bearing and posture. As he passed through the foyer and up the stairs, he was again cognizant of the ruffle of the dainty petticoats and the taffeta skirt with each step. He hoped to himself that Beth's assurance that giving in to Jane's whims was the surest way out of this contemptible dilemma. He entered the forbidding bedroom that had become so symbolic of his exploitation.

AND SO TO BED...

Marie told him to undress, and she watched sternly as he followed her instructions to correctly hang the skirt and blouse and align the shoes neatly alongside the others on the shoe rack. Each petticoat was removed, and with the camisole, neatly folded and meticulously consigned to its appropriate place in the drawers. Marie directed him to the bathroom, handing him a soft powder blue nightgown of sheer material. He was to remove the panties, but to retain the bra and slip this new garment on. The ballet- length gown was adorned with lacy trim and petite ribbon trim and its ruffled-edge flounce fell just below his was knees. He deposited the panties in the clothes hamper as she had told him and returned to the bedroom to find her again busy at the vanity. She left the room only briefly to fill two small bowls with water which she carried back in and set on the table. One had a thin froth of foam atop it, and she brusquely plopped his right hand in it.

She sat along side him and examined his face. Picking up a pair of tweezers, she located some errant eyebrows and plucked them. The yank of the instrument extricating the tiny hairs smarted, but she was oblivious to his complaints. She continued the process,shaping the brow into a more graceful arch. In addition to the misery this operation dealt him, he felt worry that this particular routine imparted more of a permanence than the cosmetics or other indignities he had suffered.

Next she extricated his wet hand, replacing his other hand in the water. With an array of surgical-like gadgets, she manicured each nail. She then took a small bottle of nail polish, and stroked a layer of high gloss enamel on each nail, cautioning him to remain still until the varnish had dried.

As the enamel dried on his fingers, a tingling effect as it hardened tightening against the nails, Marie silently busied herself with removing the wiglet from the back of his head and the hairpins that had held it there, She brushed out the tangles, and then, with a comb, drew out a small strand of his hair, holding it in one hand while she dampened the strand with her other hand. With no waste of motion, she picked up a brush roller and began winding the hair around it, pulling it almost painfully tight against his scalp and securing it with a pin. She worked proficiently,repeating the process scores of times as she covered his head with the small cylinders.

He sat mutely, watching this new indignity being imposed in another purposeful belittlement of his virility. When she had completed her chore, she moistened each rod with a liquid that she dispensed from the nozzle of an aerosol container. She explained to him that the solution set the curls, as she told him he would see more clearly in the morning. In the light from the mirror he could glance down at his hands and see the sparkled that each fingernail gave off.

Almost as if on cue, Jane entered the room as Marie was tidying up the table. She examined her new protege, and smiled approvingly.

"All ready for bed, I see. Well, I want you to get a goodnight's rest, for we have a full agenda tomorrow." Placing her hand on his shoulder and caressing his skin through the silkiness of the nightdress, she went on. "Normally, you would remove your makeup before retiring, but I want you to be very aware that you have it on as you fall asleep tonight. Keep a mental image of that softly painted face you see. That's to be you for the future. Sweet, feminine, pretty little Michael."

Her words and the smile mocked him, and she could see the self- conscious blush spread over his face. She persisted.

"In fact," she said, taking up a lipstick tube, "Let's see you how well you have learned to put this on tonight."

Again he saw the tube rotate in her hands and a column of crimson emerge as she handed the cylinder of paint to him. He hesitated, how he hated this derisive abuse that she seemed to so enjoy. With a sense of disgust and near self-loathing, he took the tube and felt ridiculous again as he daubed the red stain on his lips.He accepted the tissue she proffered and blotted the color as she instructed.

"You're making some progress," she said. "In a while you may even become proficient. Indeed, we'll spend a lot of time tomorrow learning how we make ourselves pretty."

The choice of words irked him. Jane, apparently unsatisfied with his appearance had opened a compact of blush and with a camel hair brush, daubed added color over his face.

"Mind you, there will always be times when you are submitted to Marie's governance and mine. Part of your training it to feel the distress at being subdued by a woman's hand, feminizing and softening that rough exterior, making you appreciate the importance of having that coarse masculinity of yours suppressed under the guidance of a gentlewoman.

She seemed to emphasize each of these points with another whisk of the scarlet powder on his features.

"Such is your fate for the time being, Michael. To be an adorable, winsome little boy in skirts. I shall see you in my study for coffee and rolls at 8:30 sharp."

With that she directed him into bed, waiting at the door after Marie had departed, Once he had settled his head on the pillow and drawn the coverlet up over him, she smiled again and turned off the light and closed the door.

It had just gone 8:15.

Michael awoke and was immediately conscious of the barbs of the curlers again. As it had been the previous afternoon, it took a second or two to become familiar with his whereabouts. Then the realization settled on him and the remembrance of the preceding day began to play itself out like a film in his mind's eye.

He glanced at the clock and was glad to see he had not overslept. Jane had been emphatic the night before that he was to be before her by 8:30. He sat up in bed and picked up the detestable peignoir that matched this gown he wore. His feet slid into the satin slippers beside the bed, and he stood as he drew the second gown over him. The reflection in the mirror of the surrogate maid that he had become watched him as it aped his every move.

As he stood there and contemplated the "girl" in the mirror, he felt a recurrence of a feeling he had experienced more than once the preceding evening. The figure that stared back at him was not he, yet was. THIS was an appealing lass, he thought, an opinion that made him wince at what he was acknowledging!

Still, this odd sensation of coalescence with that figure in the mirror tantalized him. He was grateful he was engrossed in this inspection and these sentiments in private, for the dread of being seen like this still terrified him.

He had been peripherally aware of another sensation, which,as he now focussed on it, excited him in a more customary and familiar manner. He had woken with the usual daybreak erection,and the feathery touch of these wispy garments against his glans caused an electrifying stimulation there. Indeed, every part of his skin was being stimulated by the soft luxury of the material. He swirled the gown in an abbreviated pirouette, feeling self-conscious, but not caring. In spite of his own emotional aversion to all this, he felt both a flush of sensual tingle and an irrational envy of girls who experienced this pleasurable luxury all the time.

Michael entered Jane's study now filled with the more instinctive sense of despondency and embarrassment which was engendered by his costume and countenance.

He sat in the chair before her desk and accepted the strong coffee she offered him.

"This morning will be devoted to some practice with clothes and makeup, Michael," Jane announced. "Your face is a mess!"

He had noticed the dark circles under his eyes while he was cavorting with his mirror image in the bedroom.

"The reason we usually remove our makeup before bed. Though I told you otherwise last night, remember that in future."

She sipped thoughtfully at her cup.

"On the other hand, I don't like my boys and girls running around the house without at least a little color...even in the morning. So plain and ordinary! Therefore, after you wash up in the morning,a touch of color is expected. You will learn how."

He was mentally recording these instructions, for she had said at dinner he was to learn all these arts and would be punished if he deviated from the routine of the household.

"Now, about this morning. As you must be aware by now, this whole process is designed both to subject you to alien and unconventional lessons in attempt to inhibit what I have perceived to be a recalcitrant attitude. It is part of the English method I told you about. But there is more to it than that."

She paused, sipping at the cup and letting this sink in.

"My experience," she continued "(and this is the true essence of the 'English method'),she said parenthetically, "is that boys subjected to the regimen of petticoat discipline gain an insight into the feminine side of themselves, and of the world around them. I personally think that this is a valuable insight, for this world is filled with men who are totally insensitive to feminine things and disdainful of the elevated role of woman. So that is another component of your training."

"But enough of that. Think of it as just another bonus to your education. We shall talk again throughout the coming days about what it takes to be like a young girl of your age."

The colloquy was getting a little ahead of him, and he was attempting to sort it all out. He knew that the underlying theme forecast things that he would not like, but he was in an inferior position to object. She continued.

"So we come to this morning's program. When girls are young,they spend hours practicing with clothes and with makeup. Now while I don't expect you to display that same enthusiasm for the activity, it is a skill that believe to be important to your development. So this morning you are going to practice getting yourself dolled up and darling and precious."

God, he hated her choice of words. This tribulation never seemed to end, nor did it subside with the passage of time. New indignities seemed to spawn from her inventiveness. He speculated in vain about what she had in mind.

"Marie is now laying out your first ensemble. She will attend to your hair, which, I will warn you, is apt to be quite curly this first time. She will also guide you through this first session. She is going to supervise your training this morning and I am going to appraise your progress. I think the first phase will take about an hour. Pay close attention to what Marie shows you, for it will be important to you later."

She stood and refilled the coffee cups, proffering the plate of croissants to him. He selected one and bit into it.

"After she has done with you -- and you will be doing a good bit of it yourself -- you will come back here for my inspection. Looking lovely and proper, I presume. Is that clear."

She noted the subdued nod of his head as agreement, but would not let that affront pass.

"Michael, when I say something or ask a question, I expect a polite and audible 'Yes ma'am' in response Both good little boys and good little girls are expected to display that politeness."

"Yes, ma'am" he muttered"

"A little better; we will work on that. Now, by my reckoning,it should take someone about half-an-hour to get dressed and made-up. So after I have inspected you, you will return to your room and do it all over again. it may be a whole change of costume, or merely a correction of some shortcoming I discover. But in each case, you will cleanse away all traces of the makeup you have on and redo it from scratch. New colors, new cosmetics...whatever Marie decides. Is that also clear?" She knew the time she was allotting to the procedures was scant, but that was part of the indoctrination.

"Yes, ma'am," he articulated this time, equally without enthusiasm.

She glanced at the clock.

"We will be having lunch at 12:30 today. By my reckoning, that will permit you at least four practice sessions. Perhaps you will be developing a little art and proficiency by the end of the morning."

She sat on the edge of the desk, directly above him, and went on, "Now, if you are late, or if you are not properly put together each time, you will be punished. I believe this exercise to be a very meaningful part of your education. Unless I see some cooperation and progress by noon, you may be repeating the lessons well into the night."

As he finished the bun and coffee, ruminating, no doubt on her words, she, too, deliberated on this whole plan. The timed drill she had derived from her brother's reminiscences from his military days,and it was pure harassment. "An inspection every thirty minutes in a totally new uniform" was a way in which drill instructors taught not only uniform assembly but instilled discipline. The frustration that Michael would be augmented by the repetition of the acts she knew he found to be abhorrent. Friday was but one day away and she was certain she was winning the war of wills in this struggle for compliance.

She also knew that her threat of prolonging this enterprise into the evening was an idle threat. Whatever level of competence had been achieved by 11:00 or 11:30 would suffice for today. The finesse of feminine arts and skill would take weeks, not hours. No, before noon she had another devilish scheme in mind.

Whatever measure of competence Michael had achieved by 10:30 would no longer be implemented on himself. Her thoughts had earlier strayed to Beth and the events of the previous evening. After Michael had left, Beth began whining again about having done as Jane had instructed and snivelling about be able to leave here now. In the brief tiff that had ensued, Beth had exhibited a degree of surliness and insolence that warranted some firm correction. Moreover, she could not suspend Beth's management while concentrating on her new protege. She smiled inwardly at her own shrewdness. Beth would know that defiance meant reversion to more childish fashions and appearance, and was probably anticipating at least an hour of that punishment. What Beth could not foresee was that Jane would place Beth at the hands of Marie to effect the transfiguration of Beth into a more infantile appearance. The Shirley Temple outfits, Jane decided. Two little petticoated goldilocks at lunch! Beth of course would be devastated, not only by the retrogression into those clothes, but by the shame at having it done so that Michael would see the humiliation of it. It was delicious!

Lunch would suffice for the punitive period, and afterwards they would be allowed to change -- sundresses perhaps -- for Beth was to take Michael on a tour of the grounds this afternoon. Michael's first outing in ruffles, with the inevitable meeting of the groundskeepers, Hal and old Tom. Jane enjoyed another warm inner smile which spread to her lips as she contemplated the poor young man before her.

Michael had finished now, and Jane noted the time. It was just going 9:00 a.m.

"Get started now, Michael, my dear. Marie is waiting. I'll expect you back here at 10:00."

Michael entered the bedroom and found Marie had laid out clothing on the now-remade bed.

"Miss Jane had me lay these things out for you. But the other times I am to give you just a list and you must do everything yourself. Please do it well, for she gets very upset. Now come here and I will start on your hair."

He sat on the now familiar skirted stool before the mirror and she began extricating the pins and pulling the tight rollers from his hair. He felt a sense of relief to be rid of their prickly barbs. As she pulled each rod away, the tight coils of hair sprang back to his head and remained a taut ringlet. When she had removed all the curling wands, she began combing, teasing and pinning the tresses, fashioning a petite hair style that was, in essence a wreath of golden ringlets about his head.

He was cognizant of the time ebbing as she finished. She showed him the panties and satiny garter belt, showing him how it fit around his waist (outside the panties, Miss Jane insisted). The cami he was conversant with from the previous day, and the half-slip was, in essence a single shimmering petticoat. Marie was, however, most explicit in the manner in which he was to put on the gauzy nylon hose, and, after he had donned the other garments, she coached his rolling them up and letting them glide up his smooth legs. He was sensitive to the silky constriction with which they bound his legs and an odd coolness they imparted.

He felt ill at ease as he stood up and Marie's hands fumbled beneath the skirts while she demonstrated how to fasten the garters to the top of the hose. Marie emphasized the constant need to always inspect the whole effect in the mirror, turning this way and that to ensure everything was in place.

He sat at the makeup table and followed her coaching as he attempted to duplicate her expertise with eyeliner, shadow and mascara. He had a little better luck with the rouge and he had already gained some mastery of the lipstick. The eyes did not look right, but the clock was rapidly approaching 10:00. He still needed to dress.

He put on the blouse he handed him, a white cotton blouse with a petite peter pan collar. AS with the robe the previous afternoon, again he found the buttons to be backward, and he fumbled his way through them. Next he slipped the plaid pleated jumper over his head, careful not to disturb his hair, and slid his feet into the pumps on the floor. He had scarcely half a minute to negotiate the hallway to Jane's study. He smoothed the skirt of the dress and knocked discretely on her door.[Comments and critique, Jane?]

He raced back to the bedroom for the next change. As he burst in, already pulling the jumper over his head, again, trying not to mess the curls, he glanced at the second list. It required he removed the garters and hose, and he did this in the bathroom, dropping them in a heap on the hamper. He spread the cold cream over his face as Marie had told him, rubbed it in and cleansed all traces of the cosmetics from his face. He washed quickly with a soapy cloth, dried and returned to the bedroom.

The second costume called for petti-pants and anklets. Apparently he could keep the slip and cami on, so he must find the lacy petti-pants. He opened several drawers, amazed at the profusion of dainty things laid out in them, then finally found the dainty sateen bloomers slipped into them, experiencing again the thrill of the soft material on his bare legs and against his groin. He pulled the sox on and busied himself again before the mirror. He was more carefully this time sketching the lines below and above his eyes, and he found that the brown mascara wand had a shape which made application easier. A paler rouge this time, then the blush and the ubiquitous lipstick, this one a more peach shade. Marie offered the occasional instruction, and he made what correction she could as she admonished him. In the rush of meeting the deadline, he did not have much time to reflect on the distress of playing the sissy to Jane, though he was not unaware of the unmanly pursuits he was being forced to engage in.

The dress took some time to find, a lacy and very ornate party dress amid the profusion of such frocks in the spacious closet. It had a peach satin sash,and it took a precious four minutes to affix it properly. Mary Janes this time, with the further delay that their tiny straps and buckles consumed. He rummaged through the drawers to find the short white gloves and raced out the door with some five minutes to spare. He ambled more slowly down the hall this time, again keenly mindful of the swish that whispered from the rustling brush of ruffles beneath the skirt and the whirring note that the rubbing nylons made against each thigh.[More analysis/tutoring?]

He repeated this drill twice more. The second costume was not unlike the first. A pinafore (he had to ask Marie for help in locating it, the term being totally alien), hip-huggers, two petticoats this time and he had to squirm back into the garters and gingerly draw the delicate hose back on. The makeup took a little less time, though he was more meticulous about it after Jane's last tongue-lashing. In fact, he felt a sense of achievement as he finished the blush and applied the lipstick in an even margin within his lip line.

It was the shoes that gave him trouble this time. Instead of the flats he was used to, these had a 1" heel, and his pace down the hall was more unsteady this time. Moreover, the pace of the changes had dislodged some of the curls, and despite the neat appearance he thought he presented and the more careful application of the paint, she was less than complimentary about his efforts. Amid the feelings of silliness that pervaded this appearance, he felt strangely disheartened that he had not met her expectations.

And so it was that she directed Marie herself to conduct the last change of apparel, repair the makeup and the coiffure. He resignedly returned to the now-disheveled room and stripped off everything he had on.

The last outfit was a true indignity. The more androgynous underpants were replaced now by very ruffled, little girl's panties. Three layers of petticoats shorter than those he wore last night were draped over these; starched, stiff crinolines which stuck out far from his legs. The anklets returned, embroidered with small roses. Mary Janes again, which Marie charitably fastened. The dress itself was another party dress, this time a princess party frock with a short skirt that allowed the crinolines to peek out from the fringe,and an enormous satin sashed bow that Marie lavishly fashioned in a large bow in back.

She then painstakingly corrected the mass of curls using her combs brushes and the curling iron. Then she added a touch of fresh color to his cheeks, eyes and lips. As he stood before the full-length mirror, watching her affix the large bow in his hair, he observed that the outfit was obsequious not only in its femininity, but in its childishness. He looked like a teenager masquerading as an eight-year old. More importantly, he was acutely aware that he was a teenage boy masquerading as a pretty seven-year old girl. He almost wished he were back in one of the more grown-up styles he had worn earlier. With a profound sense of chagrin, he clacked down the hallway in his patent shoes, petticoats bobbing, and went to lunch.
 
 
To Be Continued...
 

 

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Author's Note: Second Season The Continuing Story of Michelle and Aunt Jane by Tigger Copyright 1996 Based on the Characters and Situations presented in "Seasons of Change", by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989 and reposted by Karen Mitchell in the summer of 1996. No part of Mr. Lawrence's original work has been changed in the writing of this story. ~Tigger

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction intended for the entertainment of adults in localities where it is legal for them to enjoy this type of work. If you are not a legal adult, you should not be reading this and moreover, you are abusing the trust someone put in you when they gave you access to the Internet. If it is illegal to read this, then you already know that you are violating the terms of your Internet access. Please leave. If you don't enjoy adult or erotic stories, why are you here?
 

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Part 1: Michelle's New Sister
 
Jane was working at her desk in her study. Indian summer had arrived with a vengeance, warming the early autumn day and making the air softly sultry. Jane had been trying to organize her thoughts concerning Michael/Michelle in preparation for making her regular periodic report on her charge's progress. Normally, Jane phoned her old schoolmate, Barbara, but that was not possible. Barbara was off on another of her jaunts and was not available by phone. Not to her. Not to Michael, either, should Jane have allowed or should Michael have truly needed such a contact. Jane wondered how often Barb had been unavailable to him in the past. Would he be demurely sitting in her garden at this moment, elegantly turned out in Laura Ashley fashions if his Mother had had more time for him earlier in his life? Well, he *was* in her garden. Michelle had continued to make major strides towards getting out of her skirts and on with his life again.

Why that bothered her so much she could not say, but it did cause her some consternation. She had felt sad when her girls graduated in the past, but this was different, stronger. Sighing, she castigated herself for the non-productive tail chase her thoughts had devolved into. None of this was getting the letter written. With a physical and mental shake, she set her pen to paper and began the letter to Michael's Mother.
 
 
Dear Barb, October 1

How are you? Hope you enjoyed your trip. By the time you actually read this, we will have to make a decision about Michael's future here and at St. Andrews. I am sending this letter now so that you will have the benefit of my current thinking when we talk at the end of this month.

Everything is going well. I know this sounds cliche'd, but it is almost going too well. Don't know why I am concerned, but I am. Michelle, (pardon me, but that is how I think of your child now and I will probably mix my names and genders throughout this letter) is doing remarkably well. Amiable, mature, refined and polite. She now consistently strives toward, and achieves every goal I set for him, without complaint or demure. Just pleasant resolve. As I told you in our last phone call, I was very concerned when the boy I had planned on becoming Michelle's little sister did not materialize for us. Turns out that he went off the deep end and assaulted a security officer at the temporary juvenile lockup facility he was being held at while awaiting his preliminary hearing. The original plan was for the judge scheduled to hear the case (another of our sorority sisters) was going to offer him the choice of spending the rest of his minority at reform school or coming to me. After his attack on the guard, the state's attorney has decided to try the boy as an adult. He will be a guest of the state for the next few years. Frankly, I do not need that type of violence in my home but I was saddened for Michelle's sake. However, her recent progress has been unprecedented in my experience - I have released charges who had shown less progress than he has in these past weeks. And yet, it has been so fast. I would like to believe that his final 'tete tete' with his big 'sister' before he left us in August is at the heart of this maturing, I am still wary. Something has happened. Something that I did not cause and that is outside of my not inconsiderable experience in these matters.

I believe that a major part of his sudden development is his flowering romance with the girl I told you about after the dramatic production last month. You remember her? Karen Austin? She is a lovely girl with a very strong will and personality - reminds me of us when we were in school together. Very smart, very together and Michael adores her. I have been permitting them to date occasionally and to spend some time alone together on most weekends. Michael is permitted to do his courting in male dress, although he still cannot undo all of the little feminine touches I insist upon when he is home. And if his eyebrow lines are a little under-done the morning of a date, I don't mention it as long as he is following the other rules. I think the fear that I might "ruin" a date of his, or force him into some feminine fripperies when calling on Karen acts both as a spur and as a deterrent to our little girl-boy. He must really enjoy spending time with Karen because our little Michelle comes back from these encounters even more determined to excel in her feminine studies and deportment.

I went out with them two weekends ago to spend the afternoon at the historic Plymouth Plantation. Karen's Grandmother was supposed to come with us but had to cancel out due to the heat. She is quite elderly and not very strong. Karen almost canceled out to be with her, but in the end, Michael and her Nana prevailed on the girl to come along. In any case, I was very pleased with Michael's behavior that day. Even without the constraints imposed on him as Michelle, he was a gentleman throughout. He did not even take umbrage when Karen teased him about how he would look in early colonial dress - women's colonial dress that is. I think Karen was amazed at how well Michael carried off his role of Alice and is not above gently needling him about it at times. Michael merely smiled with benign dignity and gave her a hug. No blushes, no stammered denials, just simple acceptance of her little joke. If I did not know him better, I would have sworn he even enjoyed the exchange with her.

Now that I think about it, that may be the largest part of my misgiving about his emotional and mental state just now. With Karen, the Michael I saw is a confident young man, secure in his masculinity and in the regard of the young woman he was with, yet softer and more sensitive in his approach to her and to his surroundings. As I said, truly a gentle man in every sense of the term. And yet, when she is at home with me, dressed in her skirts and camisoles, Michelle comes across as the epitome of genteel young womanhood. Faultless manners, impeccable grooming and appropriate cosmetics combined with a demure and smilingly pleasant disposition. The latter I can accept because nothing less would be accepted and she knows that, but he seems to have jumped an entire phase of my learning process and that has me concerned. Normally, the experienced boy more clearly perceives the benefits derived by his "little sister" when he watches over her as she begins to change during the admittedly harsh days of initial petticoated humiliation. And yet, he has somehow become almost completely comfortable with his femininely-gentled masculinity. If this is an act, it is the best I have ever seen in all my days of petticoating adolescent males. If he is faking this, I don't know what I can do, short of completely exposing him as a sissy, to get his attention back. And I can't do that - the potential harm to both of us is simply too great.

Ah, I don't know. Maybe I have grown too comfortable with my time proven process of character reconstruction. Maybe I have become a creature of habit who wants things to go my way all the time. On the positive side, to give you an idea how comfortable Michelle is becoming with me, last week she played a prank on me worthy of a sorority sister. She slipped into my room one afternoon while I was out and replaced my cosmetics with some of the long lasting ones I used on her early on. Little minx knew I was going on a date that night and that I would be dolling up. Yes, I still use a heavy hand with the eye makeup when I am on the prowl, dear, and who taught me how, hmmmm? Well, I spent the next four days in full war paint until it finally wore off. Of course, Michelle spent those four days and a couple more in her little girl clothes playing with her dolls as punishment, but even that indignity was accepted with grace and good humor. The little stinker even teased me, in a sweetly feminine way of course, about my "high color". I almost choked trying not to laugh out loud because she did it so perfectly. You know, I could almost get used to having her around all the time if this is the way she is going to behave from now on.

The other good report I have for you is that since it is now the school year again, I, as School Mistress, have instituted home learning lessons. Dear? I think that much of Michelle's problem at St. Andrew's was simple boredom. That child is so smart it is scary, and I don't believe she has ever been properly challenged in the classroom in her life. She has been using that nearly photographic memory of hers to regurgitate the teachers' own opinions back at them. Well, I will challenge our little miss, although that will pose quite a challenge for me, as well. Our lessons, of course, have a decidedly feminine bent to them. Besides the obvious (Michelle is turning into a superb cook), we have plunged headlong into some very unique academic investigations. Geometry led us to building our own embroidery patterns, which in the normal course of learning led us to the study of blood chemistry. Getting bloodstains out of white embroidery linen is so difficult, isn't it, but it is better than having to start our sampler over again each time we stick our fingers with the needle. Our history project for the semester involves discovering the forgotten women of the past. I was surprised at the fervor Michelle showed for this effort and became suspicious that it might have been the opportunity to go to the library dressed as Michael and not interest in the project that prompted his dedication. However, Michelle continued the library research after I ordered no more boy clothes at the library. I am not a historian, but I think what she is developing may be suitable for publication.

In any case, Michael will be far ahead of his contemporaries when he returns to St. A's after the New Year. As I write these thoughts out for you, I have reached the conclusion that you can plan on that eventuality now, my dear. Whatever my misgivings, I think Michael will have earned his trousers by then. Well, I have to go and get this in the mail.

With Love, Jane
 
 
Jane stuffed and stamped the envelope and sat back in her favorite chair in the study. Outside her window, she saw Michelle, dressed in the soft sweater and skirt set she and Marie had just purchased for her. She was reading something very intently under a shady tree in the garden. Another psychology book, probably. Know thy enemy? Jane wondered if she was still the enemy. Maybe it was "know thyself", instead.

Sighing resignedly, Jane reached for the calculus textbook that a professor friend had recommended as a good review text. Keeping two steps in front of her young miss, academically, was not nearly as much fun as planning her sissy's next little embarrassment. Then she glanced again at the look of fierce interest and concentration on Michelle's lovely face. It might not be as much fun, but it was certainly satisfying in another, deeply personal way.

Michael sighed and put down the book he had been trying to read for the last fifteen minutes. It could not compete with his contemplation of this evening's date with Karen. He would go upstairs and find the male outer wear Jane permitted him for dating, then take the bus over to Karen's Nana's house where he'd change back into Michelle for Karen. The irony of that double switch, and the fact that Jane did not know of his double-double life amused Michael greatly. Here Jane was making this huge concession, letting him be a boy again for his girl, and he would change back to a girl for his girl friend. He chuckled softly at the image of Jane finding out.

Karen had threatened him with something she called a "chick-flick" for tonight's entertainment, whatever that meant. Going out dressed didn't frighten him when Karen there with him. She helped him, encouraged him, praised him and generally kept him out of trouble. She would not expose him to the humiliation and ridicule of being discovered as a boy beneath his skirts as he had once believed Jane would have done. Besides, outings like the one she had planned made Karen very happy. And very horny, he thought. The unfeminine grin curling his mouth was completely at odds with his perfectly made up face.

Later, they would return to her place for more of Karen's lessons in the arts of dancing and lovemaking. Making love to Karen, or having Karen make love to him was about the most affirming things he had ever experienced. His groin tightened in response to the deliciously sensual thoughts and he groaned as his tight satin panties painfully restrained his growing erection.

Michael realized, even if Aunt Jane did not, that it was Karen's acceptance of his feminine side that gave him the confidence he now wore along with his male clothes. Karen liked *him*, enjoyed being with *him*! That made everything else easy to bear. Heck, Karen enjoyed her 'girl friend' so much, he'd taken to working even harder to perfect those little skills and habits. Her pleasure was a much stronger motivator than his own self interest or Jane's increasingly hollow threats. He was even starting to like Jane, although he had been as yet unable to express that. Surprisingly, he'd been disappointed when his "David" had not shown up. That was just as well, though. He could spend more time with Karen.

Sighing softly, he picked up his book, brushing off his skirt as he stood. It was hot and he was thirsty. He strolled toward the house and saw Jane talking on the telephone through the window in her study. Maybe she would like a cold drink, too. He was moving toward her study door when it crashed open. Jane was frowning and looking very concerned about something. "Michelle, Karen is on the phone for you and she sounds very upset. She won't calm down long enough to tell me what is wrong."

Michael broke into as fast a run as he could manage in his calf length skirt and heels. Snatching up the phone, he forgot himself momentarily and used his Michelle voice. "Karen, what is it?"

"Michael? Is that you?" Her voice was breaking on every syllable and he could feel her misery.

Michael deepened his voice and replied, "Yes, luv, it is me. What is wrong?"

"Oh god, Michael, Nana collapsed," racking sobs broke from the girl and she struggled to regain control. Words came out in a rush as she tried to talk faster than her tears. "and I could not get her to wake up. I called 911 and they just took her away. I begged and begged, but they wouldn't let me go with her. I am too upset to drive. Michael... What if she DIES???"

Michael cut in with sharply commanding tone that brought Jane's head up in surprise. She did not think he could speak that way. "Karen. Where are you?"

"Home, Michael. I am home." came the weepy, near hysterical reply.

"We will be there in fifteen minutes. Hang on, luv." Michael hung up the phone and turned to Jane. "You heard?" She nodded. The girl's voice had been loud enough to carry the short distance to Jane. "Let's go. She needs me." He turned and headed purposefully toward the door.

Jane caught up with him at the main entrance hall and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Michelle.... MICHAEL!" He turned to her, an impatient glare on his face. "Michael. Look at yourself. You can't go dressed like that. You have to change, first."

Michael looked at himself with a critical eye in the hall mirror and shrugged. He ran up to his room and came down seconds later, still outfitted as a girl, but carrying his matching purse. At Jane's disbelieving splutter, he smiled grimly. "This will have to do." as he headed again for the door.

Jane, however was still concerned for his security and well being, and stopped him again. She saw his determination to go to Karen. "Are you sure you can pull this off? In all likelihood, we will be going to the hospital."

"I have to do it this way, Jane.. For two reasons. One, there isn't time - Karen needs me and she needs me now."

Jane nodded, recognizing the depth of his feelings for this girl. "And the other reason, Michelle?" She asked softly as they hurried to the Lincoln.

"Nana only knows Michelle." He said softly. "She has never met Michael and does not know that I exist as anyone other than her granddaughter's special girl friend." Jane was floored and wanted to ask a thousand questions, but Michael was already buckling himself into the passenger seat of the car. Jane promised herself that she would follow up on these revelations after the crisis had passed.

The trip to Karen's house was passed mostly in silence. Not because Jane wanted that way, but because as soon as they were on the road, Michael pulled down the window visor lighted makeup mirror and began repairing Michelle's face with cosmetics from her purse. Once that was done (and done very well, from what Jane could see out of the corner of her eye), Michael lapsed into a sober meditative mood that she interpreted as his way of dealing with the enormity this action. Never had one of her charges willingly exposed himself to an outsider as a girl boy, before. Jane felt a deep pride in her charge's willingness to make this sacrifice for a friend.

Or was it a sacrifice? What had Michelle said? Nana only knew Michelle? And Jane knew that Michael spent much of his free time with Karen at the grandmother's house. The grandmother spoke with a French accent. When Jane had called her to discuss Michael's visits, she had thought nothing of the name the woman saying "Michelle". Jane had thought she meant "Michel", the French translation of Michael. The imp had been voluntarily dressing outside her house. For Karen, obviously. No wonder he had changed so much so fast.

Another thought struck her. Had the pair been sexually active? She shook her head at the absurdity of that question. Michelle had spent the night the night of that date sleeping over at Karen's. Michelle had said that Nana only knew Michelle, so it had been as a girl that her charge had spent the night. And girls on a sleep over share the same room. Yes, they had been sexually active and if Michael's male confidence was any indication, they had done it quite well. It also explained why Michael had not bridled at Karen's teasing about girl clothes at Plymouth. Contraception? Lord, she hoped so.

They pulled into Nana's drive and a frantic Karen ran down to meet them. Michelle jumped out of the car before it was fully stopped and meet her halfway. Her ward pulled the distraught girl into a comforting hug that was at once masculinely protective and possessive, and femininely gentle and caring. Michelle held her until she had calmed enough to talk to him a bit and then the pair moved quickly to the still running car. Both young people got into the back seat and Michelle told Jane what hospital Nana had been taken to for treatment.

Michael rummaged in his purse and pulled out a hankie which he gave to Karen. Shock showed on her face as she finally realized how he was dressed. Dazed, she blurted, "Michael, you're Michelle!"

Strangely, that broke the tension a little and both Jane and Michelle laughed softly. "You don't know the half of it, Karen dear." Jane said. That made Michelle smile again.

"True, Aunt Jane." He turned back to Karen. "Look, luv. There is a lot you don't know, but I promise to tell you the whole of it later, okay? For now, though, I think you and Nana need Michelle more than you need Michael." Karen looked at the beautifully feminine face that had become so fascinating to her in the past weeks and saw the caring. Nodding, she cuddled closer to her boy/girl friend and let herself be held in silence for the remainder of the trip.

The hospital emergency room was what all hospital emergency rooms are: semi-organized chaos. The two teens were completely ignored by the busy medical staff and Jane saw that Karen was about to dissolve into tears again and Michelle was about to explode. She intervened to prevent both. Jane was not ignored and in short order, the attending physician bustled up to tell them what had happened. The news was positive. Karen's quick action and the fast response of the EMT's had saved Nana. She was weak, and she was in Intensive Care, but the doctor was optimistic about her chances. Karen almost swooned in relief. She would not be able to go home for a while, but she was awake and alert.

The two youngsters sat down in the waiting room to wait for permission to visit Nana. Jane sat across from them, letting Michelle provide what comfort she could. It was then she noticed the surreptitious glances Michelle was giving someone at the admittance desk. Curious, she looked to see what was bothering her. A nurse was pointedly staring at the pair and Michelle had noticed. After closer inspection, she smiled. She knew that nurse, and she knew why the woman was staring.

A month ago, perhaps even a week ago, she would have let Michelle stew, worrying about the woman's marked interest in her. However, Michelle had been behaving impeccably, and moreover, had done something she felt merited a reward. Standing, she strolled over to Michelle and sat beside her. She moved her lips to his ear. "Relax, dear. She is staring because she knows me, not because she has figured out you are not a real girl. She is a friend who helps take care of my little girls when they get sick. She knows what I do to my little boys and she is trying to figure out if you or Karen or both of you are one of my petticoated boys, but she is the soul of discretion. Just take it easy." Michelle gave her a wobbly smile, took a deep breath and began to relax.

An administrator came up and inquired about their connection with Nana. When informed that Karen was her granddaughter and the girl's guardian while her father remained overseas, he frowned. "Well, your grandmother can't go home for several days at least. I am afraid we will have to call Protective Services to come take care of you." He walked away before anyone could say anything.

Karen went very still. "Oh god, what will they do with me?" Then she realized what the options available to that agency and nearly panicked. "No! Not a foster family. I can't take that on top of all this. Being a stranger and alone. Why can't I just stay home? I am seventeen. I can drive."

Michael tried to comfort her, pulling her even closer. He looked at Jane, his artfully made up eyes becoming wide and beseeching. "Aunt Jane, couldn't Karen stay with us?" His voice broke into a sob of his own and he swallowed to regain his own composure. "Please?"

"Well, they are calling Protective Services. That may take it out of our hands." She stopped, considering how Michelle would react. "I do have some contacts there. I might be able to work something out if we catch them early enough."

Michelle smiled at her. "Please, Aunt Jane."

She nodded. "All right, Michelle. I will go make a phone call and see what I can do. One thing, however." Her tone was sharply commanding before she once again whispered into her charge's ear so that Karen would not hear her words. "If we do this - if Karen comes to live with us, even for a short while, it won't change your situation around home, Michelle. Are you prepared to be Michelle with her around?"

Michael smiled wanly at her. "As you have probably guessed, Aunt Jane, I usually am Michelle with her, anyway. Now she will merely learn why I am so good at being a girl." Jane smiled at this, and after giving Michelle a kiss on the cheek, bustled off to find a phone. She was determined to have Karen in her home.
 
 
Part 2: Autumn Colors and Other Surprises
 
 
Dear Barb, October 20

Things have changed greatly since my last letter to you, and as you are still not available to me by phone, I have decided to send you this note. Karen Austin, the girl I told you about, is now living in my home with Michelle and me. I won't go into the particulars, but three weeks ago, the girl's grandmother had a heart attack and a stroke. Michelle asked me to take the girl in and I did, bending some bureaucratic arms in the process. Subsequently, it was determined that she would need full time care in a nursing home and could not go back home to supervise Karen. The woman is alert, just weak. One thing led to another (your child is a steamroller when he really cares about something, Barb), and Nana prevailed on the girl's father (who is too important and too busy to come home and care for his mother and daughter) to appoint me as Karen's guardian during the grandmother's convalescence. Since a full recovery is unlikely, although more likely than the father coming home, this means I will remain Karen's guardian until she reaches her majority. You might be surprised to hear that I don't mind a bit.

It turns out that Michael had already shared Michelle with this young woman, and that Karen was even more instrumental in your son's rapid improvement than I had first guessed. She now knows everything, and although she was shocked (to say the least) to find out how Michelle lives, she recovered quickly. Now she functions as Michelle's big sister while he is home and petticoated, and as his girl friend and confidant while they are together outside the house. She agreed to this the night we discussed making the guardianship arrangement permanent.

We did have one little blow up. She "tattled" on Michelle last week. Seems Michelle had been less than politic in one of her exchanges with her "big sister". An upset Karen decided to use me to get back at Michelle. That was fine with me, because I had one last little test I wanted to try on our little girl boy. I told her that, since Karen's school was holding a Sadie Hawkins Day Dance (Karen had already asked Michael), I wanted Michelle (NOT Michael) to find a date so that she and her sister could double date. Karen would still protect Michelle, but the little dear would be in a muck sweat from then until he was safely inside my door again after the dance. I even wondered aloud if Michelle would get her first boy-girl kiss.

Karen's response was completely unexpected. She exploded. "He's MINE!" she screamed at me. "Pants or skirts or whatever. I WON'T be a party to that. I won't let HIM be a party to that." Well, I was taken aback. But what really shocked me was Michelle. She told Karen to calm down, that it was okay. Karen whirled furiously on him, "What is this? Do you want to go out with a boy?" Michael calmly told her that no, he did not. The only person he wanted to go out with was her, but recalled that when I had agreed to take her in, he had promised to obey me and to try to trust me. He said he would do it, but would feel better if she would go, too, so he would not be alone with a boy like that. That stopped me. To my knowledge, that was the first time Michelle had exhibited that type of faith in me.

Of course, I relented. She still got punished, but he went to the dance as a boy - but with a new, salon styled, big hair permanent and with frosted highlights. Sandy outdid herself this time. Even there, Karen was one step ahead of me. She had a straw farmer's hat for her hillbilly to wear over his frosted curls.

For all that, I have little more to teach Michael. He is everything I hoped he could become when I took on his case. I will keep him in skirts a while longer, because I like him that way. Selfish, I know, but Karen likes it, too, and what Karen likes, pleases your son. He wouldn't mind much, even if he had a choice in the matter.

What I propose is that you plan to spend Thanksgiving here. You could have dinner with us, and see the lovely young woman your daughter might have been. You will see the fine young man your son has become. You might also want to take a look at the woman I have every expectation will become your daughter in law. I think a graduation party where Michelle gets her trousers back, full time, would be nice. Of course, I will keep this a secret from Michelle, although I may need to include Karen in on the planning.

Please call me as soon as you have read this and my earlier letter to you. Now, I must leave. The girls are going into town to check out costumes for a Halloween Ball at the local country club. I have decided to permit Michael to dress as he pleases. The pair of them have been brainstorming ever since I told him that. They seem determined to keep their plans a great secret - especially from me. I will make sure I have fresh film in the camera.

Sincerely yours Jane
 
 
Jane frowned as she reread the letter she had just finished. She had wanted to be far more blunt and order her school chum to attend, but she hadn't. Good manners combined with her growing fear that the problem might worsen helped her to hold her tongue. She was becoming more and more fond of Michelle with each passing day. One of the things she realized was that not once in Michelle's sojourn in her home had Barb initiated any contact with her about her son. Jane had made all the calls, written all the letters. Not once had Barb even asked if she could speak to her son. Of course, Jane had told her, early on in the project, that she strongly recommended against such contact, except for real emergencies. Still, most of her other boys' mothers had conveniently forgotten that request at least one time during their little darlings' sojourns under her supervision.

Frustrated, she readied the letter for posting. Her two charges wanted to go into town looking for costume ideas. Then, a thought struck Jane. If Michelle was going to the party as Michael, why not let them make an outing of it, just the two of them. It would let them connive in secret, and she could do some more work on the planning for her next new charge. Not having a resident big sister was going to make this one difficult. Besides, Michelle had not driven since her arrival, and would enjoy the treat. She would give them the good news at lunch.

It was a tossup who was more flabbergasted - Michael at Jane's offer, or Jane at Michael's response.

"But, Jane, I had planned on going to town as Michelle, so I can't drive. My license shows me as a male. I don't plan on speeding," he hastened to add as her eyebrow shot up, "but it would still be too big a risk in the event someone else caused an accident."

"But, Michelle, I said you could go to the party as you wished. I fully expected you would need to find a costume suitable to your character's gender."

Michelle smiled softly. "Yes, Aunt Jane, but it is just that I thought that, since I still had to stay in character here, I would look for a costume that let me do that while not getting me in trouble here for unfeminine behavior. I thought I would talk to Sandy and Carolyn about how best to do that without ruining all their efforts." Michelle paused, remembering another time Jane had "permitted" him to dress as a male. "That is, if you don't mind me seeking their assistance in this. I know last time you told me I had to do the transforming all by myself."

Still off balance, Jane shook her head. "No... No, that's fine, Michelle. That was to serve a purpose. This is in the way of a real reward for real effort. In fact, I will call Carolyn right after lunch and tell her to go along with whatever you ask. I will also tell you that whatever they do can be undone after the party if that is what it ultimately takes for you to pull off whatever it is you have in mind. You have earned this, Michelle. I really am quite proud of you."

Michelle went completely still. Surprise, then pleasure, and finally pride flashed across her face. Karen simply sat there, beaming at her sister/boy friend. Suddenly, Michelle stood up. "Please excuse me, Aunt Jane" he blurted out in a choking voice, and then ran from the room. Jane rose, intending to follow, but Karen stopped her.

"She'll be okay, Jane. Let her be. He is just so happy, and for all your efforts, Michael is still learning to cope with the softer feelings you have introduced him to. He is embarrassed that his joy reduced him to tears in front of you. He'll be back when he has regained control and repaired his face. You should be pleased. He is becoming quite the lady."

Jane looked at Karen with a sardonically raised brow. "Oh? Perhaps, too much the lady, Karen?" Jane was aware that her charges were still intimate. And had been concerned about repercussions until she had ascertained that Karen and Michael were being careful to use contraception after that first night together.

Karen gave her guardian a thoroughly female look of pure pleasure. "No, Jane, Michael is all man when it counts - just more caring and sensitive than other boys of my experience." The pair shared a look of smug satisfaction.

Michelle returned apologetically to the table, but Jane waved them off, hiding her own emotions under a facade of firmness. "Now, since Michelle can't drive, I will give Karen the keys to the Lincoln. It has more space than her little car, and you might find something today and need the room. Now go get ready. Go on, shoo!"

Both teens laughed and jumped to their feet to leave, but Michelle had one more shock for Jane this day. Before leaving the room, she shyly came over and kissed Jane on the cheek. "Thank you, Aunt Jane." she whispered, before once again rushing headlong out the room, leaving a thoroughly bemused Jane behind.

Karen drove the big car with more caution than she normally used with her zippy little Honda. Once they were on the road towards Kingston, she relaxed enough to talk. "You okay with this trip? I know that this has not been a fun place for you. Seems like all of Jane's feminizer cronies are in that town. They may not be able to resist taking a piece out of you."

Michelle nodded. "It will be okay. I have learned a lot lately. Mostly, they just want to play with me. When I give as good as I get, they just have fun. Besides, they have more to lose than I do. This is area is pretty conservative. Their businesses could suffer badly if it became known what they were doing with Jane."

Karen nodded at the insight. "You don't mind going dressed? I mean, this was a perfect opportunity to be a guy, again. Jane even gave you the go ahead for Carolyn and Sandra to put you back together after the ball. You could have spent a whole week looking like your studly self instead of living in skirts."

"Naw. Besides, are you going to leave me?"

The large car swerved violently as Karen jerked the steering wheel in surprised shock. "Hell, no! I told her and I will tell you, Michael Nash. You are mine! The formalities are just that - mere formalities. You are mine and I am yours. You are stuck with me, Miss or Mister. End of statement."

Pleased by her response, Michael chuckled. "I love you, too, darling. So, getting out of skirts is not an issue with me, anymore. You like them. I expect I will be wearing them on and off the rest of my life because pleasing you is a big priority in my life." His voice trailed off. Karen urged him on, asking him to finish the thought. He visibly steeled himself and after taking a deep breath, whispered. "And I like them, too."

"Oh, Michelle, I am so glad. Really I am. I was worried that once Jane signs off on your return to that damned school, I would never have my girl friend back again. And if you had done it for me like it was some damned sacrifice, I would have known, and I would have hated it."

Unlike Michelle who was fashionably turned out in skirt and blazer set, Karen was wearing her beloved jeans. The jeans had been a minor bone of contention when Karen had moved in - Michael had asked to wear them, but Jane had refused. "Karen already knows how and when to be a lady, Michelle. You are still learning. Of course, to be fair, I could ask Karen to refrain from wearing them until you are advanced enough that I will permit you such liberties..." Michael had not liked that idea at all. First, because Karen loved wearing her jeans, and he would not want her deprived because of him. Secondly, she looked awfully sexy in those skin tight denims and he would not want himself deprived of that pleasure, either.

So, Jane had relented, and Karen continued to wear her jeans for both their pleasure. Jane, being Jane, was unable to resist a few stinging jabs about "who wore the pants in this relationship..", but as long as Karen was happy and looking so sexy, Michael was able to handle those with grace and a smile. What he did not realize was that it was precisely that comfort with her games that Jane had been looking for, and had now found.

Michelle reached across the seat to gently squeeze the denimed thigh, and then rested his hand there. They rode like that most of the way, until the outer limits of Kingston and the university campus came in view. At a stop light, Karen saw Michael staring wistfully at the sign proclaiming pre-registration for the spring term. He merely shook his head when she asked if something was the matter.

They drove toward the business square where Marisha Chalet sat, and Karen carefully parked the car. She shutdown the engine, and turned to face her lover. "You want to go through with this? It could really destroy her, you know."

"Hey, it was your idea, remember? You said it was the right thing to do, that it would bring closure. Now you are getting cold feet? For all my little bravado back there on the road, Sandy scares the hell out me. She has been a lot easier on me since August, but she knows just how to get to me, and she loves doing it. She has a way of getting me so turned on that I get rock hard, and then she cuts me to ribbons with it."

Karen took his hand. "Don't worry about it, sweet. Anything she makes rock hard, I can help make nicely pliable again, and I promise you'll love it." Her voice was a husky whisper that grabbed him by the groin and twisted sensuously. "Seriously, we could do something else and still get the effect you want."

Michelle considered that carefully. It was tempting. Finally, he shook his head. "No, this is the right way. She has to see me as I am, now. Not as she chooses to see me in her mind. We can't get over the past until she does."

Karen smiled. That was the answer she'd wanted, but she'd needed to know he understood, too. "Okay, let's go. I saw Caro at the window looking at us. She must think that Jane is having to drag you in, again. Sandy must be getting out the frosting kit again." she said with a smirk.

The patrons of the shop only noted how lovely the two young women who entered the shop were. Carolyn and Sandra came up to greet them and then ushered them into the back room. Sandy spoke first. "Well, Jane called." she said with a dejected tone in her voice. "She told us this was your show, Michael. What do you want us to do?" She looked very sad and Michael wondered why.

Carolyn spoke. "We know that you are going to the Ball and that Jane said you could pick your own costume. Tell us what you have in mind and we will see what we can do. Frankly, you have become so facile an actress, you could pull off anything."

Michael glanced at Karen, who nodded back. He reached into the oversize shoulder bag he carried and withdrew an 8x10 manilla envelope from it. "Before we go further, you should know that our plans are secret, especially from Jane. If you can't agree to that, we will do something else - try another salon." Determination colored his voice. Both women looked at him in disbelief. He would go to another salon, chancing discovery?

Finally, Carolyn spoke. "We already knew that, Michael. Jane told us and asked that we keep your confidence. We promised her and we promise you that, too. Don't we, Sandy?" The other woman nodded.

"Okay, look at this." He pulled a photo from the envelope and laid it on the table. It was a promotional picture from a famous historical movie. "We saw this and the similarity of our facial structures to these people. And I remembered the outfits you got for Beth and me for that parade float. Now, this is what we want to do...."

The planning took the better part of the afternoon, what with Carolyn and Sandy having to leave periodically to work on their customers. Gradually, both women got into the spirit of the enterprise and all but took over from the two excited teenagers. Finally, Sandy was toting up what to have as they reviewed their lists one last time. "...... cosmetics, hair dye, spirit gum." she concluded. "Okay, I think that does it. While I was out on the floor the last time, I called the costume shop around the corner and told them to expect you soon. Michael, that shop is not, to my knowledge, party to Jane's activities, so be careful while you are being fitted. It might be wise to have Karen assist you instead of their people while you are changing into your costume for fitting and alteration. Oh! I almost forgot." She ran to a nearby closet and returned with a familiar box. "Here, you might need this." Michael took the box and thanked her.

Carolyn smiled. "Thank you, Michael" she said emphasizing the 'you', "for letting us be a part of this. I know we made your life hell, but that was part of the plan. I'd like to think we have become less your enemies, now, and more like friends."

Michael stood and gave each woman a demure kiss on the cheek. "Not like friends, Carolyn. You are friends. It just took me awhile to figure out that not all friendships start out friendly. Now, I have to go or the shop will close."

"Michael? If you and Karen would like, I could visit the afternoon of the party. Help you both get ready. That dye can be messy, even if it does wash out with the special solvent soap."

"If you don't mind, Caro, I think that would be wonderful."

"Miiiiii-chaeeell" Karen wheedled. "Could we go? I am tired and hungry and those fittings will take an hour at least. Especially mine! I am gonna get turned into a human pin cushion. I just know it."

They got home around nine pm to find that Marie had kept supper warm for their return. Jane insisted they take dinner in the study with her on trays as she quizzed them on their day. Michael was mischievously evasive on the subject of where they went and what they bought. "Oh, but I will tell you that Caro promised to come over Saturday afternoon and personally handle my makeover."

Karen swatted him with a lace throw pillow. "Hey, don't forget about me. She promised she would do my make up, too."

Michael put on Michelle's cattiest look, and said sweetly. "Oh, dear, that's right. Well, maybe you should call her, Auntie Jane, and see if she could be here by nine am, instead." Both women fell on him with pillows then, and Jane's formal, Victorian study became a slapstick comedy of screeching laughter, petticoats and pillow feathers. Michael could not remember having a better evening in Jane's house.

The sealed garment boxes with the costumes arrived the Thursday before the party. Michelle and Karen locked themselves away in Karen's room (Jane permitted Karen the privacy of a locked door that she still chose to deny Michael), and tried on their costumes. The alterations were perfect, thus saving the teens from having to ask Marie's help or worse, from trying to fix the clothes themselves.

Caro arrived in time for luncheon on Saturday. After the meal, the three conspirators adjourned to Karen's room for the grand transformation. By tacit agreement, both Marie and Jane avoided the upstairs that afternoon, afraid they would peek if they had the chance.

At five thirty, Carolyn found Jane and told her that they were ready for the unveiling. Jane and Marie hurried to the parlor, both carrying cameras to record the event. Carolyn returned and took her place on the settee beside Jane. From outside the parlor, Michael's voice, a much deeper voice than Jane was used to hearing called. "Ready in there?"

Jane responded tartly. "I was ready two hours ago. Now get in here."

Karen's soft laugh followed. Moments later, Rhett Butler escorted Scarlet O'Hara across the threshold of the room. Scarlet was in a classic reproduction of the famous movie ball gown, its de'collete' bodice showing an expanse of creamy cleavage. Her hair had been darkened with dye and hung in sausage curls around her head. Opera length satin gloves covered her arms, and on her left cheek, beneath her twinkling eye, was a black beauty patch. With one hand in Rhett's, and the other holding her heavy skirt, Scarlet curtseyed low to her royal audience.

Rhett was in black evening wear, complete with tails and a cane. His hair had also been dyed black, while his skin had been artfully darkened and coarsened by Caro's cosmetic artistry. His brows, and upper lip were covered by hair that had not been there at lunch. False brows and mustache, to be sure, but it was a very, very good job. His hands were covered by formal white gloves and gleaming boots adorned his feet. Bowing low to the women, he 'made his leg' with the grace of a Regency Corinthian.

"My God, Caro.... it is like they stepped off the movie screen into my house." She looked more closely at the boy she had worked so hard to make into a girl, and shook her head in confusion. Scarlet giggled, and Jane's head came up in shock.

"Now, you blew it." was Karen's disgusted comment. "We would have made it out of here without her knowing if you could have kept your mouth shut."

"Naow, Rhett-dawlin'," said Scarlet in a terrible Southern accent and in Michael's voice, "Ya'll know I was gonna tell her lil' ol' self befo' we left, anyway."

Jane could not seem to get her mouth to work - it just hung open. Caro was having spasms, trying to keep from laughing out loud. Marie was stunned. Finally, Jane choked out, "Michael? I mean, Michelle, is that you?"

Michael came over to kneel in front of Jane in a swirl of silks and satin. "Yes, Jane." came the soft, incongruously male voice in reply. "It is me."

"But, why? You could have been anyone - anything. Why a female?"

Michael's answering smile was beautiful to see. "Because, dear Jane, this *is* me, now. Or at least, a part of me. You see, two ladies that I have come to care about, like this in me. More importantly, I have come to like it, too. I am still a man,.." he stopped to consider that and shook his head, sending the sausage curls bouncing saucily about his face, "No, I am more of a man, because none of this..." and he swept a hand over the female finery, "threatens me anymore. It is part of me, and I have come to like me quite a bit in the past weeks. I wanted you to know that, Jane." With a muffled "oh, god", Jane wrapped her arms around her charge and clung tightly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Then, she jumped to her feet and ran from the room. Michael made to follow her, but Marie stopped him. She was also crying, but smiling. "I will see to her, Michael. She will be fine. You and your young lady just go and have fun."

Caro repaired the damage to everyone's makeup, and then took pictures with both forgotten cameras. Finally, she ushered them out the door, and went to find Jane. She thought a good drunk and a happy crying jag were definitely in order. Jane had to have some good bubbly in this house somewhere. She would just have to find it.

No one got up for breakfast the next day. Michelle, seeing the problem, mixed up a "hair of the dog" favored by one of his mother's consorts, and served tall frosty restoratives to each hangover victim. A few hours later, when hunger set in, Michelle made omelets and muffins to fill empty stomachs. When his own (the last, naturally) was done and he came to sit at the table, Karen was regaling the women with a recount of their exploits. "You remember Page, don't you, Jane? The boy who made Michael's life hell at the play? He was there as a pirate, and he was so enamored of little Miss Scarlet. He even prevailed on her to dance. God, I was afraid he would drool the makeup off the fake boobs Sandy gave her. Strange thing, though, his pants fell down, and he wasn't wearing any undies. He was quite the spectacle, hopping off the dance floor, trying to hold up his pants with one hand, and keep his dickie covered with the other." Karen looked up to Michael as he set his plate down and settled into his chair. "However did that happen, Michelle, dear?" she asked in the sweetest, most innocent of tones.

Michelle gave an entirely unladylike snort. "He should not have been carrying a real knife on that stupid belt of his. Knives are dangerous." was all Michael had to say for the ladies to howl with mirth. With a satisfied smile, Michael continued, "My only regret is that he went home afterwards and missed the unmasking. Karen and I won first prize for best costume by a couple. I would have loved to see his face when he realized that he had been hitting on a guy. I do hope someone tells him." Then a thought struck Michael and he looked slyly at Jane. "Aunt Jane? There isn't any chance that Page has gotten in trouble around here? You know, you might talk to his mom, offer to help her with him a little..."

Jane spluttered. "Oh, no. None of that. I don't take students from the immediate area. They are too likely to be recognized, no matter how well I do my job. Besides, his father is an arrogant paternalistic idiot and he would never agree, more's the pity."

"Too bad. I would even stay on past Christmas to help with that scene, and I would not feel a whit of guilt about it like Beth did with me."

The offhanded reminder of his approaching departure cast a pall on the impromptu brunch and it broke up shortly thereafter. Caro had to leave for home, Jane went to her study, closing the door and Marie gathered the dishes to clean. The two young people decided to go for a walk.

Things settled back into the familiar routine for Jane's household. Studies and school consumed much of Michael's and Karen's time. Both took the College board exams the week after the ball. Michael went back the next week for further testing, saying only that he was working on several options when it came to college and that the tests were a part of that.

About two weeks before Thanksgiving, Karen heard shouting coming from Jane's study. Concerned that her lover had gotten in trouble again with her mercurial guardian, she peaked in through the open door in time to see Jane slamming her antique phone down onto its cradle. "DAMN that woman! HOW can she DO that to him?"

Jane put her head down on her desk, looking utterly desolate. Karen crept in, and put her hand on Jane's head. "Jane? What is the matter?" When Jane mumbled that it was nothing, Karen disagreed. "No, I have never seen you upset over 'nothing' and you are upset. Now give."

"Oh, it is nothing, really. Nothing I can fix, anyway. That was Barbara - Michelle's mother. She was answering my last two letters." Jane went on to explain her plan for a surprise graduation party for Michael. "She just called to tell me she was going on another vacation with her newest new boyfriend. Seems they will be making a holiday tour of the Caribbean. They leave tomorrow and won't be back until after New Year's. As to Michael's future at St. A's, I am to "do what ever you think best, darling. You seem to do so much better with him than I do." Damned woman. To do anything you first have to try enough to care and care enough to try. When I think of the waste of a fine human being she almost caused with that type of neglect, I want to do bodily damage to her."

Karen moved behind Jane, massaging the stress out of her shoulders. "Well, you care, Jane, and so do I. Matter of fact, there are a lot of folks here who care about our Michael-Michelle, so that is all that matters. If she does not know what she has in him, it is her loss and our gain." she kept on stroking. "He is special to you, too. Isn't he, Jane."

Jane had long since ceased being amazed at this girl's empathy and grasp of human feelings. She merely nodded. "Yes, he is. I have never had a bond with one of my pupils like this before. It is almost as if he was my own. As if he were my son." She laughed a harsh, derisive laugh. "Funny, isn't it. I love him like a son, and I haven't figured out how to show it."

"He knows, Jane. No boy I know does what he did for you at Halloween without loving the person he is doing it for. He knew it could have backfired on him at the party, big time, and he still went through with it because you had given him the choice." Karen became silent. "You know, we really don't need his mother. I think your whole circle of friends would love to give Michelle a proper sendoff. What do you think of this idea..." And with that, the two women began to plan.
 
 
Part 3: Restorations and Revelations
 
The quiet was eerie. It was a little after eight on the Sunday morning after Thanksgiving, and Jane was completely alone in the house. Marie had left Wednesday to spend the holiday with family in Boston. She would return shortly to help with the final party preparations. Karen and Michelle had gone to Providence for the morning. That was part of the plan she and Jane had hatched to get Michelle out of the house long enough to finish the final touches for the day's festivities.

Karen had asked Michelle to go to Church with her for the celebration of the first Sunday of the Christmas Advent Festivities. Michelle had initially been reticent, not wanting to go into Church "wearing a lie". Jane had held back during the exchange, knowing she could have easily have forced his acquiescence, but not wanting to. Fortunately, Karen was well in command of the situation, as she had seemed to have been with so many others. "Is it a lie, Michelle, dear? Really?" Michelle seemed to waiver, and Karen had moved in. "It is not like you are going to take the veil, luv. You are just going to sit in the pew, listening to beautiful music, looking lovely."

Michelle had blushed beautifully, and finally had given in. So early this morning, the pair had dressed in their new holiday finery, and headed off to Providence in Karen's Honda.

Jane could not really remember the last time the house had seemed this empty - probably because since she had purchased it, the house had not been empty. She had taken on her first petticoating project within mere weeks of moving in, and had always had at least one skirted boy underfoot since. And now, she was losing this one without a sure replacement in hand. The mother of the boy she was to take on was uncertain she wanted to inflict Jane's "torments" (the Mother's words) on her misunderstood son. If that one fell through, as had the last, Jane would have only Karen once Michael headed back to St. A's.

Of course, that was not insignificant. Karen had become very important to Jane in the short time they had been together. Jane had all but forgotten the simple pleasures of sharing things with another true female. As competent as her sissy-boys became at acting like young women, and as much as many of them came to enjoy their feminized states, Karen shared things with Jane that her boys could not. Case in point was the shopping trip they had taken to buy the clothes she and Michelle had worn today. It had been fun, and in an entirely different way than when she went shopping with her "girls". When Jane took the boys shopping, she enjoyed their fear of being unmasked, and the little humiliations her friends heaped on their curly heads. But there was that slight chance that something might go wrong, that the boy might be uncovered by someone who was not in on the conspiracy. So Jane had to be constantly alert in those situations and that detracted from her pleasure in the activities.

With Karen, there had been none of that tension. She had actually been able to enjoy the experience of shopping. She had been able to enjoy and share Karen's pleasure in finding pretty things for herself and for Michelle. It had been...... nice.

The real problem, Jane was forced to admit, was that she was already missing Michelle. She had never before let a boy stay after his rehabilitation was complete. They left her immediately to get on with their lives. She was usually a little sad to see them go, and missed them for awhile, but was soon diverted by the next little test or task she had planned for her latest "girl". This was very different.

"You might as well admit it, Jane Thompson." she spoke angrily into the silent room. "You admitted to Karen that you loved Michael Nash as the son you never had, but the real truth is that you love him best as Michelle. And you have no right to keep Michelle at Michael's expense anymore." She savagely swiped at the tears that had welled up in her eyes, infuriated with herself that she could not be happy for Michael's sake that today ..... that today was his last day in skirts.

Well, probably not his last day. Karen liked Michelle, too, and Michael had as much as told her that he accepted Michelle when he had elected to be Scarlet instead of Rhett. But she would no longer see Michelle every day, nor, in fact, should she. Michael would need the next month to reestablish enough of his male mannerisms to survive the last term at St. Andrews.

The door bell's ring broke her reveries. That must be the first of the guests, arriving to help with the final party setups. Good. Jane was tired of feeling alone and lonely.

The Honda pulled onto the estate around two pm. Much to Jane's amazement, everything was ready. The two young people entered to the foyer smiling, and looking to see where Jane might be. Jane opened the door to her study, a stern look on her face. Sharply, she ordered. "Michelle? I want to see you in my study. NOW, young lady, this very INSTANT!"

Michael's face fell dramatically. What HAD he done? He had tried so hard the past few weeks - not on the feminine things, but to show Jane how much he had come to care for and about her; to show that he actually loved her. He had even permitted himself to believe that she cared for him, too. Now he must have done something to upset her, but he could not imagine what it was. Would this mean she would have to delay his planned departure for St. A's?

Jane turned and reentered the study, her back stiff and straight. It was the way she had been those first, horrible weeks. Sighing inwardly, Michael turned to follow her, consciously thinking about his presentation for the first time in weeks. He did not realize that Karen was following close behind him until her white gloved hands came up to cover his eyes just before he reached the study threshold. Michael faltered with the loss of vision, but Karen prodded him on into the room before he could stop or free his eyes.

"SUUURRRRPPPRRIIIIZZZEEE!" The combined yell of several female voices caused the blinded boy to jump backwards into Karen, almost tripping them. Karen's hands came away as she struggled to catch them both. Once he regained balance, stupefied wonder rendered him speechless and motionless. The study looked like a New Year's Eve Party gone wild. Brightly colored pink and blue crepe paper festooned the room and a banner that proclaimed "Congratulations, Michelle - Welcome Back, Michael" hung proudly on the wall behind Jane's desk.

Then Michael took in who was there. Everyone who had had a hand in his journey of self discovery. Carolyn and Sandra, Miss Franson from the dress shop and Mrs. Bedford, the nurse whose stares had unnerved him at the hospital - they were all there. And of course, in the center and out in front of everyone else, was Jane and Marie. Then, a hand tapped his shoulder and he turned to see "David?" the name was a whisper. "David, is that you?"

The fondly remembered gentle smile curved the lips of the young man in front of him. He was turned out in a finely made, charcoal gray suit. Michael did not know what else to do, but hug his friend. "God, I am glad to see you. I have missed you. Karen, come and meet David.."

"Ahem" That single syllable stopped him cold. He turned toward Jane who was looking at him with a cocked brow and a sardonic smile. "I believe I told you, young lady, that *I* wanted to see you."

Smiling now himself, Michael went to stand in front of Jane, and then curtseyed deeply as he had the night of the Halloween Ball. Jane pulled him into a tight hug. She pulled back, and ordered "All right, everyone sing, please..."

The women and David started to sing, "For he's a jolly good fellow..."

Sandy put her fingers to her mouth and blew a shrill whistle, shocking everyone to silence. They turned to her in amazement. She grinned. "Can't sing that, Jane. Not yet, anyway." She pointed to a chair that had been covered with a bed sheet. A table, covered with combs, scissors and a myriad of bottles, stood beside it.

Jane nodded, smiling mischievously. "Quite right, Sandra. Michelle, please sit in that chair." What followed was a complete demolition of what had taken Michael an hour that morning and over six months of learning to accomplish. Sandra moved behind the chair and started to dampen his hair with another foul smelling concoction. Carolyn stood in front of him and began working on his face. Marie and Miss Franson took a position on each side of the chair and began working on his hands and nails. It took over an hour, but finally, the ladies stepped back. Michael wanted to see what had been done, but the room's mirror was covered in crepe. Jane stepped up to him. "Michael, please go to your room and put on the clothing Marie has laid out for you."

Completely ill-at-ease now, Michael slowly left the study and went up to his room. He thought he knew what to expect, but he was wrong. The changes in his femininely appointed room shocked him. It wasn't feminine anymore; it was a young man's room. The light pastel blues of the walls and moldings were still there, but every accessory had been replaced by ones more suitable to a boy's room. Every female touch, every feminine touch of lace and bit of whimsy had been ruthlessly eradicated. The bed's canopy had been removed; a brightly colored hunting lodge quilt replaced the satin bedspread. The tiered fabrics that had upholstered the various pieces of furniture had been replaced with pieces that matched the quilt. Had he felt this disoriented when he had first seen the room in its girl's room decor? New cotton briefs, socks, a dress shirt and tie, and a shoe box sat on the foot of his bed. On his dressing table, no longer a vanity, was a man's jewelry box opened to display, a new wristwatch, new tie clasps and cuff links. The sink counter in his bathroom now contained a variety of aftershaves, men's colognes and other male toiletries. Opening his armoire, he saw that all of his dresses and other things were gone - replaced by several new suits and sports jackets. One was already laid out for him. He changed from the skin out, still careful to properly tend to his lingerie and dress. A near hysterical bark of laughter broke through his confusion when he started to button *this* shirt from the wrong side. Deja vu all over again.

Was that first blouse *really* that long ago? Another lifetime, or perhaps another age.

Only after he had finished, did he let himself look in the three sided mirror where he had practiced so many new and discomforting mannerisms. Nervously, he kept his eyes lowered as he turned to face himself. As he should have expected from Jane, the suit fit him perfectly. Michael took several deep, cleansing breaths before he could lift his eyes to view his head and face. For several heartbeats, he could only stare in stunned wonder at his own reflection. Michael had thought about this moment ever since that last meeting with David in the garden, wondering how he could ever be "normal" again. He wasn't "normal"; he was better. A mature young man calmly returned his hesitant gaze. His hair was no longer curly, or even highlighted. It was longer, fuller than before, but not unusually so. Even the color was back to what it had been when he used to be a boy. "Used to be a boy?" he asked himself. "Where the hell did *that* come from?" No answer was forthcoming. Why, even his brows looked less fine, less arched. Carolyn must have added some subtle coloring to make them look fuller.

Finally, he couldn't delay any longer, so he left the room and headed back down to the party. As he entered, a rousing chorus of "Now he's a jolly good fellow" marked his return. The loud emphasis on the added word "NOW" in the traditional song broke his mood and made him smile for the first time since Jane had ordered him to the study. The party turned into a lovely, loving memory he would hug to his heart for the rest of his life. The food was marvelous, and the company even better. Each woman made a point of speaking to him alone, praising him on how far he had come, and how much they had enjoyed him. "Especially after you finally wised up." was Sandy's semi-caustic aside. "Although," she continued thoughtfully, "You were sure fun to tease early on. I thought you would come out of the chair a couple of times."

"A couple of times, Sandy? Try a hundred times. Your comments on my masculinity or rather, my lack of it, almost demoralized me."

Sandra smiled at him. "Ah, honey, all Jane's boys get like that." she said with a gentleness he had not expected from her. "Just too full of hormones for anything else - not with a bold, sexy female like me challenging everything you think you are." she gave him a salacious leer right out of a grade B movie, and they laughed easily together. "Besides," she continued, warming to her subject, "Wearing nice lingerie, being pampered, getting all dolled up - all that stuff is sexy. It is sexy on women, and it is sexy on men. It is just plain sexy, hon. Your body, especially your penis, knew that even if your mind was fighting it. I just used that fact to dig into your head a little deeper." Then her sly smile became a sexy challenge. "And don't think I have forgotten how .. umm," she licked her lips salaciously, "How well built you are down there, stud. Come back some time when Jane isn't going to have my ass for it and I will keep that promise to put that thing between your legs to good use." With that bomb, she kissed him hard on the lips and sauntered off, hips swinging.

Karen came storming over to him, green fire flashing in her eyes. "And just was that all about?".

"I don't know," Michael said. "I am not sure if it was a promise or a threat." Then he hugged her and gave her a kiss. "Thank you, luv. I would not be here like this without you. In the end, you were my turning point."

The party broke up at about six pm. The women had to work the next day, and David had to catch a train to be back in time for school. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and surprisingly, each of the women had a special gift for Michael, but he did not have time to open them before they left. Nor did it seem that they seemed to want him to, either. It was all very strange to his mind. Well, he would remember his manners and send a nice thank you to each of his new friends.

"Michael?" Jane called to him. It seemed odd answering her when she used that name, now. "Would you drive David to the train station? I have added you to my insurance policy, and now, your license will work." she added with a teasing grin. Thanking her, Michael led his friend to the car for a long drive and a talk. It was the perfect ending to the day.

The gifts were stacked on his bed when he returned. With mixed emotion, Michael saw that his last dress, as well as the lingerie and accessories, had been removed from the room while he was gone as well. Shrugging against feelings he did not want to analyze at that moment, Michael opened his gifts. He should have known. Smiling to himself, he wondered if Jane had known about the gifts.

Michael was early for breakfast. He had forgotten how much simpler his morning ablutions were as a male, particularly if he was not trying to maintain a double life - boy in the morning, girl in the afternoon - as he had for the play. Jane was already downstairs, too, sitting in her usual place at the head of the table, drinking coffee. A pile of papers and other documents were on the table beside her. She looked up at him, frowned slightly, then forced a smile to her face. "Good morning, Michael. Did you sleep well?" Actually, he hadn't. The room felt alien to him and he had been restless, but he smiled and answered that he had. The oddly strained smile Jane gave him did not reach her eyes. "Good. These are for you." She slid the pile of paper toward him. "There are your checkbook, your credit cards and the report of your trust fund accounts for the period you have been with me. My brokers have taken over the management of your accounts, and you will find detailed reports of their activities. I think they have done quite well, but of course, you are welcome to discuss their performance with them, or to change to someone of your own choosing."

Michael took the papers and set them aside. "I am sure that everything is fine, Aunt Jane. I will look at them later. Perhaps you could help me with going through them? Mother never has, and I have no idea what any of this means."

His simple statement and request for help almost destroyed her. She still did not really believe Karen's assurances that Michael trusted and cared for her. Maybe he did, after all, at least trust her a little, to ask her help with his finances. "Of course," she said with a calm she did not feel. "This afternoon, perhaps?"

"At your convenience, Aunt Jane." At that moment, Karen came into the room, stopping a moment to stare at Michael in his slacks and polo shirt, before recovering enough to chirp a cheerful good morning.

For all the apparant good feeling shared among the threesome over the next few hours, Michael felt an undercurrent of tension swirling around him. Every time he saw Jane looking at him when she thought he did not see her, there seemed to be almost an aura of melancholy about her. If she saw him looking at him, the same plastic smile came. Conversation between them was strained, and the easy banter that had developed over the past few weeks was nonexistent. Only in her study, when she patiently explained each financial document to him, did she seem comfortable with him. Was that because she had fallen into her "School Mistress" role again, and he had become "the student", and as such, someone she could relate to better than she could a freed "Michael Nash"?

Lunch was difficult, with Karen trying, with little success, to involve both Michael and Jane in normal conversation. Finally, at dinner, Michael concluded he understood the problem. Did he want to solve the problem was the question. For Jane and for Karen: the answer was yes. For himself? Insight flared, and he understood that he could not be happy with Jane unhappy. She had simply become too important to him as a person. And, in all honesty, it was his choice this time. That made a difference somehow. He glanced at Karen, cocking a brow as he had seen Jane do so often when she was about to set a fox in his personal chicken coupe. She seemed to understand and smiling at him, nodded slightly. "Aunt Jane, I forgot something important. May I please be excused for a few moments?" Jane jumped at the sound of his voice in the silence that had descended on the dining room, but nodded and gave him leave to go. Michael hurried up the stairs, and after a quick stop in Karen's room, he went to his own. Inside, he pulled out the gifts he had received the day before from each of Jane's circle.

Michael reentered dining room about fifteen minutes after departing. Jane glanced up from her soup, ready to order him to his seat before the soup was inedibly cold. She did a classic, thoroughly satisfying double take before dropping her spoon noisily into the dish in surprise. Michelle was back. Michael had borrowed the outfit, including the flats, that he had worn that first time for Karen after the play. On his head was a softly curling blond wig, that Sandy's note had said was made to match his most attractive styling and color. Miss Franson had given him a complete set of lingerie and hose. Caro's contribution was a set of cosmetics designed to match Sandy's hairpiece and his skin, and Mrs Bedford had given him a set of costume jewelry (earrings, pendent and a bracelet) and a set of press on nails in a suitable color of light pink for everyday wear. "M...mm... Michael?" Jane spluttered out. "But.. But.."

"No, Jane. Michelle." he walked over to Jane and taking her hand, drew her out of her seat, into a hug. "We have come too far, I think, for either of us to be comfortable with Michael. Not this abruptly. Maybe, not in this house, ever. I don't know, but I also don't much care. I do care about you. Let me give you this gift, Jane."

"But you need to remember how to be male! Next month..."

"Next month will be fine. I will do my practicing outside of the house. Karen will help. At home, I will continue as before."

Home? He had said "home". "But Michael... I mean, Michelle, you hated this."

"Hated, Jane. Past tense. You did your work well. I can, as you once told me I would have to, tell you that I honestly enjoy the masquerade. And I have come to love you. So, let me be what you love best in me, for you and me. Okay?"

Jane broke down into racking sobs. Michael, although versed in things feminine, still suffered the male's genetic impotence in the face of a woman's tears. He held her close, casting pleading glances to Karen to come help. Karen merely shook her head, grinning like a loon through her own happy tears.

Jane finally calmed down and wiped her eyes with the napkin Michael handed her. "I won't hold you to it, you know."

"I know, Aunt Jane. It was and is my choice, but I think it is the right one for all of us." Then he whispered in Jane's ear. "Besides, Karen really likes Michelle. Makes her horny."

Jane sputtered a choked laugh and looked back and forth between the two young people. "Okay," she finally grinned herself. She made an attempt to regain her composure and dignity after her outburst. Why, she is embarrassed, thought Michael. I wonder if she would blush if I teased her about it right now? But just as the thought came, he rejected it, knowing that it would be insensitive on his part and might destroy the gain he had made. Michelle seated Jane and then himself. "If that really is your choice, I will have Marie return your dainties and other things tomorrow, Michelle. Your blouse seems to have gotten quite wet."

Michelle grinned. "Thank you, Aunt Jane. You might tell her to bring back only the more grown up fashions. Shirley Temple has retired and I do need room in the armiore for Michael's things, too."

Jane gave him her most sardonic, mocking smile, and his heart stopped for a second. God, she could still do it to him. And she knew it, too, darn her. "Oh, well. If you insist." she said as testily as she could with her heart so full. Her daughter was back now, too. Life was good again - at least until Michael had to leave.
 
 
Part 4: Holiday Gifts
 
Christmas was only two weeks away and Jane was looking forward to her first "family Christmas" since she had left home for school. In the past few years, she would get together with friends on Christmas Eve, and try to do something nice for her charges of the moment that would not set her program back too far. This holiday did not have that imposed restraint. Jane felt like the Grinch after his heart had grown ten sizes. She and Karen had planned gifts for both Michelle and for Michael, so that she could have nice things when she visited, and he would have things that were suitable for his future endeavors outside of the cloister of her home.

Jane looked up as Marie entered the study. She smiled as her longtime confidante, friend and fellow conspirator handed her the day's mail. As always, it was sorted by type, and by addressee. On top, was an official looking letter with a State return address. Jane picked it up and started reading it before she realized that the letter was for Michael. She should have put it down. She no longer had any justification for previewing and censoring his mail, but she could not put that, or the other similar letter aside once she started reading it. Whatever had Michael done? When had he done it? And most important of all - *why* had he done it?

Jane was waiting in the sitting room just off the foyer when Michael and Karen returned from their outing in town. Michael was involving the two women in his shopping for the other, wanting to make sure that their gifts were perfect. She smiled at that insecurity, it had to be a male trait, because as far as she could tell, all of his selections for Karen had been right on target. She called to them. "Michael, please come in here a moment. I need to talk to you for a moment, please."

Michael stuck his head in the sitting room door. "You want me to change first, Aunt Jane?" She shook her head no, and handed him the papers she had gotten in the mail.

As Michael began to read, Jane spoke. "I was not spying on you, Michael, at least not now. It has been my standard procedure to have Marie to open all mail and give it to me, particularly any mail addressed to one of my students. There are good reasons for that. Security for one: I need to know if one of my girls has a correspondence that might be dangerous to him or to me. Another reason is that I do not want bad news to reach one of them without my knowledge, because I make them very vulnerable. Lord knows what might happen if word of a death or serious illness in the family reached one of my skirted boys at a particularly bad moment. None of that excuses this, Michael, I should have remembered to tell Marie to stop opening your private mail, but now that I have seen it, I would like an explanation. Obviously, this was the second set of exams you took in November, but why?"
 
 
State Board of Regents of Education December 12

Dear Mr. Nash,

Congratulations. Based on your transcripts from St. Andrews Academy, your performance on the state tests in the subjects you studied in your Home Learning Program under Ms. Thompson, and your exceptional performance on the State Home Learner High School Equivalency Diploma Exam, I am pleased to award you the State Regents Diploma you will find enclosed with this letter. Again, congratulations on a job superbly done.
 
 
The letter was signed by the State Regents Chairman. Michael looked up at her. "I am sorry you had to learn about it this way. I meant to tell you sooner, but I am not returning to St. A's, Aunt Jane. I am staying in this area. I will be taking courses at the University in Kingston during the Spring Term as a non-degree student since this and my SAT's were too late for the application deadline."

"But, but, why?"

"Because St. A's, and the Ivy League school are not my dream now, if they ever truly were. If I have learned anything from you, it is to be absolutely sure I know what I want, and to take responsibility for the actions necessary to achieve that." He turned his face to Karen, a gentle look on his face. "I want to stay here."

Jane nodded. "All right, I can understand that, but what will you do? What will you study? The Ivy League schools are the best business schools in the country, you know."

Michael nodded. "I am going to become a research psychiatrist, Jane. I want to go to Medical School. I want to learn what makes people tick, but mostly, I want to understand what makes me tick."

Jane studied him carefully, trying to understand where this was headed. "This is very sudden, Michael, for such a radical change in plans?"

"About as sudden as the changes in me that happened since June. I knew in September that I did not want to go back to St. A's, I just did not want to admit it, even to myself. So, when I sent off my SAT application, I sent another one off for the state exams. Remember? I needed two checks."

"Where will you stay? It would be hard for you here in this house with the new student and all."

"I have not worked that out, yet."

Karen perked up for the first time. "He could stay in Nana's house. It is just sitting empty now, waiting for me to reach eighteen. He could sort of house sit for me."

Jane nodded. "That would work, I suppose, although you won't be eighteen yourself, yet, Michael." she shrugged. "Well, you will be close enough for me to keep an eye on you." He was STAYING, her mind cheered. For now, that was enough. She realized that it was more to be close to Karen than for her sake, but it was still better than she could have hoped for. Smiling again, she said, "Well, now that that is done, would you like to change for dinner, Michael, or are you starving?"

Smiling, he shook his head. "I need a shower. I think I will change, Aunt Jane." making her smile grow wider.

Later, while Karen saw to getting some coffee made, Jane decided to make use of the opportunity, and asked Michael, now dressed as Michelle, what had started him on his new track.

Michelle flushed, but faced Jane squarely. "I am ashamed to admit, Aunt Jane, that it was a desire for revenge."

That was not what Jane had expected. "Revenge?"

"Yes, on you and your comrades in crime." Michelle sighed, thinking of the carefully laid out plans he had not dared commit to writing. "I had decided that I was always going to have these feminine little habits that you had forced on me and that in an all boys school, those little nuances and movements were going to make my life hell on earth. So, I plotted to be here in the area, so I could watch you, and wait for the opportunity to destroy you." Jane blanched at blunt statement. Michelle saw it and nodded. "Yes, strong words, but that is how I felt, and looking back on it, I could have done it."

"Really, Michelle?" Jane tried to sound dubious, but he was so confident.

"Really, Jane. You are vulnerable, and I don't know why something has not already happened to you. All you have to protect yourself with is the threat of using those pictures, and later on, the good will of your former students. If the threat is insufficient, or if the good will is lacking, or worse, is replaced by a will to do harm, you can be hurt. I was going to wait until I saw you want something really badly. Maybe a lover, or a husband - then I was going to drop everything I knew on the desk of some scandal sheet. You would have been the greatest thing since Heidi Fleis or the Mayflower Madam. Oh, you would not have gone to jail - you had permission to do what you did. But your network of supporters and helpers, the judges, the social workers, Caro, Sandy and the rest - they'd be hurt and hurt badly, personally and professionally. How many society matrons would trust their debutante daughters to a beauty salon or dress shop that participated in such perversions on helpless young men?" He stopped as he saw Jane grimace as his words hit home. "But then, Karen happened, and suddenly, I derived some benefit from being..... not quite so manly. And then David, as Beth, asked me to try for his sake if not for my own. Once I stopped fighting so hard, I started to enjoy it more, but then I started worrying that something was wrong with me. That is when I got hooked on psychology."

"When did you stop wanting to hurt me that way?"

"It started when you let me stay with Karen. A lot happened that night that was wonderful, and none of that would have happened if not for Michelle. Which means if not for you. I started trying to be more objective. I came to the conclusion that you were, for the most part, really trying to help."

"Only 'for the most part', Michael?" her voice soft.

Michael wished he had kept his mouth shut. "Jane, let me answer your question with a question. You don't even have to give me the answer. Can you honestly say that every trick and test was purely for my benefit and not for your own enjoyment of my discomfort and humiliation? Did it have to be that harsh a lesson in each and every case?" Jane wanted to tell him that, of course, everything she had done had simply been the best way to help him, that there was nothing needlessly cruel in her program. But she knew that was not true. Part of her reason for doing this type of work was the pleasure of watching her skirted and pantied little boys deal with the embarrassment and terror that her deliciously evil little games roused in them. Michael came over to kneel in front of her. "I've come to love you, you know. You are the first woman who ever cared enough to be hard on me when I needed it. And that is the final reason I put aside plans for revenge. You were right. Right for and about me, anyway."

"Oh, Michael." Jane's call was a sob, and the two of them clutched at each other, sharing tears. Jane, because he had seen the worst of her, and still loved her; Michael, because she was Jane, and he had been forced to hurt her.

Karen returned carrying the coffee tray. "Hey, what is going on here? Why are you both so upset? What happened?" Quietly, still holding Jane, Michael explained what had happened. Karen slammed the tray down on the coffee table. "Damn it, Michelle, I told you not to tell her that. Go to your room, young lady, get your hairbrush, and bring it to me here." Michael looked at her in shock, not believing what he just heard. "Now, Michelle, unless you want to sleep alone for the next two weeks, you will get that brush and then hustle your cute little butt back down here.", Karen added in the sweetest of tones. Michael hurried from the room and returned with the antique, silver hair brush that Jane had given him. He handed the long handled implement to his lover, eyes downcast. Karen took a seat in one of the Chippendale chairs that sat off to one corner of the room. She gave Michelle a dark look. "You know the position, Michelle, I suggest you assume it unless you want me to add to your punishment."

Jane watched, unbelieving as Michelle slowly walked to Karen and then draped herself over Karen's lap. She really should stop this, but lord, Michelle was blushing furiously and it had been so long since she had last seen that. Then Jane's eyes nearly bugged out when Karen carefully drew Michelle's skirts up over her back and pulled her panties down to her knees. The first stroke landed with a loud splat, and Michelle's squeal of surprise. Jane could not have stopped this now, even if she wanted to.

Which she didn't. Michelle was Karen's now, and she had things well in hand.

Jane stood, and strolled over for a better look. Michelle looked over to see her coming and her face became a darker shade of red. "Well, Michelle, I am pleased to see you still wear proper hosiery and not pantyhose."

"Karen...>Owww< ... likes them better than ..>mmmf<.. pantyhose." Michelle managed to pant out between brush swats. Karen was raining a steady pelter on Michelle's round, hairless bottom.

Jane grinned, thoroughly enjoying the exchange and the spectacle. Tears were starting to make Michelle's mascara run in dark rivulets down her face. Karen looked up at her guardian. "Well, Jane, would you please check for color and heat? See if this bad girl is done yet?"

Pleased with the idea, Jane sauntered up and gave the bright pink globes a thorough inspection. When she laid her hand on one, the coolness of her hand made Michelle jump in pained surprise. An evil twinkle in Karen's eyes told Jane the required response. What fun! "Well, darling, that place there," she said running a single nail along the sensitive, burning flesh. My, my, my. she thought, how it quivered. "Is not nearly as colorful or as hot as the rest of her. And of course, no part of her bottom is as colorful as her sweet face."

Karen proffered the brush to Jane, handle first. "Would you like to correct the omission, Jane?"

Jane was sorely tempted, and might have taken Karen up on the offer had it not been for the conversation that precipitated this. It was one thing to be spanked sensuously by your lover. It was another thing entirely for it to come from someone you have just begun to trust after a rough start. "No, thank you, dear, I would rather just watch and enjoy the, ummm, color and pageantry."

Karen began to spank again in earnest, and finished with a flurry of ten strong strokes that left Michelle broken and in tears. Without being asked, Jane again rested her hand on the burning bottom, letting the coolness of her touch bring some comfort.

"Michelle, I want you to get up, now, and go fix your face. Come right back here when you are done." Michelle rose and quickly turned to face away from Jane. This put his front directly towards Karen. Her mouth went open and then she grinned. "Ooooooo, Michelle, what do we have here?" Jane saw Karen reach up to grip something just below Michelle's waist and then heard Michelle's groan of frustration and pleasure. It was Jane's turn to blush. "Well, I am certainly not going to do anything about that right now, you naughty thing, but you might as well leave those panties behind. There is no way you are going to get them on over THAT!"

Blushing furiously, Michelle slipped off the satin bikini and moved towards the door, keeping his back to Jane. Karen called out. "Michelle? Sweetie? You better not do anything about that swelling, either. Its all mine. I've earned it." Michelle almost ran from the room. Both women sat down, laughing giddily.

When they calmed a bit, Jane turned to Karen. "You did not have to spank him over that, dear. Really, I asked him."

Karen shrugged. " I asked him to leave that alone, Jane. He did not have to tell you, even if you asked. Don't worry about it. It is okay. Besides, a good spanking makes him horny as hell." she added with an anticipatory smile.

Jane nodded. "So I gathered."

Karen continued. "And another thing, it will give him back a bit of the humility he's lost lately."

Jane considered that. "He was not being mean, Karen, not really. In his own way, I think he was trying to make me see, without telling me directly, how vulnerable I and my little cadre could be to a really determined student. And Michael would have been very determined, I think, had he not been lucky enough to find you. I think I really needed to hear that from him. If only to reconsider the possible ramifications of what I do with my charges." Jane's pensive look gave way to an almost girlish, conspiratorial grin. "Would you really have denied him your favors for two whole weeks, Karen?" Jane knew that the two rarely slept apart, and had convinced herself that they were that rare breed - a life bonded pair.

"Good thing we don't have to find out, huh?", Karen chuckled.

A thought occurred to Jane, "Dear, suppose he decides that you need some, ummm, not so gentle correction directly to the seat of a problem? He is big enough to do it. Quite well, too, I should think."

Karen thought about that concept for a moment, and then a very feline, very sexy feminine grin lit her face. "Oh, I do hope you're right, Jane, and soon, too." Michelle came back into the room to find his two favorite women giggling helplessly in each other's arms on the sofa.

Christmas Eve dawned with a touch of frost and a promise of snow in the air. Jane had been up and working in her study for several hours, when the phone rang. She answered it, listened, and then began to plan.

At lunch, she told the two teens of the call. "So, Dennis Luchessi will be joining me after the New Year. I suspect I will call him DeeDee." she said thoughtfully. Karen, who knew that this case had been on and off several times in the past month asked how she could be sure of that arrival after so many false starts. "Well, it seems that he lost his control again, this time he struck a teacher and scared her badly. The principal expelled him, but the teacher brought charges against him. It was the final straw, even for his Mother. I put her in touch with a judge who works with me, and he has been given the choice. A few weeks, which of course will be months, with me, or reform school."

Michelle had kept quiet through Jane's explanation, but then bellowed. "He struck a woman, and you are going to have him here? In your home? Alone???" Michael had made no effort to use his 'Michelle' voice, surprising both women with the vehemence of his outburst.

Jane tried to soothe him. "Well, certainly, Michelle. I have had students with a violent past, before. Once they have their little outburst, like you did, they get the faces smacked and they get with the program."

"Suppose he hits you back, Jane? Have you considered that?"

"You did not, dear. Don't worry so."

"I do worry. I nearly belted you when you finger whipped me. Only seventeen years of training as a gentleman stopped me. He, obviously, does not have that training. And another thing. When you pulled that stunt on me, David was behind me, and I guarantee he was ready to jump me from behind if I even looked like I was going after you. Karen is tough, but she is not going to be a match for a young male in a rage, which he will be in at that point."

"Well, I take your point, Michelle, but what do you suggest I do? I have already told the judge I will take him on. I do not go back on my commitments."

Michelle gave a thoroughly unladylike snort. "No. You wouldn't, would you. I guess the only thing for it is for me to stay on as 'big sister' in residence, at least until you get him past the first hurdles. When he is ready for solo, I will leave like David did and go stay at Nana's house. But, you have to promise that you won't do any of the rough stuff unless I am there."

Jane looked at him, unbelievingly. "But what about the University? Your schooling?"

Michelle shrugged. "I got my schedule in the mail today. All my classes are between ten am and two in the afternoon. I can leave as Michelle, change at Nana's and go to school. Then, I reverse the process on the way home." He grinned. "I may need some more wigs so that Sandy can style them instead of me, and some of those fake eyebrows."

"I can't believe you are even considering this." Jane said in amazement.

"I love you both. Did you know that the original meaning of 'husband' was care giver?" His warm eyes fell on Karen. "I have to take care of you two or not be true to that love." He pulled two small, gaily gift wrapped boxes from beneath his chair. " I was going to give you these tomorrow, but now seems more appropriate." He handed one to each of the women. Jane opened her's first. Inside was a ring with three stones, two green peridot gems flanking a diamond in the center of the setting. Jane looked up, tears in her eyes. "That is a Mother's Ring, Jane, with three stones indicating three children. The diamond is Karen's birth stone, and the peridot are Michael's and Michelle's." Jane's hug nearly strangled him, and she held on for what seemed like an eternity.

Karen's cough brought them back. "May I open mine, now?" she said with some asperity. Michael nodded, and she tore open the paper. Another ring, this one with a solitaire diamond in a simple gold setting. Her eyes flew to Michael who knelt down on one knee in front of her.

"Karen, I love you. Please marry me." A shouted yes answered him as she scrambled out of her seat and knocked him on to his back on the floor. When Jane finally helped the pair to their feet, she was chuckling.

"Michael, do you realize, that you just proposed in skirts, to a woman wearing pants? Whatever will you tell your grandchildren?"

"That she said yes, of course." he dead panned.

It was the end of January; DeeDee had been living with Jane and the two teens for almost four weeks. She had made incredible progress. Never had Jane seen a boy work so hard, or perfect the attitudes and intricacies of his new, petticoated and skirted condition so quickly. And not once, even when she had pushed very hard, had DeeDee shown the inclination for violence that had sealed her fate and brought her to Jane. Today, however, Jane had gotten a hint of something that might explain what was going on. She called to Karen and asked her ward to come into the study.

Once they were behind closed doors, Jane asked. "All right, Karen. What did Michael threaten DeeDee with that has her nearly peeing her knickers? She angered me today, and when I told her she would be punished, she burst in tears and begged me not to punish her like I had Michelle."

Karen gave Jane what she hoped was a confused stare. "Michael, Jane? Threats?"

Gotcha, thought Jane. "Yes, dear. Michael. Threats. And don't try to lie. You aren't good enough at it, yet."

Karen sighed. "Oh, all right. Michael did not know if you could resist pushing DeeDee too hard without him here to be your knight in shining satin. So he improvised a little." Jane said nothing, but lifted her brow and gave a "come on" movement with her hands. "He told DeeDee that the reason he leaves the house every day is to go to school because he hit you, and you would not let him stay at home for school anymore."

"I see, and where, pray tell, is he going to school?"

"The all girls school over in Newport." she said quickly. "He also said that he had to take gym classes from a sadistic woman gym teacher who found out he is really a boy, so his life there was pure hell. He told DeeDee that his only other choice was to go to reform school, same as DeeDee, with his face still prettied up and his hair all styled." Karen's voice was low and conspiratorial. "I understand that, at that point, DeeDee turned white and then ran to the bathroom as fast as her skirts would permit."

Jane shook her head. "Oh, lord. And he said I was mean and devious. That stinker. No wonder DeeDee is being so good. Hell, I wish I had thought of it myself."
 
 
Epilogue: Five years later
 
The huge mansion was a show place. Rows of chairs, separated down the middle to make a center aisle had been set up on the lawn. A canopied alter had been arranged at the head of the aisle, alongside a piano that Marie was playing background music on.

Michael, no, make that Dr. Michael Nash, psychiatric resident at Children's Hospital, made his way to the altar. He was accompanied by David, who stood beside his friend as they turned to face the assembled crowd. Marie broke into the opening bars of the Wedding March, and everyone turned to face the rear of the aisle.

A lovely young black girl led Miss Karen Austin toward the altar. Actually, that girl was Jane's first African American student. Before coming to her, Tyrone, now Tyna, Davis had been a smallish boy, who'd been trapped in a gang environment. He'd been forced again and again to prove his toughness, and the violence had been escalating. His mother was a nurse, a colleague of Mrs. Bedford who had referred the mother to Jane. Tyna looked lovely, and only she thought everyone would recognize the black pixie with crown of braided curls, as a local boy. Today would definitely be the beginning of the end for this student. Two birds with one stone - a marriage and a break through - a good days work all around.

The service was traditional, and if *all* the members of the official party were wearing identical lingerie, well, that was a special secret Jane would hug to herself. She knew because she'd been asked to choose the undies. By Michelle, no less. Of course, she might have chosen something a little less..... confining than the lace up, steel boned corselette if she had known that Karen and Michael would give her one to wear. "You will be part of the official party, won't you Auntie Jane?" had been Michelle's response to Jane's near refusal to wear the damn thing.

With the start of the service, she went over to the bride's side of the aisle, and gently helped an older lady to walk down to stand behind the bride and groom. The minister looked up and asked, "Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?"

Nana answered in a surprisingly strong voice. "I, her Grandmother, do." Jane wished the girl's father could be there, but he had died in a terrorist attack in the Middle East two years ago. But it was wonderful that Nana had lived long enough to be here and share this day. She had taken the transformation of her granddaughter's friend "Michelle" into her granddaughter's fiance' "Michael" with surprising good humor and acceptance. Confidentially, she had told Jane that her Mother had used similar trials on Nana's brother, and that it was too bad Nana had not petticoated Karen's father a few times. "Might have made him a more caring human being and a father instead merely being the source of the sperm that created her."

The minister grimaced, shook his head, then asked. "Who gives this man to be wedded to this woman?" Barb had been invited, but was too busy partying in Fiji.

Jane answered. "I, his Aunt Jane, do."

Michael spoke up, surprising everyone but Karen, "And she is one who is Mother to me in all but the matter of my birth." That did it. Jane spent the rest of the ceremony in happy tears.
 
 
A letter from Ms. Jane Thompson....
 
 
June 15

Barbara,

Once again, you have proven yourself a fool. The boy you gave birth to, my son, was married today. He was sad that you could not find time in your busy schedule to celebrate his union. Thought you should know that. I find it hard to believe that I ever called you friend. Stupidity of youth, I guess.

You have chosen your life. I wish you joy of it. It won't match what I have, though. You see, Michael and Karen just told me that I am going to be a grandmother in a few months. Of course, they will continue to live here as it is their home. That will naturally curtail my activities with my young men, but I think that the prize is more than worth that price.

Goodbye, Barb. I won't contact you again.

Jane Thompson
 
 
Jane knew she would miss her petticoating games, but all good things eventually end. Jane looked up from her letter as Michael knocked on the open door. "Aunt Jane, Karen and I are about to leave." He entered the room and swept her into a fierce hug. A tall, dignified, relatively slender man with gentle eyes and graying hair followed him in and waited patiently while the two embraced. In hitching voices, they promised to be careful while the other was not there to look after them. When they broke apart, Michael remembered his mission. Turning to the man, he introduced him as "Dr. Edwin Markov, my thesis advisor and mentor at Brown Medical School. Edwin, this is my Aunt Jane who taught me everything about, well, you know." Jane's brows shot up in surprise, looking first at her suddenly fidgety Michael, and then at the self assured man in front of her.

His voice was soft, "Yes, Michael, I do know." He put out a well manicured hand which she took in hers. A frisson of heat curled in her belly as she looked again at the handsome man standing beside her son. Something about him pulled at her. "A pleasure, Ms. Thompson. You can be very proud of your Michael. His unique background and training will make him an outstanding research psychiatric physician."

Unique background and training? Confused, Jane tried to read the man, and then, it hit her. His eyes! The brows were fine - very fine, and beautifully arched; the lashes long and unusually full. Someone had spent a lot of time shaping those brows and lashes. Jane's gaze shifted to Michael who blew her a kiss as he quietly slipped out of the room. Then Dr. Markov gallantly kissed the hand he still held. "A lovely room, Ms. Thompson. You have some beautiful antiques in here. Victorian, I believe? I understand from Michael that you are a student of Victorian England and its practices. I would love to discuss it with you, as I have something of an interest in that period, myself.

Jane shivered deliciously, and silently thanked Michael for his not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. Maybe good things did not have to end. Maybe, sometimes, good things just grew up and matured into something even better. She was suddenly excited about the future again.

The end?
 
 
End of Second Season

 

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction intended for the entertainment of adults in localities where it is legal for them to enjoy this type of work. If you are not a legal adult, you should not be reading this and moreover, you are abusing the trust someone put in you when they gave you access to the Internet. If it is illegal to read this, then you already know that you are violating the terms of your Internet access. Please leave. If you don't enjoy adult or erotic stories, why are you here?

Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are maintained.

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989.

Author's Note: This story represents an alternative ending to Mr. Lawrence's story. It is essentially a parallel universe story where things start out the same, but follow a much different path than the one portrayed in the original story.

This is my second inspiration from this story. My first derivative story, "A Second Season" starts where the original author's work stopped. This story takes place following the day described in Chapters VI and VII of Joel Lawrence's Seasons of Change. Essentially, it is a darker vision than the one I wrote of in "A Second Season".

Setting: The lead male character, Michael Nash, has been suspended from his very elite private school, St. Andrews Academy. With the concurrence of the school dean, he has been sent by his mother to live with her old friend, Jane Thompson who will attempt to teach the young man (late teens) control and self discipline.

"Aunt" Jane employs a "Victorian" type training program to tame undisciplined boys. She does this training by means of a delicately balanced regimen of humiliation and enforced feminine deportment. She is assisted in this program by her housekeeper (Maria) and several business women including the owners of a beauty salon (Carolyn and Sandra) and the proprietor of a combination dress and lingerie shop (Mrs. Franson). The other key player is David/Beth, one of Jane's feminized boys who is still living with her and who is required by Jane to "guide" (and setup) the new student.

Michael knows nothing about this, and is slowly "trapped" into Jane's program of petticoat dominance. Jane forces him to accept her program or lose his chance to return to St. Andrews because the dean will only readmit him after Jane certifies that he has been reformed.

As we begin our account, Aunt Jane, David/Beth and Michael/Michelle have returned to Jane's house from Michelle's initial public outing disguised as a girl. They have visited Carolyn and Sandra at the Marisha Chalet where he was humiliated by their taunting and terrorized during a make-up session as Carolyn's training subject, and at Mrs. Franson's "The Style Shoppe/MiLady's Closet" where he had to maintain his tenuous disguise in the presence of the young female shop clerks while dressed only in lingerie.

Each member of this unlikely trio is flushed with different emotions at the end of their long day of shopping for dresses and lingerie, and of feminine primping at the beauty salon. Michelle has been ordered to go up to her room and put away her new dainties, cosmetics and clothing while Jane and Beth retire to her study.

This story departs from the original tale at this point in time. ~Tigger
 

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Chapter 1. Escape Attempt
 
Jane relaxed in her favorite chair, sipping a celebratory brandy as Beth daintily nibbled at the low tea Maria had provided for her and Michelle. The day was well worth celebrating in Jane's view. While not yet a major breakthrough, she was certain that this day's excursion would prove to be a significant milestone in Michelle's maturation.

Sandy had gleefully reported Michael's involuntary erection and spontaneous ejaculation from the humiliating treatment and teasing at the Chalet, and then Jane had seen him try to hide a similar reaction while being exhibited in his cute new undies at MiLady's Closet. From Jane's perspective, if not from Michelle's, both were extremely positive reactions. It meant she now had the opportunity to really get into her charge's head sooner rather than later. As her more direct minded sorority sisters used to say, a hard-on does not lie.

Something deep inside Michelle was beginning to be touched by her unwilling immersion in the feminine condition. More importantly, she was starting to become aroused by her current condition. That gave Jane one more effective tool in addition to humiliation with which to guide her little girl. After all, women had been leading men around by their smaller head since Eve first shined up that juicy red apple and offered it to Adam.

Speaking of Michelle, Jane thought, what is keeping her so long? She should have been back by now. A darkly mirthful grin lit Jane's face. Maybe she was trying on her new things in the privacy of her room. Well, if that was the case, then she'd give her little sissy just a bit of a jab by providing a likely-to-be *very* unwelcome intrusion. Michelle'd be mortified to be caught doing something so femme as primping and preening over new clothes. Even by . . . "Beth?" Her charge looked up from the newspaper she had been perusing. "Go up and see what is keeping Michelle, would you please? Her tea is getting cold."

Nodding, Beth rose and curtseyed before hurrying to the stairs. Jane took in the aroma of the fine aged brandy swirling in her crystal snifter as she plotted how she'd play out this little humiliation scene if, as she strongly suspected, Beth found Michelle modeling her new things in the mirror.

"JANE!!! MARIA!!! COME HELP ME!!! HURRY, PLEASE!!" The scream was not in the least feminine, but it was definitely David/Beth calling for help. Jane was up and running before the word "hurry", but found Maria already ahead of her as she reached the stairs.

The two women followed the sounds of yelling and scuffling to Michelle's room. What they saw momentarily stunned them into immobility. Michelle and Beth locked in a vicious struggle, with Michelle trying to kick or throw the other girl away as Beth grimly clung to one of Michelle's arms.

"Help me, Dammit." Beth screamed at the two gawking women. "He's trying to slit his wrists!"

Jane and Maria leapt to Beth's assistance, Jane grabbing Michael's other wrist and Maria trying to restrain his flailing feet. The furious boy/girl's surprising strength was almost a match for the other three until Maria reared back and slammed a spinning heel kick into Michelle's solar plexis.

Michael collapsed to his knees, wheezing and gasping for air. Jane finally succeeded in getting the blade from a broken disposable razor from his clenched fist. Moving quickly, the threesome bound the now hysterically sobbing boy spread eagle to his canopied bed using nylon stockings from the large bureau.

Only then did Jane get a good look at *him*, for there was nothing remotely feminine about the completely nude figure straining against the tightening nylon bonds. His newly curled coiffure had been ruthlessly hacked away, taking pieces of his scalp in the process. Even the painstakingly tweezed and shaped eyebrows had been shaved away. Blood trickled down one cheek and across his forehead where he'd nicked himself with the razor. His hands and wrists also bled, from his attempts to get the blade to his veins and from whatever he'd used to rip away the lacquered-on fingernail tips.

The room was also bore the ravages of her ward's rampage. Ragged swatches of color were strewn all about the room, as if a confetti bomb filled with shredded bits of brightly hued silk, cotton and satin had exploded. Instead of trying on her new things, Michelle had been destroying them, evidently in the throes of an uncontrolled rage.

Nothing of this day's supposedly successful adventures remained intact.

"David, go call Nurse Bedford. Her number is in the organizer on my desk in the study. Tell her I have a boy-girl emergency. Then go wait for me in your room, please."

Beth started at hearing her "boy-name". "You will be all right, Jane?" Jane knew that was not the question Beth wanted to ask, but she nodded as she looked at the still struggling Michael.

"He's strong, but the nylon is stronger. He won't be able to hurt himself further, but I want the Nurse to make sure he didn't do any real damage. Now go and do as I asked."

Jane turned to Maria. "Get some towels, hot water, bandages and antiseptic, Maria. Let's get him cleaned up as best we can."

Suddenly she was alone with him. Gradually, he stopped struggling, and the soul deep, racking sobs diminished to silent tears. Gathering her courage, Jane moved over to take a seat beside the bed. When she finally spoke, all she could think to say was "Why?"

Michael's hairless brows rose in feigned surprise, and then he turned his head away from her. "You will tell me, Michael." she said with a calm she was far from feeling.

Anger flared in the eyes that turned back to lock on her own. "Or what, Jane? What do you have to threaten me with? I will tell you - nothing."

"Are you so certain of that?" she asked, hoping to bait him into keeping talking.

"When you have decided to die, Jane, there is not much else you have to fear, is there? It's not like your threat to pass around those damnable photos at St. Andrews has any bite if I don't intend to live long enough to return there, does it?" was his emotion-hoarse response.

Jane swallowed, trying to control her fear and give some semblance of her normal command presence and confidence. "They say that suicide is a very permanent solution to temporary problems, Michael. This," and she waved her hand about to indicate the still feminine surroundings of the bedroom, "*will* pass. My little girls *do* graduate and go back to their lives."

"Do. . . they . . . really?" he flashed back, sarcasm dripping off each deliberately spoken syllable. "Are they *really* living *their* lives, Jane? Or are they merely existing in the lives that *you* have dictated for them with your . . . program?" The last word came out with a loathing that made Jane wince. "Well, I don't want that life. I want the life I had, the life I had planned for myself, and today I realized that I never would have it again. Some of your changes are just as irreversible as you promised they'd be and I will *never* be the man I *should* have been. . . because of YOU!" that last word was a shriek of pain and rage. He fought for control and then continued. "So I decided that I would do the only thing you'd left me. I would at least die like a man."

"I take exception to that, Michael." Her voice became hard again as she rose to defend her students and herself. "*Every* . . . *single* . . . *one* of *my* boys have gone on to lead happy, productive lives. I keep in touch with all of them. Most of them even remember my birthday and send me holiday gifts. They have become doctors, teachers, scientists and police officers. Does that sound like they are so diminished by their experiences with me?" Keep him talking, she told herself. Maybe he can talk himself out of this.

"It is not going to work, Jane. I am getting out of this the only way I can. You can't keep me restrained forever. Eventually I will succeed and I will destroy you in the doing of it. Some agency ought to get you for abuse of a minor. Maybe I will even get *really* lucky and some of those bitches who aid and abet you in your vicious little games will go down, too."

"You will hurt Beth, I mean David - that's his real name - very badly as well if you do that." she said softly. "Personally as well as professionally. He cares about you so his unwilling part in this will be emotionally devastating for him. Even if he manages to recover from that trauma, the truth about how he has lived for the past months will destroy whatever professional future he might have had. Not to mention what it might do to the other boys I have trained over the years, none of whom have ever done you any harm."

"Go to hell, Jane. If she or *he* cared so damned much about me, he'd have warned me about what you were planning. Had I known what you were *really* going to do to me, I probably would have actually taken you up on your offer to leave here, even dressed in those damned petticoats of yours."

"He had no choice, Michael, perhaps even less than you had. I hold his freedom in my hands. One word from me and he goes to jail."

"Maybe he'd be better off there. At least there, he'd be treated like a man! Learn how to be a *man* again instead of the wimpy caricature of a man *you* envision." was the sharp retort.

Jane closed her eyes in pain, knowing the boy was really attacking her and not Beth/David. "Even if we undid everything we have done to him to the best of our ability, he'd still be very feminine looking when he arrived at prison, Michael. Do you know what happens to effeminate young men in prison?"

She hoped he would relent under that threat, but he quickly dashed those. "That is your decision, Jane, not mine. Besides, that seems to be the ultimate expression of your so- called method. Why *not* get the kid raped? Isn't that the ultimate feminine humiliation experience?"

Stunned in shock at his words, Jane's mind failed her. She could only stare in helpless confusion at the once again struggling young man before her. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words formed in her mind, no sounds issued forth.

A hand gently shook her out of her fugue and she looked up to see Maria with a tray of medical supplies. "Let me take care of this, Jane. Beth needs you now." she said in her matter of fact voice as she set the tray down on the bedside table.

Slowly, painfully, Jane rose from her chair and went to check on the other casualty of this suddenly terrible day.
 
 
Chapter 2. Damage Control
 
Jane found Beth in her room, sitting rigidly erect on an antique straight back chair, her hands busily crumpling a hankie, her face a frozen mask of fear and worry. Jane moved to the chair and clumsily pulled her up into her arms. Clumsily because, as she suddenly realized in a flash of pain, it was the first time she had ever comforted one of her petticoated charges. Maria or the other sissy in residence had always had that duty, freeing Jane to be the "bad one". Even the young man whose mother had died during his stay at the large Victorian mansion had not turned to her for solace. Fortunately, he'd been at the end of his time with her, anyway.

"David." she said firmly, using his masculine name to cut through his misery. "Come downstairs with me. We need to wait for Mrs. Bedford."

The boy with the girl's face looked up at her use of the name, the mascara and other cosmetics streaming down his cheeks. A trickle of blood from her nostril and the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek bore testament to the physical damage that had accompanied the emotional trauma suffered by this young person given into her care and keeping. "All right, Jane." he said softly, hiccuping back an incipient sob.

The doorbell rang as they reached the bottom of the staircase. Jane opened the door and directed the nurse to her unwilling patient. Then she led her other charge into the study and poured two snifters of brandy, offering one to the slowly calming Beth.

Beth hesitated before taking the snifter. "That stuff is a big part of why I was sent here, Jane." she said uncertainly.

Jane snorted. "That is all you will get, David, so that won't be a problem here, but you need something. I know I do." and she took a swallow of the dark amber spirit. Hesitantly, David followed her example and started coughing as the fiery liquid burned to his stomach. "It is a little strong, dear. Try sipping it until you get used to it." Jane said kindly.

Beth watched her, somewhat warily. While he hadn't heard all of Jane's part of the "conversation", he had heard Michael's end of Jane's abortive attempt to "talk him down". That comment about "learning to be a man" followed shortly by "rape" and "Isn't that the ultimate feminine experience. . " had David/Beth badly shaken. She could only think of one subject of conversation that could have led to that exchange. He really did not want to go to jail, not after already having spent almost five months under Jane's petticoat tyranny. Hadn't he already paid enough for that childish stupidity?

"I take it, Jane, that you told Michael part of my story?" she asked, very softly.

Jane nodded and moved to the desk where she picked up the telephone. "Yes, I did, and now, I regret having done that." She punched out a number from memory. It wasn't difficult to remember the number she'd called several times in the past few days. "Hello, Caro? Yes, it's me. Look, I need you and Sandra over here immediately. I have a major emergency and I need your help." She paused, obviously listening to the other person. "I understand, Carolyn, but this is truly an emergency. No, I cannot discuss it over the phone, but I am not exaggerating when I say it is life or death." Another short pause followed by Jane saying "Thanks, Caro. Bring your tear down kit, please. See you soon."

Just then, Mrs. Bedford came into the study, her face grim. "I gave him a sedative I am not supposed to have, Jane, and I have patched him up as best I can. He's asleep now with Maria sitting with him for the moment. Now what the hell happened?"

Jane offered her a brandy which the nurse declined.

"Obviously, Michael, my newest project, snapped. We went out today for his first feminine day at the mall - beauty shop, clothes shopping, dodging boys - you know the drill. We got back home and I sent him up to put away his new things and to give him a little time to deal with what had been a very emotional, very humiliating day. Then he did not return immediately and I sent Beth up to fetch him down. She caught him trying to slit his wrists after he had finished the other damage to himself and to the new clothes you saw up there. If she'd been two minutes later, he'd probably be dead now."

No one spoke after that dreadful statement. Then Jane looked over and saw the blood still weeping down Beth's cheek and asked the nurse to check her over.

"She'll have a bit of a shiner by tomorrow morning. Doubt even Maria's artistry will be able to hide it, but otherwise, she'll be fine."

"Thanks, Nora." Jane said. "As to hiding it, by tomorrow, that won't be a problem." she finished with a sad sigh.

Now, Nora did go over and help herself to a brandy before turning back to face Jane. "What now? That boy needs professional help. I have a few more sleeping pills, but what I saw up there is not something that is going to fix itself after a good night's sleep. Unless he wasn't really trying to kill himself and it is just an attempt to get cut loose from here?" The last was a question.

Both Beth and Jane shook their heads. "Maybe he will, after some time, see that as a mistake, but he would already be dead if Beth had not gone up when she did."

"He was serious, Mrs. Bedford. He was fighting me so hard, that if I had let go of that arm, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from plunging the blade into his wrist. I don't think he was faking it." Beth added somberly.

"Then he needs help, Jane. Where does that leave you?"

"In great trouble, Nora. If I take him to the hospital in that condition, social services will become involved at the very least, and they will surely call in the police. Who knows where it will go from there? I have temporary legal guardianship of him, but who knows what will happen when they see him in that condition and hear what he has to say?"

"Too bad he did not say it to you first." the nurse mused as she took a sip of her drink.

Beth snorted derisively. "As if she'd have listened."

Jane paled at that direct hit, but then nodded her head, her eyes closed against the hurt. "True, Beth. I probably would not have heard her complaints as anything beyond what any of my other students have said for effect and not really meant."

Moving slowly, as if burdened by a huge weight, Jane reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a photo album or scrap book. Idly, she began flipping through its pages, stopping to read a note here or to enjoy some little memory there. When she looked up, she saw the other two looking at her strangely. A weary smile crossed her lips. "My rogue's gallery." she said holding up the book. "My little black book of former students. I will have to warn them of this pending breach of my security so that they can distance themselves from me as much as the press will allow. I will then destroy this book and hope, but the way things happen in the tabloids these days, I suspect that more than a few of my girls will find themselves plastered across the front page of the National Inquirer right along side of me."

She opened the book again, and then set it down. She looked at the entry on one page and then began hastily punching out numbers on the phone. A woman answered. "May I please speak with Dr. Davis, please? This is Jane Thompson calling and it is very important. . . . .Yes, I would say it was an emergency. Please interrupt the Doctor." There was a long pause before "Eric?!? Oh thank God. Dear, I really need your help. . . .Yes, one of my girls attempted suicide and I don't know what to do. She needs help, but you know what is likely to happen when I take her in. You can? Oh thank you. Yes, I will have someone meet you at the airport."

She hung up and said. "One of my students is now a clinical psychologist in Chicago. He is going to come and see if there is anything we can do for Michael short of putting him into a hospital."

"And if he can't help him?" Nora asked.

"Then, Michael goes into the hospital and I, in all probability, will go to jail. He is still a minor and someone will decide that my treatment of him constitutes abuse."

"Even though other students of yours may not agree?" Beth asked, quite surprising Jane with her near championship.

She could only shake her head sadly. "By the time the press is done with this, dear, you will all be brainwashed puppets and I will be the most perverted, vicious bitch this side of the German Gestapo. Nothing any of us have to say will stand against the pictures of Michael that are sure to make the nationwide news services."

Just then, the bell rang and Beth rose to answer the door. It was Carolyn and Sandy. "Damn, Beth" was the irreverent Sandra's greeting, "What the hell have you done to all of my excellent work? You look like hell."

"And that is not half as bad as what Michael looks like, Sandy." was Jane's response to her friend.

"What did he do? I know we were a little rough on him today, but hell, Jane, he asked for it." was Sandy's complained defensively. "Is that why we are here with the tear down kits? You've decided he is a lost cause and are shipping him off home in disgrace? Never heard of you giving up on a kid before, Jane."

"No." was the simple one word answer. The chill in the room brought even Sandy up short. Quickly, Jane told the increasingly horror-stricken women what had happened.

"And he is going to try to force what you do into the open with his suicide?" Carolyn asked, speaking for the first time. At Jane's nod, she wilted into a chair. "It will pull us out into the open, as well. We probably won't have a business after that happens. What Newport society type is going to want such evil people doing up their hair or teaching their daughters?"

Jane nodded. "I know. I have always known that there was a possibility of such a happenstance, but never thought it very probable. The boys always saw public exposure as a far greater threat to themselves, never seeing the threat it could be to me, so I have always discounted this ever happening."

"Until now." Caro responded tonelessly. "Well, you had better warn Betty Franson, too, because I know you were taking him there today, and she enjoys playing her little games as much as we do. Or as much as we did." she added ruefully. "Doesn't seem like much fun, right now."

Jane nodded her agreement and then Sandy asked. "Well, why are we here, then, if not to undo Michael, Jane?"

"To undo Beth, Sandy." Jane said firmly. "He, and my other students, are the really guiltless ones in this debacle. Tomorrow morning, Eric Davis whom you may remember as Erica when he was with me . . ."

"The slim, green-eyed redhead who we punished by turning her hair carrot orange?" Sandy asked gleefully before she recalled the problem at hand.

"Yes, that is her, I mean, him. He is coming in on a flight from Chicago tomorrow morning. I will get David tickets home and he can drive my car up to the airport, give the keys to Eric and make his own escape."

Carolyn nodded her understanding. "Okay, where do we set up? The usual place?" Jane nodded.

"Ummm. . .Jane? Could we do this tomorrow? I am beat and I don't feel well. If I have to face Sandy and her noxious chemicals, I am liable to get really sick." Beth asked plaintively.

Jane shrugged and turned to Sandy and Carolyn. "It will have to be early because the flight arrives at eight am, and it is a one hour drive to the airport."

"I'll stay the night, Jane." Sandra offered. "The tear down is mostly my end of the shop anyway. Caro can come here in time to do the brow thickening and the other little cosmetic touch ups."

"Thank you." Jane said. "Well, since Maria is watching Michael, I will go see about some dinner."

"If it is all the same to you, Jane, I am going to go up to bed. I am not very hungry." Beth said firmly.

"All right, Beth. Please be up by five so that Sandy will have time to do what must be done." The feminized male nodded, and then made his way haltingly up to the top of the stairs and then to his room. The four women heard the door close.
 
 
Chapter 3. Acquaintances
 
The room was dark when the sedative finally wore off. As soundlessly as possible, Michael checked his circumstances and found he was still restrained in bed, although the stockings that had been cutting off his circulation had been replaced with some type of chain and leather cuff arrangement.

As the last vestiges of sleep cleared from his brain and his eyes focused, he saw that he was not alone in the room. A female was dozing quietly in a chair next to his bed. He tried to lift his head to get a closer look and was surprised to see that is was "Sandy?"

The sound of his voice roused the lightly sleeping woman and she sat up quickly. She reached over a cool hand to his brow before turning on the bedside light so they both could see. "Awake, are you?" was the soft reply.

For her part, Sandy did not want to be able to see him any better. She had been shocked and appalled when she'd first glimpsed the ravages he'd inflicted on himself, trying to free himself of the feminine tyrannies that she had helped impose on him. She still had a hard time looking at the hairless face and the scruffy, scraggly patches of fuzz that remained where hours before tight, thick curls had bounced.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded angrily.

Sandra did not answer immediately, instead choosing to sit back down and simply look at him. "Jane called me in to help with Beth. She and Maria were exhausted, but refused to leave you alone so I volunteered to sit with you for a few hours."

He thought about that for long moments before part of what she said caught his attention. "Beth? What is wrong with Beth? Why did she call you? What can you do for her?"

A tired smile curved the woman's lips. "Turn her back into a boy so that she can escape the coming holocaust."

"Huh? What?"

"Jane wants him as far away from here and as safe as possible when she takes you to the hospital, Michael. She figures that her entire setup will come out once social services gets hold of you and she is trying to distance as many folks as she possibly can away from the fallout. Particularly her boys. Tomorrow . . ." she checked her watch and grimaced, "Well, today, actually . . .This morning I will cut Beth's hair, relax the permanent curls, clip her nails and generally undo everything I did to make him into a her. Then Jane will put him on a plane for home where he will hopefully avoid being out-ed in the press along with the rest of us."

"It is only what the lot of you deserve." he snarled back at her.

"I'm sure that from your perspective, Michael, that is only the truth. Although I have to wonder how your Mom is going to take all this."

That drew a snort. "She's the reason I am here. Has Jane even been able to reach her?" Sandy's hesitation was too obvious. "I didn't think so. She's always been somewhere else when I wanted to talk to her. Why should it be any different now?"

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence that spanned several chimes of the large grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway. Sandy finally broke the uneasy peace. "Michael? What were you really thinking? Surely you know that Jane has done this with many young males. You are smart enough to know that she would not still be doing it if she wasn't successful at helping them find balance and meaning in their lives. At least one of her boys would have found a way to come back and hurt her if they were really unhappy with their lives after Jane."

"As if you care."

"Believe what you will, but in fact, I do care. If I am going to see my reputation in tatters and my business destroyed over this, I would at least like to understand."

"Do you have any idea what it is like at an all male boarding school, particularly an Ivy League level school like St. Andrews?

The question startled her, but Sandy managed to answer. "I can't say that I have, Michael."

"It is a purely all-male, *very* male society. The traditions date back to 19th Century English public schools and those are only a little more civilized nowadays. Reputations made in those schools last your entire life, particularly in the business and financial worlds. Any weakness that might be construed as unmanly, any hint that you might lack the essential toughness, gets magnified and is remembered forever by the people who really count in the business world." Michael's voice broke as he recalled how he'd feared being labeled a wimp because of his small stature. How many of his clashes with authority resulted from carrying "manliness" to extremes?

Grimly, he fought back the tears and glared at the woman who had humbled and humiliated him mere hours ago. "Today, when we got back, I came up to put away those damnable clothes Jane forced on me. I actually caught myself holding one of the dresses in front of me while I examined myself critically in the mirror." Michael's voice then dropped, very low. "And I knew."

Sandy waited for him to finish, but he showed no signs of going on. Finally, she could stand it no more. "You knew *what*, Michael?"

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, tears began to flow unchecked down his cheeks. "That I could never go back to St. Andrews. Jane would never let me go until all her little lessons were second nature, instinctive. Shaking hands with a loose wrist, curtseying without thinking, making extravagant hand motions, batting my lashes or tossing my hair coyly. I would be a pariah within the first week back because by then being male would be the masquerade. Hell, even with only the short time here I don't know which is the mask and which is me. Preening before a mirror in my new finery." the words came out dripping with a savage self disgust before Michael was able recover his control again. "The life I had planned for myself is over."

"And so you decided to end your life for real?"

The honestly incredulous disbelief in Sandy's blurted out question stopped him for a moment, making him more pensive. "I can't say it was really a decision. Everything just seemed to go red and next thing I know, Beth is on top of me, screaming for help."

Motion from the doorway interrupted the interlude. Both turned to see Maria, still clad in her nightgown slipping into the room. "Sandra, Beth is up and ready for you downstairs."
 

 
The sun was up when Michael next woke up, this time finding Jane seated in the bedside chair. He had to relieve himself and was surprised when Jane produced a bedpan and helped him aim without any snide remark or disparaging comment on his male parts. She then produced a glass of orange juice with a straw and some breakfast bars which she silently fed him until his hunger pangs had been dulled.

"What happens now, Jane?" he asked quietly.

"Well, a great deal of that is yet to be determined. Someone is coming to talk to you today. I guess we will need to hospitalize you, but I promise you this, Michael. We will do what ever is best for you, regardless of the consequences for me."

"Right. Like I believe that."

Jane did not rise to the bait of his impertinence. She simply shrugged. "Whatever. Believe what you will."

"If that *is* true," he challenged her in a tone of strident disbelief, "Then tell me what has changed? The fact that I tried to slit my wrists and bleed all over your pretty satin comforters?"

"Nothing's changed, Michael. As I've told you before, my methods have had, until you," she amended quickly, "an unblemished record of success in helping boys with problems and bad attitudes become productive, upstanding young men. You may not like my methods - you may not even choose to believe me, but my commitment to helping you remains unchanged."

This was a very different Jane, one that Michael had never seen before. Gone was the innuendo-laden, sarcasm and derision that, up until now, had cut him down at every turn. All he heard and saw was a quiet determination that seemed to buttress every word she'd said.

"From what I can gather from Sandy, you feel that my vision of masculinity gentled by your feminine side would serve you ill at St. Andrews." Jane became quiet and introspective for a few moments as she tried again to absorb that alien concept. She visibly shook herself and turned back to Michael. "Perhaps that is true. I have never considered anything like that before. You are the first student I have ever had who was so committed to that Ivy League old-monied aristocracy business world." She frowned tiredly as she lapsed into thought again.

"Sandy said she was here to change Beth?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Beth is once again David and he is now on his way to somewhere west where none of this can touch him further."

They heard the doorbell ring and Maria hurrying to open the door. Voices spoke, but the words were not intelligible in the upstairs bedroom.

Moments later, a person entered the room. The first thing Michael noticed was not the tall, slender elegantly turned out redhead, but rather was the disbelieving look of shock on Jane's face.

"E. . .E. .Eric?" she stuttered out.

The female looking person standing in the doorway smiled gently and opened her arms to Jane who ran jerkily to her. "I still go by Erica when I am all done up like this, Jane." was the softly inflected answer.

Michael watched with growing envy at the tight, loving embrace shared by the woman and by the person he strongly suspected was another of Jane's "boys". When had anyone ever hugged him like that? Another question that did not bear asking, he reminded himself, but the answer still slipped through.

Never.

The two finally separated. "Is this the lad you told me about, Jane?"

Jane took the redhead's hand in her own and led her over to Michael's bed. "Erica, this is Michael. Michael, this is Dr. Davis. He. . .ummm. . She is the one I told you was coming to speak with you."

"Jane?" the light voice suddenly deepened causing her to turn in surprise. "Go for a walk and let us talk. I think we need a little guy-thang time, okay?"

A bubble of laughter escaped from Michael. "Right, like you can hold up your end of that?" he asked sarcastically.

Dr. Davis grinned cheekily at him before shoo-ing Jane out of the bedroom and closing the door. "I see she still has these doors rigged so they can only be locked from the outside. I guess some things just never change, but I don't think we will be disturbed." said the incongruously male voiced female.

He returned to the bed and pulled off the auburn wig to reveal an equally bright, but masculinely trimmed head of hair. From his bag he removed a ragged Chicago Bears T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans and a pair of running shoes. The entire transformation took minutes, but in the end, the person in the room with Michael was obviously a male, albeit with the unusually fine eyebrows of the true redhead.

After carefully laying out his femme clothes, he took the seat Jane had just vacated and looked at Michael. "You see, it does come off, Michael. Eventually. Life goes on, provided one is still alive to live it." He reached down and unsnapped the closest wrist restraint. "Now, why don't you tell me just what the hell went on, okay?"
 
 
Chapter 4: Reflections
 
Michael was again asleep, this time freed of the restraints. Maria was again watching him as Jane entertained a now masculinely dressed Eric. "Well, changing from Erica to Eric in his presence seemed to help him."

"What happened, Eric? I have never had anything remotely like this happen with any other boy."

The lithe psychologist took a sip of his coffee as he considered his answer. "Part of it is exactly what he said. There is a great deal of research that indicates the private school environment he wants is exactly as he describes it. I think it is unlikely he could manage the transition from your program back to St. Andrews with any degree of success. Another aspect was his desperation at finding himself falling into your feminine world with no way out. His whole world, his entire self image were crumbling around him and there was nothing he could do about that because he was partially responsible. The conspiracy had won, and the Michael he thought he wanted to be was dying, anyway."

"It never affected any of my other students like that. Look at you. You went to Harvard and you did not run into any such problems."

"True, but Harvard is a university renowned for its eccentricities and moreover, I was a psych major. We're supposed to be weird. As Michael was quick to point out when I tried to make the same point, if I slipped up and gave a little swish, most folks wouldn't even notice, and the rest would figure I was just another off-the-wall psychology student. St. Andrews is another story altogether. Its as conservative as Harvard is liberal and Michael wants, or rather, wanted to go into Business Administration."

"Oh." was Jane's defeated response.

"Even showing off pictures of my wife and kids did not satisfy that there is virility after skirts. He is quick, this lad of yours, Jane. He asked me, point blank, if I would want one of my boys going through your program. I am afraid I was caught somewhat off guard and hesitated." he said sheepishly.

A tired grin curved Jane's mobile mouth. "So, I am not good enough for your sons, Eric?" she asked with a touch of her usual caustic tongue.

"What I should have said was that I hoped my boys would grow up with the type of family and support that would make a shock treatment like yours unnecessary. I am afraid Michael is convinced that I would never condemn my poor babies to your evil clutches under any circumstances."

"I don't suppose he'd believe you if you pointed out I am Eric Junior's Godmother?" His rueful grin was all the answer she needed. "Forget I asked." she muttered dejectedly. "You said that was only part of it."

"Well, not knowing all his background, he seems to be . . . I don't know, playing a role. He wants to be tough, to act hard, and yet, he'll ask if "Jane's other victim got away all right." That is really not very consistent."

Jane nodded wearily. "No, actually. That dichotomy is completely consistent with what I was told by his counselors at the prep school and from others. What he said earlier tonight, about the school essentially being an entre into the good old boy network of high finance, that evidently exacerbates his behavior. The school psychologist wrote that, in trying to be one of the gang, he was overdoing the macho act and was actively repressing anything behavior that might be construed as gentle or sensitive in nature."

"Yes, that *does* fit." Eric murmured as much to himself as to the others in the room, then he forced an encouraging smile on his face. "On the bright side, I don't think he is really suicidal anymore. That was his initial rage and desperation talking. The rage is over, and for whatever reason, he no longer considers himself hopelessly trapped in a situation beyond his control. Right now, he is more depressed than anything else, as well as humiliated. That's not a good combination, either, but it is not what almost drove him to take his own life."

"So what do we do? What *can* we do?"

"My recommendation is that his parents come in and take him off someplace quiet and nonthreatening to heal. Get a good therapist in on the program and help him find a new way in his life. I don't think institutionalizing him will help him."

Jane's face contorted in an emotion that might have been sorrow or anger, and was probably both. "I finally reached his Mother in Europe last night." Jane chose her next words with great care. "I do not believe that is an option."

"Well, that does put a different face on it. He can't go back to that school, Jane." Eric said emphatically. "He's too raw and wounded. Besides, he's already started responding to your training program. I could see the femme mannerisms for all he tried to control them. Those high born, arrogant little bastards would crucify him inside of two weeks. What he might do to them or to himself in retaliation does not even bear thinking about."

Jane stood and walked to the window. "Hospitalizing him won't help. His Mother isn't a solution. And now you say he won't survive back in the school he supposedly wants to return to more than life. What the hell option does that leave us, Eric?"

"Have him stay here, with us." came a soft voice from the doorway.

Jane spun on her heel to see David entering the room. David, once again in his skirts as Beth. His hair was nowhere as intricate since Sandra had cut much of it off to remove the permanent curls that refused to lay flat. He wore only the barest minimum of makeup, but it *was* Beth.

"What are you doing here, David? I sent you away from here." was Jane's furious demand.

"And I came back. You need me, as does Michael although he doesn't know it and certainly won't admit it, yet."

"We don't even know what to do, yet. We can't proceed as we were before. Even if it might have worked before, he knows too much now. He's met Eric, and he knows I was sending you back to your life as David."

"Jane, I talked with Sandy while she undid my Beth persona this morning. I think another very big part of Michael's problem is that he was starting to *like* parts of the game. Sandy got him aroused and excited, even though she was being absolutely cruel to him the whole morning. Then he got home and started mooning over Michelle's new clothes. He likes it, but he doesn't *want* to like it."

Jane looked to Eric who nodded. "That fits with what I learned, Jane. If that is the case, he is going to have to confront that internal self-conflict between his need to be superman and his enjoyment of being feminine in order to get past this."

"And just *how* do you propose we do that?" she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you really think she is going to just give in and let us put her back in skirts so we can help her confront a problem she refuses to admit even exists? And it is not just me at risk here. Everyone in my little cadre of helpers stand to lose a great deal if she goes off the deep end again. He's already decided that my threat of exposing her as a boy doesn't have any teeth, and not because he knows about what lengths I go to in order to prevent such an occurrence. No, he's decided that it simply doesn't matter to him anymore."

Jane realized she was shouting and took several calming breaths. "And several very good, very nice people stand to lose their reputations and their livelihoods if he decides to run to the nearest social worker. It would be like juggling a time bomb."

Beth looked Jane directly in the eye. "Is sending him away to a mental care facility any safer for any of you. . . errr. . any of us?" Both looked at the slender psychologist.

He shrugged. "No. He needs support he won't get in a hospital. Everything will eventually come out and it may not even help him all that much. Let me talk to him some more when he wakes up. I need to explore what . . .Beth? yes, what Beth just told us. That bears a deeper look. And Jane?" she turned to face him. "Go get some sleep yourself. We'll figure out something."
 
 
Chapter 5: Reflections Two
 
Michael wandered about the locked bedroom listlessly. The house was cool and he had put on the least offensive things he could find - the terry cloth robe, a pair of white cotton panties and some white socks. That doctor-student of Jane's had made a careful sweep of the room, and had removed several things that might be used as a weapon before removing the restraints. They'd even turned off the water to his bathroom so he could not try and drown himself.

The second interview had been much more uncomfortable for Michael than had the first. He'd been at least partially in control during that exchange. This time, however, Dr. Davis had a clear idea of what he wanted to talk about and it was something that Michael preferred not to discuss.

He did not even want to *face* those questions. Did he really like dressing up and pretending to be a girl? Even though he knew it was wrong? Even though he knew it was dangerous, if not fatal to all of his future plans? Here, in the dimly lit room, alone with his own thoughts, he could admit that parts of it were . . . . well, not *too* bad. But he could never admit that to anyone else in a million years, and he had tried very hard not to let that on to Jane's psychologist.

He opened the door to his closet and found all the dresses and shoes were also gone. He wondered why but decided that a high heeled shoe or a coat hanger could be made into nicely lethal little weapons. Of course, there was one weapon that no one thought about because it was so obvious. Michael hefted one of the books they had given him to read. It was heavy and would do the job just fine, he mused. He could be dead before they got the door unlocked.

It just did not seem that important now.

Nothing seemed all that important now.
 
 
Chapter 6: Options
 
"Well, Beth and Sandy were right." Eric reported later to Jane, Maria and Beth. "He tried to con me in the interview, but a part of him is fascinated with the masquerade, even though it is diametrically opposed to his public, super- masculine persona. It's not so much that he hates it as he hates *not* hating it." Then the young man grinned faintly. "On top of that, he's also competitive as hell, and there is a part of him that, if he is going to do it at all, wants to be able to do it very well. Your little digs really bugged him, Jane, because he thought he was trying as hard as he could."

"He was, actually, I just felt I needed to press my advantage when I had one to press. So where does that leave us? What do we do?" Jane asked.

"Convince him to stay, somehow, and give him into a less trying version of the program." Eric started to say something, but hesitated. Jane caught it and gave him a "give it to me straight" motion of her hands. "We talked at length about what he has been through here, Jane. I have to tell you that I think you may have pushed too hard, too quickly with this one. With his over emphasis on being perceived as a 'man's man', you did not give him enough time or distance to allow him to deal with what your program was making him feel."

"It was the timing of it all, Eric. Unlike boys like you and like David/Beth who came to me knowing there was no time limit on your stay, he thought he'd be leaving after only staying for a relatively short period of time. I felt I had to get him broken down quickly so that he would stop thinking of escape, so that he would feel that escape was not possible. He had to believe I would carry through with my threat to expose him or to abandon him still in his skirts. If he did not believe my threat, he would have been gone in the first two weeks, and damn the consequences." Jane shrugged. "Water over the dam, I guess. Do you have any ideas how to get him to stay and how to structure a program for him?"

Eric shook his head and then yawned. "Not just now, but then, I don't think there has been a whole lot of basic research on the behavioral advantages of forcing recalcitrant young males to cross dress. Lets go to bed and get some sleep. We are all shagged and we will think better in the morning." He rose and gave both Jane and a surprised Beth a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Rest well, you two."

Beth looked at Jane after Eric had gone up to bed. "Has Michael had his dinner?"

Exhausted from the stress of the past thirty six hours, Jane seemed to wilt under the weight of one more task. "No." she said resignedly.

"I'll take care of it, Jane. You are feeding him those diet bars, sliced fruits and juice, right?"

Relief flashed across Jane's worn features. "Yes, and use the unbreakable plastic cup for the beverage."

"Get some sleep, Jane." Beth said with gentle affection.

Beth got a second surprise when Jane pulled her into a tight embrace, kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Thank you for coming back." Thoroughly bemused by the unprecedented show of affection, Beth wondered what, if anything, she could or should say. She was saved by the timely chime of Jane's private phone.

Jane answered the phone, and sighed. Beth wasn't sure if it was in relief or resignation, and momentarily hesitated to see if Jane might need her. Jane noticed and waved her out the door. "Beth, please close the door behind you." she said, holding her hand against the phone's mouthpiece.
 
 
Chapter 7. Confrontation - First Contact
 
Michael was back on the bed reading one of the books Maria had brought him. Conan-Doyle's Sherlock Holmes was not his usual choice in reading material, but it wasn't a teenage fashion magazine and it wasn't a romance novel. Still, he was immediately alert to the first scratch of a key being inserted into the door lock.

"Hello, Michael." was the oddly familiar, yet unfamiliar voice.

The face was the same, but the hair and the voice were oddly different. "Beth?!?"

A smile lit the feminine face as Beth carried a tray into the room and set it on the night stand. She saw him staring at her, and grinned broadly. "It's a wig. My own hair was too short to pass muster after Sandy finished with me earlier." She swept a hand down to show off the smart knit skirt and sweater combination. "The color is not quite right but it is the only hair piece Maria had available on such short notice."

"But. . .but why??"

Beth's voice dropped back into the more familiar, more feminine range as she laughed softly. "Why what, Michael? Why am I here? Because I told Jane I would bring you your dinner. You are hungry, aren't you?" Beth teased.

"No, I mean, yes, I am hungry." and Michael matched deed to word by snatching up one of the candy-like diet bars, the cup of orange juice and then stuffing the bar into his mouth. "But why are you here, dressed in those. . . those damned clothes?" he choked out as soon as his mouth was able to form the words around the food. "Jane told me she'd set you free and sent you away as . . .as David? For God's sake, David, why aren't you as far away from here and from *her* as you could get?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full. It is impolite." Beth chided primly before smiling at herself. "Well, given where you sit right now, I can see how that might surprise you. I am here because I want to be here. However this comes out, Jane is going to need someone and I have discovered that I care about her."

At Michael's look of stunned disbelief, Beth became very earnest. "Whether you personally like her or not, Miche " and here Beth started to call him 'Michelle' "I mean, Michael, the simple fact is that she stood up for me and gave me a chance when no one else would. Without her, I would be in prison for what was a stupid juvenile mistake made when the law said I was too old to be treated as a juvenile. Okay, so maybe her methods and her lessons were tough, even harsh - especially with you - but they helped *me*. I have learned self control and I have gotten myself sober. As for why am I dressed like this? Well, that is because I am Beth here, and this is how Beth dresses." and then her voice became very soft. "And also, because I have discovered that I enjoy it."

Michael nearly choked on the chunk of the apple he'd just bitten off. "You *like* being forced to dress like a girl? Being a sissy? Putting up with all of Jane's sadistic little games? What is wrong with you? You are a man. You were out of here, away from *her*."

Beth picked up the napkin from the tray and handed it to Michael. "I am not being forced now, Michael. In fact, I have discovered that I really enjoy having that special secret inside my panties and fooling everyone from horny teenage boys to starchy old ladies with my disguise. More than that, I really like the way women's clothes feel. The silky underwear against my skin, the sleek tight grip of the hosiery, the taste of lipstick and the smell of perfume - they are pleasurable to me in ways that I never experienced before coming here to live and learn with Jane."

"I don't understand. You are giving up being a guy?"

A hearty male chuckle answered him. "No, stupid. For one thing, I like girls and have no interest in boys, apart from teasing the hell out of them from time to time. I am David, but I am Beth, too. Both are part of who *I* am, and I will find a way to live my life so I can have and be both. As for Jane, I am past being bothered by her games. I'll let you in on a secret, Michael. She can't expose us without exposing herself and her friends. If she is exposed, she won't be able to do it anymore. She might even get arrested. Besides, no one will ever believe her girls aren't guys after that and she'd lose the fear factor that forces us to try to learn her little lessons. Not to mention the world of hurt it would bring down on folks like Mrs. Franson, Caro and Sandy. She needs the anonymity as much as we do. Her threats are and always were empty."

"You *really* like it? You're not just saying that because Jane ordered you to? Like when you set me up those times?" Michael asked again, feeling stupid.

"Don't *you* like it, Michael?" the boy-girl responded in Beth's voice. "Really, down deep in your heart, don't you feel special when you are all dolled up and pretty?"

Open mouthed, Michael could only shake his head from side to side in denial. Beth shrugged, a funny little frown on the delicate features of her face, and then stood. "Well, only you can answer that question, my friend. I think you really do, but what do I know? I just hope you are not letting the biases of other people - small minded people at that - influence you. Dressing like this hurts no one and if it is something you enjoy, why shouldn't you do it?"

Then she picked up empty tray and walked to the door. She knocked twice and left him alone when it opened.

The key turning in the lock was the last sound he heard for the rest of the night, but it was a very, very long time before his racing mind calmed enough to permit sleep to take him.
 
 
Chapter 8. Abandonment
 
Maria had just taken away his breakfast dishes, more of the funny, dry bars and a cup of chocolate flavored something. She had remained rigidly formal with him, and had refused any overtures he made at conversation. The only remotely personal thing she had done was check him over to see that his injuries were healing and were not infected. Her fingers did linger on the bruise that stained his mid drift, shaped like her foot. A very sad look crossed her eyes as she ran gentle fingers across the blue black mark, but she had said nothing.

Alone again, he'd picked up the discarded detective novel and tried to pretend he had not already figured out the ending when the key scratched the door again. This time the door opened to admit Jane. She was carrying a telephone which she placed on the bedside table and hooked into the wall socket. She then pressed a button on it and spoke into the speaker on the phone. "Barbara, are you still there?"

Michael went instantly alert. Barbara was his Mother's name. "Yes, Jane." came the sound of his Mother's voice, made somewhat tinny by the distance of the overseas call. The utter lack of interest those toneless words conveyed was her responsibility alone.

"Barb, I have Michael here. Would you please repeat what you just told me?" Michael heard and then saw the barely restrained emotion rippling beneath Jane's reserved and autocratic facade.

"Oh, very well, but you could have told him." was the bored reply. "We are late for the opera. "Michael, Jane has told me that you have not responded properly to her treatment. I don't want you to end up like your father, a hard-driving bastard who died of apoplexy while furiously bullying an overworked underling for some trivial error. I have told her to do as she feels she must. Put you in a hospital, send you to a military school, whatever. If you have any brains at all, you will do what Jane says. She knows what's best."

Michael's face became a mask of pain as his Mother's voice became cold. "This time, you have gone too far and endangered the family name. I will pay for whatever Jane deems necessary since you cannot possibly go back to St. Andrews now - not in your current condition. But you won't see another cent from me beyond that, Michael. Your trust fund won't be released until you reach twenty one. I suggest you get your head screwed on and stop making a nuisance of yourself." She paused a moment for effect. "Jane, is that all? I really am frightfully late."

Jane's control snapped and she slammed both hands down hard on the night table, causing the phone to bounce. "No, God dammit, it is NOT enough. Don't you want to hear *your* son's side of this? Don't you think you owe it to him to hear what he has to say?"

Michael merely rose and walked away from the phone, and stared out the window. The response to Jane's query was "Jane, I am late and I have no time to deal with this. If you don't want to be involved, you know what to do. Good bye."

The phone clicked, and for a long time, Jane could do nothing but stare at the buzzing speaker. When the phone began to chirp "If . . you . . wish . . to . . make . . a . . call. .", she finally pressed the disconnect button and turned to look at her ward. He had not moved a muscle since leaving his seat.

Jane quietly moved over to stand behind him. "I am sorry about that, Michael. As badly as things have gone between us, I did not think you would believe me if I told you that." she paused momentarily trying to gauge his response. "And . . I had hopes that talking to you might remind her that you are her son and that maybe you are more important to her than hearing Luciano Pavarotti at the Vienna Opera."

He gave a bark of humorless laughter followed by what might have been a sob before flinging himself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Why should she change now? She almost got her fondest wish - no son. She hasn't been interested in me since my father died. It's as if she looks for reasons not to be with me."

Stiffly, Jane returned to the chair, apparently uncertain what to do next. Turning back to face his guardian, Michael noted her worried expression and smiled darkly at her before saying softly. "I won't try to kill myself over this, Jane. I will live if only to deny her what she really wants."

"Eric assures me there is nothing in here you could harm yourself with, anyway, Michael."

Michael reached for the heavy volume of the complete works of Conan-Doyle and hefted it. "He's wrong, Jane." and tossed the book at her.

She caught it awkwardly and examined it closely before tossing it back to him. "Doesn't seem very deadly to me." she said with a forced lightness.

"No, but those windows are old glass, as old as this house. Old glass shatters really easily and that book is heavy. I could heave it through one of those windows and impale myself on one of the shards before any of you could have stopped me."

Jane paled at the thought, but forced herself to ask. "When did you figure that out?"

"Last night, after Dr. Davis left the second time." he said diffidently. "I don't think anything could ever make me that stupidly angry again. Now, I have to figure out how to deal with what is left of my life." He thought for a moment more and then looked at Jane. "I guess that means starting with you since my maternal parent abandoned her parental responsibility to you, just as she has always abandoned me."

"Maternal parent?" Jane asked with a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter.

"She sure as hell hasn't been a Mom to me in years." Jane had to agree with that, but held her silence. "And something else before you decide, Jane. I won't turn the cops and the press loose on you, regardless your decision. I don't think you have any more reason to trust me than you said I have to trust you, but you have my word of honor on that score. I don't want to hurt Beth, or any of those other men you have. . . treated?" He could not bring himself to say 'helped'.

". .yes, *treated* over the years. I wouldn't cry if something nasty happened to Sandy, but I can't get at her without possibly hurting others."

"Or me." Jane added.

"Or you." Michael added with grim finality. "So, do you have contacts in some nice concentration camp style military school? Or am I going to become a ward of the state as a patient at one of the mental hospitals?"

Jane thought she heard a touch of dread hiding behind the bravado, and so she took her time answering. "I really don't know, Michael. The Doctor said a home environment would be best for you, but obviously," she said, looking pointedly at the now silent phone. "Your Mother won't be providing that for you any time soon."

A knock interrupted their conversation and Dr. Davis stuck his head in the door. "May I come in?" he asked. When Michael shrugged, the slim doctor glided in. The graceful, almost feminine walk reminded Michael of his first glimpse of the man, rigged out in his Erica outfit. He'd been striking in that severely tailored, forest green skirt power suit that had perfectly complimented the flashing auburn tresses and lightly freckled complexion. Striking, if not precisely pretty - and certainly not as pretty as Beth, or even as Michelle, he thought smugly. Then he realized just where that line of thought was heading and almost groaned.

"Michael," Jane's firm voice called him back from that shocking thought. "Eric does not want me to say this, but I have decided I will tell you anyway. He is here right now because I had him listening in on that phone conversation with your mother. ."

"Maternal parent." Michael corrected angrily.

"Ummmm. . . yes. Well, he was listening in on what *Barbara* had to say to you. He's here because we felt you might want to talk to someone who understood what you've been through here. . . what *I've* put you through here, and who is otherwise a disinterested party."

Michael considered that for a moment. Obviously, the Doc lived, how did Beth put it, with both identities as part of his life. And he was a psychologist. He nodded. "Thank you." he said tiredly.

Jane rose. "Then I will leave you two to do just that." she said a tad too brightly, and then hurried out the door.

Michael looked up at Eric and offered him the chair. The words were out before he realized he was going to say them. "Do you really dress up still? By your own free choice?? With a wife and kids?!?"
 
 
Chapter 9. The Plan
 
"It has the advantage, Jane, of killing two birds with one stone." Eric offered earnestly.

"Please, don't use that metaphor, Eric."

"Sorry." he grinned. "But seriously, Jane, of the three options open to us, it is the only one that would get him to confront his festering inner conflicts about cross dressing. Also, given his intensely competitive nature, being very good at it would give him a goal to focus on."

"But what can we possibly use to motivate him to choose that course of action? Even though he has promised not to go to the authorities, I cannot take the chance of trying to force him back into skirts against his will. Not again, by God. I won't endanger my friends like that again."

The young psychologist grew very serious. "No, I agree that it must be his own choice. Well, as I said earlier, he is very intelligent. Maybe he would buy into the resolving his internal conflicts as a motivator." At Jane's disbelieving glare, Eric shrugged."I didn't say it would be easy, only that it was the best solution to all of his problems."

"I agree with you that he needs to accept his more sensitive self and get rid of that macho-chip he carries around on his shoulder. But how do we get him to recognize that?" Jane complained. "When he has already nearly killed himself because of his experience in skirts?"

"It is not at all the same thing, Jane. It wasn't only the cross dressing that did him in, it was realization that the life he had been planning on wasn't possible for him anymore." The psychologist thought for a few moments. "The only other thing that is nearly as critical to his emotional and mental makeup is his utter ambivalence toward his Mother. Not too surprising after her little performance on the phone. Maybe you could find a way to make that work to your advantage."

"What? Tell him getting into skirts will help him get back at his Mother? For heavens sake, Eric. She *sent* him here, and he knows she is fully aware of what I do to my young men."

"Its just a possibility. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time to pull this off."

"I think it will work, too, Jane." Beth added quietly. "You can be very persuasive when you care about something. Michael will respond to that. I think he is looking for something, some*one* to fill some very big holes in his life."

Jane scanned the small circle gathered in her study. "All right. We can only try. Maria?" she looked at her long time friend and co-conspirator. "Go upstairs and get him a complete, skin out set of his male clothes including shoes and underwear. I want him to make this choice on his own, fully understanding what he will be giving up as well as what he might be gaining if we proceed down this path. He will eat with us at dinner and we will discuss his future afterwards in the music room."

"Jane?" Beth asked as they rose to leave the room. "What will you do if he doesn't make the choice you want him to make?"

The older woman sighed. "Exactly what he chooses, Beth. I don't see how we can chance trying to trick him, or changing our minds about what we will do with him. No, I will scrupulously abide by whatever decision he makes."
 
 
Chapter 10. Choices
 
After three days of finger foods, Michael found the simple pleasure of feeding himself with such civilized implements as fork, spoon *and* knife deeply satisfying. Maria's food wasn't bad, either, and included just about every dish she'd seen him particularly enjoy during his stay with them. It made for an odd meal, but if anyone thought it curious to have Maria's authentic fajitas served alongside her spicy Chinese stir-fried vegetables and candied sweet potatoes, no one commented on it. Beth did give him a very sly grin and a wink when the German chocolate cake was served for desert.

All of this was made all the more special because he was eating the meal in the dining room wearing his own *male* clothes again. Earlier that afternoon, shortly after Eric had left him, Maria had arrived to tell him his bathroom water had been turned back on. She'd offered to try and do something with what was left of his hair, but the damage done was beyond even her ability to repair. In the end, she'd shaved him bald.

Michael privately thought he looked like a young Yul Brenner. Beth, however, disagreed and had called him Uncle Fester when she'd checked to see if he needed anything before dinner. When he'd finished his shower, he'd found his clothes laid out on the bed - an open collared sport shirt, slacks, shoes and real men's jockey shorts - complete with a *fly*.

For a brief moment, he wondered what the catch was, but in the end decided that there was not much else they could do to him and had put on the clothes. Precisely at six, Jane had arrived to escort him to dinner.

Now that the meal was over, Michael wondered if he had slipped into one of those classic Rod Serling Twilight Zone episodes. Had aliens from another time and place kidnapped Aunt Jane and taken her place. My God, he thought grimly, she'd actually been pleasant to him. She'd even *smiled* at him, more than once, without looking like a hungry shark ready to pounce.

So it was with more than a bit of trepidation that he now walked with the rest of the "family", including Maria who had been told to leave the dishes, to the music room. Was this where the other shoe fell on his innocent head? Had he just been fattened up for the slaughter?

Inside the classically decorated room, a coffee service had already been laid out. Jane walked over to the small sideboard that served as a bar and offered after dinner drinks to Maria and to Eric. Then she turned to Michael and Beth. "Would either of you care for something? Some wine, perhaps, or something stronger?"

Beth accepted the wine, but Michael, already nervous, decided that he should try to keep what wits he still had. "No, thank you, Aunt Jane. Some coffee would be fine, though." He must have been mistaken, he thought. Was that actually approval he saw in her eyes?

The drinks were passed out and then Jane had every one settle on the various couches and chairs, but she was particularly careful to seat Michael and herself directly opposite of each other.

Thoroughly spooked now, Michael's mouth engaged. "Is this the time, the walrus said, to speak of many things?"

Everyone chuckled, but Jane's brow went up in that frightening way she had. "Am I to assume that you think I look like a walrus, Michael?" Then she laughed at his comical, open mouthed look of terror. "Oh, calm down. Yes, we have to talk, but nothing will happen tonight or as a result of tonight that you do not agree to enter freely and of your own will."

Now she quotes Bram Stoker to me. Is she Vlad the Impaler, or Van Helsing?

"We have to make some decisions about your future, Michael. You have some choices to make. First, let me say that I cannot, in good conscience, let you return to St. Andrews. At least not now. Maybe in a year or so, if you still want to return there, that can be arranged, however, Dr. Davis feels that is not a good situation for you just now."

Michael made a noncommittal shrug, but said nothing.

"I have also, again with Eric's concurrence, decided that you are not going to be sent to a hospital or to another boarding school. What you need is stability and people who want to help *you*. We are afraid that you won't get either as just another patient or just another student. The best solution would have been for your Moth. . . that is, for Barbara to take you away to a nice private home and let you deal with this in a supportive family setting, which simply isn't going to happen." Jane let her voice become icy-cold. "If she even thought about it now, I would contest her revocation of guardianship in court to keep her away from you."

Michael was astounded to see the anger in Jane's eyes, and more, to see that it was directed at his Mother, not at him. "So, here are the options you have, Michael. First, Eric has said that you can live with him and his wife in Chicago. His wife is familiar with my program and although she is a supporter of my methods, she understands you have had a particularly bad experience. While you are there, you will be free to live as Michael. More importantly, Eric will be there to help you deal with whatever you need to resolve in order to get on with your life."

Jane took a sip from her wine glass. "Your second option is to stay here with me, living as Michael. I would enroll you in the local school system this fall instead waiting until after Christmas as your Mother and I had originally planned. For your part, you will allow me to act in loco parentis. I will expect you to agree to follow my rules and regulations, *which*," she said firmly with a hand raised to forestall Michael making a comment, "I promise will be neither out of the ordinary nor unfairly enforced. In return for this agreement, I will promise to defer any future . . .er. . .special students" and here her eyes fell on the elegantly dressed Beth, "until you reach your majority and can move out on your own."

"Your third option is also to stay with me, but living as Michelle." At the shocked look in his eyes and the coiling of his legs to bolt, Jane held up a restraining hand, and Eric caught him by the elbow, effectively keeping him in his seat. "Hear me out, Michael, please."

The soft entreaty in her voice did more to stay him than anything she had ever threatened him with. "First of all, Eric and I both think the experience would be good for you from the perspective of personal growth. Thanks to your . . . to Barbara's sending you to all those male-only, all year boarding schools, you have had an almost complete lack of the feminine influence and outlooks in your life. Michelle might give you some balance in your perceptions."

Michael could keep silent no longer. "But that would mean taking the chance I will be exposed publicly as a sissy. And the probability of that happening sometime in the next four years has to be nearly one hundred percent." He shot an angry glare at Beth. "You said she couldn't, wouldn't do that." he accused hotly.

Intervening, Jane resumed. "I know what Beth told you, and she is correct, as far as that goes. All my little ploys and lessons are *always* aimed at protecting my girls from real discovery all the while making them feel as vulnerable and as threatened as possible. However, experiences such as that would not be *our* objective for you. *Our* goal would be to make you, while dressed anyway, indistinguishable from any other young woman your age. To make you into a *lady*, not a sissy."

Michael was no longer able to contain his fury and disgust. "Little ploys and lessons? *Little* PLOYS? Is that what you call what you do to people? What you did to me? And just what the hell good do you think that cockamamie idea would do for me, anyway? Besides, the very last thing I want in my life is to give you that kind of power over me again, to suffer your sadistic "little ploys" again." Raw anger spewed from him, and furious tears ran down his cheeks. "Do you think I am crazy? Or just stupid?"

Jane quietly struggled to keep control of herself. When she finally spoke, Michael could see the pain apparent in her face. "You are neither of those things, Michael. Just someone with a far more resistant masculine self image than I anticipated, someone I pushed much too hard, someone I did not read correctly, someone I hurt very badly. A great deal of what happened to you must be laid at my door, and I am suffering from my errors in judgment, my failures. That is part of the reason that I am willing to forswear any new students during the term of your stay with me - I, too, must deal with this before I can once more take on the responsibility of tearing down a personality in order to build him back up again."

She paused to take a shaky sip of her wine. The interview was going much as she expected with Michael not willing to give an inch. She'd give him his pound of flesh if that is what it took to get him to stay here and let her help him. It was time to try another tack. "Michael, those failures are my share of what ultimately has brought us to this point, but another important piece of the puzzle is inside you. You know that your reaction was completely beyond anything in my experiences with the nearly fifty other young men who have come to me over the last twenty years I have been . . . treating them."

"I still don't see where this is going, Aunt Jane." Michael snapped, impatience dripping from each clipped word.

"Simply this. If you decide to try living as Michelle, I will in turn promise to forgo my "little ploys" and, as I said earlier, to teach you how to be a real lady, not a sissy."

"Michael," Eric gently broke in, taking the pressure momentarily off Jane. "You have some deep seated issues that Jane's humiliation games and her program of enforced femininity ignited. You have to deal with those problems or this episode will haunt you for years to come. What this option will do for you is to permit you to deal with part of the problem, your mixed feelings about feminine dress without the humiliation aspect of all this."

"Mixed feelings, Eric?" Michael asked, turning to glare at the older man. "And just *what* is that supposed to mean?"

"Simply that a part of you really does like the dressing, the masquerade, and another part of you is afraid, and maybe ashamed to like it. Be honest with yourself right now, Michael, as you were with Sandy that morning. You knew that you were accepting Jane's training, and in part, because you were enjoying some of it."

Michael did not want to admit his own misgivings on that subject. Damn Eric for confusing him with his infernal questions. "And you think dressing as a female for Jane will help me deal with those "mixed feelings"?" Michael asked skeptically.

"We shrinks call it "confrontation", Michael. Make a reasoned decision to face, on *your* terms, whatever it is that frightens you. Understand it so that you can, in turn, understand why it frightens you . . .so that you begin to desensitize yourself to that fear."

"That sounds kind of fishy to me, Eric." And then his eyes became very suspicious. "Does she still have something on you? Are you supporting her because you have to? Just like Beth supported her against me before?"

Green eyes burned furiously. "Michael, you may choose not to believe me, but do not *ever* insult my personal and professional ethics. You are my *patient*, and I would *never* recommend something that was against my patient's best interests. Not for *any* reason. If you feel that this option is too much for you," and here Eric's voice became subtly challenging, "Then don't do it. Take either of the other options Jane has offered you."

Michael was stung by the anger in the therapist's tones, and sat back both to think and to gain some distance. Finally, he asked, "If I go with Eric, will he be my guardian?"

Jane shook her head. "No, your Mother signed your custody over to me. I do not have the authority to transfer it to Eric, and I don't suspect your Mother will oblige us. However, for whatever good you consider my word, I *promise* not to force myself into your life if you go to Eric."

Not knowing what to say or think, Michael took a sip from his rapidly cooling coffee. He really wanted to be away from Jane, away from here, but he did not really know Eric all that well and he did not know his wife at all. Except that Jane said the woman approved of Jane's methods of treating problem boys.

"But suppose I agree to that third option, Jane, and discover that I really do hate it. That, even with you not playing your games with me, that it simply makes me miserable? What am I agreeing to, time wise, in that option? You gave it to me separately from the one where I live with you as Michael until I reach my majority and gain access to my trust fund. Is it all or nothing? Do I live out the remainder of my teenage years as a female with no option for parole?"

Jane did not know quite how to answer that question. If Michael became Michelle, she did not want a time limit other than staying with the program until Michael got better. However, she knew that response would make Michael reject the third option, which she was absolutely convinced was the best for him. Still, he *was* asking, and not rejecting the Michelle option out of hand.

"If you are going to be Michelle, it would be best to commit to being her. Particularly if you are going to overcome your private demons on this score. If you are going to do it, I think you need to make a commitment so that I can coach, and yes, correct you without fear of you changing your mind on me every day."

Michael obviously did not like that answer and was on the verge of refusing to try that route when Beth spoke up for the first time. "How about a trial period, Jane? Suppose Michael commits to a specified period of time, regardless how he feels about the masquerade. During that time, he would promise to do his very best to be the best Michelle he can be. At the end of the trial period, you sit down, discuss the situation, and he makes a decision whether to continue as Michelle or to revert to being Michael without consequences."

"How long?" Michael and Jane asked almost in unison, and then both answered. "One month!" "One year!"

Giggling at the two of them, Beth again intervened. "Jane, if you aren't going to send Michael back to school until after Christmas, you have time in hand for a reasonable trial period. It is early July. Why don't you agree to three months. That way, you will have time for Michael to completely undo Michelle, like growing back eyebrows, working the curls out of his hair and relearning all his male gestures and speech patterns. If he decides to stay with Michelle, that will give you time to figure out what to do to get her into school somewhere."

The responses were predictable - from Michael's "Three *whole* months?!?" to Jane's "*Only* three months?!?" Beth gave a dainty shrug and let the two antagonists try to stare each other down.

A piercing whistle made both jump back in their seats and turn their glares on the cause. Eric simply laughed and made a 'time out' signal with his hands. "Why don't you sleep on it, the pair of you. Michael has not even agreed to be Michelle yet. Heck, he might even decide to live with me, although. . ." and he batted his eyes at the young man, "It *would* be nice to have company for Erica at times." Michael's blank look set Eric off again. "Just kidding, Michael. Trust me, if you come live with me, you can set up a "no-dress" zone around yourself if that is what you need. Go to bed and think about it, okay?"

Michael was still struggling with Jane's obvious preference. "Suppose I goof up, Aunt Jane - get unmasked as a sissy boy in girl's clothing?" He knew he'd never be able to hold up under the humiliation of such a calamity.

Something of the old, hard Jane came back into her eyes. "So don't goof up." she ordered caustically. "Besides, you've already told me that such an exposure no longer threatened you. Right?" She said silkily as she cocked her brow at him in challenge. Let him remember *that* statement, she thought. Then she gentled her tones. "And I will say this just once more, Michael. You won't *be* a sissy, subject to and molded by my carefully orchestrated lessons in humiliation. I will teach you to be a *real* lady who will pass muster anywhere, in any company and under any circumstances."

Before Michael could find the wit to respond to that, Jane's stern look incongruously softened, and then, wonder upon wonder to Michael, Jane *actually* blushed and stammered. "Well, maybe not quite *all* circumstances. You will still be. . . ummmmmm. . . entire, as dog breeders speak of their fully male animals."

Michael quickly understood precisely which circumstance Jane could not guarantee his disguise would pass muster, and blushed furiously himself. Well, he was NOT going to go to bed with a guy. Nor was he going to become . . not entire, either.

No one spoke for several moments, and just sat quietly, warily watching the emotions flit across Michael's face. Finally, he shook his head. It was just too much to absorb all in one sitting. "All right. Maybe Eric has the right of it. This has been an awful lot to take in and I am bushed. May I be excused, Aunt Jane?" She nodded and he rose to leave.

"Michael?" It was Aunt Jane's voice. He turned around just in time to catch a large brass key that nearly clipped him on the nose. "That is the only key to your door. Make sure you don't lock yourself in tonight. We'd have to take the door apart to get you back out."

Michael clutched the key in his hand, its implications running wildly through his head. No more locked doors. And he had his male clothes again. There was nothing to keep him here anymore. He was, for all intents and purposes, free. Dazed, he looked back to his Aunt Jane. "Go to bed, Michael. We will talk in the morning."

He left the room quickly as the others quietly watched his retreat. "About as well as we could have expected, Jane." Eric said softly.

"But suppose he doesn't choose Michelle, Eric, what then?"

"You already answered that question, Jane. We will keep our promises, and try our best to help him within those limitations. We knew coming into this that his tough-guy, "man's man" persona was going to resist strongly what his more sensitive side might prefer to try. And I think Beth's idea of a trial period is a good one. It will give you a chance to get him into skirts and gentle him for a bit. It will also give a chance to just enjoy the feeling of wearing nice feeling clothes and being pretty without worrying about your "little ploys". I think that, if he takes that option, by the end of three months he will be likely to choose Michelle for the long term."
 
 
Chapter 11. Deliberations in the Night
 
In fact, sleep was a long time coming to Michael. Any thought of sleep had been squashed when he'd gone to his closet to hang up his precious male clothing. Inside he found all of his male outfits hung out and arranged . . . side by side with what was left of his Michelle-clothes after his rampage. Even his suitcases were there.

The message was not very subtle. He could leave, or stay - and if he did stay, he could be either Michael or Michelle. The choice was purely his.

Therefore, he was more than a little bit surprised to realize he did not know which choice to make.

Michael spent several unproductive moments trying to resolve his confused thinking, but to no result. He finally resorted to writing down the pros and cons of his options on paper. Certainly, the easiest way out was to stay Michael. Live with Jane or Eric until he got control of his trust fund and then go live his life as he chose to live it from then on. He could work or not, travel or stay in one place, whatever best pleased him. His trust fund represented more money than he could spend in four lifetimes.

Of those two options, Eric's wife was the unknown. He did not like the unknown very much anymore, and he certainly did not *trust* the unknown - especially since that "unknown" named Jane Thompson had met him at the train station.

Would Eric's lady really let him be Michael, or would she, as a believer in Jane's methods, try to push him back into living as Michelle? At least Jane was the devil he knew. Besides that, for some odd reason, Michael felt he could trust Jane's word, *if* it was given to him and not to his Mother.

That left the third option, and God only knew why he was even considering it at all. Probably because he had come to trust Eric and because the doctor really seemed to think it was the best way for him to go. Still, that did not seem to be a very strong reason to put himself back in Jane's clutches *and* back into skirts. God, how his Mother would laugh at that.

Or would she? A random thought wound its way through his fatigued, overactive mind. Obviously she did not want a son. She had not shown him a whit of attention or affection since his father died. Was that why she had sent him to Jane? Was it a daughter his Mother *really* wanted? It would really show her, Michael mused, if he gave her what she seemed to think she wanted. He could do, for all intents and purposes, what he'd tried to do after that abominable day at the mall. "Kill" her son, and replace him with a daughter instead of a ghost. Maybe *then* she'd pay attention to him. . . err. . .her. Maybe *then* she'd find out what she had been missing out on all these damnably lonely years.

For this to work, though, he'd have to be *very* good at being Michelle. Moreover, Michelle would have to be completely convincing and utterly beautiful. Refined, too - can't forget manners and deportment. Could Michelle regain the love and attention Michael had lost, if he ever had really had it? Did he want his Mother's love that much?

The answer was probably yes. He'd have to show her, then, and when she saw Michelle, maybe, just maybe, she'd regret the loss of Michael.

Still, he sighed to himself, the price was probably more than he could bear to pay. Once it came out what he'd done (and it would come out if he knew his Mother), he would never be able to show his face in society again. Not only that, in order to accomplish this goal, he'd have to let Jane put him back in girl-clothes again. *And* give her the authority to, how did she put it? Oh yeah, correct him. He'd had just about enough of her corrections for one lifetime. Particularly if he was going to give her almost four years, until he turned twenty one, to "correct" him . . . only it would have become correcting *her* by then. There would be, very probably, damned little left of *Michael* after all that time living as Michelle.

On the other hand, he'd never been out in society anyway - he'd always been at one all male boarding school or another. What would he really be losing if his Mother's society cronies snubbed and shunned him? Nothing he'd ever really had.

And hadn't he already taken Jane's worst? If nothing else, she had promised him that she'd leave all her nasty tricks in her bag. He would need her help to pull this off, and besides, hadn't she promised to be fair? Or was that promise only if he chose to be Michael and not Michelle?

Which leads to another question, he thought. What about *real* girls, as in potential *lovers*? Based on what Beth had told him about Caro and her husband and what Eric told him about his wife, there were women out there who found Jane's students attractive. Like David and Beth, Michael and Michelle were both committed girl lovers, and he wanted to enjoy being a man with a lovely woman. Caro was gorgeous, and could have had just about any man she wanted, so she must really love her husband to have chosen him. And what about a family of his own?

God, he was so tired, and no closer to an answer.

"Michael?" he looked up to see Jane standing in his doorway. "Can't you sleep?"

"No. Too much to think about."

"Any conclusions?" Michael looked down at the pages of scribbled notes he'd spent the last few hours writing and could only shake his head. "Then let it rest for now."

With that, she closed the door and left him alone and even more confused. She had said nothing one way or the other about his choice. No little attempts to influence his decision? No barbed words to shame him into making the choice he knew she favored? Jane?
 
 
Chapter 12. Decisions
 
Michael slept late the next morning, and it was almost lunchtime when he made his way downstairs. The house was quiet, but he knew his guardian's habits and made his way to her study. The door was open and he slipped in without announcing himself.

Jane was there, seated at the desk where she had planned so many torments, so many tests and humiliations, asleep with her head resting on her forearms. The chair that Michael had come to think of as "his chair" was still in front of that desk. He repressed a shudder as he took his seat in that chair, remembering each painful session of "instruction" received from Jane while sitting there.

A random sound broke the silence and Jane jerked awake. Momentarily confused, she did not immediately realize she was no longer alone. Then she saw her guest for the first time. "M. . . Michael?" she asked, still sleep dazed.

"Michelle, Aunt Jane." he answered in the soft inflection so painfully learned at this woman's decree. Jane looked across the desk and saw her ward decked out in one of the skirt and blouse sets that were still intact, and wearing a skull- hugging, close-cropped auburn wig. He'd obviously borrowed that from Eric. With or without his permission, she wondered.

"So you've decided?" she asked, unable to keep a quaver of hope from her voice. When, she wondered amazed, had his decision - this particular decision - had become so very important to her?

"Yes and no, Jane. If we can agree on a couple of items, I am going to go with the three month trial period as Michelle option."

"Things, Michelle?" Jane prompted and then gestured for Michelle to continue.

"I don't think I can do this, all or nothing - Michael only or Michelle only." He frowned as he realized what he'd just admitted. Michelle evidently *had* become a part of him, just a Beth was part of David, or Erica a part of Eric.

He pushed that realization back and pressed on "I will do the three month trial as Michelle, living the entire period only as Michelle provided that, regardless of my final choice, I can still have both in my life if that is my choice. How we do that may take some planning, but perhaps if I choose Michelle, we could plan some short vacations where I could be Michael. Or the other way around."

"All right. I can understand and agree to that stipulation. May I ask why you have decided to try out Michelle again?"

"Because I think I am going to go after my Mother as Michelle." was the calm reply.

"What did you say?" Jane asked in a hoarse whisper. "Go after your Mother? As Michelle?"

"If she wanted Michelle badly enough to send me to you, then I am going to kill her son by becoming Michelle. I will show her precisely what she seems to want, become what she seems to want. Maybe Michelle can have the Mother that Michael was denied. At least, maybe it will show her what she has missed and will be losing."

"And you want me to train you to that end? She is my friend, Michelle. Don't you think that is just a little cruel?"

"I have more than a passing acquaintance with cruelty of late, Jane." he answered with heavy irony leaving no doubt as to who had made that introduction. "*Cruel* would be if I may unmasked myself and let her social circle know what she'd done to me. She'd never be able to hold her head up in society again and that would matter to her." the boy-girl frowned pensively for a moment. "I don't think I want to go that far, but it is an option."

Michelle seemed to steel herself and looked Jane squarely in the eye. "In any case, Jane, you said you would teach me to be a lady. What I do with what knowledge you impart to me should not concern you. Or will you withdraw your offer now that you know why I want choose Michelle? In that case, I will go to Chicago with Eric as Michael."

Jane sat quietly, watching the feminine creature seated opposite her. She knew that the boy resented his Mother, almost hated her with a fervor that led Jane to think he had once loved her almost as much. She'd just never considered him wanting to Michelle in quite that way or for such a purpose.

"Suppose your plan does not succeed, Michael? Suppose she doesn't react the way you hope? Suppose Michelle doesn't make a difference to her?"

"Then I won't have lost anything, Jane, because I have nothing of her as Michael. Maybe it will show her what she's lost, maybe not. Right now, this seems the only option that will let me reach her at all, and I am still angry enough, and hurt enough that I need to take that opportunity. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"I won't withdraw my offer, Michelle, even though I find your stated goal demeaning to both of us. However, you do realize that your commitment in all of this is even greater than it would have been if you had simply decided to live with me as Michelle? You want to be beautiful enough, feminine enough and refined enough to carry off this masquerade under very demanding circumstances. You have to understand how difficult, how demanding achieving and sustaining that level of perfection will be for you, Michael." she said using the masculine name intentionally.

"I understand completely, Jane. I will do, with one exception, whatever it takes, short of actual surgical or hormonal modification, to become what I need to be."

"And what is the exception, Michelle?"

The finely featured face went crimson. "While I know that this is a huge commitment that will require my full attention and best effort, I still want some things as Michael, too. Like a family. I'd like to meet girls as a guy from time to time. And while I don't think you'd have too much trouble with Michael trotting out Michelle from time to time, I am concerned about how you would react the other way around."

That was a fair evaluation, Jane thought. Above and beyond the program she laid out to humble then mellow each new student, she liked having her boys in skirts. She could see herself resisting Michelle wanting to be Michael from time to time. "How about one weekend a month and a whole week during major school holidays. We can go somewhere Michelle is not known, but you must recognize that if you do, in fact, give this project your best effort, you will go on these holidays as a very effeminate young man."

Michael nodded. "Understood, Jane. I'll just have to find a girl like Caro or Eric's wife who like men like that." He paused before continuing. "College is the other thing. How would Michelle go to school? I don't want to spend the next four years vegetating."

"I have contacts who can help, depending on where you want to go and what you want to study."

"I'd like to stay locally, and live here so I can continue my studies with you. As for the course of study, I have begun to think about pre-med with an eye towards maybe becoming a research psychiatrist."

Ah, Eric has been more a role model than we had originally thought, Jane mused to herself. "The local university has a good program, and I know several women in the administration who should be able to help. Is that all? If I agree to these issues, do I get Michelle back?"

She could practically see *him* become instantly more feminine, see him become *her*. "We do, Aunt Jane."

Jane was out of her chair in an instant and Michelle was suddenly enveloped in the first maternal hug he or she could ever remember since the death of Michael's father. "Welcome home, Michelle." then Jane pulled back to look down at her ward. "And your first lessons will be on how to select your own natural colors. Trust me, darling. You were not meant to be a redhead."
 
 
Chapter 13. First Challenge
 
Michelle sat in Jane's library mesmerized by the telephone as if it were a snake waiting to strike. Jane had already assigned to him his first girl task, and he was struggling to find the will to get on with it. Truth to tell, *she* was a little overwhelmed at the response that *her* (Jane had told him to start working very hard at thinking in the feminine whenever dressed - it wasn't easy) decision elicited from the other members of Jane's household. Demure, feminine Beth gave her a thoroughly *guy-thing* thump on the shoulder and a high five, nearly knocking Michelle off her still-not-quite-steady high heeled feet.

Eric, on the other hand, talked to him that confident, quietly supportive way of his. He wanted to make sure Michael understood the full ramifications of that choice, but he also wanted to assure Michelle that *Michael* would always have a safe place to turn to with his family in Chicago.

Maria had surprised everyone, including Michelle, by breaking down into tears and nearly crushing the young boy/girl in a fierce hug, all the while apologizing in at least two languages. Not for her part in the original cross dressing treatment which she told him had been absolutely necessary, but for having to kick him so hard to subdue him. Maria was distraught over the size and tenacity of the bruise across Michelle's midriff. Michelle, although looking quite female on the outside, still was a young male on the inside. He'd been helpless in the face of Maria's tears, but Jane just chuckled and shook her head as he begged for help with his eyes.

Michelle shook herself slightly to refocus her mind on the task at hand. It would not get any easier if she waited. She picked up the phone, took a deep, cleansing breath, and punched out the number Jane had made her look up.

The phone was picked up on the third ring, dashing Michelle's hopes that they had already gone for the day. "Marisha Chalet, Carolyn speaking."

Fighting the incipient tremble of fear that threatened to make her voice crack, she responded, "Hello, Carolyn, this is Michelle Nash."

"Mi. Mi. . miCHELLE???" There was surprise, uncertainty and perhaps even a touch of fear in that stuttered response. Michelle stifled a grin of pleasure at the thought, but it *did* give her back a feeling of self control. She gave the affirmative. "Ummmmm. . .well.. .this is a surprise. Wh. . What can I . . we do for you, Mi. . you did say this was *Michelle*?"

This time Michelle did allow a slight laugh to bubble through, but it was not malicious. "Yes, Carolyn, I have decided to stay with Aunt Jane for the foreseeable future."

"Oh!" The relief in that one syllable was almost palpable across the phone line. "Well, then, what can we do for you, Michelle?" There was considerably more confidence in the voice now.

"Well, you are aware that my recent . . .illness . .resulted in the temporary loss of most of my hair, including my brows and nails?"

Carolyn had not seen the boy, but Sandy had and her vivid descriptions of what he'd done to himself, after *she* had been so rough on him at her shop, had made Carolyn physically ill. She swallowed loudly enough for Michelle to hear it over the phone. "Yes, dear. Sandy told me."

"I can't very well walk around looking like "Aunt Fester", Carolyn, and Aunt Jane doesn't have any wigs suitable for my coloring. I was wondering if you might have something appropriate, and if I could come in and have you show me how to wear it and care for it. Maybe we could fix my nails and you could show me how to hide my lack of brows until they grow back?"

"I have a couple of nice wigs that should work for you, Michelle. When would you like to come in?"

"I'd like to come as soon as I can, Carolyn, but if its possible, could I come in very first thing, so that your other customers don't have to see my hairless head? I'd really like to be under a dryer or off in the corner before anyone else can see me." she paused. "Aunt Jane said that was okay with her." Michelle injected a hopeful note.

Carolyn consulted her appointment book. In the past, she might have toyed with one of Jane's students. She might even had someone who could be trusted there at the shop when Jane's student arrived, but that was before a boy had tried to kill himself after a session in her shop. "Michelle, unfortunately, I am booked every morning this week right at opening time." She heard the sigh of disappointment in her ear. "Tell you what. I will open an hour early tomorrow, to work with you so that the worst of it will be over when my other girls and customers arrive. Be here at 8:00 A.M. and we will go from there, okay?"

"Thank you, Carolyn. Very much. Oh, can I bring Beth? She needs a little help, too."

A chuckle answered her. "Sure, tell her to come, too. I'll tell Sandy to get up early and be here. See you then."

As the two hung up, both feminine creatures felt greatly relieved - one for having survived a difficult first test, the other for having been granted a reprieve.
 
 
To Be Continued...
 

Jane has a student taken from her at a critical time for both that student, and for the new 'little sister'.
Just what she doesn't need, because the new student is behaving in a manner unlike any Jane has ever seen before.

 

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction intended for the entertainment of adults in localities where it is legal for them to enjoy this type of work. If you are not a legal adult, you should not be reading this and moreover, you are abusing the trust someone put in you when they gave you access to the Internet. If it is illegal to read this, then you already know that you are violating the terms of your Internet access. Please leave. If you don't enjoy adult or erotic stories, why are you here?
 

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Part 1:
 
A frustrated frown on her normally smooth features, the woman ran to the phone while drying her hands on her dishtowel. Who on earth would be calling at this ungodly hour of the evening? "Bonjour, Ms. Thompson's."

"Bonjour to you, too, Madamoiselle Maria, Comment allez vous?"

"Michael?? Is that you, dear?" Maria asked delightedly. "Where are you? What are you doing? Why have you called?"

"Yes. Still at St. Andrews. Talking to you. And since when did I need a reason?" was the immediate response. One thing living with Jane Thompson taught a fellow was the value of quick repartee.

"Oh you," was the affectionately exasperated reply. "Of course you don't need a reason. So you are still at school? I thought you were done several days ago."

"Plans changed, Maria. I had to finish up a couple of things before I go to Southhampton. How are you doing?"

There was a momentary pause before. "Oh, fine. You know how it is." she said airily.

"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me? And start with why you had to catch yourself before you told me how fine it was." Michael's voice was filled with the warmth and determination of a concerned friend or fond nephew which was precisely how Maria thought of this particular former student of Jane's.

She sighed. "It's been a little difficult around here of late, love." she said in a more subdued voice. "We lost Stephanie earlier this month just when Darla needed her the most."

"Steve graduated?" Michael asked.

"No, not quite. He was doing very well and would have graduated as soon as Darla was ready to proceed with her training on her own, but he . . . . left early."

"C'mon, Maria. Don't make me play twenty questions. What happened? Steve didn't make a break for it, did he?"

"Oh, no! Nothing like that. It's just that. . ." Maria paused, not used to discussing Jane's business over the phone. Security be damned, she fumed. This was Michelle. "You know that Stephanie was not under any other legal obligation to be here?"

"Yeah, I remember. Her Mom, like my Mom was an sorority chum of Jane's. So?"

"Stephanie's father surprised his ex-wife by showing up to take the boy for his annual two week co-custodial period - first time he's done that in the four years they've been divorced."

"And Steve wasn't home." Michael finished.

"Yes. Well, to make a long story short, the court custody decision did not give Jane any authority to hold the boy."

"Why do I think it is worse than that?" Michael probed, anger beginning to tinge his voice.

"The father threatened Jane with exposure and legal action if she tried to keep the boy. He also has threatened the Mother with reopening the custody case if she sends him back after the two weeks with the father are up. He will claim abuse of a minor at the Mother's behest."

"Shit." Michael said disgustedly. "How long had Darla been with you?"

"A little more than a week."

"Barely enough time to be terrorized by Mrs. Franson, Caro and Sandy for the first time and now, no big sister. Poor kid."

"It is even worse than that, dear, but I cannot talk about that."

"Okay, I know it's late, but is Jane still up?"

"She's in her office. I can transfer you into her, dear. She will love hearing from you. Just a second."

"Maria?!?" the boy's voice cut in before Maria could put him on hold.

"Yes, Michael?"

"Do you think she'd rather hear from Michael or Michelle?"

Maria considered that for a long time, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. "Michelle, I think, dear, but play it gently and be ready to slip back into Michael if it sounds like you should."

"Got it. Love you, Maria. I have missed you a lot."

"Same goes, dear. Now let me transfer you. I think Jane needs you this time."

Jane looked at the ringing phone and curled her lip in disgust. Working with Darla under the very unique conditions imposed on her by the manner of Stephan's removal was physically and emotionally demanding. She was completely exhausted and did not want to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, Maria knew that so if she was putting the call through, it was probably important. "Jane Thompson." she growled into the handset.

"Hi there, Momma-Jane, can't you at least talk nice to your nephew/niece-almost-daughter/son? When I specifically broke into the Dean's office after lights out just so I could call you?"

"Michelle? I mean, Michael?"

"Michelle, I think, Momma-Jane."

"You broke into the Dean's office?" her head was spinning from the unexpected call from one of her boys calling under his femme name. "I thought you were going to your Mother's place last week when exams were over. Didn't you and that little motor mouth, Janice, have some plans for the summer?"

"We did, and we still do. It is just that the Dean wanted me to stay another semester, supposedly to make up for the one I lost staying with you. The real reason is that I have been such an exemplary, trustworthy fellow since I returned that he wanted me to come back next year as a Dormitory Trustee. His rationalization is that I'd be an embarrassment to my oh-so- beloved alma mater if I did not do well my first year at university because of that. He was going to try to withhold my diploma until I made up the work."

"Why that sanctimonious old fool!" Jane was now furious. "You are so far beyond their curriculum after your time with me you could *teach* their damned teachers in most of your courses." she all but sputtered.

"Exactly. So my extra time up here after finals was to take "special exams" designed to prove my mastery of the material I "missed"." a thoroughly male chuckle, at odds with the very feminine tones, sounded in Jane's ear. "Blew their socks off for the past four days. One more exam tomorrow afternoon and then the Dean can take a hike."

"I am so proud of you, dear."

"So, should I change my reservation to Kingston, Momma-Jane? I understand you need a big sister for a few weeks."

"How did you . . . " Jane *was* sputtering now. "Maria has a big mouth."

"I can be there by noon day after tomorrow, Jane, and I am still going to go to university there, too. I could be around all summer and most evenings once school starts - at least until Darla is ready to be a big sister herself."

"Now I know I am dreaming. Michelle, offering to be a big sister and assist me in my nasty little games?" There was a real smile in her voice for the first time. *Nasty little games* had been Michael's evaluation of Jane's humiliation- based training exercises. "My, how things have changed."

"I've changed, dear, and that is not the point. I've decided. I *will* see you day after tomorrow."

"Michael. It is *not* necessary. Yes, it has been rough, but that is because Darla is a special case. We'll be fine. You go camping and hiking with Janice like you planned. You can't very well do your courting if you are here, dressed in skirts."

"Courting? Who the heck said anything about courting?" Michael accused hotly.

"I did." Jane answered equably. "And don't tell me you have not already decided that she is going to be your wife just as soon as you can manage it. I saw the way you looked at her after your Mother's wedding to her brother."

"Have I no secrets from any of you women? Mother has twigged to it, too. So has Janice because her letters have started talking about things like where we will live, how many kids we'll have and division of household labor. Good grief, I am barely seventeen."

"Going on thirty, dear. I appreciate your offer, but after tonight, I believe that neither Darla nor I will require your sacrifice."

"You're sure? I mean, I understand that you lost Steve right after the Marisha Initiation."

"Well, I can see you won't let go of this and leave me alone until I tell you the whole of it. Make sure the Dean's lights are off, dear. No sense getting caught in there and this will take a while. As you said, we were just getting home from the mall when. . . "

~----------~

Jane pulled the Lincoln around the circle and stopped at the sidewalk up to her front door. Maria would park the car later. Right now she wanted to get her charges inside and finish what had been a highly successful first trip to the Mall for Darla. So far, anyway.

Things got off to a rousing start when the girl was practically bowled over by a daydreaming young man. Jane had seen panic in her student's eyes for the first time as the apologetic fellow offered her his hand to help her back to her feet. For a moment, Jane had been worried that the girl would not accept his chivalrous offer, but finally she did. Jane had intervened at that point, not wanting the outsider to get too close to her still very-new-to-his-skirts student, and had hustled both Stephanie and Darla to Caro's and Sandy's.

Darla had been even more reserved than most of her boys on their first beauty shop experience, but in the end, everything seemed to go well. She looked over at the slender, femininely turned out boy. Sandy had turned his chestnut locks into Irish Red to match the boy's relatively light complexion and green eyes. He'd shown remarkable composure under Caro's and Sandy's pointed attempts to put him on a fine edge of terror. Jane wondered how the boy had managed that.

Was it that he had already gotten as much of a fright as his system could handle when he'd been forced to cope with that male bulldozer out on the mall? Certainly, Sandra had toned down her first trip-to-the-beauty-shop teasing routine, thank goodness. They had all learned their hard lessons with Michael - and none of them ever wanted to taste that terror again. Her students' buttons were still getting pushed very hard, Jane mused, but now she and her band of confederates took a little longer to made sure they knew how those buttons were wired.

Which was why Jane was going to escort Darla up to her room and "help" her put away her new clothes and dainties before bringing her ward back down stairs to the music room for a restoring cup of Maria's tea. Jane was concerned about this one, because not unlike Michael before his near tragic episode, she did not yet have a good read on her newest student.

None of Jane's "first-week-in-petticoat-hell-tricks" had seemed to phase the boy. Not when Stephanie had renamed Darryl as Darla, nor when Maria and Jane had double teamed the boy through the day of rapid outfit and make up changes. He had simply done what he was told without comment or hesitation, regardless of how humiliating the lesson should have been for his young, fragile male ego. Unlike almost every other young man in her experience, Darryl had neither fought her nor resisted her direction during the week he'd been with her. Not *once*!

"Stephanie?" she called as she opened her own door. "Help Darla with her packages, dear. I will be up as soon as I let Maria know we are home."

Stephen's height made for an unusually tall girl, but he'd learned to carry himself with a certain style and grace that made Stephanie look like a runway model. While Jane had had prettier students, none of her other girls had possessed the presence and impact of this ebony-tressed laddie. And he'd come a very long way in his months with Jane. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that she was so unsure of Darla, she would have begun thinking seriously about transitioning this student back into his trousers in a few more weeks. She had a few more lessons to teach Stephanie, and a couple of those would be hard ones, but after all her years of petticoating young men, she had an instinct about some things. This one would do fine. She would soon be entering him into her rogues' gallery as a complete success.

Jane watched the pair move up the walk, one gracefully, the other still awkwardly fighting the moderately high heeled shoes. Satisfied, she reached back into the car to get her own purse, when she saw the other car parked in her drive for the first time. Cars were not a major interest of hers - so long as they were comfortable, started when she turned the key and ran properly, Jane did not give them much mind. She did, however, recognize a very expensive Jaguar when she saw one. She also could not think of any of her acquaintances who owned a car like that one.

"OH MY GOD! DAD?!?!?" The scream of distress had Jane moving up the walk at a dead run before she had consciously put a name to screamer. Stephanie. All she knew was that one of her boys was in distress, and that *Jane* had not been the one to put him in that condition.

Four people were huddled about her front door. Darla was standing away from the door, trying to look small. A tall, well dressed man Jane did not recognize was shouting at a cowering Stephanie while a furious Maria was trying to push the man away.

Then it hit her what she'd heard Stephanie scream - Dad. As she got closer, the resemblance was obvious, although the elder seemed much harder than her ward. And he was furious.

Jane stepped between the father and Stephanie and attempted to take control. "Mr. Evans, my name is Jane Thompson. We did not know you were coming." Jane greeted in a gracious if breathless voice all the while thinking of what an understatement that was. "Maria, help the girls get their parcels inside, please." she said trying to get her students out of the line of fire.

"Yes, Jane." her long time friend replied as she motioned the two youngsters to follow her.

"Not so damned fast, Stephen." the elder Evans said sharply as he latched onto the boy's arm causing him to squeak in pained surprise. "You are going nowhere except with me."

Moving to the defense of her chick, Jane got into the man's face. "Now you see here, sir. That child is here by her mother's consent. I have a legal contract to provide boarding school education and training to her, and to act in loco parentis. You have no authority to remove Stephanie from my home. If you try, I will have you arrested for kidnaping."

Without relinquishing his grip on Stephanie, her uninvited guest pulled a legal document from his suit pocket and tossed it at Jane. "Your agreement with my ex-wife is meaningless. That is our divorce decree awarding me co-custody of my *son* which obviously predates any contract she signed with you. Simply stated, I get him for two weeks a quarter and *today* is the first day of my two week custody period. Deirdre has *no* authority to send him anywhere during my custody time without my express permission. Which she sure as hell does not have."

Evans turned his attention back to his cross dressed son. "Get out of that. . . that *outfit* and wash that shit off your face. Get some real clothes on and get back here. We are leaving." Stephanie did not move, instead looking to Jane imploringly. "Now, Stephan, or else."

"I don't have any other clothes." Stephanie finally said.

"You *came* here dressed like a wimp ass sissy? What the hell was your mother thinking of!?!" Evans screamed.

"I have his clothing." Jane calmly deflected the man's angry attention. "Please follow me." and then led the way into house and then to her office.

Jane pressed a button on her desk. Maria arrived almost immediately. "Get Stephanie's suitcases and put them in her room, please. She may be leaving today."

Evan smashed a fist down on Jane's desk. "*STEPHEN* is a *HIM*, not a fucking *HER*, woman, and *HE* is DAMN-SURE leaving this . . . . this. . . this *place* today. IMMEDIATELY!"

"Yell at me again in that tone of voice, sir, using that type of language and I will see you in our local jail within the hour. Trust me, I have the contacts to do it."

A malevolent grin lit the features that seemed to be a negative of her student's own. "You just go ahead and try it, *Ms* Thompson. I will be free within that very same hour, I will have papers charging you with abuse of a minor served on you within two hours and I will have every tabloid reporter within five hundred miles of here on your doorstep within three hours. Try me, bitch. Go ahead, try me - please."

Knowing when a strategic retreat was called for, Jane moved back to her desk and dialed a number from her organizer. Stephan's mother answered on the second ring. "Ms. Thompson?!?" the woman said as soon as Jane had identified herself. "I have a terrible problem. Stephan's father has decided to claim his custody rights for the first time in four years. I called my lawyer, but we can't do anything about it. If I don't surrender Stephan to him, he can reopen the entire divorce settlement, including the custody agreement."

Jane spoke with the mother for several more minutes, and finally hung up. She looked at Evans, smirking at her in smug triumph. "I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you that this is a very successful program that has helped many young men who, like your son, were headed for big trouble, turn their lives around? And that this is a very bad time to pull him out of the program? That when he comes back after you return him to his Mother a great deal of the good we've accomplished will be undone?"

Evans sauntered back over to Jane's desk, and leaned over to get down into her face. "First, my son is going to grow up to be a *man*, not some damned skirt wearing wimp. Two, your definition of success and mine are obviously *light-years* apart, and any *damage* I do to what you call "good" is just *fine* with me. And third, there is no way in *hell* that boy is coming anywhere *near* this place ever again. If he does, I will take his mother and you to court, claiming abuse of a minor, and I guarantee, I will win. I own several judges, lady. Even if you should overturn any judgement against you on appeal, you will still be finished."

"What is to stop you now?" Jane asked quietly.

"Because I don't want the world to know how my son has been forced to live with you, bitch. However, if he comes back, I won't have any choice. There are places I can send him once I have full custody where all this sissy shit can be burned out of him. He'll just have to become all the harder to overcome what you and his damned mother have done to him."

"I see." And she did. Not that Jane had any real choice. The last thing Stephan's mother had done was order her to release the boy into his father's custody. "Very well, Mr. Evans. His Mother has directed me to release Stephan into your custody and to permit him to leave with you. Unlike many of my other students who are here at the direction of the court, your wife is the one has the ultimate say in all my contractual dealings relative to Stephanie. Therefore, I will acquiesce." Jane left the office in search of Maria.

Twenty minutes later, a very downcast Stephen came into the office. Maria had tried to undo most of the physical aspects of his Stephanie persona. Unfortunately, they *had* just returned from the Chalet where Stephanie's color and set had been refreshed, her eyebrows reshaped, and her nails sculpted.

Evans took one look at his curly headed son and cursed. "I hope you like the Michael Jordan look, Stephen, because you are going to be shaved until your natural hair grows back. Come on, let's get out of this castrating bitch's house."

Stephen, however, did not immediately follow his father's orders and instead threw himself into a shocked Jane's arms. "Please, Jane, I don't want to leave with *him*!!"

Tears were flowing. "I can't keep you, dear. I have no legal standing, only moral ones. You'd only be hurt worse if he carries out his threats."

Evans reached over to grab the boy and drag him away from Jane's embrace and toward the door. Maria had already brought Stephen's bags down and put them in the foyer. Evans grabbed one case and ordered Stephen to get the other since he refused to relinquish his grip on the boy's arm.

Jane moved to the doorway to watch the pair move to the Jaguar. "Mr. Evans." she called. He turned to face her. "Hurt that boy, and no power on earth, no threat of yours, no hazard to myself will protect you. I, too, have powerful friends, sir, and if I cannot destroy you, I can make myself very annoying."

Evans just laughed, a very nasty and cold laugh, and then shoved the still struggling Stephen into the car. Jane watched in helpless rage as the car raced away from her home at a dangerously high speed.
 
 
Part 2:
 
Maria came into Jane's office with a pot of tea and some finger foods. "I put Darla to bed for a short nap." she said quietly. "She is very upset by all this. I gave her a gentle tranquilizer."

"Thank you, Maria. With everything else, I had not even considered Darla." Jane said in a dull voice as she stirred her tea.

"Bad day, Jane. One of the worst that I can remember. We've never lost a boy like that before."

"Worse than you might think, dear. We may have lost two boys from this fiasco. Darryl now knows that Stephanie was actually Stephan, and it is much too early in his progression for him to have learned that. At least, if we are to continue following our regular program."

Maria helped herself to a sandwich. "True, but we've had single students before, Jane. We've gotten them through." she replied confidently.

"With the exception of Michael, we've never before had one of our boys understand *our* vulnerability early enough to fight back effectively. Darryl is an exceptionally bright young man, and as a former city gang member, he is also very street smart. He is going to put this all together and start thinking instead of just reacting. Off hand, I can see two outcomes. Because of the jail sentence hanging over his head, he will complacently follow our orders, and do everything we ask. Except now that he knows that he is perfectly safe from being exposed publicly as a crossdressed sissy, and we won't be accomplish anything."

"And the other possible outcome?"

"He just refuses to go along with anything we tell him to do and we send a perfectly good, redeemable kid to jail for six months to three years. Damn! What a mess."

Maria sighed, and stared into her teacup, as if looking wisdom. "Which one do you think is more likely?"

Jane took a thoughtful sip from her teacup. "I don't really know." she admitted softly. "I can't seem to get a feel for him. He is simply not reacting - not to me, not to *any*thing. He just keeps on doing exactly what he's told, no matter how humiliating, no matter how seemingly pointless. I don't think he has complained or taken issue with a single order since he stepped off the train."

"Could it be that he doesn't want to give you any excuse to send him to jail, Jane?"

"No." Jane sighed, shaking her head. "We've had other boys who had a jail sentence hanging over their heads as you well know. Even the most even tempered of them eventually reacted to the very arbitrary nature of my orders and decrees. Darla is days overdue for a hissy fit over our little feminizing tyrannies and she has not shown the slightest inclination towards throwing one yet. I don't know what is motivating that child to work as hard as he obviously is on his feminine behaviors, and until I do, we have to watch him very carefully, Maria."

"You're frightened." Maria said finally.

"After Michael? I am terrified." Jane rasped, just above a whisper.

"I've never known you to be so uncertain of yourself or your abilities, my dear. You made a mistake with Michael, but even that came out well in the end. Darla is *not* Michael."

"I just wish I could figure out why he is so . . . so damned agreeable!" Jane caught Maria's look and had to laugh at herself. "Hell of a thing to be upset about, isn't it. My little girl is working too hard to do what I tell her to do." She took another sip of tea and shook her head at her own foolishness. "Well, I am going to have to call Judge Ruth, I guess. The boy is a ward of the state since the only family he has is his criminal older brother. She may want to pull him out of here and put him into another program. Or into jail."

"Like *hell* we will let him go to jail." the normally soft- spoken Maria snarled. "We have to try, Jane. I like this one. He is sweet, really, underneath that shell of his. Do you know that he helped me with the dishes the other day when I cut my hand? Didn't even have to ask him. He just walked into the kitchen, told me I shouldn't be putting my hand in the dishwater, handed me the dishtowel and dug in."

"Judge Ruth thought he was worth the effort and she hasn't been wrong yet, has she? Are Darla's new things put away, Maria?"

"Yes. I did it after she fell asleep."

Jane nodded and then looked at her watch. Lord, she mused, it wasn't even noon yet. "Let her sleep until about three and then get her up and dressed in time for tea. We will postpone, at least for today, her fashion show. I don't think I can find the will to be disdainfully picky about her dress and such. In the meantime, I am going to try and see if I can come up with some way to salvage this mess." Jane looked out the window in the direction of her driveway, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

Maria instantly understood. "Stephan will be fine, Jane. He is a very intelligent young man, and under your tutelage, he has matured a great deal. He understood what you'd actually done for him. He told me so. He'll be able to see his father and his lifestyle for what they are."

"He deserved so much better than that, Maria. I hope you are right. I wouldn't put it past that animal to send him to some military style boot camp/prison camp to beat some of *his* kind of manhood back into the boy."

"If he does, then you can help his mother bring Evans up on abuse charges against *him*."

"Everything we do would still come out in the courts, Maria." Jane cautioned. "We'd be finished afterwards. Something of a pyrrhic victory, don't you think?"

"Since when do we worry about anything other than the kids, Jane?" Maria asked with a good deal of asperity.

A watery chuckle answered her friend's challenge. "Since never, dear. Thank you." Jane took Maria's hand in her own, and squeezed it gratefully. "Why don't you go take a nap, too? I need to do some hard thinking."

Understanding her friend's need for privacy to fight these demons, Maria picked up the tray and left the room. But she wouldn't nap, she told herself. Jane was not as tough as she made out, and she must might need a shoulder before this day was out.

~----------~

Darla awoke slowly, and happily burrowed back down into the soft, clean sweet-smelling bedding, but he was about slept out. Consciousness wormed its unwelcome way into the young person's head, and with that, came the memories.

Why hadn't he had not realized before the confrontation with Stephanie's father that the "senior girl" was also a guy? It all made so much more sense now, having discovered that one key fact. Why the "girl" was also so much under Jane's thumb, and why the "girl" was not more snotty about Darryl's own surrender of his masculinity. Originally, Darla had thought that Jane took in guys *and* girls, and shoe-horned both genders into the very exaggerated feminine lifestyle he'd experienced since his arrival. Certainly, the "Raggedy Ann" little girl-clothes punishment of Stephanie had seemed real enough, and humiliating enough to have been actual discipline. Steph had truly seemed to hate having to go through it.

So, Darla mused, this whole setup was something that Jane did regularly. It was just too well planned, too smooth an operation to be something that she only did now and then. Which raised another question. How many folks knew the truth about "Jane's girls." The two females at that beauty shop and the woman who owned the lingerie and dress shop obviously were in on the secret. Did anyone else in town know?

Darla tried to remember the reactions of the people who had seen Jane, Stephanie and herself moving through the mall. Try as he might, Darla could not remember anyone reacting to the trio in anything other than a natural, if standoffish manner. Even the high school age guys. No, Darla corrected herself, make that *especially* the high school age guys. Like the guy who nearly knocked her block off while they were walking towards the Marisha Chalet. He'd certainly been tongue-tied and fumble-fingered as he'd stumbled all over himself trying to help her to her feet. Just like he thought she was a real girl.

That had to be it, Darla thought with complete certainty. If it was generally known around town that Jane's girls were actually "sissified" boys undergoing "punishment". . . . Well, teenage males being teenage males, it would have gotten nasty there in the mall. Therefore, the knowledge *had* to be pretty much a secret except for a select few, probably all women, who helped Jane with her games.

It now became clear why Judge what's-her-name, the lady with the name that ended in "ciez" but sounded like "check", sent him here. Jane obviously had a reputation for working with young males who were, in some way or another, social problems.

So, that meant when Steph's father showed up here and started making threats about revealing Jane's activities to the press, Jane had reason to be concerned. She needed her games to remain a secret from the world at large. For example, just like at the mall earlier, *if* the teenage males *knew* about the things Jane did and that any girl she had with her was likely to be a guy in drag. . . . Well, as he thought before, that would be pretty ugly.

The "girl" would be immediately unmasked and would be hounded mercilessly whenever she came to town. Darla wasn't entirely sure what Jane sought to accomplish with her little games, but it was pretty clear that the threat of exposure was a big part of her hold over her students. Particularly after her experiences that morning at the mall, the Chalet and the dress shop.

But that threat was really a bite without teeth. Real exposure would remove that threat for good.

How would he react if he'd really been exposed today? Probably would have been really pissed, and anger generally displaces fear. Jane stood to lose a great deal of her power and stood to gain an intractable, very angry male who felt he had absolutely nothing left to lose. Jane would, in all likelihood, be unable to continue her program.

What would that mean to him? What would happen if Steph's father *did* attack Jane by turning the press loose on her? Her program would go down in flames is what, Darla told herself. No program, and I am headed back to Illinois and the Department of Corrections.

Or worse.

Quietly, the femininely turned out young man slipped out of the warm, comfortable bed and onto the vanity stool. With increasingly practiced hands, he took up the brush and comb and tried to restore some semblance of order to his new coiffure. It wasn't perfect when he finished, but it wasn't too bad. He cleaned off the remnants of Carolyn's make up lesson and tried to reproduce the effect himself. Again, his efforts were not up to Caro's standards, of even Maria's for that matter, but they were improving steadily. Soon, they'd be good enough for Darla to do what had to be done.

Satisfied, Darla rose and went over to the armoire and removed a simple skirt and sweater set. At least he was beyond the super frilly, electric pink, Little Lady Fauntleroy "fashions" of his first few days here.

A last check in the mirror and she was ready to go downstairs. Darla hoped that he would be here long enough to learn what he needed to know, but sooner or later, he was going to have to leave this place.

He'd really hate leaving here. For all of Jane's efforts to be nasty, she gave him a warm bed, a full belly and clean, nice smelling clothes. So what if they were girl clothes. And Maria, when she wasn't doing Jane's dirty work, was a really nice lady. And deep down, she figured that Jane was pretty nice, too. Actually, Darla was certain of that because she had a great deal of experience with people who acted nice but weren't.

Yes, this was a good place, a *safe* place, all things considered, but he wouldn't be able to stay. When he did have to leave, he wanted to be able to disappear. What better way to do that than by being Darla when everyone was looking for a Darryl?

~----------~

Afternoon tea was a strained experience. Maria joined teacher and student for the light meal, but even the normally buoyant housekeeper was quiet and restrained. Jane almost canceled the meal, but then she recalled that Darla had not eaten since the very light breakfast Maria traditionally served on a salon day.

Finally, Maria cleared the dishes, leaving Jane and Darla sitting silently in the music room.

Jane watched her student, and realized the girl was watching her closely. Several times, Jane thought Darla was going to say something, only to reconsider. Something was on her mind. Jane thought she knew what it was.

"Out with it, Darla." Jane ordered gently, trying to smile. "You've had time to think about what you saw today, and you have something you obviously want to talk about."

Darla did not respond immediately, only worried her teeth on her lower lip as she regarded the older woman warily.

"Well!" Jane said with a rush, slapping her hands on her lap. "Why don't I start by stating what you have probably already surmised. Stephanie was just like you. His name was Stephan and he was also here to learn some manners and some self control."

"But he left, without your permission."

Jane grimaced. "I don't know how much of this I should really discuss with you, Darla." This was precisely what Jane had been afraid of, and even after thinking for the entire afternoon, she had not come up with any other answer than the truth. And she still could not predict this student well enough to know how he'd react. "Not all of my students are sent to me by the courts, Darla. Stephanie was sent to me by her Mother who is an old friend of mine. He was running wild after his parents' divorce and was heading for a bad end."

"And his father knew nothing about what you two had planned for his son, at least, until he surprised the Mother by showing up wanting to exercise his paternal responsibilities and privileges."

Jane did a double take at the boy's language. She'd never heard him use anything but relatively simple words and phrases. "Yes. . . well. . ." she sighed. "He had the law on his side and he, well, was not best pleased at having his darling boy learning the types of lessons I teach."

"And he certainly doesn't want the world knowing that his son was in skirts?"

"I think so." Jane smiled wanly. "At least it gives me some hope that he won't expose my little enterprise. A number of very good people, including all of my old students, stand to lose a great deal if I suddenly become a tabloid celebrity."

"So, you don't think he will really turn you over to the reporters?" Darla asked, barely able to breathe.

"Basically. Oh, he can make life difficult for me in other ways, but he won't do anything that might result in his cronies finding out how his son lived while he was with me."

"And I can stay here, with you?"

She heard the almost prayerful hope in Darla's question. Was that it, she wondered? Had she really been wrong and the girl was that afraid of being sent to jail? Could she use that fear to her advantage with her student? Fear was a powerful tool, if tempered by hope. "Are you that afraid of going to prison, Darla?" Jane asked softly.

The girl's finely etched brows rose in surprise before she recovered herself. "Jail? . . . Oh, yes, Jail." Darla cleared her throat. "Of course I am afraid of that, Aunt Jane."

Are you really, Jane thought. Then why did you have to think about your answer. I *wish* I could read your mind, child. Jane steeled her features into her stern, Victorian Governess mask. "You *may* stay, Darla, so long as you do as I ask. You stay until I decide you are rehabilitated and certify that to Judge Ruth, or until I decide I cannot do anything with you and send you back to her. In that case, you will immediately begin serving your term in prison."

Darla let herself breathe again. Jane did not think Steph's father would let the cat out of the bag, and she was going to let him stay with her. She was still safe. At least for a little while, and so were Jane and Maria. "Thank you, Aunt Jane." the feminine boy replied with deep feeling. "I will be the best student you've ever had."

Nonplused by the evident emotion in her student's voice, Jane did not respond immediately. Finally, she was able to engage her brain. "Yes, well, see that you do, dear." I am not in any mental or emotional condition to play games with a male ego tonight, Jane told herself. "Maria will bring you a dinner tray in your room tonight, dear. We will resume your training tomorrow after we have all had a good sleep."

Recognizing a dismissal, Darla rose and gave a quick curtsey, and quietly left the room.

She has nearly mastered that uniquely feminine gesture, Jane realized, and so early. None of her boys had ever managed a graceful curtsey until they had started to give in to her, usually after several months under her thumb. Jane used it as one of the key indicators that a boy had begun to turn himself around because perfecting that skill required them to practice on their own in front of their mirrors.

That brought up another question. When had Maria had time to do the girl's hair and make up after her nap? She'd been cooking when the girl got up and the work was very well done - too well for it to have been a touch up of Caro's work from the morning's outing. Which was all Darla should have been able to do that well at this point in her training.

Wasn't it?

~----------~

"You didn't make him up?"

"Darla was already downstairs when I started out from the kitchen to wake her up. I thought you'd gotten her up and supervised her toilette."

"No." Jane said amazed. Another skill nearly mastered. Obviously, he was practicing *everything* she demanded of him. That was not unusual. All her boys did - eventually, *but* they always had to be broken down first.

What in heavens was motivating this child?

~----------~

"So, you couldn't read Darla any better than you could read me, Momma-Jane?" Michelle asked gently.

A grumbling sound answered that impertinent question and was followed by a sigh. "No. I have never had a child so determined to do everything *perfectly*. Even when I set her up to fail so I could discipline her, she just nodded, accepted the rebuke and the punishment, and kept on trying."

"Poor Momma-Jane." amusement rippled across the lines. "Must be hell for you, having to punish someone who was really was trying to do her best at whatever you told her to do."

"You don't know that half of it, Michelle. I hated it, and Maria even told me I was being to mean to this one."

"I guess one thing your program never accounted for was a student who didn't give you any trouble and was committed to being perfect for you."

"Forgive me for repeating myself, darling, but once again, you don't know the half of it. Let me tell you. . ."

~----------~

"Jane?" Maria asked as she entered her friend's den. "Have you been reprimanding Darla about her make up and presentation? I thought we agreed to ease off her for a few days while we all got our equilibrium back after Stephanie was taken from us. She has given us no real trouble and I don't like picking on her any more than absolutely necessary."

Jane looked up from her desk planner. She'd been trying to set out a new program from Darla to accommodate the loss of the big sister factor in her student's life. "Darla's cosmetics? Why no, Maria. I think I even complimented her on how she looked at breakfast this morning. Why?"

"Because she cornered me after breakfast when I went up to change her bedding. Wanted me to give her some pointers on different styles of make up, and on how to do it differently if her coloring was different. I thought you might have told her you were going to change her hair color or something like that."

Frustration with this unpredictable student blossomed anew. "You know we never tell the girls if we are planning to do that to them. This makes no sense. Why would she want to know that?"

"Stephanie's father had different colored hair than she did when he came for her. Maybe Darla thinks we changed her color and wants to be ready for it?"

"And we did, which is one of the reasons why her father threatened to shave her head, but we've already changed Darla's hair color. That red color almost glows in the dark. Did she ask you about any specific colors?"

"The usual since you had Sandy turn her into a carrot-top - blond and brunette."

Jane wanted to pull her own hair out. "What *is* motivating the girl? Why is she trying to anticipate us? It makes no bloody sense."

Maria shrugged. "I still think she is afraid, Jane. You don't frighten this one nearly as much as what waits for her outside your walls.

"You are convinced that was is behind all of this is her fear of being sent to jail?"

"A sweet, gentle-natured child like that would be eaten alive in a place like that."

"And while I am forced to agree with your evaluation of the girl, *that* makes no bloody sense, either. He was convicted of charges involving the possession of a deadly weapon during a crime. He has admitted, in court, to having been a member of one of the most vicious street gangs in Ruth's city. Does *that* sound like someone sweet or gentle, for goodness sake?"

"You are not normally one to question yourself, Jane. Why can't you trust what you have in front of you?" Maria asked softly.

"But he was sent to us to be rehabilitated, Maria. And right now, I don't know what to do with him." Jane admitted softly.

"We have time, Jane. He's not leaving for several months at the earliest. Let's find out what is really going down inside that curly head before we press too hard and go down the wrong path with this one. Because we very easily could go wrong. I do agree that there is something that does not fit about Darla."

"I take your point, dear." Jane replied. "I will plan a slower than usual program until we find something that the child reacts to."

"What about her requests for make up lessons?"

"I can't see that it hurts anything, unless. . . you don't think he is a transvestite, do you?"

"There aren't any stains on Darla's sheets or undies, Jane. He hasn't reacted to the sensuality of the experience yet. Not that finding them proves anything along those lines, in any case."

"Yes. As we both know, all that proves is that we've started to reach into his head, which by all accounts, we haven't. Sandy even remarked that he did not seem to be at all aroused during any of her games at the Chalet, either. I just don't understand him. All right. Do the make up lessons, and I will try to tease him about it gently. Maybe being caught doing something so swishy as *asking* for lessons will open him up to me. Oh, and use some of the wigs to change his hair color when you change his face. Drill him on color matching. And please, Maria, no matter how hard you find do it, at least *try* to act a little condescending about his efforts. I don't want this one becoming too confident of his skills."

"For goodness sake, why, Jane?" Maria asked, once again exasperated.

"Because he is smart enough to recognize that escape from here *is* possible, and a boy who can change into several different and believable female identities would have an excellent chance to do just that." Jane said solemnly.

"You really think that is a possibility? We've never had a boy take off before."

"Michael did, and in his own way, this one is just as different and just as intelligent as Michael."

Maria considered that and nodded. "All right. I'll teach him, but I'll try to make him think he's not making as much progress as I am sure that actually will make."
 
 
Part 3:
 
Darla sat demurely in the "hot seat" in front of Jane's massive antique desk. The child had to be a natural mimic and actress, Jane thought. *No* one would ever think that the person seated there had been, no more than three weeks ago, a rough and tumble young male. Even his most subtle gestures were becoming noticeably more feminine.

In the days since Maria had begun the girl's requested cosmetics training, Jane had done her level best to get a rise out of the child, but not even her best, most pointed, male- ego-deflating jibes elicited any real reaction. When compared to a blond bimbo, the girl merely became more calm. When teased about her sudden "interest" in girlish activities such as make up and hair care, she brushed it aside as just one or two more things she needed to do in order to satisfy Jane.

Which it didn't. Satisfy Jane, that is. How could she rebuild him into a decent, mature man if she couldn't find the key to taking apart his obviously overblown adolescent male self image? Darla had been in her care for almost three weeks and Jane had yet to get a single reaction from the boy consistent with her plans or her experience. It was maddening.

It was also frightening.

"I asked you in here, Darla, to discuss your future with you." Jane said somewhat sternly. "Frankly I am not sure I am going to be able to help you. A great deal of my program has always involved the assistance of my senior student while the junior student did not know that the senior was also a petticoated boy. You are now under two distinct disadvantages, so far as my program helping you. First, you know that Stephanie was a boy and two, you no longer have an older sister to help me guide you along."

Darla repressed an urge to swallow and schooled her features not to let her inner fear show. "Surely, Aunt Jane, you have had single student situations before. There had to be a first student, after all."

"Hmmmm, yes, just so, and we've been trying those strategies since Stephanie left us so precipitously. However, over the past few days Maria and I have been trying that particular program variation with you with little or no effect."

Darla thought about the last week and wanted to scream. There had been the tea party with that society matron who all but rapped his knuckles with her cane whenever she saw the slightest departure from feminine gentility. God only knew what the old lady would have done if he'd slipped up and shown himself as a male. Then there was that guy who had come over for dinner with all his snide little innuendos and nasty teasing "compliments". As much as Darla had longed to retaliate, at least in kind, he hadn't dared because he might be forced to leave, and it had still been too soon.

Here Darla had spent the past week using every ounce of will power and control to do precisely as he was told and to be the best girl he could be, and now after all that effort, here she was telling him it somehow wasn't good enough for her?!?

"Does that mean you are going to send me back to jail?" he finally managed to get out in a shaky voice.

Interesting, Jane thought. *That* was a reaction. Is Maria correct? Is she *that* afraid of jail? "We need to talk about that, dear."

"I've been doing my very best, Aunt Jane. Really I have. If you could just tell me where I am falling short, I will work ever so hard to correct that." Darla said in a very feminine rush. "I *really* do want to stay here."

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose against the tension headache that was building behind her eyes. "I *know* that, Darla. Still, I must tell you that I am not sure that you are going to benefit from my methods."

Real tears cut black mascara swathes though the carefully applied foundation and rouge. "If you could just tell me what I am doing wrong, Aunt Jane, I would do anything to correct myself for you."

What a coil, Jane thought dejectedly. How do you tell someone that what she is doing wrong is that she is doing everything much too well? What am I going to say to her? Start screwing up a bit more, and oh by the way, if you could just manage a bit of male boorishness so that I could correct and embarrass you? Oh, and don't forget to be properly humiliated when I try to humiliate you.

And yet, none of that was Darla's fault. There was no question that she was doing everything she could to follow Jane's many rules. Goodness, during their latest trip to the Marisha Chalet, the girl had all but badgered poor Caro into showing her more of her cosmetic tricks to improve the skills she had already learned from Maria.

She closed her eyes hard against the steadily worsening headache. The failure was hers, not Darla's, and sending her back to Judge Ruth was, just as Maria kept haranguing her, patently unfair. But how could she convince herself the child was reformed if none of her tried and true methods and indicators worked with this student?

"Darla, I truly want to help you growing into the kind of person you have shown every potential of becoming. And I know that sending you to jail won't do that, but thus far into the program, you are unique in my experience. I just don't know if I *can* help you."

"So what will you do, Aunt Jane?" Darla asked in a quiet, breathless voice.

"Keep you. For now, anyway. We will continue with your lessons in deportment, manners and presentation." Even though you could practically teach each of those disciplines, Jane mused. "And we will see what we will see." She began to dismiss the girl, and then halted herself. "Darla? Why are you trying so hard?"

Surprise flickered on the feminine young face. "Don't all of your students? Try hard, I mean?"

Usually, Jane thought, but only after they have been through the hellish first weeks and are more in touch with the gentler, more feminine side of their personalities. "You are particularly determined, dear. I'd like to know why. Is it really the fear of jail?"

Another look of surprise slipped past Darla's guard, and she hesitated momentarily. "Well, yes, Aunt Jane, of course I am." she said with overly dramatic emphasis. Then, as if realizing that had been an error, she rushed on to add. "Remember, I was in a gang, and several of the older members had spent time in prison. I have heard all the horror stories. They really do scare me."

Of course they do, Jane repeated mentally, except if that is the problem, why did you have to think about it? "All right, dear. Please go change into your ballet shoes and tutu. Maria will be overseeing your practice at the barre today. I want you to work particularly hard on the basic positions. Hopefully, we will have you en pointe in a couple of weeks.

Darla rose. "Thank you, Aunt Jane." she said emotionally, gave a quick curtsey and hurried from the room.

~----------~

Darla made an expansive movement with her free hand as she steadied herself by gripping the long railing that went the length of Jane's dance parlor. She looked for all the world like a young girl fully into the intricate steps and presentation of ballet, but her mind was a million miles away.

Jane was thinking of sending her away - back to where . . to where he came from. To jail. Or worse.

At a sharp command from Maria, Darla slid gracefully into a deep plie, and held it for a five count before rising slowly and shifting into the first position.

It was time to begin preparing for that eventuality, Darla decided. Whatever else might happen, he could not face what would be in store for him if Jane gave up on him.

DAMN Jane, Darla fumed. Wasn't she trying hard? She was staying *up* late every damned night practicing her cosmetics, her movements, her mannerisms, her voice inflections. Why couldn't Jane simply come out and tell her what it was that she wanted from Darla that she wasn't getting. He could do it. He *would* do it because he *had* to do it.

If it could be done at all.

Why couldn't things stay as they were? Jane and Maria made him feel safe. If only they knew what a rare and wondrous gift that really was. Darla would do almost *anything* not to jeopardize that.

Which was exactly the danger Stephanie's father posed for them all - he threatened the anonymity Jane required for her program to function. Which was doubly a problem for Darla. If Jane was exposed, and he was still here, he'd be exposed, too. And a story like this would go national, very quickly. It would be just too juicy, to easy for TV reporters or guys like Leno to make snide little one-liner jokes about. Within days, everyone in the country would know about Ms. Jane Thompson and her girls' school for wayward boys.

Another reason to get ready to leave, he told himself. It wasn't just his skin anymore.

~----------~

"Wow, Momma-Jane. And that was just a few days ago? You really were in a pickle. She is really that good, that quickly? And she really doesn't react to your games at all?"

"No, Michelle, not at all. The only things she's reacted to was the threat of going to jail and being run over by the clod at the mall, and the result of that was she gained an unusually high degree of confidence in her disguise and in her ability to carry it off. She *knows* she can pass under very close scrutiny now. You are the only student I have ever had who was better at the masquerade than she is, and it took you months to get where she has gotten in just a few weeks."

"Maybe she really *wants* to be a girl." Michael offered.

"You mean as in SRS? I had not considered that, but it might explain a great deal. How do you embarrass someone with their chosen self image and sexuality?" Jane pondered it for a moment. "Still, I don't think that is it - at least not quite. Some part of the puzzle is still missing."

"And the only time she reacts at all negatively is when you discuss her leaving?" A soft teasing chuckle caressed Jane's ear and warmed her tired soul. "Maybe she has decided she loves you and wants to be with you. That is why she's working so hard."

"Right," was Jane's sardonic response. Keep on believing such winsome thoughts, love. Well, I guess I have to keep her. If she is playing a game, trying to convince me she is already reformed, she is doing an excellent job of it."

"Maybe Judge Ruth made a mistake and she does not really need to be reformed at all."

That drew a chuckle from Jane. "Right. Well, darling, I have to go. You are leaving St. Andrews tomorrow morning?"

"Day after tomorrow, actually. A little after ten in the morning. You sure you don't want me to stop by? Janice's and my schedules are pretty flexible. I could easily spare a few days for my favorite Evil Stepmother."

"Oh, you!" Jane laughed. "Just be here in time for college to start in the fall, okay? And have some *fun* with that delightful chatterbox you fell in love with."

"MOMMA JANE!!!" Michael complained loudly.

"Yes, darling? Don't worry, Michael. Have a wonderful time with your Janice. Ta, love. I have to run. Thank you for calling and for caring."

~----------~

"Jane?" Maria's voice cut through Jane's fatigue-fogged mind as she tried to think of yet some other new way to deal with Darla. Since her talk with the girl three days ago, Darla had, if anything, become even *more* determined to be perfect in her role as one of Jane's girl students. It was getting to the point where *Jane* had to remind *herself* that Darla was actually a boy. "Jane?" Maria said again, louder as she tried to get her friend's attention.

"What is it, Maria?" she finally asked.

"Have you done something with a couple of the wigs? The long, blond one you use when you want them to play Heidi in braids and the short black pageboy? I was going to brush them out and put them back in storage but now I can't find them anywhere."

"I don't have them." Jane replied, still distracted. "When did you see them last?"

"A few days ago, when I was giving Darla lessons in hair care and makeup."

"Did you check Darla's room?"

"Of course. They aren't there."

Jane shrugged. "Well, they are around somewhere." What Jane was going to say was interrupted by the ringing of her phone.

"Hello? Oh, hello, Mrs. Evans, how are you? Good. What can I do for you?"

"Ms. Thompson, I should have called you sooner. I am sorry I did not warn you that my ex-husband was coming after you. I do apologize for that. I was actually hoping that he'd understand that what you were doing with Stephan was something our son needed."

"He didn't." Jane said flatly. "More than that, he threatened me and everyone who has ever been a part of my program."

"I know." The woman paused audibly, and then pressed on. "And that is why I am calling you. Stephan called me last night, Jane, and he thinks his father has decided to expose you publicly regardless of the consequences to Stephan."

"For god's sake, why??? I thought he understood the potential damage to his son's reputation? Didn't he say he wanted Stephanie to succeed him?"

"*Stephan* told me that his father is so disgusted with his gentle and caring behavior - my words, not his - that he has about decided his son is a lost cause. He can't go after me because I still control a significant piece of the voting stock in his company, but there is very little I can do to stop him from going after you. You evidently did your job very well, Jane. Stephan is exactly the gentle man you promised he'd be. Unfortunately, his father wanted a shark."

"So he is going to sacrifice his son to get to me." Jane said with evident disgust.

"That is Stephan's belief. For what it is worth, Jane? He told me he did not care about himself because he doesn't want what his father has. He *did* want me to warn you so that you could be prepared for what is likely to happen."

"Thank you for that, Deirdre. Anything else?" Ice literally hung from each word.

"N. . . no, Jane. That is all, except. . . I am sorry for this. I never even considered he'd want his custody rights this year. In truth, I had actually forgotten he even had those rights from the decree."

"Guess we both know he does now, don't we." Jane replied acidly. "Deirdre, I have to go and do what I can do to protect my friends and students. Thank you for calling. . . . . . . .This time." and she slammed the phone down onto the cradle. "Bitch!" Jane growled.

"I guess that means it is all over and I go back to start my jail sentence." came a soft, not-femininely inflected voice.

Jane's head snapped up and saw Darla standing in the doorway to the office. One look at the chalk white face told Jane that her student had heard more than enough to know what was going down.

Everything inside Jane rebelled against this young man facing prison. Regardless of what the evidence presented against him in court *proved*, there was now absolutely no doubt in her mind that the conviction was a miscarriage of justice. And Jane was going to see justice was done. "No, you're not." Jane said emphatically. "Maria, call Caro and Sandy. Tell them I want them here tomorrow to do a tear down on Darla."

Maria nodded and left the office. "Tear down?" Darla asked.

Smiling sadly, Jane gestured Darla over to the cozy conversation grouping next to the fireplace. "It sounds worse than it is, dear. That is our little phrase for undoing all the little feminizing touches that made Darryl into Darla. Sandy and Caro are almost as good at undoing as they are at doing."

"What happens next?"

"I tell Judge Ruth that I consider you completely rehabilitated and then I find someone, probably one of my former students, to take you in and see to your education for me while I deal with the fallout from Mr. Evans' attack."

"I don't understand. You told me that you didn't think you could help me just a few days ago. And today you are setting me free?"

"Sounds strange, doesn't it? You just didn't fit my preconceptions, Darla. . . I mean Darryl. You were here because you had been convicted of felony with a deadly weapon, but your behavior didn't fit. Instead of being argumentative, you were reasonable. Instead of being combative, you were cooperative. You listened and you always tried your best. Your composure is almost inhuman. None of which matches with the aggressive, violence-prone personality that your conviction indicated. When you did not respond to my humiliation ploys, and in fact, seemed to thrive, I was afraid you were immune to my program. I have just now reached the conclusion that you are actually immune - not because you are beyond my help, but because you don't need my help. Not that way in any case."

Jane stood and went over to the small wet bar and poured two snifters of brandy. She handed one to Darla. "I know you are under age, but I think we both need a medicinal draft. Sip it, dear. It is a little strong if you aren't used to it."

They sat in silence as they sipped the strong amber liquid. "Darla?" Jane asked. "Could you tell me the real story? What happened? Why were you there at the bank with a weapon?"

Shock registered on the girlish face. "You know, that is the first time anyone has asked that question that way. Thank you, Aunt Jane." Darla took a fortifying sip of the brandy and then looked at Jane. "You know that my brother is my only living kin, right?" Jane nodded. "You also know that he is a thorough-going son of a bitch. He has killed at least three people that he has admitted to me, and has injured a dozen others. He's raped members of both sexes. He never went down for any of those, although he did some time early in his career on a B&E conviction."

"And that's really where you got your fear of jail?"

Darla had the grace to blush as she recalled her earlier, hasty answer to that question. "Mostly. Several of his rapes occurred inside and he delighted in telling me all the grisly details, all the while making comparisons between his victims and me. Anyway, as to how I ended up at the bank, he was short of money and decided to knock over the bank. He needed a helper and I made the mistake of being available. It was either do as he said or get killed." Jane's heart stopped at the matter of fact way Darla stated that belief. "The robbery went sour. Someone got out a silent alarm and the place was lousy with guards and cops before we could get away. My brother used me as a diversion and made his own escape."

"I see." Jane rose and took the two empty snifters. "Maria will get your bags and boy things out of storage later today. I suggest you go and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a rough day for all of us."

~----------~

The house was very still and quiet as Darryl crept from his room. One of the few semi-useful skills bequeathed to him by his brother was the ability to pick just about any lock with only the most minimal of tools. In this case, he had used the materials at hand - hair pins.

The return of his male clothing by Maria the previous evening made his plan much simpler. Trousers, shirt, a ball cap to hide his still curly locks and soft soled shoes were much better for what he had to do than a dress and heels. He also now had a carry-all for the things he would need in order to disappear.

Reaching the decision to leave had been the hardest thing Darryl had ever done because he really did not want to leave. There was a lot to be said for good hot food, a warm clean bed and people who cared about you and for you. Darryl believed that Jane cared, even when she was doing her level best to humiliate him to the depths of his masculine soul. She'd been pretty good at it, too, he admitted to himself wryly. If he'd been a normal guy, he'd have long ago been reduced to a quivering mass of jelly by her tricks.

But, thanks to his brother, he'd long ago ceased to be a normal guy.

No, Jane's bite was pretty good and her bark even better, but it was tough love from a soft heart. Which was why he had to leave. Tomorrow could be too late. If Stephan's father loosed the dogs of the media on Jane and he was still here, even as Darla, there was a near certainty risk that he would be seen. That would pose an unacceptably high risk that he might be recognized as Darryl, even if he was rigged out as Darla. If that happened, Jane and Maria would be in danger of their lives.

That could *not* be allowed to happen. They had taken him in, cared for him and had protected him. Now it was his turn to do the same for them. Since he couldn't stop what Evans planned to do, this was the only other way he could think of that would ensure their safety.

Silently, he crept down into Maria's pantry where he knew the petty cash was kept. That had not been his reason for helping her in the kitchen, but it was now a side benefit. He was going to need enough money to get away. He hated this most of all, but he had to have money if he was to get *far* enough away, quickly enough that they could not find him and bring him back. There was two hundred dollars in the till, and Darryl put in an IOU back into the box along with a promise to repay them as soon as he could. They wouldn't believe it, not after his apparent betrayal, but he would pay them back. He could do that much at least.

There were tears in his eyes as he made his way out of the kitchen towards the front door. He stopped at the door and made one last sweeping look of the first real home he'd had since his Mother died, and then reached for the door.

Bright light flooded the hall foyer, momentarily blinding Darryl. Stunned, he spun around and saw two ghostly figures standing behind him among the exploding starbursts of his dazzled vision.

"I am very disappointed in you, Darryl." Jane said softly. "Didn't you believe me when I promised to send you to safety? Do you doubt my word so much that you feel you have to escape like a thief in the night?"

His vision cleared enough to see the pain on both Jane's and Maria's faces and it broke him. Wrenching sobs burst forth from him, and he fell to his knees his head buried in his hands.

And then both Jane and Maria were there, pulling him to his feet, leading him into Jane's study.

Holding him as he cried. Holding him until he'd cried himself out.

"I have to leave." he finally got out. "I can't be here when the reporters come, Jane. You've got to let me go for *your* sake."

Jane tried to understand, but couldn't. Maria came back into the study with a glass of juice. "Here, cheri." she soothed. "Drink this. After all those tears, you need the fluids."

Obedience to her orders was almost second nature by now and Darryl drained the glass before continuing to plead his case. "You have to let me go, dammit. I am a danger to you if I . . if I . . " Darryl's voice was getting steadily weaker and his movements more languid. "If I stay." he finally whispered before his eyes closed and his body went limp.

Maria and Jane worked with practiced efficiency to get him onto the couch and covered with an afghan. "Good work, Maria." Jane congratulated.

"He'll be out at least until mid morning. Why don't you get some sleep. I will stay with him until seven or so, and then you can sit with him until he wakes up."

"All right." Jane turned to go back to her bed and then stopped. "What do you think he meant when he said he was a danger to us?"

"I don't know, but he also said he had to be gone before the reporters come. They haven't shown up yet so perhaps whatever he is afraid of hasn't either. Still. . . . ." Maria walked over to Jane's desk, opened a drawer and withdrew a nine millimeter automatic pistol. She competently ejected the magazine, worked the action to ensure there wasn't a round chambered and then reloaded the magazine. Looking Jane squarely in the eye, she chambered a round and set the safety.

Nodding, Jane left the room.

~----------~

Four hours later, Jane came back into the study. Maria greeted her and smiled. "Well, one mystery is solved." she said tiredly. "Look in the suitcase."

Curious, Jane padded over to the open case and looked inside. Her head immediately snapped back up in surprise. "I don't understand." she whispered. Inside the case were both missing wigs, an assortment of dresses, skirts, blouses and shoes, and almost all the cosmetics from Darla's vanity. "He was escaping, but he was going to switch back into a female identity once he'd made his getaway?"

"Looks like it, Jane. I don't understand either and it is going to a few more hours before we can get any answers from him."

"Go to bed, Maria. I'll watch him. I am going to have to call Judge Ruth anyway to tell her that Darryl has passed and is a free man. There will still be some paperwork to clean up on her end before we can send Darryl off to Wyoming."

Solemnly, Maria handed the weapon over to Jane. "Round chambered, safety on, Jane." she said parroting the police officer who had taught them both to shoot the weapon.

Jane took the gun, checked the safety, and then went over to the chair next to Darryl's makeshift bed, and took up her vigil. It was still a couple of hours before she could call the Judge. Hopefully, the reporters would not be on her doorstep before she could get her latest child out of harm's way.
 
 
Part 4:
 
Interlude:

>>One Oscar Romeo, LoJak detection. Suspect stolen vehicle has stopped at corner of First and Church. Has not moved in almost five minutes. All night liquor store in that area.<<

The fifteen year veteran of the Danville PD picked up the microphone. "One Oscar Romeo, Roger. We are approaching that location. Sirens and Lights off. Request backup do the same. Over."

"Roger One Oscar Romeo. Two Oscar Romeo and duty sergeant en route your location. Will advise them of covert approach. Over."

"One Oscar Romeo - Out." The cop looked over at his partner, a rookie fresh out of the academy and sighed. This would be her first liquor store. "Okay, Watson." he still had to smile over that name - as if he was Sherlock Holmes. "Let's talk about how we are going to handle this."

~----------~

Second Interlude:

Harold Smith was feeling pretty good about himself. Better than good - he felt terrific. What more could a man need out of life he thought to himself as he took another healthy swallow of Johnny Walker Black. Good booze, money in his pocket and someone who was afraid of you.

Harold looked at the shuddering shop keeper whose own eyes were fixed on the large black handgun in Harold's meaty fist. He could see the man's terror, could smell his fear and that was power! What more did a man need, indeed?

Then Harold recalled the reason for this cross country jaunt. He didn't have his bitch. Somehow, that little pipsqueak had beaten the rap. He didn't get his scrawny ass sent to prison and there hadn't been any report of the trial in the papers. That had bothered Harold because the kid was supposedly going to be tried as an adult which meant that the jury trial proceedings would not be sealed.

A midnight trip to the public defender's office hadn't been very helpful. The little punk lawyer he'd caught in there hadn't been able to tell him what happened, except that things like that happened from time to time, particularly when that cunt judge was handling cases.

Too bad about the lawyer, but he'd seen Harold's face. He'd had a right cute fuckable little ass on him before Harold had blown it away for him. Well, soon enough he'd have his own private piece back in his possession. The court reporter hadn't seen his face, but she'd seen Maggie, his bad assed gun well enough. She'd told him about this Thompson bitch and her mini-reform school.

Harold hadn't killed her, but they'd be a long time finding her in that boarded up shack he'd left her tied up in. Maybe she'd live, he mused, but that made no never mind to Harold Smith. In a couple of hours, he'd be in that Kingston burg and he'd just take back what was rightfully his.

Or else the little bitch was going to die right along side anyone else who got in his way.

"Come on, mac." he said silkily as he fanned the handful of bills under the store ownner's nose. "I know there's more money than this around here. If I don't have at least five hundred in my hands in thirty seconds, you won't ever have to worry about being robbed again." Harold waved the forty four magnum in front of the man's face. "Understand?"

"Yes sir!" the man all but squealed. I'll get it, just don't shoot me."

The man went down on his knees behind the counter and Harold took another pull on the open whiskey bottle. Once he saw the cash, he'd take this sucker out and be on his way in style. Stupid of people to have such nice cars and not put alarms in them - not that it would have stopped him. Harold had been disabling car alarms since he'd been eleven years old.

~----------~

Third Interlude:

One Oscar Romeo was parked just down the darkened street from the liquor store. "I am going to approach, Watson. I want you to cover me. He's been in there too long. We can't wait for the backup any longer. We have to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone. And Watson?"

"Yes sir?" the young voice cracked from the tension.

"Don't shoot unless it is to protect the civilian or me, and then be damned sure of your target. Got that?" She swallowed hard and nodded. This one was going to be a good cop, he thought again. Nodding his approval, the veteran cop drew out his service weapon and began making his way toward the storefront, keeping in the shadows, all the while praying that this time he wouldn't be too late.

~----------~

Fourth and Final Interlude:

<<BOOM!>> <<BOOM!>> <<CRACK>>

Even before the large body crashed through the storefront window, the cop had recognized the sound. A double barrel shotgun had unloaded both barrels and a heavy caliber weapon had returned fire.

He was running now. His streetwise eye told him that the bleeding mess on the street was no longer alive so he raced into the shop to find the clerk on his back unconscious, bleeding from a three inch long gouge in his scalp, right above the temple. The sawed off double barrel shotgun was still clutched in his hands.

Sirens sounded nearby and soon, two other cruisers were outside, blocking off the street. Watson had done the right thing, he thought, calling in shots fired and requesting immediate backup. She'd kept her head when the bullets started flying which meant she just might make a good cop.

The sergeant was first on the scene. "I've called for an ambulance, Allyn." he said in a tight voice. "But whoever that is outside is not going to need it."

Officer Allyn stood. "This one does although I think it probably looks worse than it is."

"Thank god for those auto tracking systems." the sergeant said quietly. "You would never have been here without it."

"I did nothing, Sarge."

"That one may live because you were here and you know it."

"If you say so, Sarge. Hey, where's Watson?"

The sergeant smirked. "In the alley losing her last three meals. Your bad guy is about cut in half. She took one look and turned green."

"Hey, don't pick on my partner, Sarge. She did good tonight and I seem to recall you telling me that you puked your guts out the first time you saw a shotgun victim. You told me that when I had done it myself."

"Forensics will be here in a few minutes. Looks pretty cut and dried to me. Must be someone new. I don't recall ever seeing that guy working around here before."

"The lab boys will know soon enough. I just hope homicide gets here and takes over soon. I need to get Watson out of here." The older man nodded his agreement and Allyn made his way out of the story in search of his partner. She'd be in need of a little praise just now and she'd definitely earned it.
 
 
Part 5:
 
"Hello, this is Judge Ruth." came the firmly in command voice on the phone.

"Don't you know staid old officers of the court are supposed to use their last names? More dignified that way."

"And listen to everyone who calls me mutilate my family name? Not likely, dear. How are you, Jane? And how is young . . . what did you decide to call her? Darla?"

"I'm okay for now, Ruth. Darla is why I am calling you. He's okay, too."

"Well, it's just as well that you called because I was going to call you. I don't know whether this is bad or good news. I'll have to rely on you for that. Darryl's brother Harold, who is his only living relative that we know of, attempted to rob a liquor store last night and was shot and killed in the attempt. He was in Danville Connecticut which is pretty strange since he has never operated outside this city before."

"He's really dead, Ruth?" Jane asked quietly.

"Confirmed by the Coroner this morning. They called our police department for confirmation of the FBI fingerprint data. The officer who took the call is one of us. In fact, she was the one who arrested Darryl. My own opinion is that the world is a better place without that rabid animal on two legs prowling about."

"He was shot in Danville? In Connecticut? Not in your town?"

"No. He must have been on his way to find Darla. Apparently he'd found out your address by kidnaping and threatening my court clerk - she escaped from the broken down shack where he'd left her and turned up here half-hysterical only an hour or so ago. Right now she's sleeping off whatever the doctors gave her to calm her down. We also have reason believe he's behind the murder of one of our public defenders last night, too.

Jane put two and two together and went cold. "He was coming here, Ruth? After Darryl?"

"It fits the data, Jane. The Public Defender who was murdered didn't know anything about your connection to my office, but the clerk had to know since she wrote up the plea bargains.

"God, Ruth, I hope she is going to be all right."

"Looks that way. She'll get counseling to help her deal with the aftereffects.

"I think it is likely that Harold is also the one who got young Darryl into the situation that led to his conviction." Judge Ruth continued, "I personally believe Darryl did it under extreme duress, but the DA, who is up for reelection, wanted to believe otherwise. Easy conviction. It took some fancy footwork to get him to release Darryl to you, let me tell you."

Jane recalled Darryl's confession the previous day and decided that it *was* good news. She just wasn't sure how her young charge would take it. "I have some things I need to talk to you about, Ruth, in regards to Darryl."

~----------~

The smells of breakfast were the first thing that pierced the veil of Darryl's sleep. A soft smile played at his lips as he thought of Maria puttering about her kingdom. Darryl came awake and upright with a start. Maria! Jane! He had to get away. Had to protect them from his brother. Harold *couldn't* be allowed to find out where he was and who he was with.

A strong hand gripped Darryl's arm to stop his flight. "Not yet, young man." Jane said sternly. "You will eat your breakfast and then, if you still must go, I will help you. Now, come along before I drag you by your ear, boy."

Undone by his hunger and by his need to spend just a few more minutes with Maria and Jane, Darryl let himself be led by his arm to the table. Maria set a steaming plate filled with all Darryl's favorite foods in front of him. "Eat." she ordered.

Jane took her place at the head of the table and Maria, unexpectedly, took the seat next to Darryl. "I have some news for you, Darryl, while you eat. First, I spoke with Judge Ruth while you slept."

"While I slept off that drug you fed me in that glass of juice." he accused around a mouthful of waffles.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, young man. Just because you are no longer in skirts does not mean you may dispense with good manners at my table." Jane snapped. "And don't interrupt. It was for your own good. Now that Judge Ruth has expunged your conviction from the court records upon my recommendation, your slate is clean and you are free to go. . . that is, as free as any underage ward of the state."

The tears started again. "I can't stay, Aunt Jane. I can't be seen here or worse, photographed here."

Maria put one arm about his shoulders and used his napkin to dab away his tears.

"I don't know for sure, but I think the other thing that Judge Ruth told me may have a bearing on that decision, Darryl. Your brother was killed last night. He tried to rob a liquor store and the owner took exception. He had a shotgun at hand and used it on your brother."

Darryl stilled, becoming completely motionless, his face devoid of any feeling. Jane reached across to take his free hand. With haunted eyes, Darryl looked up at Jane. "He's really dead? Truly?" His voice was barely a whisper, but the emotion in his words yelled.

"My word of honor, dear. He cannot hurt you anymore."

The young man's resolve shattered "Oh God." the boy wept. "Oh God, its over. Thank you, God." And then both women were there, holding him again as they had the night before.

~----------~

"So when I figured out what you did here, I realized that knowing how to disguise myself effectively as a girl might be my ticket to freedom. My brother would be looking for Darryl, not Darla. Harold thought he owned me - *really* owned me. He was crazy and I knew that one day he was going to kill me. Then I got sent here. The first time Maria decked me out in full girl clothes . . . well, I looked so real, so believable even to me. I thought I might be able to pull it off well enough to live a fairly quiet life, finish school and go to college. I hadn't figured out how I'd do that - getting accepted to a college as a female - but I thought there was time to solve that problem. Anyway, I figured that if I could drop out of sight for a few years, my problems with Harold would take care of themselves because he'd be dead. Someone would decide he needed killing." Darryl said quietly.

"So when Mr. Evans threatened me with exposure, you decided you had to escape to protect us from your brother?" Jane still couldn't get over that part of the plan. He wanted to stay with her, and yet, he had been willing to leave her to keep her safe from a danger he himself posed for her.

"If Harold ever saw a picture of Darla and recognized Darryl, he would have come after me. Like I said, he believed that he owned me." the boy said quickly, hiding his face. "You would have tried to protect me and he would have killed you. I couldn't let that happen. Not when you have been so good to me."

Jane threw her hands up in mock despair. "Good to you?? Lord, every boy I have ever had in my little charm school believes I am the female personification of the Devil Incarnate, at least for the first few months, and *you* tell me I was good to you? I knew my little humiliations and such were not reaching you, but *Good to you*???"

"I've been in and out of the foster care system for five years now, Aunt Jane. Most of the folks who take in kids for social services are okay. They see to your basic needs, but a lot of them can't let themselves really care anymore. I saw you were different right from the start and Maria is an open book. She wants to mother me and had to stop herself several times a day. And besides. . ."

Darryl drew a deep breath. He owed her this, and maybe, she could help with that, too. "Once someone has been . . .raped, over and over again, it takes a great deal to humiliate that person any more than he already has been."

Fire flashed in Jane's eyes. "That . . .*scum* . . . *raped* YOU?!?!?" Jane had to stop herself when she realized she was screaming. Furious, she swung away and stormed about the room cursing like a longshoreman as a wide eyed Darryl could only stare at the vengeful Valkyrie. This was for him, he thought in wonder. She looked ready to kill and it was for him.

With obvious effort, Jane finally managed to compose herself and went behind her desk. "One of my students," she said with great deliberation, "is a highly respected psychologist. I am going to ask him to talk to you. He recommended a therapist for another of my boys once, but his issues were different than yours. However, whatever you need, whatever will help you, I will see that you get it."

"I don't want anybody digging around in my head!" Darryl shot back.

"Tough." Jane said as she returned to his side. "You wanted to take care of me? Wanted to protect me? Same goes. Live with it. Until Ruth orders otherwise, you are still legally my ward and in this case, young man, you *will* do what I say."

Darryl looked like he wanted to say something more, but was interrupted by the doorbell. "Now who could that be?" Maria asked worriedly.

Jane rose and walked towards the foyer. "If it is the first of the reporters, I will deal with it." and she disappeared around the corner.

"MICHELLE??!?!" Maria and Darryl heard Jane's exultant shout of delight followed by "What in heavens name are YOU doing here?"

Darryl watched as Jane was escorted back into the study by a young, very pretty blond. His now experienced eye recognized the sweater and skirt ensemble as deceptively casual, very expensive Laura Ashley fashions.

"I heard you might need a big sister, Momma-Jane." the girl said before Maria all but tackled her for her own greeting.

Jane began to recover and looked back and forth between once and current students as they gave each other a thorough going over. "Well, I believe introductions are in order. Darryl, this blond scamp is my honorary daughter, son and former student. Michelle when she is rigged out like this, and Michael most other times. Michelle, this is Darryl, formally Darla."

This is a guy? Darryl thought in amazement. No way! Jane has to be pulling my leg on this one. Stephanie was good and she fooled me when I first started here, but this one beats her all to hell. No way.

"Pleased to meet you." the blond vision said as she offered her hand, wrist bent just so.

"Same here." Darryl responded, wondering for a moment if he was supposed to kiss the girl's hand like someone out of an oldtime movie.

"Now." Michelle said, his voice dropped almost an octave, becoming decidedly masculine, shocking the other boy, "Could someone please tell me just what the hell is going on here?!?!?"

~----------~

Michelle was okay, Darryl thought to himself as he rested in his room. And it was obvious that Jane adored her. . . errr him.

Oddly enough, Michelle found herself thinking much the same things about Darryl, and then grinned at her use of the feminine pronoun. When rigged out as Michelle, Michael often slipped into referring to himself in the feminine tense. Sort of like learning to think in a second language.

What a mess, Michelle thought. What to do? Maybe Janice would have an idea. She'd managed to get him and his Mother past their little rough patches with her enthusiasm, wit and ready mouth. She'd just give her a call.

Besides, it was an excellent excuse to make the call, and he missed her terribly.

~----------~

A very surprised Jane watched her two girls descend the stairs an hour later for afternoon tea. She'd rather expected to see Michelle change into Michael, now that he understood she did not need a big sister for Darla, but she obviously hadn't. So why was Darryl back to Darla instead?

~----------~

"So Janice figured that the best way to nip through this is not to admit anything, and since everyone in town knows Darla and not Darryl. . ."

"Michelle and I figured it was best that Darla make a comeback since I don't plan on leaving here anytime soon. You made the mistake of telling me I could stay, Aunt Jane."

Her head spinning, Jane looked from blond head to red head and back, trying to make sense of this. "And Janice figures this is the best way to muddle through all this?"

"Well." Michelle said with a twinkle, "I have to admit it made a great deal more sense when she was telling me to do it, but then, many things tend to sound much more reasonable while Janice is talking than after she stops."

"I have got to meet this woman." Darla put in.

"Back off, little sister." Michelle growled. "She's spoken for."

The pair of them shared a giggle and then turned their attention back to Jane. "I'm not sure it will protect you and Maria, Momma Jane," Michelle continued. "But we may be able to insulate the other members of your group, and certainly the other students. After all, we're just two silly sissies who like wearing skirts. All of your other students were real girls, weren't they?" Michelle said equably.

Jane felt like someone had just put her world into a food processor and turned on the motor. It *definitely* had all the markings of a "Janice Plan". "And you would do that? Let the world think of you as sissy-boys, just to help me and my friends?"

"Your friends, mostly, Momma-Jane. In all honesty, we tried, but we just can't think of a way to save you and Maria, but if we become the focus of the reporters' interest, that might keep them off Caro and Sandy and Mrs. Franson. They might even be able to deny knowing we were boys since you had brought so many other real girls to them over the past years."

"That might work," Jane mused. "But no, its out of the question. You two are blameless, and I don't want your lives getting messed up by this."

The two faces opposite her became ludicrously male under their cosmetic masks. "We'll be here, Momma-Jane." Michelle said in a low growl.

"Count on it." added Darla in Darryl's hardest tones.

"I don't want you hurt, dammit!" Jane screamed. "I love you two idiots!"

"Same goes." said the two boy-girls in unison. "And if we can help at all, we are going to stay and do just that." Michelle added.

"We've decided." Darla added flatly.

Jane could hardly believe this was happening. Two of her boys just sitting there, prepared to accept public exposure and humiliation? Moreover, determined to do so? "I see."

"I just wish," Michelle said thoughtfully, "That we could save Stephanie while we were at it."

"Too bad dear old daddy Evans doesn't have a sissy-boy girlfriend of his own squirreled away in some love pit. We could sneak in and get some nice blackmail pictures to hold over his head." Darla offered with an evil smile.

"Darla!" Jane said with trenchant disapproval.

"That only happens in stories on the Internet, Darla. I can't see that being very likely from everything I've heard about Stef's father. Man sounds like my father. A pathologically homophobic, excessively macho, manipulative son of a bitch."

"Your father." Jane said, her eyes going unfocused in thought. "I had not thought of that, Michelle, but you are correct." A glimmer of an idea began to spark inside Jane's head. Would something like that work? What had Deirdre said? About why her husband could not afford to hurt her?

"Michael?" Jane said, so absently she did not even realize she'd used the masculine name. "Do you know anything about Evans? About his business affairs?" Then her wicked smile flickered. "Since I seem to recall you had a detective agency check Stephanie out when I told you he would be here alone without a big sister."

Michelle went white. "How did you . . .? When did you . . ?"

Now the smile became brilliant. "When your Mother called to ask me about it when the bill showed up on your credit card bill. Sloppy, Michelle," Jane teased. "Very sweet, but sloppy."

"It's not like you gave me a heck of a lot of time for subtlety when you took Stephanie on after I went back to St. A's." he grumbled at her reproach. "Okay, I have the file packed away somewhere, but what I recall about the father is that he is a hard nosed business type who made his bundle as a corporate raider during the hostile takeover days of the early eighties. Currently, he is president and CEO of a nice, profitable multinational company specializing in high quality electronic components. That's all I remember. Is that what you had in mind?"

"It's a start. I wish we had more information about his company. Damn, there is just not enough time to collect it."

"Mom might know, or she might know someone who knows. Want me to call her?"

Jane brightened. "Excellent idea, Michelle. Do call her and then come back. We have some brainstorming to do."

~----------~

"Well, I will say one thing for those lawyers my father hired. They are quick and they are thorough." Michelle mused in grudging admiration. He was riffling through a small stack of papers that had been faxed to Jane's home just a few moments earlier.

"So what did they say?" Darla asked. "And more to the point, is there anything we can use?"

"Well, it seems the company went public right after he bought it. At the time, he kept a voting majority of the stock and sold off the other forty nine percent. Unfortunately for him, Stef's Mom caught him with his pants down, literally, and took him to the cleaners at the divorce proceedings. She now has a total of seventeen percent of the voting stocks. Most of the rest is held by the members of the four man board of directors. What they don't own, they vote by proxy."

"May I see that?" Jane asked holding out her hand. Michelle handed it to her and watched Jane go through each page carefully. "Oh my God!" Disbelief rang in Jane's voice. "This is just too much of a coincidence. It cannot be the same person."

Michelle and Darla were up on their feet in an instant. "What?!?!?" they both asked.

Jane did not answer, instead reached over and pulled out the heavy scrap book that Michelle recognized as her Rogue's Gallery of Graduates from her infamous charm school. She flipped through its pages quickly until she found what she was looking for. "Goodness," she murmured before lifting her eyes back to her rapt audience. "Darla? Go find Maria, please. Michelle? Please get your Mother on the line for me while I make a couple of phone calls on the other line. If we are going to do anything, we need to move quickly."
 
 
Part 6:
 
Samuel Evans was not a happy man. One reason for this was that one of the most powerful board members had summoned him to a meeting. Summoned *him* like some damned lackey when *he* was the power in this company. He'd have to break that pompous ass during the next major board meeting. That pompous old fool might own almost twenty percent of the stock in this company, but so long as Samuel still voted his ex-wife's stock shares, he could overturn any board action and oust any member.

The second reason for his bad mood was that there appeared to be a major move on the publicly available stock in his company. Someone or some organization had recently acquired nearly four percent of his stock, and while that had pushed the value of his company's stock steadily upward, not knowing who was doing it and why they were doing it were cause for concern. There wasn't enough stock available to threaten him, but it was disturbing that he did not know where the move was coming from.

The biggest reason for his current fury, however was once again his damned son. After all the trouble he'd taken to rescue him from that bitch, he had turned on him - his own father! The pansy-ass wimp told him, just the other day, that since he was now over 16 years of age, he was old enough petition the court to change the custody agreement to suit his own wishes. Further, the ungrateful little bastard was going to do just that as soon as he got home to his bitch of a mother. How the hell was he going to undo the damage done to his son's masculinity if the damn kid wasn't ever around? The answer was that he couldn't and given the kid's current attitude towards his *father*, it was probably already too late anyway.

Samuel Evans was not going to let them get away with ruining his son, his *heir*, . . .his *SUCCESSOR*! He'd stop them, he swore, and he knew just how to do it, too. If she was out of business, *Ms. Jane Thompson* wouldn't be able to do any more harm to Stephan.

Tomorrow, he'd start fixing that Thompson bitch's wagon, and he was going to enjoy every damned minute of it. Just thinking about her picture plastered across every newspaper and tabloid, or about her being dogged by TV cameramen and reporters with microphones to jam in her face improved his outlook on life. And if his brat of a son got splattered with the same muddy brush in the media, well, that was just too damned bad. It was Deirdre's fault, after all, not *his*. She could be the one who had to live with it just like that Thompson woman was going to have to live with the hell Samuel Evans was going to make of her life.

A knock sounded at the door to Evans' office. "Enter." he called out.

His executive assistant stuck his head in the door. "Mr. Evans, you have that one o'clock meeting in the boardroom with Mr. Johnson and his party."

"Thank you." Evans answered curtly. "I will be there straight away."

After making sure that his unwelcome guests had cooled their collective heels for almost fifteen minutes, Evans breezed into the boardroom, a patently false smile of welcome on his lips. "David, good to see you. I am sorry to be late, but I was on the phone with the Tokyo office and you know how early they have to get up to talk to me."

The two men shook hands, giving Evans a chance to survey the rest of the room. Surprise momentarily brought him up short when he recognized his ex-wife sitting beside another very attractive woman of middle years. Additionally, there were three young women who might be anywhere from teenaged to early twenties. And then he saw a third older woman, standing at the window, her back to the main room.

"Glad you could make it, Evans." the older man said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Just a minute while I get the last member of our little meeting."

Samuel took his seat at the head of the table while Johnson left the room. Moments later, he returned escorting *Stephan* into the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Evans growled. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here at my request." Deirdre said softly "Since in two years *he* will be voting my shares and since this meeting affects him."

"We'll just see about that, Deirdre, darling." Evans said with exaggerated solicitude before his face hardened. "All right. Let's get this over with. What the hell is this all about, Johnson. You were bloody secretive about this and I am much too busy to play kids' games."

Johnson smiled. "Very well. First let me introduce the other members of our little party. The lady seated by your wife is Mrs. Barbara Davis whose late husband was the president of Nash Enterprises. Next to her is her daughter, Michelle Nash and her companion, Darla Smith. And I believe you already know this lady," he said softly as he offered his hand to the woman still standing at the window.

Jane Thompson turned and Evans felt his mouth drop. "YOU!!!" he yelled, completely out of control.

"Hello, Mr. Evans, we meet again."

Evans was out of his seat, advancing on Jane, raw fury in his eyes. "I am going to destroy you, woman, as you destroyed my son. You won't be able to show your face anywhere in the world when I finish with you."

Johnson interposed himself between Jane and the other man. "Sit down, Evans, and shut your mouth." he ordered coldly. "I am not finished with the introductions yet."

"You can't talk to me that way!"

"Yes, I can. Now sit down and listen, or hear it tomorrow at an extraordinary board meeting I will call to review your removal as president of this company. Even if I cannot pull it off, the attempt will make the papers and wire services. You know what that will mean to your precious company."

For long moments, the two men stood toe-to-toe, staring at one another, until Evans smirked, shrugged and strutted back to his throne. With a regal wave of his hand at the older man he said "Please, do continue, honored sir."

Jane took a seat at the table next to the as yet unnamed female at the table before Johnson continued. "It has come to my attention, Evans, that you intend to retaliate against Ms. Thompson by slandering her in the press. You do not want to do that."

"It is not slander if it is the truth, old man. What the various. . .supermarket newspapers make of that is their concern, not mine. And I most certainly *do* want to do precisely that."

A slow smile lit the older man's face. "Do it, and you will be out of this office and on the street in twenty four hours. Mrs. Davis has had the executor of her husband's will buy up all the shares of the company that could be had. You currently control how much, Mrs. Davis?

"About six percent, Mr. Johnson, perhaps a little more."

"I control twenty three percent, Evans. Twenty of my own and three percent by proxy."

Evans stood. "Why don't you just stop while you are ahead, Johnson. As long as I vote fifty one percent of the stock, you can't do anything to me and you know it. So, if you will excuse me?"

"But you *don't* vote fifty one percent anymore, Samuel." Deirdre Evans said in a very quiet voice. She slid an envelope over to her ex-husband. "In there you will find a legal document revoking your authority to vote my seventeen percent of the company by proxy."

Johnson smiled ferally at the stunned company president. "With Deirdre's and Mrs. Davis' stock, I now vote forty six percent of the stock. I figure you have pissed off enough of the other shareholders to give me that last four percent I need to toss you out on your ear."

For a long moment, Evans could only stand there, at the end of the table, his mouth open in utter bewilderment. "What do you want?" he finally asked, already knowing the answer.

"You will leave Ms. Thompson and her school alone. If any word of her activities, and I mean *any* word leaks to the press, I will have you removed within twenty four hours. I don't particularly care if *you* are really behind the leak or not. So long as you keep your mouth shut and forget your petty little vengeance, you can keep your position as president."

Nothing was said as every eye in the room fixed on Evans. Slowly, he lowered himself back into his seat. "No one can run this company better than I can."

"True enough. But we'll get by."

"And as long as I don't go after *her*" his finger pointed at Jane accusingly, "You leave me alone?"

"As alone as we have left you up until now. You will be the president, and as you said, no one can run this company as well as you. We will still be the board of directors, responsible to our shareholders to ensure that the company remains profitable. Nothing changes."

"Ha. Except that I no longer have the power to tell you all to go to hell and you now have the power to tell that to me. You win, Johnson. You have my word that I will take no retaliatory action against Ms. Thompson." Evans said in a subdued voice.

"As someone said, trust but verify, Evans. By noon tomorrow, I will have proxy authority in hand for Deirdre's and Mrs. Davis's shares. Be very careful."

A spark of the old anger flared in the man's eyes, only to be quickly tamped down. He nodded and watched as everyone else rose from their seats to leave. "Johnson? One moment. Why? What does that. . .that *woman* mean to you? Why are you doing this?"

Johnson looked at Evans, and then to the young woman who still had not been introduced to Evans. She nodded slightly, and the old man smiled proudly before turning back to face the defeated man at the end of the long table.

"Let me tell you a little bit of family history, Mr. Evans. Without going into any of the dirty details, I can tell you that my only grandson got himself mixed up in some deep, deep trouble. He was involved with some bad people and was heading for a very bad end. His parents and I were at our wits end - we'd tried everything - or thought we had. It was only a matter of time until he ended up in jail or in the morgue."

The old man smiled over at Deirdre who returned it. "Then your ex-wife saw me at a board meeting, looking particularly low. She teased the entire story out of me, and told me of an old friend of hers who might be able to help us help my grandson. Simply stated, Mr. Evans, Jane Thompson saved my grandson's life. My daughter sent him to Jane. He was a tough nut, and it took her the better part of a year to finally get through to him. Eventually she broke him of all that macho stupidity and built him back into a man I am proud to call my grandson. More than that, a man I am pleased to call my friend."

The old man held out his hand to lithe, young brunette. With easy grace, she rose and glided across the room to stand beside Johnson.

Smiling up at the old man, she reached up and pulled off her hair.

The short haircut beneath the wig looked ridiculously incongruous atop the perfectly made up face. "May I present to you my grandson, Mr. Evans?" Johnson said with steel in his voice, and was pleased at the look of disbelieving shock on the other man's face.

"If you attack Jane Thompson," Johnson continued in a softer yet intensely threatening tone, "You attack *my* grandson because it may well come out that he lived as a young girl for that year he was supposedly abroad at a European military boarding school. Attacking my grandson, Mr. Evans, makes you my blood enemy. Do you understand now, sir? More importantly, do we understand each other now?"

Evans could only nod, his eyes wide.

"I thought you would." He turned back to his femininely turned out grandson who was patting the wig back into place under Jane's watchful eye. "I think we are through here. Good day, Mr. Evans. See you at the next regularly scheduled board meeting. Unless you do something to force me to call one before that."

With that threat still hanging in the now silent boardroom, Johnson shepherded the women, Stephan and his grandson out the door.

~----------~

Maria was waiting at the door when Jane's beloved Lincoln pulled into the driveway. She smiled happily as she ushered Michelle, Darla and Jane into the house. There was a high tea already laid on the sideboard of the breakfast nook and the two young ones fell on the food with ravenous appetite.

"Ladies!" Jane admonished with a happy grin. "Manners, please, unless you would both like some remediative training? You'd think they haven't seen food in days, Maria."

Smiling sheepishly, Darla swallowed hard and put down her plate with an obvious effort. "Well, I've sort of been off my feed the past few days, even after we fixed things out at Stef's place, I was always just a little nervous at playing Darla in front of quite so large an audience."

"You did great." Michelle offered, barely remembering to swallow first. "It gets easier and you have a great look anyway."

"Well, I would rather have switched to male stuff after the confrontation with Evans."

"I told you when you asked to be involved, dear, that I couldn't leave with a girl and return with a boy without raising a lot of questions we'd rather not answer." Jane gently reproved. "You knew from the very start that you'd have to stay Darla for the duration of the trip. And I agree with Michelle. You did very well. You stood up to some very tight scrutiny, particularly at the airport, and passed easily."

Darla flushed bright crimson as she recalled the incident. They'd been waiting in the lounge for their flight when Jane and Michelle had needed to use the Ladies Room. Darla wasn't quite up to that and had told them she'd wait for them. By the time Jane and Michelle had returned, Darla had been trying to fend off the attentions of three young lotharios, all determined to talk her into a short walk about the terminal. And Jane, the dirty sneak, had just stood there in the shadows and let Darla sweat until it looked like one of her suitors was going to get a little physical. Well, at least Jane had come to her rescue when Darla had *really* needed it.

Calling upon the control that had so frustrated Jane for the past four weeks, Darla forced a smile onto her lips. "Yes, I guess that's so. They never knew they were hitting on a guy, did they?"

Jane chuckled. "No, they didn't." Jane took a sip from her tea and let herself relax. "So, Darla, what do we do with you now?"

The girl stopped in mid-bite and looked up at Jane in surprise. "I don't understand, Aunt Jane."

Thoroughly amused, Jane savored the picture before her. "My goodness, child, have you gotten that comfortable with the masquerade? What I meant, dear, how are you going to live - as Darryl or as Darla?" At her student's still blank look, Jane relented a bit. "I have already formally reported to Judge Ruth that you were rehabilitated, dear. There is no longer any reason for *me* to keep you in skirts."

Darla put down the fork and thought about that. "I could go back to being Darryl now, couldn't I?"

Jane smiled. "Yes, you could, and in fact, you probably should. It will greatly simplify getting you into school and then later into college. There's only one small problem with that idea. As you pointed out once, Darla *has* been seen around these parts. Not very often, but you have been out and about as Darla and you *do* make a very striking, memorable girl. I don't think anyone outside of my little cadre has seen enough of you in skirts to look at Darryl and see Darla."

"But it is a possibility, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is possible, but not likely. You haven't been in the masquerade so long that your mannerisms are truly entrenched."

Darla's eyes dropped to the hands she had demurely put into her lap and consciously moved them to rest on the arms of her chair.

"Hard, isn't it?" Michelle asked gently in his normal masculine voice. "Don't let Jane fool you, Darryl. You are going to have those little gestures for a very long time. They'll just slip in. Maybe you'll be the only one who notices them, maybe you won't, but they are a part of you now. Same with Darryl in Darla. You're gonna do something masculine if you continue to dress and you'll be absolutely *positive* that everyone in the room will have seen it and *know* you're a guy. Trust me, I've been there. Most of the guys at St. Andrews are convinced I'm gay now. But it doesn't matter to me anymore - what *they* think just doesn't matter any more. I am beyond that now."

Michelle stopped for a moment, as he pinned Darla with a hard stare, then nodded to himself. "I think you are, too, Darryl- Darla, so why don't you just make the decision that works best for you?"

Darla thought about that, and had to agree the Michael was in the right of it. Numerous times while they'd been out of town, he'd caught himself forgetting some little feminine gesture or movement or intonation. It had been terrifying when it happened, but nothing had come of it. And just now, he'd instinctively done a very feminine movement of his hands and it had nothing to do with being dressed as a girl. It had just seemed. . . . natural somehow.

"I guess so, Michael." Darryl said in his own voice. Then he turned to Jane. "So, who is better for Aunt Jane?"

"Oh no, dear. Don't put that decision on to my poor old head. I don't want you regretting your choice and blaming me for it later."

Darla shook her head. "Okay, then, how would I go to school as Darla? More importantly, how could Darryl go away to college if *his* records from high school say "f" in the gender box?"

Jane considered that for a moment. "I have a friend at the local high school. I think it could be arranged for you to go as Darla, but have your private records, the ones that get sent to whatever college Darryl applies for, indicate your real name and sex. Failing that, I know I can arrange that at the local girls' boarding school, except you'd live with me as a day student."

"And I could still go to college as a male?"

Jane nodded. "I don't see why not."

"And I would stay with you, regardless of my decision?"

"Yes." Jane said simply.

A thought occurred to Darryl. "Could you take on more students if I was here as Darryl?"

"I don't know. I've never tried before. Maybe, but it would be difficult in many ways, and I don't know how it would work out for the boys. Part of the program is to immerse them in an unrelenting feminine environment. Your presence here as a male would likely have one of two impacts. Either you will be seen as a male lifeline, as something to help them center themselves around their male self image, or being seen *by* you will drive them over the edge more quickly."

"You sound hesitant, Aunt Jane." Darla noted.

She smiled wanly. "Because I am, dear. I hate to admit this, but I am something of a creature of habit - particularly habits built on a foundation of success. I don't like deviating from what I know works. Most boys walk a very fine line in their first few weeks under my tuition. I have a very good idea how most of them will react to my little tyrannies *in the environment I usually work with*. Your presence here as Darryl changes that environment in unpredictable and potentially dangerous ways. I do not know if I could bring a new student into such an uncertain situation."

Darla considered that. He thought about where he'd be right now if Jane had not taken him on and made his decision.

A loud knock ended what the feminine young man was about to say. A disgruntled Jane started for the door only to be headed off by Michelle. "I've been practicing my Janice-talk, Aunt Jane. I'll get rid of whoever it is."

Only he didn't, and returned to the breakfast nook with a huge smile on his face. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Stephan walked into the room, a brightly smiling Michelle hanging on his arm. Moments later, Jane and Maria had the boy in their arms, hugging him tightly. "When did you get in?"

"An hour ago, Aunt Jane. I missed the flight you were on and caught the next one."

"But why? You were free, dear, and by the way, I am very proud of the way you handled yourself with your father."

The tall boy blushed, and grinned. "Thanks. Having you there for me helped a lot. I came back because I wasn't done. *You* hadn't released me and when my Mom sent me to you, I promised to stay the course until *you* said I could leave. Besides," he grinned looking at Darla. "I thought you still might need a big sister for Miss Priss over there. I figured that was only fair trade for all you've done for me. Each-one-teach-one, right?"

"And you came back." Jane said softly.

"And I came back."

Jane felt like heart was going to burst, she was so happy and so proud. "Thank you, dear." she said softly. "Except, Darla graduated, too. She doesn't really need a big sister. In fact, we were trying to decide whether she was going to go to school as Darla or Darryl."

Stephan grinned widely and offered Darla a hand to high five. "Way to go, little sis!" he cheered.

"So." Darla spoke up for the first time in a while. "How am I going to go to school, Aunt Jane? I've got plans for my life." She preened in a caricature of the movie femme fatale sexpot. "After all, I am not going to be beautiful forever."

And was immediately buried under a barrage of pillows wielded by screaming, giggling friends.

Jane let the giggling pillow fight go for a few minutes before laughingly breaking it up. "Enough, you lot!" All three young faces had a lovely red flush and bright, mischievous grins. Jane turned her attention to Darla. "So, do I take that as your decision to finish school in skirts, young man?"

She watched as her ward composed himself, and could literally see him becoming increasingly feminine with each passing second. Finally, Darla nodded. "If there is any chance my living here as Darryl might cause you not to take on another student like me, or might keep you from helping someone else in your care. . . well, I just cannot be responsible for someone else not getting the opportunity for a new life that you gave me. Besides," and here the grin became gamine, "I want to be the big sister."

Jane sniffled once and by force of will, stemmed the tears burning behind her eyelids. She was just so very proud of these three youngsters. "You'll be a great one, love." she assured him softly. "One of the best. Thank you."

Before Jane could say another word, Darla was in her arms hugging the breath out of Jane. "Thank you, too, Aunt Jane, for everything."
 
 
End of Tales of The Season - Darla's Story

Aunt Jane faces an uncommonly difficult test - a boy who simply will not break under her tests. Oddly, he is the most well-mannered and polite student she's ever taught, although his records say differently. Will anything break through his wall of control or will Jane be forced to send him back where three years of state confinement await him?

 

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Author's Note: Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are maintained.

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989.

With sincere thanks to (in alphabetical order), Brandy DeWinter, Denise Em and Vickie Tern, for slogging through this story several times each, and finding myriad ways to make it better each time. ~Tigger
 

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Part 1:
 
As she had so many times before, Jane Thompson stood on the small, outdoor train platform and watched the blue, red and silver behemoth squeal ponderously to a stop. She looked down at the slender young woman standing patiently at her side and smiled to herself. So much was the same, and yet so much was so very different.

Darla, or Darryl (which was her ward's given name), was turned out in true debutante style in her knee length white dress and coordinating hat. Old fashioned petticoats made the dress stand out prominently from her opaque-white stockinged legs. Modestly heeled patent pumps and a matching shoulder purse completed her costume.

Jane herself was dressed in her most austere black business suit, with her hair swept back ruthlessly into a tight chignon and her cosmetics subtly harsh. She was rather pleased with the look. Such little power game tricks were just the thing to put her new guest immediately on the defensive. Which was just where Headmistress Jane Thompson wanted him.

It had been too long, she thought, far too long since she'd had a student upon whom she could bring to bear the full dimension of her program methods. By all accounts, this one was going to require just that to turn his life around and Jane was anticipating the challenge. As ever, there was also that familiar, tiny, niggling frisson of shame telling her she really shouldn't enjoy the fear and humiliation her training method imposed on her students quite so much.

That did not change the fact that she *did* enjoy watching her boys quiver fearfully with their hair all but standing on end. And since it was always ultimately to their benefit and betterment, she felt her small pleasure was not *too* bad of her.

Of course, her recent experiences with her last few boys had given Jane cause for more caution than she might have exerted with past students. Michelle's suicide attempt and Stephanie's father threatening her with public exposure and humiliation had given pause to reflect, and had made her doubt herself more than she had in the past.

Jane steeled herself against the emotions those memories evoked. She'd always thought she was so fully in command of her boys and their situations, always felt that nothing could go wrong as long as she adhered to her tried and true formula. In truth, she'd become too complacent and had forgotten just how close to their psychological edge she pushed the boys in her keeping. The result of her inattention had been two near tragedies, one falling right upon the last.

Never again, she firmly told herself for what was most likely the millionth time. This time she was better prepared for surprises because she had learned that she needed to expect them. Over the past few months, Jane along with Marie had carefully reviewed and analyzed every detail of their program. As a result, Jane had specifically included more careful attention her charge's mental and emotional states, particularly during the most intensely emotional times immediately before or after any of her more stressful or humiliating exercises. She'd also planned on stretching out the early lessons a little more so that she had more time to get to know her new student's foibles and reactions better before she began in earnest.

Of course, that planned "slowdown" did nothing to change her standard program for her new student's first two days with her. That intentionally and necessarily hard indoctrination was when the boy was stripped (quite literally in some cases) of everything familiar and masculine, and then cast adrift in the alien, feminine world of skirts, makeup and petticoats. Those first forty eight hours were critical to the final success of her curriculum. Jane *had* to establish herself as the "bad cop" to Marie's and Darla's good cop with this student right from the start.

For just a moment she started to reexamine the problem one more time, trying to find some other way, but caught herself. No, Jane Thompson told herself firmly, it had to be done that way. There simply wasn't another kinder, gentler way to impose the necessary mind set on the student. He had to be taken completely off-balance, emotionally and mentally, as quickly as possible. Jane needed him to be reacting, not thinking when faced with her stern, seemingly-arbitrary orders.

Or else nothing good or positive would come of the other torments she was going to inflict on this teenager.

Be honest, she chided herself. The real problem was that she was just a little afraid to do what she knew had to be done and that was something new and unwelcome in her experience. Jane had always needed to deal with her charges' fears and anxieties - hell, she was the one who fostered those emotions - but she'd never had to deal with fears of her own about how to proceed with a student before.

Until now.

Jane had very nearly refused to accept this student for that very reason. In fact, she had eventually consented to take on this project only because *two* of her oldest friends, Judge Ruth and the boy's mother, were involved.

There was absolutely no reason that this all-important phase of her program could not go on as before without any real danger to her student. For one thing, she was better prepared than she had been in the past. If he reacted as all her experience indicated he would then there was no problem. If he did not react as she expected, well, she knew how to recognize and deal with that contingency better than she had in the past.

Particularly in the *recent* past.

And she *would* rediscover the joy of her long time mission in life again with this student. Everything would fall back into place again. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this student. Surely, he'd fall into her traps like so many had before him.

Before Michael, Stephan and Darryl, that is.

So many things had been out of kilter for her of late, thoroughly disrupting her efforts with her young men. Michael had reacted very badly to his first experience of being "out" in skirts and had nearly succeeded in taking his own life. Stephan's father had stormed into Jane's home and had dragged his son out of her control, threatening her and her boys with nationwide media exposure and public humiliation. Worst of all, Darryl had been ready to run off into the night to protect her from his murderous brother. *After* he'd told her she'd been *good* to him.

Jane still wondered at that.

The train's occupants began to disembark from their respective railcars. Jane made another quick check of Darla's appearance and smiled softly. Her mind flew back to the day her old friend had called to ask for her help.

"You're actually dithering, Aunt Jane." Darryl, wearing his Darla masquerade had accused. "Is it because I am here? Am I an impediment to you helping this mother and her son?"

She'd had to think carefully before she'd answered. "Only minimally if at all, dear. Mostly, the problem is me. My little program has not gone all that well of late."

"That's garbage and you know it. You've had some oddballs lately and things haven't gone as you've expected. How many times had that happened before Michelle?"

Jane had smiled at the pugnacious, determined look on the perfectly made up face. "I think we've had this discussion before, dear. I have only lost two boys in some twenty years of this work."

"Okay, of us oddballs, are there any of us you are ashamed of having had as students? Do you believe that you failed with any of us?"

"But . .but . ."

"But nothing, Aunt Jane." Darryl's voice snapped with Darla's mouth.

"Okay." she smiled. "So I got lucky with you guys. Nothing really disastrous came of my failure to deal with you and those other wise guys properly."

"Maybe it was luck, maybe it wasn't. I don't think so, but that is beside the point. What is to the point is that now you are more aware. You won't miss those danger signs and clues again and you will be able to adjust your program in time to prevent the crisis. So, what other problem could there be? You don't want to do it without a big sister and you don't think I can do the job?"

"You've not been through the whole program, dear. You've only seen the barest beginnings of what I put my boys through. Not only that, but you got a very mild taste because" Jane said sourly, "you were just so damned biddable. I couldn't find anything that I could seriously discipline you for. . .not legitimately, anyway."

"And your point?"

"By all accounts, dear," Jane sighed thinking of her friend's son, "this one is going to be a very tough nut. He will either shatter quickly, perhaps within the first few hours of starting his indoctrination, or he will require some of my harsher treatments before he makes the turn."

"And you're afraid of how I will react when the going gets tough?" Jane closed her eyes and nodded. "You *honestly* believe this is what you need to do to help the kid?" Jane nodded again, with more certainty this time. "Then explain to me what needs be done, and we will do it."

"You're sure?" this time it had been Darla's turn to nod her agreement. Jane had started to say something, hesitated, and then, unbelievably, blushed brightly. She'd coughed to clear her suddenly tight throat. "I have been told, Darla, that I might enjoy tormenting my girl-boys a little too much. Will that bother you?"

"Sounds like Michelle." Darla had opined softly. At Jane's abashed, affirmative response, Darla had grinned broadly. "Given her experiences, I might agree, but I don't share those experiences so I don't share her opinions, either. Might as well enjoy your work, Aunt Jane. It's not really malicious on your part, is it?"

Fierce joy had warmed Jane's whole person at that point. "No, it isn't." she had breathed to herself in wonder. "It really never has been. Even Michelle called it 'tough love' once."

"Then what do we need to do to help your new student, Aunt Jane?"

~----------~

Darla's acquiescence had slipped just a little bit when the prissy, fussy petticoated little-girl doll-dresses had reappeared in her wardrobe and her few boy clothes had disappeared into storage. She'd recovered quickly enough, Jane smiled at the memory, once she had understood the danger of the new student finding boy clothes in Darla's room when he needed to feel completely alone as he faced Jane's feminine prison. Darla had to be completely convincing as a female until it was time for the boy to learn the whole story of his new existence under Jane's regime.

A slender boy of average height and fashionably long black hair stepped down from the train carrying a large duffel bag over his shoulder. Jane recognized him immediately as her new latest project from the pictures his mother had express mailed to her. She took the opportunity to watch him for several moments as he scanned the small station for some sign of the woman he'd been told to expect.

Taking a deep breath, Jane schooled her features into her strict Victorian Schoolmistress persona. Looking to Darla, she whispered, "It's show time." and then strode out toward the young man standing quietly in the center of the windblown train- landing.

"Kenneth?" Jane said firmly by way of introduction. "I am your Mother's friend, Jane Thompson. You may call me Jane, Aunt Jane or Ms. Thompson. This is my niece, Darla Smith. Darla, this is the young man I told you about, Kenneth Roberts."

The two young people silently shook hands with Darla making a graceful curtsey while holding the boy's hand. Pleased, Jane decided to get on with the real work. "Is that all the luggage you have with you?"

"No, Ms. Thompson," was the soft, courteous reply. "I have two larger bags in checked baggage."

"Very well, give me the claim checks. I will arrange to have them delivered to my home later on, Kenneth. For now, we have much to accomplish today and your train was late." Jane spun imperiously on her heel and began to stride away towards the rustic New England station house. "Come along, children. I insist on prompt compliance." she shot over her shoulder without a backward look.

Still, she was pleased to hear the rhythmic tapping of Darla's heels against the concrete of the train loading platform, knowing that meant Kenneth was following her instructions.

For now, at least.

~----------~

The drive from the train station back to Jane's home was passed mostly in silence which suited Jane. Silence, in her experience, was a most unnatural state for the type of young male sent to her for help. Normally, a lack of audio stimulation set them on edge which in turn made them even more susceptible to her frontal barrage once she had them safely in her house. For that reason, Darla had been directed to avoid most conversation with the lad. She could answer his questions as quickly and concisely as possible, but she was not to initiate anything with him until it was time for her to "help" the boy with his first experience with petticoats.

But Kenneth hadn't asked any questions nor had he made any attempt at further conversation. Jane had expected him to begin to fidget at some point during the drive and to attempt to fill in the void of silence with his own voice, but he hadn't. Instead, Kenneth had sat quietly the entire trip, keeping his own counsel. Odd, Jane thought, but so far the boy has displayed excellent manners. He obviously knew *how* to behave properly, so his acting up at home and school must be by choice on his part. Still, he had done better than most of her students. Holding doors for her and Darla, asking Darla whether she preferred to ride in the front or back seat and then deferring to her wishes, responding to Jane's own carefully planned and worded probes politely and respectfully. Not at all what she expected. Kenneth's unanticipated behavior since his arrival had effectively defanged several of Jane's favorite and most effective opening gambits against a new student.

Most boys preferred to ride in the front seat of a car or reacted boorishly to her senior student because of her admittedly prissy and fussy outfit. Ordering the new student to ride in the back seat or reproaching them sharply for their lack of basic courtesy typically made the boys feel juvenile which in turn further opened their fragile little egos to her psycho-dramatic games.

Jane decided that she'd have to take another look at the boy's records before their initial confrontation. If he was going to be this mannerly, she'd have her work cut out for her getting him into sufficient "trouble" to justify her taking the already- planned first steps into femininity. Jane had learned long ago that a young man who felt he was being unjustly punished fought her all that much harder. One of her two failures had been one who had never trusted her again after she had used a patently false accusation to start her campaign.

She wouldn't make that mistake again. She'd just have to be patient, that was all.

Stopped at a traffic light, Jane surreptitiously assessed her newest charge in the Lincoln's rearview mirror. A quiet frown of extreme concentration marred his otherwise smooth facial features. He wasn't happy to be here, but that was to be expected when the choice was here or incarceration. Jane could already see that he was intelligent which meant he knew his experiences with her were bound to be unpleasant given the alternative. She might have wished for a little more obvious anxiety, but that would come soon enough, she told herself. That would come.

He had good bones, she mused, pleased with the observation. A clear though dark complexion and a nice slender frame, too. From a purely physical standpoint, he'd be able to carry off the masquerade without any difficulty. That meant she'd be able to put him into some of the more public and therefore more humiliating of her special training situations. Some of her boys could never have "passed" under the closer scrutiny associated with those games and therefore had never been exposed to them. This one would pass easily, although he'd be terrified every daintily shod step of the way. Jane would see to that!

Too bad about that lovely black hair, but it would back out after she had given him his release from her silken prison. With that olive toned complexion inherited from the Italian side of his Mother's family, he'd look a little exotic once they'd bleached him into a blond, but not so much that he'd draw too much notice. Just enough to frighten the poor darling into nearly wetting his, soon to be her, panties. Besides the obvious and humiliating male stereotype of the "dumb blonde", bleaching a dark haired boy had other advantages from Jane's point of view. Not the least of which were black roots, the control of which would require regular trips to that bastion of feminine mystery and male terror, the Marisha Chalet beauty salon.

It was going to work this time, she told herself as she began to accelerate away from the intersection, just like it had all those times before. She was going to help this one and he was going to hate every bloody minute of it until he understood what it had really been all about.

~----------~

Kenneth Roberts looked around the rose pink room. He'd nearly asked the girl who'd shown him up here if there had been some mistake, but he'd managed to restrain himself. Whatever this Thompson woman, his mother and that Judge friend of theirs had planned for him was going to be bad enough. No way was he going to add to his problems by making waves right from the start. There would be much more important battles to fight before this was all over and he'd learned the hard way that it was better to conserve your ammunition and other resources for when it really mattered. He had his mother to thank for that painful little life's lesson, too.

A bitter smile crossed his face as he caught a whiff of the cloying rose fragrance that thickly pervaded the room. It would not be long before he and everything he owned would smell like that, too. Not long at all.

Sighing against the inevitability of whatever was planned, he decided to take a few moments to put away his things. He especially wanted to find a secure place to hide his wallet. He might need it in the days to come.

Kenneth opened the large, ornate armoire and instantly stilled. It was filled with feminine attire and only feminine attire. He stood there, trying to make sense of what he saw when he heard a soft knock at his door.

Moving quickly, Kenneth did his best to hide his wallet and closed the armoire door. "Please come in." he called out politely.

In response to his invitation, the pretty young female who had accompanied the Thompson woman to the train station stuck her head inside the room. "Aunt Jane would like to see you down in her office now. It's the room just off the stairs to the right."

"Thank you." he responded. "I will be right down." Kenneth went over to the chair where he'd hung his suit coat, slipped it on and headed for the door where the girl, Darla was it? Yes, that was it, Darla. Where *Darla* waited for him.

He allowed her to lead the way as they silently descended the ornate stairway. It occurred to Kenneth that the clothes might well belong to this girl. She was certainly turned out to the nines in that obviously expensive, but unusually frilly white ensemble. If all of her things were like that, she'd probably need extra storage. The outfit seemed a little young for a girl of her age, but then, what did he know? He decided that the issue of closet space was another question he could hold off asking, at least until his own baggage arrived.

At the foot of the stairs, she motioned him to a closed door. Kenneth took the hint and stepped up to the door. He almost opened it, but caught himself at the last moment. This wasn't his home and he was a guest. He rapped sharply on one of the hardwood panels of the door. There was a moment's pause before his knock was answered by a very authoritative command to "Enter."

Taking one last deep, calming breath, Kenneth took the antique door handle in hand and turned it to open the door. Maybe now, he thought grimly, he'd find out just what the hell he'd gotten into *this* time.

~----------~
Part 2:
 
Jane watched the carefully groomed young man make his way across her office to stand before her desk. She waited in vain for him to do something she could call him to task for. Other than asking "You wanted to see me, Ms. Thompson." after she'd bid him enter, he'd merely nodded at her sharp affirmative and closed the door behind him. He hadn't even taken the seat so obviously intended for him, but instead had waited to be invited to be seated.

Well, that merely meant that Sheila, his mother, had trained him properly in polite behavior and good manners. Which made his failure to behave properly at home and at school all the more inexcusable in Jane's opinion. It was one thing to be ill trained for society as indeed many of her former students had been; it was quite another thing to know how to interact acceptably with other people and refuse to do so. This one *knew* better and that was all the more to his discredit.

Jane waited a bit longer, hoping the boy would at least fidget, but was again disappointed. Finally, she sighed at the momentary setback, and then gestured toward the painfully uncomfortable "chair of honor" at the front of her desk. "Please be seated, Kenneth. We have much to talk about."

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson." he replied quietly as he unbuttoned his jacket and then seated himself before visibly giving her his full and undivided attention.

Jane began to flip through the detailed dossier that Sheila had express mailed to her the previous day, pausing several times to glare at Kenneth over the top rim of her half-lens reading glasses. The third or fourth time she thought she might have seen a tiny flinch on his part and decided that was as good an opening as she was likely to get from this one. The boy's composure was beginning to alarm her.

She slipped the gold-rimmed spectacles from her nose and stared at Kenneth for several moments. "Do you really want to spend the next three years of your life in an institution for delinquent young males, Kenneth?" she demanded.

Kenneth jumped at the sudden sound, but quickly regained his composure - too quickly for Jane's tastes, and considered his answer. She was about to demand an immediate answer when he finally spoke. "If I wanted to do that, Ms. Thompson, I would not have agreed to come here and put myself under your control."

The voice Jane heard was soft, yet controlled, betraying none of the emotion she would have expected after her aggressively worded question. "Well, everything in this record indicates that you are very likely to end up there if you don't turn yourself around, Mister. Notes from teachers, letters from your principal, even police reports all point to the fact that you are a boorish, out of control and ill behaved lout. And *yet*, you have exhibited superb manners since I first saw you earlier today so it is *not* as if you can't behave properly. No, you must *choose* to behave the way that these," and she waved a hand over the thick folder, "prove that you do."

Jane stopped, waiting for him to try to defend himself against her charges so she could really lay into him, but was again chagrined as he said nothing. "WELL???" she finally snapped. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Kenneth sat there, wondering how he should answer that challenge. He desperately wanted to swallow back against the threat of nausua, to wipe at the sweat he felt beading at his forehead, but he knew from painful experience that showing any sign of weakness to someone like this Thompson woman would lead to disaster. "I am not sure that there is anything I can say, Ms. Thompson, other than that I have done nothing wrong."

Finally, Jane crowed to herself. Now she had caught him in an out and out lie. Now she had the wedge she needed to start splintering that male ego like an old dead tree. An almost feral smile crossed her face as she prepared to unleash her assault.

"Nothing wrong? Oh, really?" Jane scoffed with heavy sarcasm. "Am I to assume that this police report for vandalism is incorrect?" Jane asked holding up stapled sheaf of paper. "Or this suspension record for continued disrespect and abuse of a female teacher? Or this one for what is practically sexual harassment of one of the young ladies at your school? *Those* are 'nothing wrong'? If such things are 'nothing wrong', what in your mind constitutes something wrong, young man?"

The boy's face momentarily clouded in anger, but he quickly controlled it. "I have done nothing wrong." he reiterated firmly.

"This," Jane snapped, holding up the thick file, "Says otherwise, Kenneth. Am I to presume that these incidents are just "boys will be boys"-type acts of mischief in your mind? Your Mother obviously doesn't think so, and neither do I. And this record shows a continuing pattern of increasingly unacceptable behavior on your part. I suspect," she said with a mocking half smile, "that you are likely trying to prove your . . .manhood," and the word dripped cold derision, "in light of your, shall we say, less than manly stature and handsome, almost pretty looks?"

Kenneth stared at the file and then at Jane, not saying a word. He was so bloody tired of fighting, but he couldn't let himself give up; couldn't let himself give in. Why couldn't someone believe him for a change? He knew, however, that this woman, this friend of his mother, would *never* be that someone.

Finally, Jane spoke again. "How do you conclude you have done nothing wrong when faced with the facts in this file, Kenneth?"

She watched in fascination, then admiration and finally concern as her student considered her question and then drew himself upright in the hardbacked wooden chair. Cold grey eyes locked on her own. "Perhaps because nothing you have read to me from that file is true, Ms. Thompson. If that really matters to you."

He's not going to admit that he was and still is in the wrong, even in the face of the overwhelming evidence of this file, Jane thought in wonder. Well, he would eventually confront that lie as well as his other many failures before she was done with him. She'd seen cases like this before. Sometimes they were hard to break, but when they finally did break, they broke quickly and completely. In many ways, such students were the easiest to turn around.

"I see. So I am to believe you and not the records provided by your own Mother, my friend, and a court judge who is also my personal friend?" A challengingly cocked eyebrow showed exactly how likely the former schoolmistress thought of that leap of faith occurring. "Tell me, Kenneth, do you fully understand what your alternatives are? What options you have left if you do not enter into my program?"

She saw him begin to shrug and catch himself. Such control, she thought yet again, for a fifteen year old male. "My mother has arranged with your friend the judge to put me into a home for delinquent boys until I reach my eighteenth birthday."

"And a slightly built," Jane exaggerated for effect, "young boy like yourself would suffer greatly in such an environment, don't you think? You'd be an outsider, the one who didn't fit in and likely the one least able to defend himself." Jane looked down at the record open on her desk. "Given your loutish behavior towards the women and young girls at your school, I would say that might almost be poetic justice, in and of itself."

This time Kenneth did shrug, trying to set aside that especially dark fear that had taken seed when his Mother had first told him of the unholy choice he had to make.

Although Jane could see her new student growing uneasy as the full implication of her words became clear to him. Of course, Jane knew that such goings-on would never be tolerated at any institution used by her friend Judge Ruth, but the boy did not know that. The threat, however, would help ensure his ultimate submission to Jane's will.

"Nothing to say? I am still curious, Kenneth, as to what prompts a young man to do such things as are in this file. You obviously know better as you have amply demonstrated since your arrival." At least she wouldn't have to drill him too hard on basic manners, she mused, and could get down to the hard lessons more quickly.

As Jane had expected, his silence lingered permitting her to press on with her favored opening gambit of this little chess game. Time to start making this pawn/would-be king into a queen.

"Well 'boys will be boys' and proving false manhood at the expense and pain of others are no longer acceptable excuses, Kenneth. Still, the pattern begins to give me an idea. Maybe that's the key. There is a practice in England for curbing defiance such as yours called 'petticoat discipline'. Have you heard of it?"

If she had any doubts that the boy did understand from the look of resigned disgust on his face his next words removed them. "So that's why she did it." He said resignedly.

Jane set aside her reading glasses and stared out the window, trying to look contemplative as she worked to make some sense of what was going on. She was absolutely certain he fully understood that relatively archaic term, but that was absurd. How many young American males could conceive of such a thing, let alone instantly understand the implications? Most of her boys initially concluded that it mean some type of submission to a feminine will and none had ever understood at the first confrontational interview.

She decided to press on. "Yes," she announced with a resolve she was far from feeling, "that will be exactly it. Kenneth, if I am to help you avoid being sent to that delinquent's home, I must have your word of honor that you will unhesitatingly obey every command I give you, no matter how unpleasant or disagreeable you may find that activity to be. Our goal will be, at least at the start, to see if we can instill some self-restraint in you." As if this boy needed to become more self controlled. "If at any time I detect resistance, I will wash my hands of you completely and advise the Judge and your Mother accordingly. Is that agreed?"

"No, it's not." Kenneth said quietly.

"All right then, we will be. . . .*What* did you say?" Jane goggled, so amazed at his response that her voice broke two octaves.

"I said that don't agree to your terms. I have a fairly good idea of what awaits me if I leave here and take my other option. You are the devil I don't know, Ms. Thompson. I won't be bound indefinitely by my word of honor until I understand better what you intend and what those 'unpleasant or disagreeable' orders might entail."

Jane could only stare at him as he watched her intently. *This* was a fifteen year old boy??!? She'd faced down corporate CEO's who had shown less reserve than this . . this child. With some effort, Jane managed to regain some of her own composure. "So, where does that leave us, Kenneth? Your Mother is a long time friend and I told her I would try to help you and her, but I cannot do that if I do not have your cooperation."

The solemn faced young man sat quietly as he considered that. "Very well, I agree to your terms." Elated, Jane started to rise and end this difficult interview before anything else unexpected happened, but Kenneth raised a hand to stop her. "I am not finished. I agree to your terms, up to and until I decide that the boys' home is the lesser of the two evils. At that point, I will stop and you can, as you say, wash your hands of me. Until I reach that conclusion, you have my word." The boy stood and offered her his hand.

Still stunned by this fifteen year old going on fifty, Jane instinctively took his hand. Why did she feel that she could rely on his word completely? The record said he was a skilled liar who folded, spindled and mutilated the truth to suit his own ends, and yet, Jane's every instinct told her his word was as firm and as solid as the handclasp that sealed their bargain.

Jane excused her charge to go back to his room and clean up for the midday meal. One last time, she was struck by his manners as he acknowledged her direction, thanked her and then left with quiet dignity.

"That," she said aloud to the empty room, "has to be the most unusual first interview I have ever conducted, and I am not sure just which of us is on the defensive."

Jane called Darla into the office to go over one last time the plans for her to serve and act as hostess for the very formal meal Marie planned for a student's first day. Normally, such a meal provided Jane with endless opportunities to pick at the new student's table manners, but somehow, Jane figured that she'd have to be extremely vigilant and extremely picky to find fault with this one. So much for enjoying her own meal, she grimaced. She'd just have to ask Marie to fix her a plate for her to eat while Kenneth was sleeping off the sedative-laced after-dinner wine. Desert, too. Jane really felt the need for some sugar after that quietly fierce battle of wills.

~----------~

Kenneth sat on the frilly, overdone canopy bed, staring into the open armoire. He had his hands locked together in his lap to keep them from shaking. He felt so very cold - whether that was from fear or anger - Kenneth wasn't quite sure. He'd known going into this that this was a setup, but the full scope of his Mother's plan was just becoming clear to him.

He had not all that surprised to find that his extra baggage had not been delivered to his room when he returned from his talk with Jane Thompson. After all, his Mother was the one who sent him here, leaving him with only two choices, neither of which was particularly palatable.

*What was that trial in Homer's Odyssey called?* he asked himself. The one where either choice was bad, but one of the two was unacceptably horrible? Scylla and Charybdis? That was it. One was a monster that would catch and eat some sailors if the ship ventured too close, but the other one was a huge whirlpool that would kill everyone onboard if they tried to avoid the man eating monster.

Which one of his two options, Kenneth mused, was the whirlpool and which one was merely a bloodthirsty monster? He didn't know, but he would definitely find out soon enough. Kenneth only hoped he didn't find himself being flushed down the porcelain throne before he could make the other choice.

One way or another, he promised himself grimly, he was walking away from all this when he reached eighteen, and he was walking away still a man.

A knock on his door broke through his somber mood. The younger female opened his door when he called for her to enter. She was still rigged out in that frilly thing that made her look like a satin church bell with the way her skirts flared out from her legs. She dropped him a quick curtsy and said. "The noon meal is ready to be served. Would you please accompany me to the dining room? Aunt Jane is a real stickler for being on time."

Kenneth again slipped on his suit coat, straightened his tie and checked his hair one last time before moving to follow the girl. As he closed the door, he noticed that the "keyed" side of the door lock was on the inside of the door whereas the "knobbed" side of the deadbolt was on the hall side. Doubly odd, Kenneth mused. He'd never seen bedrooms with security throw-length dead bolt locks before, either. Well, so much for privacy he thought with some resignation.

~----------~

The meal had gone precisely as Jane had feared. The extensive, formal table ware setting had not bothered Kenneth a bit. As Darla had served each course, he had unerringly chosen the correct implement each time, without once looking to see which fork or spoon Jane picked up. He'd even skipped the provided shrimp fork when no shrimp cocktail was served.

Worse, he'd politely seated Darla after she had served each course and had waited until she had served herself before he began to eat each new course. Had someone sent this boy to a summer camp run by Emily Post and if so, why hadn't she been apprized of that fact?

As Jane had expected, she had not been able to do more than nibble at her own food before it was time for Darla to clear away and serve the next course. They were on a schedule and they needed Kenneth asleep in very short order if they were to have him arrayed in his first dainties by dinnertime.

Finally, the desert course was finished. Jane made her typical spiel about how deeply in trouble Darla had been before coming to Jane and how she was now the epitome of genteel ladylike behavior thanks to Jane's tuition and to the strict Victorian code of behavior that Jane demanded of all her students.

Darla returned with a tray containing several small glasses and a crystal decanter filled with a dark, richly colored liquid. Kenneth watched with some interest as she filled the three glasses and then offered one to Jane and one to himself before placing the third in front of her own seat. Yet another oddity, Kenneth thought. Why is the stem of one of the glasses blue and the other two red? Whatever else he could say about this Jane Thompson, friend of his Mother, she was extremely well off financially. Why would she permit that Darla to use such an obviously mismatched set? Well, he wasn't going to call Jane's attention to it if she did not see it. No point in embarrassing the girl in front of her Aunt and making an enemy he did not need on his first day.

"I enjoy a nice glass of sherry after lunch, Kenneth." Jane said, recapturing his attention. "I bid you welcome to my house and offer the hope that together we can help you find your true path."

Kenneth picked up his glass, raising it in answer to Jane's and Darla's offer of the toast. Then, he watched as the two women sipped their wine before setting his own glass down untouched.

Oh no, Jane almost groaned. "Is there something wrong, Kenneth? Do you object to my toast?" she demanded aggressively.

"No, Ms. Thompson," he hastily reassured her, "it's just that I am underage - for drinking alcohol, that is."

*He's afraid I am trying to set him up by having him drink.* Jane concluded. Which of course was precisely what she was trying to do though not in the way he had supposed.

"Kenneth," Jane said soothingly. "I will never discipline you for accepting something I freely give you. It is not abnormal for young people to take a small glass of wine at the family table. In fact, many families do that so that their children grow up with an appreciation of fine wines. Go ahead and taste the wine. I am sure you will find it quite nice." And quite fatiguing, she added in her mind.

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson, but I don't drink. Not at home and not here."

*Damn*. "Come now, Kenneth, we both know that is not true." she chided gently. "At least three of the entries in your file document your underage abuse of alcohol. One of the things we may accomplish here is you learning not to abuse such beverages."

"And since it is in that file," Kenneth flared, showing signs of angry emotion for the first time, "then it must be true. Well, I have already told you that I have done nothing wrong which includes *not* having . . . how did you put it? Oh yes. . .not having abused alcohol. I don't like the taste and it tends to make me nauseous."

"I see." Jane said, frustration rippling through her from this yet another unexpected barrier to her goals. She was trying to find an alternative when Marie entered the room and whispered to her that one of her business clients was on the phone and was very upset. *Damn again!* "I have to go to my office, children." Jane said as she stood. "Darla, please clear the table and help Marie with cleanup. Kenneth, you have had a long, stressful trip. Perhaps you would like to go lay down for a while, maybe take a nap" *Please take a nap*

"Yes, Aunt Jane." Darla replied as she too stood.

Kenneth followed suit and then remembered. "Ms. Thompson? Any word about where the rest of my things are? From the train?"

Jane stopped at the door. She knew precisely the disposition of Kenneth's luggage. Marie had put his bags into the locked attic just before lunch had been served. "I will make inquiries, Kenneth, and let you know. In the meantime, I think we can provide you with something suitable. That suit has seen better days." With that, she bustled off to try to calm her client.

Kenneth found himself momentarily alone in the dining room. He looked at his untouched glass of wine and decided there was no point in wasting what was probably a very expense spirit. Carefully, he removed the stopper from the decanter and began slowly pouring his glass back in.

He was just about finished when the woman Jane had called Marie reentered the room and came to complete halt. "What are you doing??" she demanded.

Kenneth gave her a sheepish grin. "I didn't drink any of it and it seemed like a shame for it to go to waste. I figured that since the glass was clean, there was no reason not to put it back."

"I see." the older woman said in a very soft voice.

"Do you need any help before I go up to lay down, Ma'am?" he offered.

"No. . . I mean, no thank you. Darla and I are just fine. You go on up and rest. You have a full day ahead of you."

He smiled, excused himself and then left the room thinking that at least one person in this mausoleum had some innate warmth.

Marie stood there, watching Jane's newest project stroll off, obviously not under the influence of Jane's sedative. Shaking her head, she picked up the decanter and went to pour its drugged contents down the sink. Despite Jane's wealth, it felt obscene dumping one hundred twenty five dollars worth of wine down the drain like so much dirty dishwater.

And Marie had just decanted that bottle yesterday.

Then it hit her. How was she going to raid Kenneth's room to make off with the last of his boy clothes if he wasn't out cold from Jane's little potion??

~----------~

The hall clock was striking three p.m. when the three conspirators gathered in Jane's office for a short breather.

"So, you were able to get the last of his male things even without him having taken the sleeping draft?" Jane asked, relaxing for the first time since she'd gotten out of bed that morning.

Marie sipped her tea and gave her long time friend a devilish smile. "The little darling was just plain tuckered out, Jane. Travel fatigue."

"Yet another benefit of having them take the train instead of more rapid forms of transport. He was on that train for most of eighteen hours by the time he arrived and Sheila wouldn't pay for a first class seat or for a sleeping compartment." Jane smiled over her own cup.

"First boy we've ever had who turned down the chance to try drinking with the grown ups, Jane." Marie observed, still somewhat surprised.

Jane paused to consider that. "Yes," she said pensively, "that was a surprise. What concerns me is his adamant refusal to concede the truth of those files. His supposed "not drinking" is another case in point. I went back and checked - he's been punished several times for underage drinking, one time spending the night in a jail cell. And yet, he steadfastly denied that he drinks, just as he refuses to acknowledge the other charges in that book."

"Is there any chance at all that the records aren't true, Aunt Jane?" Darla asked, entering the conversation for the first time.

"I don't see how." Jane's answer was immediate and unequivocal. "If I were working with anyone other than Judge Ruth, I might have doubts. He is just so . . . so convincing, isn't he, dear?"

Darla nodded emphatically, making the intricate hairpiece adorning her head bounce wildly.

"A little less enthusiasm and a bit more decorum in your gestures, Darla. We need him to think you, like Marie and I, are fully female for the next couple of weeks. Dainty young misses do not nod their heads like a jack in the box." Jane smiled to soften the criticism of this special child, "Still, it does pose problems that he won't admit his crimes. Until he confronts them openly, we are not going to make very much progress with him."

"You going to have Darla work on him tomorrow?" Marie asked.

"Hmmmm. .. Yes, that is the normal plan." Jane said, almost to herself before focusing on the youngest participant. "Tomorrow, after her first skin-out dressing up, you will go in and coach her on the finer points of dealing with the vicious Ms. Thompson."

"Like Stephanie did for me?" Darla asked with a soft smile.

"Just so. Play it straight with her, dear. Help her all you honestly can, but it won't be enough. She'll be too emotionally mixed up and mentally off balance to absorb more than the smallest fraction of what you will impart. There will be more than enough real deportment failures for me to get into her head with. What she will need to remember is that you tried to help her and that everything you told her was true."

"So what does that have to do with him not admitting to having done all that stuff his Mother told you about?"

"Ah, therein lies the challenge for you, Darla. In the mental state we should have her in by then, you should be able to get her to admit things that she wouldn't otherwise. If we can get a recording of her confessing to the contents of those records in her own voice, we will be able to take away that defense mechanism. She will then be forced to deal with her actions and their consequences."

"And the biggest consequence of all is you, right Aunt Jane?" the pretty teen teased.

"Just so." Jane replied smugly. "Marie, if he isn't awake by then, wake him up at four thirty. That will give us a couple of hours before dinner to give him the final ultimatum so that what happens tomorrow can be laid at his door as if he had really had agreed."

~----------~
Part 3:
 
As so many young men had before him, Kenneth awoke to find the remainder of his clothes missing. Only an absurdly feminine confection of a bathrobe in slick pink satin was immediately visible, hanging from the armoire door where he'd carefully hung up his travel suit.

Kenneth took down the robe to see if his own clothes were hanging behind it, but of course they weren't. There was no sign of the suit inside the armoire, either. Only the same girl clothes that he'd originally thought might belong to the Thompson woman's niece. At least his wallet was still in the pocket of that skirt where he'd hidden it before going to bed. Perhaps they'd unpacked his duffel and put his other clothes into the bureau, he thought with little hope of that being so. His fears were confirmed when he opened the various drawers and saw that these were filled with feminine clothing items from lingerie to sweaters to stockings in a veritable rainbow of colors.

"Well," he told himself grimly, "suspicions confirmed. Now what am I going to do?"

Just then, a knock on his door was followed immediately by the sound of the deadbolt rasping open. Jane walked into the room without another sound and reached over to turn on the lights.

Kenneth instinctively hid his nudity behind the only barrier he had to hand. . . the pink robe.

Jane smiled with satisfaction at the sight of her new student cowering behind that satin robe, and moved in to press her advantage. "Stop hiding, Kenneth. Put that on and come out. I wish to talk with you some more."

Kenneth looked at her for a moment, then stepped behind the armoire and donned the garment. The slick feel of the fabric felt strange against his skin - like it might slide off him at any moment. He belted it tightly and then moved back into the center of the room to face the woman he was coming to think of as the warden.

*Remember,* Kenneth told himself, *losing your temper never works in situations like this. You cannot give a woman like this that kind of edge. Control, remember you have to stay in control!*

"You took my clothes." he accused in a quiet, direct tone. "I would like them back. I need them to wear."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Jane snapped, following her time proven script although he did not seem to be nearly as angry as she had expected him to be. "What you have on is perfectly acceptable. Aren't you covered completely? Yes, you are. Is your so-tender male modesty in anyway endangered? Of course not. Why, I can't even tell you are a boy you are covered so completely."

"You want me to wear this girl's robe?" He asked, still without any display of emotion.

"Of course. That's why it was laid out for you, so you could wear it. Now, come with me, please. No, don't bother to look for anything else. Button that up and come with me or go as you are. You won't be the first underdeveloped male body I have had to look at. Suit yourself, but you will come with me."

He stood there, staring at her for several moments and for one frozen moment in time, she feared that he was going to balk before she even had given him the final ultimatum. She had to remember the conditional nature of the promise he'd given her. She needed to get him past that quickly, force him to surrender or it would cause her major problems later. Then, his face seemed to relax and he began buttoning up the top of the robe, only once fumbling because the buttons were on the "wrong side".

"Very nice, Kenneth. You look lovely." she told him when he finished, her voice taking on that too sweet tone often used by a grade school principal when falsely praising an erring child. "Now, come with me."

Moments later, Jane had him inside her upstairs study. As planned, neither Darla nor Marie had been in sight during the boy's first walk across the fiery coals of semi-public sissy dress. Time enough for that once he was well and truly caught in Jane Thompson's satin and silk web.

"As you may or may not know, I have been and still consider myself to be a teacher, Kenneth. I just teach different subjects now and it is time for you to begin to learn the hard lessons I have to teach you. I hope you have thought about our conversation today while you rested. I must tell you that I am *not* at all fooled by your display of gracious manners since your arrival and especially during the noon meal. All you've done is exasperate me because it is patently obvious that you do not have even the unacceptably feeble excuse of not knowing any better for your past activities."

"I will now lay out the program of studies I have planned for you and I will remind you that you gave me your word to obey my directions."

Kenneth held up his hand. Frowning fiercely at him, Jane acknowledged him with a sharp nod of her head. "I gave you my word, Ms. Thompson, to obey you until I decided whether you were Scylla or Charybdis - whether you were the lesser of the two evils my mother and her judge friend have imposed on me. Rest assured, if I think you are the whirlpool, I will feel no guilt whatsoever about ceasing to obey you."

*Scylla or Charybdis?* Jane thought in amazement - a fifteen year old male comparing me to the monsters of a classic Greek epic? Jane visibly shook herself back to the task at hand. "So be it." she growled. "Until such time, you are bound by your honor - *if* you have any, to comply with my wishes."

She had him there, Kenneth realized, as much as he'd wish it otherwise. Other than putting him in this absurd robe, she had not yet done anything to him other than taunt him and make a few threats. Surely, he'd see that an more at that boys' home. Kenneth decided he'd continue to bide his time. Grimfaced, he nodded his concession on that point and it was all Jane could do not to sigh in relief.

"All right, let us begin then. You didn't like putting on that very lovely garment just now, did you?"

"Not really." Kenneth responded in the same, even tone that was beginning to really grate on Jane's nerves. *As if that is any great surprise to you, Ms. Thompson.* "I would like to know where my own clothing is, please."

"Gone until I deem you fit to wear them again." Jane said airily and was pleased to see at least a quick flash of hot anger in the normally icy grey eyes. "What's wrong with that pretty robe? As I said, it looks quite lovely on you."

"It is not mine." was the flat response. "It is a girl's robe."

"Just so," Jane said triumphantly. "Your boorish, disrespectful behavior, particularly towards the female sex, has cost you the right to dress in male clothing. While you are here, under my tuition and supervision, girl clothing is all you will be permitted to wear. By the time you have finished my program, you will as sweet, as adorable, as courteous as my lovely Darla."

Jane waited to see the time proven reaction, but she waited in vain. "I see." was all he said.

*Bloody hell!* Jane fumed. *Where is the outrage, the anger, the accusations, the _threats_. I know I am pushing all the right buttons, but except for short spurts of anger that he's quickly put under control, he hasn't reacted at all.*

"Not only that," she pushed on, trying to undermine his seemingly unnatural composure, "but we start your indoctrination immediately. Darla and Marie are preparing your first steps to girlhood even as I am speaking to you. By dinner, the boorish lout who terrorized that young girl by dragging her into the boys' lavatory will be nowhere to be found in the cute, winsome little doll we will make of you."

"And if I refuse to play along?"

Jane made a slashing motion with her hand, precluding any further protest. "We just reminded ourselves that you have promised to obey me, young man! If you refuse to follow my orders, then leave now if you that is what you think you want...but you leave here dressed as you are. I will not help you. Call someone...your Mother perhaps . . .I am sure she will happily come to your rescue out there on the roads. This punishment is my choice for you and you will bow to this decision or face the consequences."

Jane's heart nearly stopped as the self possessed young man stood and made his way to the door of her study. "And just where do you think you are going, young man? I have not dismissed you yet. Marie will not be ready for your makeover for another few moments."

He stopped at the door and turned to face Jane. "Pardon me, but I believe you just said I could leave so long as I left dressed in this thing. I choose to leave."

This had *never* happened to Jane, not in over fifty students strung out over the past fifteen years, and she *wasn't* prepared this time! In the early days, Jane had always ordered Marie to be ready to stop a boy who took her up on that offer, but she'd never been needed in that capacity. Now, Marie was on the other side of the house getting ready for a boy who just not might show up.

This was *not* supposed to happen! The entire purpose of this gambit was to force his unconditional acquiescence to her program, to gain at least the semblance of consent from her charge, by giving him only one acceptable course of action. It was *not* intended to actually be a *real* choice for him.

Jane *had* to stop him. Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, she had to stop him from trying to leave. After all, she *was* responsible for the boy and first and foremost, she *had* to see to his safety. The court order from his mother appointed Jane as the boy's legal guardian and she had just put him in danger because she hadn't been prepared. She'd gotten complacent and now this boy stood to get badly hurt because of her negligence.

*Oh, God, please let the front door be key locked.* The deadbolt lock required a key to unlock it from both the outside and the inside. Why hadn't she remembered to ask Marie to lock the front door and pocket the key while she conducted this interview?

Unfortunately, the key was still in the lock and the front door was standing open by time Jane had reached the head of the stairs. Terror gave her feet wings and she ran down the stairs, reaching the front door just as the barefooted figure in ankle length pink satin made it to the driveway. *Thank goodness it is June* she thought. *His feet would be frozen if this were December.*

"Kenneth!" she screamed. "Stop right there, young man." To her relief, he did, turning to look up at her standing on the raised porch. "You have no money. Where do you think you will go?"

"The police will eventually pick me up. Dressed as I am, they'll have to. After that, who knows. Child protection services perhaps? Surely telling me to leave without anything more than this on constitutes some type of child abuse or abandonment on your part."

Where did the boy come by his unreal control and composure? How was it that he was thinking rationally about all this? What had she done wrong? *no time to worry about that* she thought. "Well, you might wish to know that the local police are fully aware and supportive of what I do here." It wasn't quite a lie. Caro's husband, one of Jane's former students, was a deputy in the local sheriff's office. Hopefully he'd be on duty if she had to make a panicky call. "And have you considered just how dangerous it is for you to be out dressed like that?" Which was the absolute truth and what Jane truly feared.

Jane moved down the stairs to where her almost-lost student stood. Cautiously, recalling that one of the reasons he'd been sent to her was a propensity for violence, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Trust me on this, Kenneth. If you do leave, one of three things will happen. You will either be brought back here to me or you will be sent off to your home for delinquent boys, or you will end up hurt or worse. It could happen, Kenneth. We've had several cases of sexual assault locally the past few weeks. You really could get badly hurt. Whatever else happens in my house, I promise you that you will not be physically harmed in any way. If not for yourself, reconsider for the sake of your mother."

The boy went rigid at the mention of his mother. At a loss, Jane continued massaging the tense muscles. Finally, he turned to face her. "So, was your statement that I could just leave a lie?"

Jane shook her head, thinking very quickly. "No, I will allow you to leave, and wearing what you are wearing, but I will have Marie drop you off a good ways from here so that the local attacks we have been experiencing are not a risk to you." *Please, please, don't take me up on that. I don't know if I could really do it and live with myself afterwards. Who are you kidding, Jane? You know you couldn't do it. Please, give me a chance to help you, Kenneth!*

"You're saying the threat of assault is real?"

"Yes, very real." Jane affirmed. "I cannot promise you will not be attacked, even well away from here, but the risk should be less. Of course, it will also mean that there will be no turning back for you; no returning here for the safety of my house. And it will mean that anyone who finally takes you in will be very unlikely to believe any stories you may try to tell about me. I will, of course, deny ever having seen you. Eventually, you might get someone to believe your wild stories. But most will not."

The frill-dressed boy stared at Jane for several moments, considering her words. Finally, he shrugged and turned back towards the house. "Very well. I will stay . . . .for now, under the same conditions as before. However, if I find out you've lied to me about this assault story, I am leaving if I have to walk out of here naked in a hailstorm."

Jane steeled herself to match his hard-eyed look without flinching, but her guilt made it difficult. "I haven't lied to you about that, Kenneth, and I will try to find the articles to prove it to you. There are and will be some things I may choose not to tell you during your stay with me, but I promise you that I will not deliberately lie to you." *And I will pray that I can keep that promise now that I've made it because I've never had to make it to a student before.*

~----------~

An hour later, Jane was busy in her office, digging furiously through the newspapers she'd retrieved from Marie's recycling bin. It had taken a while, but she had finally gotten the boy back into his room for his thirty minute bath from hell as one of her students had described the floral-scented experience. She'd have to be heading back to his room soon as the time she allotted for the bath was nearly over.

A sharp knock was followed by her door swinging wide and a very upset Darla sticking her head into the opening. "Jane, Marie needs you. Now."

Jane was running down the hall before she realized just how frightened she was. Memories of another boy - one who tried to end his life because of his reaction to her treatment - flashed vividly in her mind's eye.

What she saw in the room brought her up short and all she could do for several moments was stare. Kenneth's luxuriant hair was gone, down to bare stubble - almost white stubble. "What happened?" was all she could ask.

"What does it look like?" Marie blurted, her wildly gesticulating hands filled with locks of fine blond hairs; her normally imperceptible French Canadian accent coloring every syllable she spoke. "He shaved his head after the shampoo solution had done its work."

*Now what do I do?* Jane wailed in her mind, but in the end, all she could come up with was to ask, "Why?"

The sardonic look she got in return was of the "you have got to be kidding" variety. "I asked you a question, Kenneth." she tried again, her voice firming as she strove to regain control of the situation.

"Your nasty little trick with the shampoo made me angry, so I decided that whatever you planned to do with that mess, you'd have to find another way."

"You are forcing me to make a decision I'd rather not make, young man." Jane fumed. "Do you *want* to go to that delinquent's hall? You are about five minutes from that."

Acid burned in Kenneth's gut, and he almost regretted the rash act. He'd been so damned angry, he'd nearly pulled it out by the roots instead of merely attacking it with the razor. Should he apologize, he wondered. *No, can't do that. Can't afford to give her any advantage she doesn't already have.*

"That is your decision, Ms. Thompson, and doing this," his hand raised to brush across the peach-fuzzed head, "was my decision. I knew there was that possibility when I did it."

For one of the few times in her adult life, Jane Thompson was speechless. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, words failed her. She couldn't find any word, any phrase that was adequate to express her emotions at that moment.

She'd have to deal with this later, she decided, and continue with the plan as best they could for now. "Marie, do what you can to dress him properly. Have him at my study door in thirty minutes." she ordered in a low, angrily intense voice before striding out of the room.

~----------~

The wig Marie had put on him was a little too sophisticated for the delicately little-girlish, petticoated, taffeta sailor outfit she used as her students' first full dressing, but it was all she had brushed out and ready to wear. Per her standard script, Jane had ordered him to seat himself on the parson's bench while she "finished" her work when he'd knocked at her study door.

Now Jane was sitting quietly at her desk, contemplating the small speaker that was connected to the hidden microphone carefully secreted beneath the bench.

"Hi." Darla's voice came through clearly on the box as the second phase of this recurring drama in many parts began anew. "You missed afternoon tea. Would you like a lady finger? They're very good, even if Jane did make me bake them myself." Jane could easily visualize the sweetly smiling face, the small pastry and the boy in girl's clothing sitting awkwardly on the bench, wrinkling her petti's and skirt.

"Didn't Jane tell you to sit while you waited?"

"She did, but I decided I would stand. If I am any judge of women, Ms. Thompson plans to stand me up and put me through an inspection that would do a Marine general proud." Damn the boy, Jane fumed. She *had* ordered him to sit down for precisely that reason - so she could subject him to just such a humiliatingly intimate and *thorough* inspection. And now she couldn't even take him to task for disobeying her because that would compromise Darla in her role as the "good cop" in this little farce. Worse yet, Darla would have to continue his instruction so that he would learn the lessons anyway, but without the fault finding.

After that, Jane listened with only half an ear as Darla instructed her "little sister" in the fine arts of sitting in a skirt, of mincing delicately and other such feminine mysteries. Then Darla went into her "Oh, Jane's not that bad once you get to know her and learn to follow her rules." speech. One thing Jane did notice, to her increasing frustration, was that the recording device was picking up a near monologue by Darla. Kenneth was adding almost nothing to the conversation other than affirmative noises at key points in Darla's explanations and to ask a few polite if uncomfortably pointed and insightful questions that Darla managed to sidestep for the most part. Fortunately.

Jane decided that she needed to call today's exercises to a quick end. She needed time to regroup, time to figure out just what the hell to do to get past Kenneth's wall of composed control. She had obviously failed to put him on the defensive and he was still thinking rationally instead of emotionally; he was analyzing instead of reacting - a state of affairs that did not bode well for Jane's immediate plans.

"Did you really tell Aunt Jane that you didn't do any of that stuff in that record?"

"Yes, I did." was the Kenneth's curt reply.

"You have to admit that it's kind of hard to believe. . . I mean, Judge Ruth and Jane are very good friends. I mean, what do you have to gain by lying? You're already here and she has that file."

Jane's senses went on alert as she awaited the answer. "I have nothing to gain by lying."

"Well, then why did you? I mean, all Jane has to do is call Judge Ruth to confirm those records. And trust me, you don't want to make Aunt Jane angry."

"A better question is why would your Judge Ruth lie about me. Your Aunt Jane's not the only one who knows her. My mother is friends with her, too." Jane's hand slammed down hard on the polished hardwood desktop. How *dare* he accuse Judge Ruth of lying. Raw fury colored her vision. That damned delinquent's school was looking better and better to her every minute.

No, she told herself, she couldn't make such a far reaching decision after only one day with the boy, and most especially not when she was this furious with him. Deciding that they had learned all they were going to from this episode, Jane strode to the door and opened it. The two girlishly attired boys looked up at her.

"Kenneth, please come in. Darla, go see if Marie needs help with dinner. Tell her I want it served on individual trays tonight. You and Kenneth will dine in your respective rooms."

Jane saw the surprise in Darla's face at the unexplained change of plan, but she hurried off to comply with Jane's direction none the less.

Inside the study, Jane gestured Kenneth back into the wooden seat before sitting down herself to glare at him over her desk. She tried to make all the snide, embarrassing little "compliments" that reduced her feminized young men to near tears, but it quickly became apparent that they were having little or no visible effect on Kenneth and that her mind was not in the game.

"That is enough for today, Kenneth. Go to your room. Marie will serve you dinner there and then assist you in getting ready for bed which will, I am sure, take much longer than you might expect."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson." he responded before standing and mincing out of the room. He did it so well Jane nearly screamed.

~----------~

"He already had his make up mostly cleaned off and his dress hung up when I brought his dinner in, Jane. I don't think we've ever had a boy who came to us who was this. .. fastidious."

Jane removed the glasses she had been wearing as she continued to scan the papers and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Except when he shaves his head." She shook her head, still amazed at that. "How did he react to the dressing and making up?" Jane finally asked.

"That's something else that was really spooky. He was absolutely deadpan throughout, Jane. He did not smile, frown, grimace or anything. He just sat there staring at himself in the vanity mirror as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him. Almost like he was bored with the routine of it all."

Shaking her head, Jane smiled ruefully at her old friend. "Sometimes, especially after these latest students, I think that maybe we have been doing this too long, Marie. Do you think something fundamental has changed in young men that we don't know about or am I just getting too set in my ways, and unable to react when things don't go perfectly according to plan?"

"I don't know, Jane. We have had some strange ones recently, starting with Michelle, but this one? He scares me because I don't know what he is thinking, what he is feeling. Normally I can read them pretty well, but not this one."

"So where does that leave us? I won't call Sheila and Ruth and tell them we don't think we can help this one, but Lord above, Marie, if all he is going to do is follow orders precisely, without feeling any humiliation or any other emotion from the experience, there's not much we can do with him. We need him angry, humiliated, uncertain, and so far, he's not showing any sign of those emotions."

Marie considered the amber liquid in the crystal snifter she held in her hand before looking back up to Jane. "I know. So what do we do with him? Usual plan for tomorrow?" she asked softly.

Jane thought about it a moment and then gave a very unladylike shrug of her shoulders. "Might as well. I don't think it will make things worse, and who knows, maybe the furor of the rapid change drill will trip him off so we can start doing something with him. You did force him to wear cosmetics to bed?"

Marie nodded in reply. "Wasn't much I could do to put the hair rollers on him, though. He really couldn't wear the wig to bed and there just isn't enough left to roll."

"All right, then, we will go ahead with the morning quick change drill, followed by lunch in little girl party clothes and finally Darla introducing him to the staff as Kendra."

Her longtime friend nodded her agreement. "Just one thing, Jane." Jane regarded her dear friend attentively. "Let's make sure that all three of us are close by after Darla does that first outing with him. He seems much too cool about all this, but as I said earlier, I can't read him. I am really afraid he is going to explode and tomorrow is one of those hellish experiences that has turned some of our young men violent. I want to make sure there are enough of us close by to take him down if he really loses it and goes berserk."

"You think that's likely?" Jane asked wearily.

"He's too quiet, Jane, too blase about all this. And that file says he is prone to violence if given what he considers sufficient cause."

Sighing softly, Jane nodded her agreement. "Which, of course, is precisely what we are trying to give him. Lovely. Very well, then. We'll start with him getting the "this is why we don't wear cosmetics to bed" object lesson at breakfast in my study and start the real program by nine thirty. Plan lunch for immediately after the fourth change and we'll go on from there."

"I am going to go up to bed, Jane. You should, too. Tomorrow's going to be another very long day."

"I'll be up in a few minutes, dear." Jane said with real warmth in her voice.

She sat quietly until the door clicked shut behind Marie. Once she was certain she was alone, Jane eyed the phone on her desk, thinking about what had happened that day one more time and about what might go wrong tomorrow. This one felt wrong - very, very wrong. All it would take, she reminded herself, was one phone call to Ruth and she could stop feeling like she was carrying a flaming torch into a room filled with dynamite to take inventory.

None of this made any sense. Kenneth's records described a young male who would attack, perhaps physically, when his male ego was challenged or attacked. Males, especially fifteen year old males, like the one in that file, had no reason to develop the kind of control he'd demonstrated today. Still, those records had come from an absolutely unimpeachable source.

Jane felt drained, and just for a moment, thought about calling it quits. It would be so very easy . . .so very, very easy. Judge Ruth was probably home already. Just one little phone call and the purchase of a plane ticket.

Except she'd never given up on a kid before. She'd failed a couple of times, but that was because one boy gave up on her and another lost trust in her when she'd been caught in a stupid little lie, but she had *never* given up.

Jane finished the last of her drink and stood up, stretching her long, tense body as she rose. No, she hadn't ever given up on a student, and she damned certain wasn't going to start with this one.

Making that decision lightened Jane's mood considerably. With a new spring in her stride, she moved quietly over to her own room and prepared for bed. Marie was right. They would all need rest to get through the next day.

~----------~
Part 4:
 
Kenneth lay awake in that rose scented jail cell. Jail cell was an apt enough description since that woman, Marie, had loudly locked his door from the outside after glopping make up all over his face. The old house was now quiet except for the creaks and other noises that gave such places their character.

Had he made a critical mistake by stopping when the Thompson woman had called to him? He wished he knew. God, but he felt alone. It would be so much easier to handle this if he did not feel so completely alone.

Maybe it would easier just to give in. Give her his word that he'd put up with whatever nasty little lessons she had planned. That would certainly simplify things. He honestly did not want to go to that damned home. The woman had been right about his size and his vulnerability in such an environment. Physical abuse by the larger inmates was a surety - sexual abuse was nearly as likely. What it really came down to was whether he was going to forced to dress as a girl, or was he going to be used physically as a girl?

Scylla or Charybdis? Which of his options would merely take a bite out of his soul, and which one would destroy him utterly?

*That assumes, of course, that at least one of my options _won't_ destroy me.* he thought morosely, and finally lost his day long battle to control the tears. *At least that _woman_ isn't here to see me cry. I won't _let_ her see me cry! She's dangerous and would be even more so if she thought she had reached me this way.*

Kenneth rolled out of the bed and padded over to the vanity table and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His tears had cut wide tracks down his thickly coated cheeks. *Have to take care of that or she'll know.* he thought, and began looking for that stuff his mother used to clean off her makeup. Some kind of cream, came in a little jar shaped like a tub.

After finding none of the special cream, Kenneth had scrubbed his face as well as he could with just soap and water. *Well, it's not all gone, but at least the ravages I just inflicted hide the ravages of my little crying jag. . . .better get some rest. No reason to believe tomorrow's not going to be worse than today. I will need every resource to stay in control.*

It still took many hours for sleep to come to the lonely, depressed young man.

~----------~

Jane regarded her newest protégé as he consumed his light breakfast of dark tea and fresh muffins. He had been up when she'd gone to wake him. So much for her plan to get him up barely in time to start the day so that he would feel harried and rushed in addition to dealing with her little feminine tyrannies. Evidently among his other talents was an internal alarm clock which had gotten him awake in time to shower and remove most of the cosmetics from his face. She hadn't provided him with a decent cold cream or make up remover as yet, so he still had an oddly colored face, but he was clean.

And he was rigged out in the frilly gown and peignoir set that Marie had left out for him. He'd even put the wig back on, without being told or upbraided for not wearing it. She was going to have to do something about his hair. At this rate, it would be months before he would have enough hair to style if she waited for it to grow back out, and caring for attached hair and caring for a wig were entirely different prospects.

Jane waited to begin her script for the day's planned events until Kenneth had finished reading through the articles she'd found, proving her claim that it would have been dangerous for him out on the streets.

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson, for giving me those. I will be more careful in the future."

*I am not going to give you the chance to do that again, young man!* "Well, Kenneth, if you are finished, let us begin today's program of studies. Today we are going to concentrate on clothes and cosmetics. Your face is a disgrace. You have smudges of old make up making a most . . .interesting abstract artwork of your face. You should clean your skin more thoroughly in the future."

She watched as the femininely turned out young male continued chewing the bite of food he'd taken just before she'd spoken to him (intentionally, hoping he'd try to swallow it whole or respond with his mouth full) before swallowing. Only then did he attempt to answer her. "Yes, ma'am, I know. Unfortunately, the soap did not clean it all away and I did not want to keep you waiting. I thought I would ask Marie for something better. I seem to recall my mother buying some special cream by the case for just that purpose."

Despite her years of control, Jane momentarily goggled at the boy. "Umm. ..yes. . .I see. An . . .unfortunate oversight. Now, as to our lessons for today." Jane said quickly to regain control.

"My 'English method' is designed to put recalcitrant boys such as yourself, young man, into new, alien and uncomfortable situations as a means of deterring that recalcitrance. I use petticoat discipline to force them to learn to appreciate their feminine side, and before you say anything, psychologists have shown that every person has both feminine and masculine sides to their nature. I contend that you, and other boys like you, ignore that finer aspect of your personalities. If left on your own, boys such as you grow into men who are totally insensitive to feminine things and who are disdainful of the elevated role of woman. That is unacceptable in our modern world."

"Our first lessons today, and those we shall work through in the coming days, are all about what it takes to be like a young girl of your age."

Jane paused at this point to take stock of her student and of his reaction. Nothing but attentive curiosity. How many times had she given this little speech, or one very much like it? Between her time at Eastmore working with boys whose mothers wanted them petticoated and forced to attend an all-girl school as punishment and her work here in her own home subsequent to Eastmore, easily over a hundred times. Invariably at this point, the boys had horrified looks on their faces, or were fidgeting uncomfortably about in their seats. Some even had the temerity to talk back to her which aided her cause. Such behavior gave her the opportunity to become truly scathing about their lack of deportment and manners.

But never in her experience had a student simply sat there, listening to her as if she was explaining some new and unusual scientific experiment in chemistry class. Jane's bad feelings about this whole project came back with a vengeance and she again found herself staring at the phone on her desk. Finally, she looked back at Kenneth and tried to finish the session.

"So we come to this morning's program. Young girls spend hours practicing with clothes and with makeup. Now while I don't expect you to display that same enthusiasm for the activity, it is a skill that I strongly believe is important to your development. So this morning you are going to practice getting yourself dolled up all darling and precious."

Again, no reaction. *My God*, Jane thought grimly, *what is it going to take to get through to this child and would I even have the nerve or the right to go that far if I do figure it out??*

She had to get him out of her room. She needed to think, to reflect. "Marie is now laying out your first ensemble. She has also obtained several wigs that will be appropriate to the age and style you will be wearing. She will guide you through this first session."

Jane took a sip of her tea. "Today, Marie will be your teacher. However, I am going to be the one who appraises and grades your progress. I think the first phase will take about an hour. Learn well what Marie shows you the first time, for it will be important to you later."

"After she has done with you, I will expect you to come back here for my inspection. Looking like a perfectly lovely little lady. Any questions, Kenneth?"

"No, Ms. Thompson. I understand what you are doing."

*Why do I think that you do, young man? I really do think that you do know. Oh, God* "Very well, then," Jane said briskly. "In my experience, it takes someone about half-an-hour to get dressed and made-up. After I have inspected you, you will return to your room and do it all over again. You will cleanse away all traces of the makeup you have on and redo it from scratch. New colors, new cosmetics...whatever Marie directs. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he relied softly. "Your directions are very clear."

She glanced at the clock.

"I want to have lunch at 12:30 today. That will permit you at least four practice sessions. Go back to your room, Kenneth. Marie is waiting for you."

~----------~

Lunch was late that day and Jane was very unhappy about it. First, she was hungry having had only a croissant and a cup of tea since rising from her bed, and hunger always made Jane irritable. The second reason for her displeasure was the reason lunch was late. The only part of the morning that had gone at all well had been the two transformations Marie had done personally.

Nor had the morning's exercises gone as well as Kenneth had wished. Kenneth had been very quick to note that Marie had needed every minute of the hour Jane had allotted to her to achieve a feminine appearance that first time. It was then that Kenneth had understood just how impossible complying with Ms. Thompson's orders truly was. There was simply no way he could replicate in thirty minutes what it had taken a very good, very experienced cosmetic artist almost sixty minutes to achieve. He'd just have to do his best and refuse to let her demands compromise his own self-image.

That resolution was much easier to make than to accomplish. Despite Kenneth's willing compliance with Marie's demands, Jane's sarcastic comments had found fault with every detail of his appearance. It wasn't his fault that his eyebrows were not slim and arched. It wasn't his fault that his fingernails were trimmed closely. It wasn't his fault the dress did not hang on his boyish figure like it would on a real girl. Yet Jane made it seem as though all these, and a host of others infractions as well were deliberate defiance on his part, soon to send him packing to the unimaginably evil reform school Kenneth's mother had selected.

The screaming, adrenaline-fueled demand within his body for action to fight this unfair attack on his dignity had no outlet from behind his rigidly calm exterior. Instead, his stomach began to churn with turmoil that would cause an ulcer if it continued. That sent discharges of excess acid into his bowels, which began to cramp and spasm. No sooner was he out of the Thompson woman's lair after his first inspection than his stomach lurched and he'd barely made it to the safety of his bathroom in time to lose his breakfast, mercifully without too much loss of dignity. Once he'd emptied his stomach, he'd had to drink some water just to hold off the dry heaves. That necessary detour had cost him almost ten minutes while repairing the ravages to his face had taken the other five. An effort which had been to no real purpose since the first thing Marie would make him do was clean off his make up.

By the time he'd left the safety of his bathroom, there was no way he could meet the half hour time limit, so he hadn't bothered to try. It was during that particular dressing that it had occurred to him that the only ones who would see him already knew what was going on. Regardless of what they said or did to him, it really didn't matter. Hadn't the Thompson woman promised that he would not be harmed here? All that left her were her sharp tongue and her "little lessons", and he had been through worse - much worse - in the past.

So he'd just played her game, albeit a little differently than what Ms. Thompson had likely anticipated. Being late instead of being sloppy left her having to ad lib her little tirades which blunted their impact - at least somewhat.

Standing up under Jane Thompson's scathing diatribe about his lack of courtesy in keeping her waiting, his willful disobedience of her orders, and his incredible insensitivity in using that "women are always late" stereotype had stretched his control to the limits. God, but the woman didn't just chew him out, she chewed all around and let it fall out.

Then Jane had gotten really creative. "If you are going to continue to be late primping, young man," her words in the sickly sweet tone Kenneth already recognized as bad news, "then we will see to it that you have something worthy of the effort!"

Jane had accompanied him back to his bedroom that time and had huddled with Marie while he'd hurriedly cleansed his face. When Marie returned to the vanity, she had a small box and a tube of something that looked like and smelled like modeling glue. In very short order, Kenneth was sporting a set of fingernails only a teenage rock singer could love.

Those damned inch long nails had been impossible. He couldn't touch anything without snagging the bloody things on something. He'd destroyed the stiff laced collar of a Victorian blouse when he'd tried to button the thing, and broken off one of the nails in the process. After that had been replaced Marie had finally been forced to help him into his hose after he'd managed to run the first four pairs with those claws.

Upon entering Jane's study for his third inspection of the morning, she'd immediately set him to work doing some filing for her in her relatively simple file system. Simple that is, if a person could get the blasted drawers open. Which Kenneth had been completely unable to do, breaking two more of the seemingly fragile nails in very short order. Jane had really lit into him for that, after making him replace each one under the daunting stare of her basilisk eyes.

The terrible unfairness of that attack, when they both knew he had no chance at all of succeeding, had nearly set off his temper. Restraining himself had cost him another lengthy trip to the bathroom to vent his anger by trying to rend one of the towels with his bare hands as he unsuccessfully fought back against a desperate bout of tears.

Worse, Kenneth had poked himself painfully in the eye with one of the nails as he'd tried to take off the makeup. He'd been nearly blind in that eye for that entire dress-up session The only positive to that was that Marie had concluded that his eyes were tearing so badly because of the eye poke, and not because he'd been reduced to tears by the Thompson woman's vile tongue.

Kenneth was late arriving at Jane's study for his fourth examination, this time struggling not to keel over and break an ankle on the stilts Jane had insisted he wear for that presentation. The damned things had to be almost three inches tall. He just couldn't find his balance in them, and felt like he was always just one slight misstep away from falling. Jane had been at her very best during that session, berating him constantly for his lack of grace and for his inattention to learning any. She'd had him walk about her study for what seemed like hours (although the hall clock indicated he'd been inside her lair for less than fifteen minutes) with a large dictionary balanced on his head.

Well, almost balanced, Kenneth admitted to himself, since the thing fell off his head numerous times, twice falling onto one of his exposed toes and nearly toppling him. Only Jane's quick action on each of those occasions had saved him from serious injury.

Now he was sitting at the formal dining table, feeling incredibly foolish in this refugee-costume from a "Through the Looking Glass" production. Marie had been waiting to rig him out in that particularly frilly outfit after his escape from the high heeled session. At least he hadn't been made to present himself in the study for a fifth inspection while wearing that dress. Jane had wanted her lunch more than she'd wanted to chastise him.

Kenneth was trying to appear interested in his food, but he wasn't. The morning's trials combined with the effort put forth to hide his reactions from Jane and Marie had left him a very uncertain stomach. To compensate, Kenneth had carefully selected the blander offerings while pushing the less digestible morsels around his plate. Jane had noticed, of course, and had taken that opportunity to compliment him on his dainty appetite "So very necessary for keeping your cute girlish figure, dear.", but that had been her only really pointed dart of that meal. Ms. Thompson had been far more interested in her own meal than in sniping at her new student.

Thank God.

Jane recognized that lunch had been an unusually quiet affair for a training meal at the Thompson table, but she'd simply been too hungry to keep up her normal banter and social corrections. By the time she'd taken the edge off her own appetite, the meal had been for all intents and purposes complete and she had to shoo the children back to their rooms to put on their sun dresses for Kendra's introduction to the groundskeeper staff.

*Well, at least he has not exploded like Marie had feared he might, but as she also said, what comes next is the most likely trigger for such an eruption. I will have to make sure Marie knows when they make the turn back towards the house.*

~----------~

"What happened, Marie?" Jane asked as soon as the two girls were out the front door. "Why did you let him change the schedule?"

The other woman snorted and gave her friend a little shrug. "He spent the first ten minutes after each of your sessions in the bathroom. I checked and the odor was unmistakable. Either you were reaching him to the point of nausea or he was fighting some type of stomach ailment."

"Which do you think it was?" Jane asked excitedly, hoping that this was a sign her program had worked better than she had first thought.

"I'm still not sure, Jane. At first, I thought it was his reaction to you, but then he ate so poorly at lunch - like every bite might come right back up. You weren't badgering him at lunch, so wouldn't he have wanted to eat if you had been the cause of his upset?"

*Damn* "Perhaps. Or perhaps he hadn't fully recovered by the time we sat down to table. So, that is why he was late? You gave him the full half hour after he exited the bathroom? Because he was sick and you knew he couldn't make the half hour under any circumstances?"

"Not quite, Jane. I actually tried to press him on time, to get him to hold to the original half hour regardless of his time in the bathroom. I hoped that if he was particularly unacceptable, you might be able to really cut him down, might finally begin to reach him." Marie's shoulders drooped, "It didn't work. He just continued on with his dressing and making up as if I had not said a thing to him. He just stayed focused on what he was doing and left when he thought he was ready. Jane, I have never had a boy do that before. By the time we get to this point, they are so terrified of you and the browbeating you will give them, they just panic when the time limit approaches."

"As you well know, that panic is much of the intent of this exercise. So, even if the boy did have a nervous attack, he did not show any of it to me, and he refused to be panicked into rushing." Jane shook her head. "Lord, Marie. Why in heaven's name does a boy of fifteen need that kind of self control? More to the point, how ever did he develop it in the first place?"

"I don't know, Jane. I just think it is odd that he shows it here with us when there is no indication of any such control in the records from Judge Ruth."

"Good point." Jane wondered what to do next. "Of all the exercises this morning, I think the physical discomfort of the high heeled session bothered him the most. Certainly, it was physically difficult for him. I may do an evening session with him, Marie, to see if I can use that discomfort to weaken his resistance."

"Discomfort? You know very well that those heels rapidly become much more than merely uncomfortable. That is why you always work the boys up to them slowly. Not only that, but that pair is brand new and very stiff."

"I am not going to let him be hurt, Marie. His feet will ache a little in the morning, but I won't press him beyond his threshold of real pain. You know I don't work like that. I just want something to distract him enough that he loses some of that control."

"How long?"

"For as long as he can go without real pain or for as long as it takes, which ever comes first."

"I'm betting this one will drop first." Marie muttered darkly.

"I hope you're wrong, dear." Jane murmured back. "I am not sure I don't agree with you, but I do hope you are wrong."

~----------~

As they'd agreed the night before, both Marie and Jane were waiting when the two students reentered the house. Jane searched Kenneth's face for any sign of the fury that should be there after having been introduced to men as a girl using a girl's name. Once again, however, as had been the case from the moment she'd first laid eyes this boy, Jane found nothing of what she sought to see in him.

"Thank you, Darla, for showing me around. That was a very nice walk. Perhaps we can do it again tomorrow?"

"Of. . .of course." Darla stammered. "At least, as long as Aunt Jane doesn't have other plans for us." She added recovering quickly.

Kenneth, now Kendra, turned to face Jane. "Are there any more lessons scheduled for today, Ms. Thompson?"

Jane swallowed hard and shot a worried glance to Marie. There was no way she was doing anymore with this boy today. She needed some time to think. "Not immediately, my pretty, probably after dinner. You may assist Marie in cooking the evening meal. Knowing how to properly prepare and present food is something every young girl should know."

"Yes, Ma'am." he responded. "Ms. Marie? What can I do to help? I must warn you that I haven't had much time in the kitchen, but I would like to learn how to cook."

"Certainly." Marie rasped out. "Please follow me."

Jane and Darla silently watched the pair go into the kitchen, and then Jane beckoned the girl into her office.

Once the doors were closed, Jane rounded on Darla, "What in the bloody hell happened out there?" Her language was a measure of just how rattled Jane truly was.

"He introduced himself." Darla replied flatly, "Or at least he tried to."

"What do you mean by 'he tried to'?"

"Just what I said. He walked over to old Tom, held out his hand and said, "hi, I'm Ken."

Jane groaned, her eyes closing tight as she fought to stave off the invasive tendrils of an incipient migraine. "Ken?" was all she could manage to say. What was she going to do? If those men put two and two together and came to the conclusion that if *one* of her 'girls' was actually a boy, it would not be all that great a leap of intuition for them to decide that many if not all of her students had been skirted boys. At the very minimum every new student would be under dangerously closer scrutiny during those introductions at the very earliest, most inept moments of their masquerade. It would only be a matter of time before the entire community knew all or part of the truth. Which would be the end of everything.

"I think I saved the day, but it was too darned close." Darla continued in a very tight voice. "I said, loudly enough for both men to hear, something to the effect that "Now, Kendra, you *know* that Jane doesn't like you using that nasty boy's nickname and remember, you *did* promise to go by your given name while you are here." Anyway, I think they believe she is just another of your charm schoolers, but one who doesn't yet have the nose- in-the-air arrogance your students are known for in town. They just figured she was an unusually friendly girl who had always been called "Ken"-short-for-"Kendra" before she came to learn at your feet."

"Hopefully, that will be enough." Jane shook her head. "Good job, Darla. Go up to your room and rest, dear. You look exhausted."

"Thanks, Aunt Jane, I think I could use a nap." and Darla turned towards the door, but then stopped. "Jane?"

"Mmmm. .. Yes, dear?" she answered absently.

"She's not acting at all like that file of yours said she would. He's been nothing but perfectly polite and courteous to Darla. If you'll recall, even I threw a tantrum when Stephanie named me Darla for Old Tom. He just lets it all flow off his back. It just doesn't get to him or matter that much to him."

"And it definitely should be getting and mattering to him." Jane replied emotionally. "Every bit of experience I have in this type of psycho-dramatic event tells me he should be a face- slapped quivering mass of human clay right now, ready for me to start molding and refining him, first into a girl and then into a decent man."

"It would be getting to him, Jane," Darla said in a very soft voice, "If he was what that file says he is. If he's not what the file says he is, then the important question is what is he really?" And then she made her way quietly out of the room.

~----------~

Jane stared out her window watching the setting summer sun in the west as she held the phone to her ear. The buzzing ring sang four times until -{buzzzzzz} You have reached the Roberts residence. I am not available to take your call. Please leave you name, number and a short message at the tone. I will return your call as soon as possible. {ding} --

"Sheila, this is Jane Thompson. Please call me immediately, whenever you get in. It is vitally important. Thank you." and then she hung up.

"*DAMN*!" she snarled before punching in another phone number. The phone on the other end only rang once before it was picked up and a bored female voice answered. "County Courthouse. How may I direct your call, please?"

"Judge Ruth's chambers, please."

Moments later, another woman picked up the phone. "Judge Ruth's chambers, may I help you?"

Jane recognized the voice of Ruth's long time law clerk who had been kidnaped by Darla's criminal older brother during her ward's early days in her keeping. "Hello, this is Jane Thompson. I need to speak with the Judge, please."

"I am sorry, Ms. Thompson, but the Judge is out of town at a retreat. I expect her back on the day after tomorrow.'

"I see. Look, it is very important that I reach her. Could you please give me a number where I can reach her?"

"I am sorry, Ms. Thompson, but this is one of those places that pride themselves on being isolated and unreachable. The only phone is in the main office and they normally refuse to call in guests. She has her cell phone, but it doesn't seem to work up there in the mountains."

"Blast. All right. Please leave her a message to call me. I consider the matter to be quite urgent."

Jane hung up the phone, knowing no more than she had half an hour ago. Should she keep trying for a break through with Kendra and work her tonight as she and Marie had planned earlier? Or should she back off until she could discuss this with Ruth and Sheila? On one hand, she trusted Ruth and her judgement implicitly, and yet, she found herself agreeing with Darla's assessment that everything they had seen of the boy was at odds with what had been written about him. Not only that, but Ruth had never before been far from the phone during the first critical days of one of her referral's tenure with Jane. Just in case she had to sign the papers vacating the suspension of sentence and sending the miscreant to jail.

Perhaps it was nothing, but still . . . that did not feel right. That was not at all like Ruth. Lord, hadn't she delayed one boy's arrival at Jane's until she could be available to Jane? As for Sheila. . . well, she'd probably get back to Jane as soon as she got in for the evening.

"Can he really be that good at putting on his company manners?" Jane asked the empty office. "He must be - there's just no other explanation. If I am to believe his file, he is a superb liar and wouldn't this behavior be just another kind of lie?"

And if that was the case, what could she possibly do that would break through his web of deceit?

~----------~
Part 5:
 
Kenneth, now Kendra after his last interview with the Thompson woman, lay clean-faced on his bed, wearing only the light cotton panties and training bra he'd been directed to wear constantly. It had been an enlightening day. He was now convinced he knew why he'd been sent here. Knowing that, he had to decide whether he wanted to stay here and put up with that ex-schoolmistress and her vile little lessons, or whether it was time to bail and go to that damned delinquent's home.

He'd probably elect to stay on here, despite her so-called "petticoat discipline" program. It was dead certain that the physical amenities at this prison would beat the ones at the home all to hell. The bed was comfortable, the food was great and the bath water was always hot. Heck, even the clothes were always clean, even if they weren't his first choice in attire.

Besides, something in the way Jane Thompson had promised him that no physical harm would come to him while he stayed with her made him want to believe her. There was no doubt in his mind that no one at that boys' home could or would make a similar commitment to him.

Not that her other little games weren't effective. She could probably give him Mother lessons and Kenneth had always thought she had such pointed little torments perfected. Jane had definitely reached him on numerous occasions that day. He'd almost snapped back at her after one too many of her unrelenting and condescending compliments.

Except he'd managed, by the barest of margins, to control his temper each time and that was when he saw the first signs of frustration in the woman. He'd correctly deduced that her intention was to make him angry, to make him stop thinking. Which made him all the more determined to keep a cool head and a rational outlook.

That, however, was far more easily said than done. As much as he knew everything he'd faced that day was all just a setup, as much as he knew there was nothing he could do, one way or another, to ever satisfy the woman, *not being able to do so* still made him feel like a failure. . .made him feel somehow inadequate.

Which was just plain stupid, but that was how he felt.

His instep, toes and ankles still ached a bit from his forced perambulations about the study in those damned heels. That was another sore spot since his ineptitude in the damn things had provided Ms. Thompson with plenty of opportunities to denigrate his performance. That patently unfair attack had nearly made him lose it, but he'd almost fallen on his face when he'd tried to spin around to confront his tormenter. Just as well he'd been in the heels, he mused, catching himself had given him the break he needed to bolster his control. The fact that Jane had been truly concerned for him until she saw he was mostly all right had also helped.

That was something totally unexpected since Kenneth knew this woman was his Mother's friend. Maybe Jane Thompson wasn't quite the bitch he wanted to believe she was. He'd have to think on that one, too.

The trip outside had been another kettle of fish altogether. There were other people outside. That was very scary, but he'd given his word so he'd gone along. Kenneth had come as close to a panic attack as he had in his life with that Darla female had maneuvered them over to where that old gardener and his helper were digging in those flower beds. Only the girl's surprisingly strong grip on Kenneth's elbow had kept him from heading for the hills. It immediately became clear that little detour was intentional, and that for whatever reason, Darla was going to force the issue of introducing him to those men.

At that point, Kenneth concluded that the gardeners where either aware of what was happening to him or that they too were unwitting pawns in Ms. Thompson's little game of chess. He'd introduced himself as Ken deliberately. If the men knew about the masquerade, he expected that they'd be very surprised to hear him use a male name. If they weren't aware of what was going on, their reactions would have been completely different.

In fact, Darla had jumped in with her little diversion, insisting that Kendra stop that tomboy nonsense and start using her 'real' name. That, along with the forced confrontation with the men, while clearly protecting Kendra's male identity, also proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Darla was in on Jane's little conspiracy. She was not an innocent dupe as Kenneth had originally thought. Nope, that stunt of forcing the introductions put dear, sweet little Darla squarely on the side of the gals in the black hats in Jane Thompson's little melodrama.

Which seemed odd now that Kenneth had time to consider that. Why would Jane use a young girl in this escapade? Everything he knew about girls his own and this Darla's age was that they had a very difficult time keeping secrets from other girls their age. Which did not fit the facts as he knew them at all. Kenneth was fairly certain that not many folks knew what was going on here. For one thing, security was just too good. They were miles from the nearest neighbor and there had not been any visitors. That might not matter all that much, given that he'd only been here two days, but he'd watch for that in the future.

The second thing was that he found it hard to believe that a "program" like the Thompson woman ran could last any length of time if the general populace knew about it. Too many macho-guy- crazies and religious right-wingers would go right over the edge if they had even a glimmer of what she did here. She'd be lucky not to be run out of town on a rail after those groups got done with her.

So either Darla was an unusually good secret keeper for a girl her age or Jane Thompson had something on her that guaranteed her silence. Kenneth wondered what that something could be as he scratched the tender skin on his shoulder that had been irritated by that damned bra strap.

A thought occurred to him and Kenneth's hand stopped in mid- scratch. Could that be it?, he asked himself as he craned his head to look directly at the brassiere. Could it really be that simple, that Machiavellian? It would all make sense if Darla wasn't a girl at all, but was just another, further along victim/student of Jane Thompson's charm school for wayward males. Good old Darla had to zealously guard Kenneth's secret because it was her secret, too. Very interesting. That also meant he was not quite as alone as he had initially thought he was in this house.

Kenneth quickly reviewed his few direct interactions with the girl. In the end, he was forced to admit that nothing in her looks or behavior disproved her apparent gender, one way or the other. However, at least now he knew to look, carefully, for any anomaly that pointed to Darla's real sex. At least that would be no particular hardship. Girl or cross-dressed guy, the lovely Darla was eminently watchable.

Even if he was wrong, just concentrating and thinking about what was going on had helped calm him, helped him regain his control. *Now, if I can just hold out a little longer. Maybe she'll run out of dirty tricks*

*Suuurrrre she will," Kenneth sighed *NOT!*

~----------~

"So, you've been unable to contact either woman?" Marie asked.

"No. Only the investigator got back to me. He'll be in Kenneth's home town late tomorrow afternoon and will start making his inquiries as long as the public buildings remain open. I don't know what has happened to Sheila so I've asked the investigator to check on her whereabouts in case something has happened to her. As for Ruth, she won't be back until after tomorrow, which raises the question of what do we do next."

"How so?"

"Normally, our little miss-to-be would be completely cowed by now - willing to accept my program without question in order to avoid being revealed publicly as a sissy-boy, or worse, as a boy masquerading as a girl. Whatever Kenneth is feeling right now, cowed he isn't. His male pride is not broken. . . it's not even showing any cracks. In some particularly tough cases, when the boy was resisting me fiercely, we'd get out the long wearing cosmetics, curl his hair, put him in some very feminine slacks and a blouse and take him off to the mall. Let the young rowdies of the town come down on him for his sissy looks and manner."

"But you don't think that would work on him, either?"

"He's not resisting, Marie. He's not demanding his boy clothes back. He's just going along with whatever we tell him to do and not letting it bother him, somehow, or acting like it doesn't bother him. I've seen this in boys before, but usually only after they've been here long enough to start getting comfortable the masquerade and begin to feel safe here around the house. Then they think they can out-patient me without making any real changes in themselves. Again, we put those boys in a public situation as very feminine, sissy boys."

"What are our options, then? Write him off as a lost cause and send him to that house-thing?"

"I am not yet considering that, not when I have at least two other options. One is that we do nothing until we talk to his Mother and Ruth. The incredible disconnect between the way he behaves and those records is beginning to seriously bother me. Couple that with the fact that Ruth has *never* been unavailable during a student's first week and *that* feels very wrong to me. Waiting until we can talk with those two has the advantage of resolving our uncertainty about his observed behavior versus his recorded behavior. Unfortunately, that solution means we don't do much in the way of effective training tomorrow which means a lost day during that normally critical first week of the program."

"As you just pointed out, it's not as if he's into the swing of things, Jane." Marie scoffed. "The first week is only critical if we are accomplishing anything. We aren't. What is the other alternative?"

"Try another tactic to break him down. Obviously he feels safe and in control here. He willingly introduced himself to old Tom. All I can think of is to take him out of this apparently safe haven and try again. I am thinking of taking him to the Chalet tomorrow and turning Caro and Sandy loose on him. *Really* turning them loose on him. He needs hair anyway. Wigs don't give him any practice with hair care and it will be months before he has any of his own to play with. Let Sandy have her little hand restraints ready to go if she needs them and really attack his male self image."

"That could be very dangerous, Jane, if he really is as prone to violence as those records say he is."

"I know. That's why I said for Sandy could use the restraints on him. If we go, we'll be started before normal working hours and I'll explain everything to Caro and Sandy first so that they can bow out if they feel they can't be involved with something like this. Besides, *nothing* we've seen so far shows anything like that kind of violent behavior."

"Caro and Sandy were both quite devastated over Michael's suicide attempt immediately after they had given him such a hard time that first visit. Besides, if he does lose it, you are going to have to free him eventually. Its not like we can keep him tied in that chair for the next five months." Marie reminded Jane who did not really need the warning. "I am not at all sure Caro will want to help with something like this. Sandy maybe, but I don't think Caro will like it very much."

"Lord, Marie, *I* don't like it very much, but I just can't quit trying - that's not fair to the boy or to me. Waiting a day before doing anything is *certain* to accomplish nothing. At least this has a chance, however minimal that chance may appear given what we have seen of Kenneth, of accomplishing something." Jane wound down and saw Marie's highly skeptical frown. "Look, I am going to call Caro and talk to her. If she says no as I suspect at she very well might once she knows the situation, then I will wait until Ruth gets back before doing anything new with him. We can keep him busy doing the clothes/make up drill again, but we won't press him beyond that. How does that sound?"

"Like you had best take your cannister of pepper spray in your purse if you take him to the Chalet tomorrow."

"Think I might need it, Marie?"

"I don't know and that is what bothers me. Anything is possible with his one, Jane. At least until we can begin to predict what he'll do next with any degree of success we need to be prepared."

Jane sat quietly for several moments, not saying anything more. Finally she stirred and reached for the phone. "Well, we won't know until we ask. As I recall, this is Caro's night to work late at the shop." she said as she began to type in a number."

"Jane, wait." Marie called. "Isn't there anything else we can do? Anyone we can call to at least partially confirm or refute that file?"

"The only people I know in that town are Ruth and Sheila. I have no other official contacts in that town who would be willing to discuss a juvenile's case with me over the phone. Calling the investigator is all of I can think of on that score. Now the question is whether we should go forward with the salon visit or should we wait until we have a definitive answer?"

Marie shrugged. "That's up to you and Caro, Jane. You two will be the ones on the hot seat if everything he's shown us to this point is an act. If it isn't an act and those records aren't true, what would be the danger of doing the salon trip?"

"If the records are false? After what we've already done to him today with those inch long fingernails and those ridiculously high heels? Only that we will have put an innocent young man through our program which a court of law might mistakenly call abusive. Oh well, I can't see that we'd be any more open to legal action than we already are. Being sued is being sued. If it comes to that, I can probably protect Caro and Sandy."

"They need to know the truth, Jane, and the possible dangers before they agree to take him on."

Nodding her agreement, Jane picked the phone back up and pecked out a number.

"Marisha Chalet, Carolyn Beale speaking. How may I help you?"

~----------~

As was her habit, Jane knocked on Kendra's (*have to keep reminding myself to use that name now. Its never been this difficult to remember that before*) room and walked in before being given leave to enter. She'd almost argued herself out of this evening exercise period since she was now planning a salon trip for the next day. Jane still wasn't sure that her planned session was all that good an idea. There was no reason to think it would work tonight any better than it had during their morning session. On the other hand, he, or rather *she* would be all the more susceptible to Sandy's caustic tongue and Caro's devastating complements if he was already tired, edgy and irritable when he walked through the door.

She found her student laying sprawled on top of her bedspread, attired only in bra and panties, staring at the top of her bed's canopy. "Do you think that your attire is appropriate, Kendra?" Jane demanded sharply.

Kendra turned to face Jane as if realizing for the first time that she was no longer alone and slowly rose from the bed. Without a word, she walked over to the vanity and picked up the robe that hung neatly across the back of the elegant little chair and donned it. "I was not expecting visitors, Ms. Thompson, and I thought that I would have time to put on the robe before anyone who knocked would actually enter the room."

Jane had to admire the austerely polite, chilly tone the girl affected to let her obviously unwelcome visitor know she had invaded Kendra's privacy without permission. *Well, Sheila was the Mistress of the cutting set down. It's not too surprising that her child should also have developed the technique. Sad, since it means she has seen and perhaps been on the receiving end of her mother's ire, but not too surprising. I wonder if dealing with Sheila is at the heart of her unusual maturity and control? Still, I can't let her get away with that kind of behavior.*

"Be that as it may, Kendra, you are not some rough boy to lie about in your underwear. Underwear is only to be seen in transition in my home, that is, while taking off one outfit and putting on another. Otherwise, you will be appropriately covered at all other times. Do you understand?"

"I see." Kendra said. "I had thought I was in compliance with your direction to always wear the brassiere."

"Don't get snippy with me, young miss!" Jane snapped. "You *know* that my intentions are for you to live and behave as a proper young lady at *all* times. Lying about in your unmentionables is not proper, regardless of the circumstances. Making such fine distinctions that follow only the absolute letter of a law or direction while ignoring their intent is a large part of why you find yourself here under my tuition."

The unfairness of it all finally began to reach the girlishly dressed boy. "But I have done everything you told me to do." he flared back.

*At last* Jane thought. "NO. . . YOU . . . HAVE . . . NOT!!" she said in a loud, commanding voice. "You have only done those things that you were specifically ordered to do in blunt terms, but you have not done what you know I wanted done."

Shock at her tone flashed across the girl's make up-free face, followed by anger and then the return of that unbelievably mature control. "Then perhaps, Ms. Thompson," she replied in incredibly soft, demanding tones, "You could more clearly layout your wishes and directions, so that my poor male intelligence can grasp them."

Jane glared at her student for several long heartbeats, waiting for her to flinch away. *But you won't, will you?* she mused. *What is the matter with your face, Kendra? What am I seeing or not seeing?*

Shaking off the question, Jane returned to the attack. "I want you to become a sweet, biddable, courteous young woman. You've proven you cannot behave like a gentleman, so your only chance to avoid the delinquents' home is to comply with my wishes, young miss - not just the letter of them, but what you know to be their intent, as well. Your lack of the most basic courtesy, manners and deportment must be remedied or else; and I see the constraint of skirts, petticoats, lingerie and feminine behaviors and rituals to be the only path to that goal."

Jane saw a deep disgust pervade the girl-boy that not even Kenneth could control, and yet, she knew in some way beyond the norm, that it was not self disgust. When he spoke, his voice cracked from the emotion he was trying almost successfully to repress. "You say, Ms. Thompson, that I have to become more courteous. . that my deportment needs improvement. Tell me, please," he asked with heavy sarcasm, "what I have failed to do properly since I have arrived. How have I been in any way impolite? To you, whom I have every reason to detest, or to your housekeeper. . . . . . " Kendra decided to take a chance, "or to your other skirted sissy boy out there?"

Jane's momentary speechlessness gave Kendra the answer she had expected. "What. . .what ever. . .What other skirted sissy boy?"

"Darla." Kendra said in flat conviction. "It is the only thing that makes any sense. You could not do what you are doing to me with a real girl in the house. Too complicated."

Jane's mind raced, trying to figure out some way to convince Kendra otherwise, but she couldn't. No other boy had ever figured out the truth about his big sister before Jane was ready for him to know it. She had no pre-existing plan for this contingency. "Believe what you will, Kendra, it makes no difference to your own situation. As to your behavior since your arrival here, it has been adequate - barely. You will improve in all areas of your new feminine existence - behavior, mannerisms and conversation, deportment, personal presentation in both fashion and in make up."

"You will comply with my standards, Kenneth." Jane added in a much quieter, almost conciliatory but no less commanding voice. "You will become what I make you. You will do it perfectly *and* you will enjoy doing it or you won't leave. Except to go to that home, and let me warn you, Kendra. If I decide you are beyond redemption in my program, when you leave here, you will leave here as you are right now. You will face all those young toughs with shaved legs, red fingernails and fine plucked and shaped brows. Think on that one for awhile."

For several long moments, the two antagonists stood there, staring at each other. Finally, Kendra spoke and in a hard, very male voice. "Then I will be here until I am 18 years old when you and my mother cannot keep me here any longer. Then god help you both *and* that judge friend of yours. Until then, I will do my best to be what you *intend* me to become."

Jane stared at the robed figure in front of her, and came to a decision. She had to keep pressing this one. She simply had to do something to reach the fragile, vulnerable spirit everything she'd learned in the past twenty years told her was hiding beneath the surface.

"Very well, if that is your plan, then we may as well get started. Go to your vanity, young miss. I want to see you reproduce the "afternoon high tea" make up job that Marie showed you today." Jane ordered as she went to the armoire and rummaged about its base. When she stood, Kenneth saw the three inch open- toed heels in her hands, and groaned inwardly. "When you're finished, put these on and report to my study."

Jane stopped to watch her student's surprisingly deft movements with brush, pad and tube. He was starting to make up his eyes when Jane suddenly realized what she has seen wrong in his face earlier. Without making another comment, Jane slipped from his room and went to her study.

Sitting down at her desk, Jane considered the ramifications of what she'd just seen. Kendra's eyes had been red-rimmed, and the only thing that did that to a young person's eyes were tears. Lots of tears. Jane had not noticed that redness before was because this was the first time today that she'd seen the girl in anything less than full make up.

But when had she cried? She certainly hadn't cried in Jane's presence, and Marie would have remarked upon it if she had seen the girl in tears.

That meant that Kendra had been crying when Jane was not there to see it, that she *had* in fact reduced the girl to tears, and not just once or twice by the look of those eyes. One of her girl- boys crying was not unusual, in fact, it was one of the reactions Jane strove to evoke, particularly in these early days of a student's tuition with her. Crying meant that the boy had been forced to find some way, other than violence, to deal with his more negative emotions. That was one reason she tried to provoke her boys to near violence early in the program so that she could brutally put down that response, thus leaving her emotionally charged subjects with virtually no other release except tears.

Kendra had been crying - not in front of witnesses - but she had been crying. That *really* did not fit the profile. Kendra should have needed to be slapped down hard for attempting something physical in retaliation before she should have broken into tears. Perhaps she'd gone after Marie or Darla? No, that didn't make sense - either of them would have told Jane if she had.

That meant Kendra was dealing with her dark side nonviolently, that she had been doing so since the moment she'd stepped off the train, despite everything Jane had done in her attempt to provoke her to violence. Not only that, Jane knew from long experience that once a boy began to cry for her, he almost never responded with physical violence again.

This is, Jane told herself grimly, just one more thing that flies in the face of everything in that damned file. Could someone, somehow have mixed up Kenneth's records with someone else? That made no sense, either, especially since so many of those records had his name on them. Jane shook her head in frustration. She could either believe the evidence of her own eyes and conclude that sending him here had been a dreadful mistake; or she could believe the evidence of the records, and conclude that his behavior here had been an Oscar-winning performance.

*No* one is that good an actor, and how could he have known to cry as part of his "role"? Something was seriously wrong with this whole scenario and *none* of the people who could help her untangle things was available to her.

A rap on the door stopped her circular mind chase. "Enter." she called sternly, and then watched as Kendra minced into the room, still fighting the heels, but much improved since earlier that day. *I am going to press him harder* she decided. *I will keep on him until late and then wake him up early for tomorrow's day at the mall. A little sleep deprivation should help bring the *real* Kenneth Roberts just a little closer to the surface. Whoever that real person really is.*

Jane made a note to warn Caro and Sandy that Kendra would be very tired tomorrow, and to take special care when really pushing hard on her buttons.

"Get your dictionary, Kendra. Your performance this morning was unacceptably graceless. We will spend a few profitable hours helping you learn to move properly in your pretty heels."

*A few hours?!?* Kenneth thought appalled. *It's already after nine p.m., and she wants to practice for a few more hours? Oh, my feet will never recover.*

"Yes, Ms. Thompson." Kenneth replied dully as he made his slow, painful way over to the bookshelf.

~----------~

It was after midnight when Jane had finally called a halt to what Kenneth had titled high heeled extreme powerwalking. He hoped he'd be able to walk - period - in the morning. *God* he prayed, *Please let me make it to my room with the door closed before I collapse. Just not in front of _her_!*

For her part, Jane knew that the boy was in severe discomfort, (*more likely she's in real pain, Jane Thompson, for all your high minded promises to the contrary*) and thoroughly exhausted but not once had he whined or complained. Jane certainly would have complained by this point in time.

Jane walked over to her charge and put a gentle hand on his cheek. He flinched but did not pull away. "I will win in the end, Kenneth. You will make your time with me so much easier on yourself if you just give me my way. Life here can be almost pleasant if you will just let yourself relax and try to enjoy the experience, but it can also be hell on earth. The choice is yours."

She waited for the boy to respond in some way, but he said nothing. He simply stood there, letting her touch him, but refusing to even look at her. Jane sighed wearily. "Very well. As you wish it. Go to your room, clean off your make up and go to bed. I need you to be up at 6:45 tomorrow morning so that Marie can prepare you for the day. We will be going into town to have you fitted with a semi-permanent hair piece to replace what you destroyed. I expect you to be on your best behavior and to give me no cause to think I am the wrong person to help you. Now, go to bed. It will be a very tiring day for you. Good night, Kendra."

For a long moment, Jane wondered if he would refuse to do her the courtesy of returning her good wishes, but finally he stepped back breaking contact with her hand and looked up at her. "Good night, Ms. Thompson. I will see you in the morning then."

Jane watched her turn, and then slowly, deliberately make her way to the study door. For a moment, Jane thought to follow, but at the last minute did not. If the boy wanted to take those heels off in the hall, she would not be out there to stop him. Kenneth/Kendra had performed magnificently for Jane tonight and Jane would not lessen that performance by looking for any more reason to berate the girl.

As she'd thought before she'd embarked on this night's exercises. Those records simply did not describe the young man Jane had in her home.

~----------~
Part 6:
 
Jane normally ran errands or pampered herself with a salon treatment of her own while her girls were safely being terrorized by Carolyn and Sandra. This time, she did neither, instead taking a seat in the waiting room as close as she could manage to where Sandy would be working her evil ways with Kendra. Self consciously, she felt in the pocket of her suit jacket for the pepper spray, praying all the while that she wouldn't need it.

>From the start, Jane had done her best to treat this excursion the same as she had for all of her previous students first trip to the Marisha Chalet. She'd "oo-ed" and "ah-ed" over Kendra's outfit, complementing her profusely on her dainty good looks and had received a quiet, gracious "thank you" in each instance. When she'd warned him that as long as he behaved himself properly no one would see the boy for the lovely young girl his response had been complete unconcern.

The biggest worry, besides the one that had caused her to bring the pepper spray, was that they were making this excursion much earlier in the program than was normally advisable. Kendra had not had the days of repetitious training that would change her gestures, mannerisms, even her gait, from masculine to those expected from and appropriate for a girl of her apparent age. Of course she'd made her usual threat to expose him loudly as a sissy who just loved wearing girl clothes if he failed to act properly while in the salon. Not that she could or would do that to him - it would destroy her whole program of instruction and would endanger everyone who had ever been her student or had helped her.

Not that it mattered in any case since her threat had apparently fallen on deaf ears. She might as well have threatened to take away his broccoli (when he didn't like broccoli) for all the response she elicited.

She'd been on guard for the least sign that Kendra was being "read", but that incredible composure of hers saw her through. True confidence shows, and for whatever reason, Kendra moved confidently, if somewhat gingerly on her sore feet and calves, through the early morning pedestrians as if walking out in public wearing a dress was something she'd done all her life.

WHY WASN'T THE GIRL TERRIFIED OF BEING DISCOVERED??!?

Sandra came over, spoke to Kendra and then led her into the back, closed in cubicle she preferred when dealing with a potentially obstreperous boy-girl. Once she had him in the chair, Sandy removed the wig and gawked. The nearly white stubble was less than a quarter inch long, and still did not show even a hint of his real black hair color. "Jesus, hon, what did you do to yourself?" she breathed.

A very tired grin lit Kendra's face. "I liked it better this way than I liked it after an unfortunate incident with some hair coloring."

Sandy took a few seconds to digest that, but regained her equilibrium quickly. She didn't care how "different" Jane thought this one was. He was just another overblown, adolescent male ego who needed a good puncturing. And Sandy was just the lady to do it.

"Well, Jane wants you to have hair, sweetie, so that you can learn to take care of it. Good little girls just *love* playing with their hair and we wouldn't want you to be deprived." Sandy told her as she rolled a working cart over beside Kendra. "This is similar to what that hair club does, hon, only they use a stronger bonding agent. Once I've woven this in, it'll be like your own hair until I use the solvent to dissolve the adhesive. Why, you'll be able to shampoo it, style it, get permanents - even go swimming in it although such a pretty little girly boy like you should wear a bathing cap. Won't that be fun, sissy?"

Kendra almost smiled at that, too tired for any more reaction. She could have predicted something like this. Naturally the women who ran this place were in on the scheme. They had to be because they were experts on women and their grooming. They'd spot a boy in girl's clothing right away.

Frustrated by the lack of reaction, Sandy got down to ear level. "You better start playing with me, fag-boy, or the whole shop is going to know I have a pretty little wimp-ass boy in my chair, all decked out in pretty skirts. And you'd better start smiling, too, because girls just love being at the beauty salon. Start loving it, femmy boy!"

The boy with the girl's face only looked up into Sandy's smirking eyes. Kendra saw the disdain that Sandy rarely bothered to hide from her young victims.

"I told you to smile, cutie, or else. Don't think I won't tell everybody within earshot that I have a sweet, little femmy boy here getting his hair nice and curled up."

"Kendra!" Jane's voice sounded from just outside the cubicle. "Remember our agreement, Miss. This is part of what you've agreed to do, so do it well if you don't wish to face the alternative."

*She wants a smile?* Kendra thought darkly, *I'll show her a smile*

The smile Sandy got from the boy in her chair might have been seen on a hungry shark just before it took that first bite. Her own smile faltered just a little, but only a little.

"I'm glad you learn quickly, hon, but I think we will have to work on that smile." Sandy chucked Kendra under the chin as if she were a little child. "Now cutie, you just act as sweet as you look, and maybe you and I won't have any problems," she teased.

The weaving of the hair piece was time consuming and just painful enough to keep her awake in the salon chair. Since Kendra had no hair of her own to speak of, Sandy had to glue anchors to her scalp. As the amount of hair in the weave increased, the harder it was to add yet more which meant Sandy had to pull harder. Once, she pulled hard enough to wring a pained squeak out of Kendra.

Jane's senses went on full alert since this was the first time the girl had actually been hurt since coming to Jane's home. Would she try to retaliate, give pain for pain? It would not be an unexpected reaction given what she had been told the boy was capable of doing.

"Could you take it just a little easier, please." Kendra asked softly. "It feels like you almost tore my scalp the last time."

"Stop whining, sweet-thing." Sandy said jovially, "I am almost done with this part." But she did try to be a little gentler as she finished with the last sheaf of hair.

Kendra attempted to relax while Sandy moved that cart away and moved another into it's place. Then Sandra asked Caroline over to Kendra's chair. She joined them shortly with a large magazine, like a catalogue. Caroline leaned over the motionless boy and spread the book out on his lap prepared to follow through with a time proven double team. "Here, Kenneth....", she said in a low voice, which she immediately corrected with a gleam in her eye, "I mean *Kendra*. We need you to tell us which style you'd like for your permanent."

Kenneth stared at the magazine, trying to focus his bleary eyes on the pictures. Was he was really expected to make this choice on his own? Why wasn't the Thompson woman over here making her wishes known? This was her scene, not his. Fixing the hungry shark smile back on his face, Kenneth stared back up at the two women. "I am sure Ms. Thompson has something in mind for me, ma'am." he replied softly to Carolyn. "She was the one who told me I needed my hair done to her standards."

Actually, Jane hadn't said anything specifically about this outing. However, just last night she had said he would be doing things her way for as long as he stayed with her so it wasn't actually a lie, either. Expectantly, he waited for one of the women to leave the cubicle and ask Jane for her desires on the matter.

But they didn't. Instead, Carolyn bent down to eye level with Kendra, grasped her face in both hands and turned her head from side to side as if carefully checking the shape of her head and the lay of her hair. What she was really doing was getting into Kendra's face, whispering, "This is fun for girls, Kendra. Girls always want to choose their own hair style and they never defer to an older woman unless they are forced to do so. You'd better start acting like a girl or I won't even have to announce the fact that we have a boy back here hiding in skirts. They will know it because you *aren't* playing the game."

Sandy chimed in, a little too loudly for Jane's taste although no one else seemed to hear her. "I know you have a girl hiding inside you, Kendra-dear", she added, her voice now full of teasing enthusiasm, "She had better start enjoying her trip to the beauty parlor."

Kenneth shook his face free of Carolyn's grip and considered his options and capitulated. He was too tired to fight them, and besides, nothing they did to him here would really matter in the long run, anyway. With a casual lack of concern that surprised both women, he opened the glossy photo-book to a random page, and without hesitation, positively gushed, "*This* one - definitely. It even leaves most of my hair in place in case we decide later it doesn't work for me. I think it is perfect, don't you?"

Caroline grinned wickedly for effect at the boy in Sandy's chair. She knew his choice was made unwillingly, but no one else, especially those not in on Jane's secret, would ever have taken his response as anything out of the ordinary for a young girl at the beauty shop. At least this one had the wit to hold up his fair share of the masquerade. She also noted that he was correct in his assessment of the permanent. The shoulder length style would soften his strong facial features, while the blonde curls would frame his olive complexion and grey eyes.

"Excellent." Carolyn said as she closed the book, and turned to walk away. Looking over her shoulder at him, she loudly added, "I'm sure everyone here will want to see how it turns out!"

Things seemed to be progressing quite well, Caro mused as she headed out of the cubicle, and yet, Jane had told her to be careful with this one. Moreover, Jane was hovering like a mother hen with a sick chick when she usually had nothing to do with the boys once she'd turned them over to Sandra and her.

More concerned now, Carolyn stopped to take one last look at the boy in the chair before returning to her own client. What she saw made her cringe inwardly. Every boy in her experience had been rigid with dread at this point in the process, once they'd sentenced themselves to one of the overdone, hideously girly styles from that permanent catalogue (there weren't any other kind in that book which was why only Caro's 'Jane customers' would ever be caught dead in any of them). This one looked perfectly relaxed - actually more than relaxed. He looked like he was about to take a nap in Sandy's chair while she worked on him.

Grimly, she gestured to Sandy, her face showing her unease. Sandy's answer was a slight shrug followed by pointing to the hidden velcro restraints secreted on that particular chair. Carolyn nodded and left to find Jane.

Sandra then began her work. In the mirror, Kendra idly followed the process with some interest. Clearly, the woman was highly skilled at her craft. Meticulous, too, if he was any judge, and very efficient. In short order, she had most of his new hair wrapped up into a variety of different sized rollers and then soaked with the foul smelling liquid.

He was sitting in the chair, half dozing, when she softly spoke again. "You're not smiling again, sissyboy. I told you to keep smiling. Piss me off and you really won't like the consequences. Got that, Cutie-Kendra?"

Kendra's smile looked completely unforced, as if she knew a secret that no one else did. Sandy frowned, but still she relentlessly continued. "Its really too bad you messed up your real hair. This stuff is okay, but you'll be amazed at what I can do with hair like that picture of you Jane showed me. I have this great new hair color treatment that can make even the darkest hair in a lovely strawberry blonde. You'll just love it. Best of all, it won't wash out. Only way to get rid of it is to cut off all your hair."

Surprisingly, that earned the startled stylist a giggle from her current subject. "Nothing new, ma'am." Kendra said lightly. "Been there, done that."

Sandra could only shake her head and concentrate on getting the curling done quickly.

Kendra had often sat in a hair stylists chair and listened to the idle banter they made. His mother had always dragged him along when she went for her beauty treatments. This was different. They were doing this to him and trying to force him to go along with the gag.

Sandy finished setting his hair and set a small electronic timer before going to work on his nails. Kendra was just about ready to get the hell out of this place. The sarcastic, nasty little comments were starting to annoy him, as were Sandy's repeated threats to expose him to the other clients as a boy dressed in girl's clothes. More because she kept waking him up than for any other reason.

As the minutes dragged, his mind kept slipping back to those constant threats of Sandra's. There was something wrong about that. . .something that did not quite ring true, but his sleep fogged mind could not quite work it out.

Why did she keep harping on it? Perhaps because the threat was all she had and she needed him to fear it? A quick look over his shoulder revealed a fairly full house now that the shop had opened for regular business. He considered for a moment what would happen to this small town business if what Jane and her friends were doing became generally known. They'd become infamous, that's what.

How would that affect their business? Probably poorly. If this place was in a big city and the story hit of how they did this crap to young guys, why, they'd probably overrun with guys who wanted that type of help. But here? In Smallville USA in the heart of Puritan New England? Kendra would lay down long odds that they'd be out of work in a week's time.

Sandra moved over to work on his other hand when Caro came in with a make up kit and started testing color combinations on him and making small notes in a small green book. The two women made a good effort to keep zinging him, commenting about his swishiness, the impossibility that anyone could ever have seen him as being masculine and so forth.

*When in doubt, smile. The bad guys or girls won't know what you're thinking and it'll confuse the hell out of them* Kendra's smile grew wider and brighter with each barb and slur. About half way through the exercise, Caro's grin left her face and she grew very quiet. Finally, she finished her spot checking and hurried back to finish her own customer's procedures.

Kendra wondered how Darla was doing. He couldn't see her, or as he was now positive, see him because of the wall panels surrounding this station.

The bell sounded on the small clock and Sandy moved back to work at his hair. She washed his fake hair as she removed each roller before hand drying the sodden mass. Finally, with a look of triumph on her face, Sandy spun the chair back around so that Kendra could see the full impact of Sandra's art.

Neither of them spoke for several heartbeats. Sandy, because she wanted Kendra to say something she could twist against him. Kendra, because she was watching Sandy. In very short order, Sandy couldn't stand it any longer and was about to order him to say something. It was then that Kendra struck back.

"Hmmmm, Yasss. Nice. . . not quite a perfect match to the catalogue, but then, I suspect *that* model's hair was done by the best in the business. One should take such things into account when evaluating the performance of . . .other technicians." Kendra was doing his level best to mimic his Mother's "lady of the manor to the serf" voice and by the look of Sandy's face, he wasn't doing badly. "Yasss. .. quite adequate. You may tell Jane that we are pleased and that we have said that you deserve a tip for your efforts. I take it I am now to go to Caro's chair?"

Sandy was so shocked she couldn't speak and instead just nodded her head in dumbfounded amazement. Kendra stood, gave Sandy an imperious nod of her head, and sauntered off in the direction of the main salon.

Kendra saw Caro in deep conversation with Jane and wondered what that was all about. He approached them, still wearing the cape Sandy had put on him when she'd started messing with his 'hair'.

". . . and that's final, Jane. I'll finish the appointment, but I am not doing the rest of it. Not this time. Not with this one."

At that point, Jane saw her protege and her eyes went wide. Caro turned and saw who was standing there and flushed bright red. Then she pointed in the direction of one of the chairs and ordered Kendra over to it.

Jane watched in confused fascination as Caro worked her cosmetic magic on Kendra. The new hairdo was extremely attractive on the boy. . .unusual for a first permanent for one of her girls, but then, most of them did not have enough hair for that kind of style. An almost hysterical giggle nearly slipped past her stern schoolmistress-ly reserve as she realized that the only reason Kendra had enough hair was because she essentially had no hair.

The conversation that Kendra had nearly overheard was yet one more setback in this student's program. Carolyn had flatly refused to use him as the model in her Wednesday afternoon cosmetics class for local teenaged girls.

"I just can't risk it, Jane. You yourself warned me that he has a history of problems with girls, and while we've done this with bad actors in the past, we've already had those guys utterly broken down into submission. This one is not at all broken. I won't have him around the girls until you have him in hand better than he is now."

Jane had not been able to give a counter argument and had finally given in to the inevitable. From her seat in the waiting room, she saw that same dispassionately interested look on Kendra's fine features. As if this were all some research project where she and her friends were the experimental subjects and Kendra was the principal investigator.

As she sat there, Darla joined her after having finished her own ministrations. "How's it going?" she whispered into Jane's ear.

"It's not, dear. Not at all. She's just taken every trick in Caro's and Sandy's repertoire in stride. I wonder if there is any purpose at this point to going over to MiLady's Closet."

"I don't know, Aunt Jane. Miss Franson is pretty frightening in her own right, but in all honesty, Sandy is your big gun. If she hasn't reached him . . ."

Jane nodded, her own fatigue weighing heavily on her shoulders. "Then I guess we will just go home as soon as Caro finishes with her." She shook her head. "I had hopes when I realized that she had not been quite so indifferent to my lessons as I had first believed. Her crying seemed very encouraging, but so far today, I haven't seen any of that surrender in her. So far I have failed with this one, Darla, and lord help me, I just don't know what else we can do to reach her."

Darla reached over to rest a comforting hand on Jane's own tightly clenched fists, and waited for this morning to end.

Caro was rushing to finish her work on Kendra, having at least two reasons to finish making Jane's new student up as quickly as possible. The most pressing reason was that her cosmetics class was due at the Chalet any minute. Caro had planned to use Kendra as demonstration model and so she had scheduled the start of the meeting to overlap the end of Kendra's appointment. Caro did not need a dozen unsupervised teenaged girls bouncing around the shop when she had to keep her full attention on finishing Kendra.

Her other reason was the root cause of the first problem. She did not want Kendra interacting with that group in any way when she wasn't sure how the girl would react to them.

She finished up and gave her work a critical assessment. Not bad, Caro thought. Not her best by any stretch of the imagination, but not bad. Certainly better than when she came in the door. "Okay, Kendra. You're done for this time. Be a good girl for Jane and no one will have to know who you really are under those lovely curls and sweet dress."

Carolyn had made that last crack almost out of habit, but she very quickly realized that the boy-girl was once again not reacting as she expected.

Finally fed up with these stupid games, Kendra decided it was time to turn the tables on the proprietors of Marisha Chalet. She recalled watching one of the young girls at her Mother's salon who'd been particularly pleased with the results of her appointment. Smiling broadly, Kendra went up on tiptoe and planted a very dainty kiss on the older woman's cheek before pulling her into a hug.

"You and I both know you can't unmask me, Carolyn." Kendra whispered into Carolyn's ear as she held the hug. "Your business would never survive in this burg if your little sideline came out to these fine upstanding people. How about we call a truce? I don't unmask *you* and you and Sandy cut out the Don Rickles routine when you have me in your salon chair. Okay?"

Then she went back down off her toes, waved to a frowning Sandra and walked over to where Jane and Darla waited. Five minutes later the trio was back in Jane's car, heading toward the big house.

~----------~

Since Jane had tentatively planned on spending the afternoon at Milady's Closet, there was very little to do once they'd gotten back home. Which was just as well, Jane admitted to herself, because she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Yet another phone call to Sheila had gotten her damnable answering machine. Jane had told the woman that she had to be available to Jane during these critical first days and she had promised Jane that she would be. Well, that last one had been Jane's fourth call in the last eighteen hours and still no return call.

Marie slipped into Jane's office with a steaming tea pot and a bottle of cordial. "Sorry about lunch, Jane." she offered as she poured the tea and the cordial and set both on her friend's desk.

"I should have called. I knew an hour before we left the Chalet that I wasn't going to go dress shopping. There just wasn't any point in it. Kendra, or rather Kenneth for that is who we are still dealing with, wouldn't have gotten anything out of the shopping trip. He'd just have tried on the clothes as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that damnable composure wrapped around him like armor, not bothered by it at all."

Marie took a healthy sip of her own drink. "At least he didn't lose his temper and try to hurt anyone - even if he did threaten Caro's business."

"He did WHAT??!?" Jane yelled coming out of her chair in dismay.

Frowning, Marie sighed. "Caro called just before you arrived home. Evidently Kendra decided that it would do the Chalet far more harm if they exposed him than it would to him. He told her he'd keep their little secret if they'd lay off their comments and teasing when he was in there in the future."

Jane slowly, almost painfully sank down into her chair. "If there is a future for him here. Sad to say, he's right about Caro and Sandy as you and I have discussed before. Do you know that's his second leap of insight since his arrival? Last night he told me that he figured that Darla was probably also a crossdressed male which severely limits her usefulness in the future. Now, he's effectively declawed Caro, Sandy and Betty Franson."

"What do you mean by "if there is a future"?" Marie asked softly. "It's not as if he is resisting you or defying you."

"I almost wish he was fighting me. I know how to deal with the ones who fight me tooth and nail. I don't know how to deal with what little reaction this one gives me. Marie?" And Jane turned haunted eyes at her best friend, "I am beginning to think that there is nothing I can do for this one."

"So what now?"

"Nothing for now. At least until I can talk with Judge Ruth and decide what the best course of action which probably means that we ship him back home."

"Isn't it a little early for that? I mean, he hasn't done anything bad."

A sad smile flickered in Jane's tired eyes. "He hasn't done anything we expected him to do, either. Not once since he arrived. Oh, I know I told you that I believe he's been crying in what privacy he can manage, but that's based on his eyes being red. For all I know, he may be slightly allergic to something - perhaps eye make up. The fact remains that he has not truly broken down under any of my lessons. Since the very first day, he has consistently blunted most of the impact of each of my thrusts."

"I still don't like giving up on him, Jane. Not this early."

"You know as well as I that the first forty eight hours under feminine control are the most critical hours in the program." Jane continued, "It's somewhat like setting the explosive charges that make one of those old buildings collapse in on itself so that something new and stronger can be built in its place. Well, this morning, I just twisted the plunger on the detonator and instead of a boom, I got a barely audible pop. I am not omnipotent, Marie. I have always known there were boys I could not help. Kenneth appears that he may be one of those boys."

"If that's true, I think it is very sad." Marie said as she refilled their glasses.

Jane could only agree.

~----------~
Part 7:
 
Darla and Kendra were walking outside, both of them having changed into more casual clothes. Darla had suggested the walk, primarily because she wanted to find out what was going on inside her "little sister's" head. She had hopes that if she could get Kendra to talk, the resulting information might help Aunt Jane help this guy.

"You've really surprised Aunt Jane, you know." Darla said as the rounded the house and headed off into the large back lawn.

"Really?" was Kendra's noncommittal answer.

"Really. I mean, nothing seems to get to you. Take today. You just walked from the car to the salon, bold as anything, as if nothing mattered."

"Nothing of that did matter." the other girl-boy answered with an unconcerned shrug.

Amazed, Darla could only gape at her companion. "But, you could have been exposed as a boy. People would have laughed at you, called you a sissy. Doesn't that matter??"

Kendra laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. "The people here, laughing or otherwise, would not have mattered to me. Listen Darla, regardless of what your aunt does to me, whether she keeps me or sends me off to that bargain basement Boys Town, in less than three years it all ends and I get the money my father left me. Then I tell your aunt, that judge friend of hers and my damned mother to go straight to hell so that I can get on with my life. If I have to, I can stand on my head for that long if that is what it takes to get out from under those damned women."

Darla let the last comment pass. "But how can you just go out there, dressed like a girl and have it not matter to you?" She had to get this guy to tell him something that Jane could use.

A sly look came across the beautifully made up face. "How do *you* do it, Darla?" Kendra asked very softly.

"M. . . m . . .ME?!? What can you possibly mean by that?" Darla sputtered in surprise at the unexpected attack.

"Oh, I bet if I tossed your skirts up and had a close look under your pretty panties, I am sure that I would find you are definitely an "outie" and not an "innie", and I am not talking about navels, either."

As Jane had the night before, Darla tried to come up with some way to protect his disguise, but he lacked Jane's experience and her self possession to carry it off. "How did you guess?" he finally asked, depressed.

"I just figured that if you were a real girl, you'd be in real danger from a guy like those records say I supposedly am. One thing I have figured out about our Ms. Thompson - she is not a lady to take too many unnecessary or dangerous chances. She's a control freak and she makes sure she is well in control of the situation before she puts anyone else into it."

Darla gave a very unladylike snort. "That's Aunt Jane," he said affectionately. "Right down to her always perfectly shined designer shoes."

The pair continued their walk, a companionable silence growing between them. As they made the final turn along the path back towards the house, Darla thought of another question. "Why do you refuse to acknowledge what you did to get sent here? I mean, it's not as we don't have the goods on you in that file."

Anger flashed in grey eyes and Darla instinctively took a step back. "Because everything in that damned file is a dirty rotten lie, made up by my mother because I refused to play along with her damnable schemes."

"But Judge Ruth concurred. . . she set it up so you could come here. . .the records. . .?"

Kendra came to a dead stop in the lush green back lawn. "Listen, blondie, listen *really* good. Everything in that damned file, with the exception of my name, my social security number and my birth date are out and out lies. As for the esteemed Judge Ruth, she is just like my mother, a goddamned no good liar. I believe that your aunt honestly believes that pack of lies because she trusts that Judge. Which makes Judge Ruth *much* worse than your Aunt, even worse than my damned mother, because she abuses her office and the trust of the people she is supposed to protect as an officer of the court."

Darryl, and it was *definitely* Darryl, saw red. "You can't say that about Judge Ruth." He growled. "Not in my presence and get away with it."

"Why not? It's true. Everything in that record, including the so-called court documents are fakes and lies. So, she has falsified government records on top of everything else. Trust me on this one, Blondie. The first thing I do when I get my freedom in three years is to cut my bitch of a mother off from the income off the principal of my inheritance. The second thing I am going to do is take that damn judge down and drag her through the mud. What is in that file is sufficient to get her sorry ass impeached and convicted. And once she is not Judge Ruth, but rather Citizen Ruth? I will sue her until she has to live another lifetime just to pay off the interest on the debt. I will destroy her career, her reputation and her financial security. And God help your Aunt if I find out she was a knowing conspirator in all of this because then I will go after her next. If that means my little sojourn in skirts becomes public knowledge, so be it. I'll be wealthy enough to ride through that storm, but Ms. Jane Thompson's little torture chamber gets shutdown forever."

Fourteen years of living on the streets and running with gangs snapped to the fore as Darryl's temper erupted like an erupting volcano. Without any warning, the enraged teen was on the other boy, trying to beat his brains in. "God damn you, bitch. You're going to leave Jane and Ruth alone!" Every syllable was punctuated by a punch or a kick, or even a couple of bites. "They helped me, *saved* me, you sorry bastard, when no one else would or could. I'd be in the state prison right now if not for them."

Caught unaware by the suddenness and the savagery of Darla's attack, Kendra was momentarily unable to defend herself, but years of training with her father kicked in. She parried several blows and kicks until she got into the position she wanted and then neatly hip-tossed Darla to the ground. Darla landed hard on her chest, knocking the wind out of her. Kendra did not give her a chance to recover and was on her immediately, tying up the other girl-boy's arms and legs with his own.

"Calm down, Darla. I've got leverage on you. You're only going to hurt yourself." Her voice was soft, but Darla continued to struggle and to curse at Kendra until she eventually began to tire. "Now, I will say this once more since I have no reason to lie to you. The records are false. I didn't do any of that stuff."

Darla started to draw breath to respond but never got the chance.

"What is the meaning of this?" a coldly angry voice demanded.

*oh shit* Kendra thought bleakly. The jig was up. Maybe they'd let him have his own things back before they sent him off to Boys Town's Basement.

"I *asked* a question, ladies, I *expect* an answer."

"Just a friendly little debate, Ms. Thompson, that got a little too heated for Darla here. Everything is fine now." Kendra answered.

"Oh, is. . it. . . really? Kendra, I want you in your room, NOW! Marie will lock you in until we decide what to do with you. If you are not in there when I come for you, I will call the police, have them pick you up and put you on the next plane home. AS . . . YOU . . . ARE! Now get out of my sight."

Kendra momentarily thought about arguing with her. After all, all he'd been doing was defending himself. And he hadn't even tried to hurt the guy. But then again, why should he expect to be given a fair shake in this place? Very deliberately, he released his grip on the no longer struggling Darla, stood slowly and headed off into the house with Marie following close behind.

"Are you all right, dear?" Jane asked as she helped her ward to his feet before pulling him into a hard hug. "I am very sorry you got hurt. I should never have relaxed my guard. I *knew* he had a history of violence, but he hasn't shown it here and now you are the one to suffer." Jane's eyes and voice both went hard and dark. "That's it. He's through. He is out of here as soon as I can arrange it with Judge Ruth in the morning."

"No . . .Jane. . ." Darla was still trying to get her breath back as Jane slowly walked her back to the house. "Not his fault. . .at least, not directly. I jumped him first. Lost my temper when he started telling me what he'd do to you and Ruth after he reached eighteen."

"He threatened us with violence?" Jane asked quietly, fear clutching at her guts.

Darla shook her head. "No. No violence. He still claims those records are fakes, forgeries of government documents and he says he is going to come after you by revealing what you do to the world. Judge Ruth he wants impeached for falsifying those legal records and then he will sue her into the poor house."

"I see. Well that explains how the fight got started, but I still will not tolerate him hurting you."

Darla winced and then knew she had to tell the truth. "He didn't try to hurt me, Aunt Jane. He just tossed me to the ground and then held me there until I exhausted myself. He never threw a single punch."

"That's it?" Jane was dumbfounded.

Nodding her head, Darla managed a weak smile. "All he did was try to control me so I did not hurt him. That and say that he was not guilty one more time. That is what he was doing when you came on the scene."

Once inside the house, Jane headed for the peace and isolation of her office with Darla trailing behind her. *None of this makes any sense at all*, Jane thought yet one more time. Darla had attacked first. Kendra had been given a free shot, so to speak, and her new student hadn't taken it.

"Aunt Jane?" Darla's voice broke into Jane's thoughts. She looked at her ward, standing in the doorway to Jane's office, grinning sheepishly. "I . . . ah. . . think I am really starting to believe Kendra, Jane. . . at least part-ways. I know I said this before, but something is definitely wrong here. I don't know what it is, but most everything that's happened since Kenneth arrived just does not jive with the person we were told to expect."

It was just all too much, Jane fumed to herself. "I will agree about nothing making sense, dear. Look, I need to think. Why don't you go see if Marie needs some help with the evening meal. Please close the door on your way out. Thank you, Darla."

~----------~

Much later that evening, Jane sat alone in her front parlor, watching a fire dance and flash in the old Victorian hearth. The night was a little warm for a fire, but Jane found the chaotic movement of the brightly colored flames relaxing. Besides, what was the point of being wealthy if you couldn't crank up the air conditioning at times.

None of this made sense she told herself yet one more time since Darla's revelations of the afternoon. Who *was* Kenneth Roberts? How could he be both the person in that record and the one she'd been living with for the past three days?

An egotist without any apparent ego? A violent young man who fights not to harm his attacker, but rather, only to protect himself and then contain his opponent? An overly macho boy who releases emotion through tears in the privacy of his room? A resentful young man who plots retribution, not revenge, and who thinks not in terms of violent acts, but in terms of justice? A hothead who thinks calmly and rationally enough under stress to deduce some of Jane's most closely guarded secrets in less that three days?

And until the fight this afternoon, Kenneth had not displayed a single one of the dangerously antisocial, ill mannered or boorish behaviors so painstakingly and lavishly documented in those records. Jane could almost believe that the records *were* fakes. Darla said she was certainly beginning to believe that. If you accepted that premise, everything else that had happened in the past three days made sense. . .somewhat anyway.

But that meant that Judge Ruth, one of the few people that Jane Thompson believed without question had betrayed not only Jane's trust, but that of her constituency as well.

None of it made any sense at all. Still, she had the evidence of her own eyes when it came to Kendra. Particularly after the incident with Darla, Jane was ready to believe that Kenneth was *not* aggressively violent and that his courtliness and polite behavior were *not* an act.

Ruth was due back tomorrow, Jane mused. Tomorrow, she'd get to the bottom of this, once and for all.

~----------~

Kendra sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. There had been no sleep the previous night. Odd how *Kenneth* had begun thinking of himself as Kendra at least part of the time so quickly. A great deal of that was probably the clothes. Kenneth's boy clothes were still not in evidence, so Kendra had slipped on one of the long, granny-gown nighties Jane had provided.

A grim smile crossed the lightly made up lips. She was also wearing the bra, panties and light cosmetics that Jane had ordered her to wear at all times unless given specific directions to the contrary. That was probably pretty pointless since there was no doubt in her mind that her hours at Jane's house were rapidly coming to an end. It was pointless except that Kenneth *had* given Jane his word to be Kendra, and a bra was a big part of how Jane defined Kendra.

*Probably ought to stash some cold cream and nail polish remover in my purse just in case Jane does carry out her little threat, although where I'll get boy clothes I have no idea.*

The turning of the deadbolt drew his attention to the door. *Probably Marie with breakfast.* A very stern, tight-lipped Marie had brought Kendra's dinner the evening before. She'd walked in, set the tray on the vanity and had walked right back out - without so much as a word or a second look. At least the meal had been as good as every other meal here had been. He'd half expected to be put on bread and water - or worse.

Maybe it had been Marie's idea of the condemned man's last meal.

The door swung open to admit a very disheveled Jane Thompson. Kendra couldn't help himself. . .he stared at the older woman carrying a cloth napkin-covered tray into his room. She looked positively unkempt. This was the first time in his admittedly short residence, but he'd never before seen her without some makeup or with her hair uncombed.

Jane settled the tray down and took off the napkin. Kendra was surprised to see two cups, two juice glasses and two covered plates. Jane busied herself setting out the food and then pulled the chair she and Marie used during their "lessons" on grooming and makeup. "Come, Kenneth." she said quietly. "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

"Kenneth, Ms. Thompson?" he asked carefully. "I thought I was only to answer to Kendra while I am under your tuition?"

Jane watched the femininely attired figure carefully sit on the vanity's stool and take the napkin she offered. She took a fortifying sip of Marie's dark, rich coffee before turning her attention to her student. "And so I did. However, one way or another, Kenneth, you will most likely cease being my student by noon today."

Kenneth reached behind his back and unfastened the bra that was digging into his back. He slipped the straps over his shoulders through the sleeves of his gown before pulling it out and flipping it towards the hamper. "I guess in that case I no longer need to wear that thing."

"No, I guess you don't." Jane agreed as she buttered a warm croissant.

"You said one way or another, Ms. Thompson. I thought there was only one way out of this for me. You and your friend the Judge, what's-her-name, are going to send me off to that delinquent boys' home?"

"Eat your breakfast, Kenneth, and I will tell you what I have decided to do. I spent the whole night reviewing everything I was told about you and everything I have observed about you."

"And you concluded?"

"You are either the most accomplished actor I have ever met or a very serious mistake was made in sending you to me. If the former is true, then you are even worse than that record says, and there is nothing I can do to help you. You just don't respond to my treatments in a way I can predict or deal with effectively. If that is the case, then yes, I will send you to the boys' home. Today, in fact, on the four o'clock flight out of Providence."

"You said there was another possible answer - that a serious mistake had been made. If that is your final conclusion, what happens then?"

"I won't know that until I know how the mistake was made. Until I do and can decide what is best for you, you will live with me as Kenneth. Marie will be up after breakfast with your bags and other male things."

"How are you going to find out what the truth is?"

"I have two lines of investigation planned. I've called an investigator friend. . . a former student of mine, in fact. He is heading to your home town even as we speak. He will talk to the police and to your teachers directly, while I carry out my own investigations over the phone. If that file is a fake, then someone I trust has lied to me and might very well continue lying to me about this. In that event, then my investigator will surely find contradictory evidence to that effect. He may even be able to identify the person responsible for that "mistake"."

Kenneth sat, quietly eating, waiting for Jane to continue. "Judge Ruth is scheduled to be in her office by nine a.m. her time, ten a.m. our time. We are going to call her and ask her to explain what is happening."

"*We* are?" Kenneth asked in surprise.

"We are." Jane confirmed. "You will be there in my office when I call her. We'll all hear what she has to say in response to my questions over my speaker phone."

"Why would you let me out of here if you don't know if I am that person in those files yet or not? Why not just keep me safely locked away in this bedroom until you do know?"

Jane dabbed her mouth with her napkin and pushed away her still- untouched breakfast. "Because you did not hurt Darryl when you had the chance and the excuse of self defense."

"Darryl? Oh! Is that Darla's real name?"

"Yes it is. He is my ward and former student. You twigged to that disguise quickly enough. Anyway, you obviously have some martial arts training and you could have hurt him badly when he tried to attack you. You didn't do that. Every instinct tells me you don't belong here because you don't *need* the type of therapy I provide. So I am going to let you face your accuser, so to speak."

"Darla, I mean Darryl is all right? I tried not to take him down too hard, but it's hard to judge such things."

"She and he are fine, Kenneth. Now," Jane sat up and became the steely eyed woman of power he'd seen so many times since his arrival. "Do you have any idea why you were sent here in the first place?"

Momentarily nonplussed by the question, Kenneth only stared at Jane for several long moments. "You want to know that? You mean, you are actually willing to listen to me?"

The incredulity in the boy's voice stabbed at Jane. "Yes, Kenneth." she said steadily. "I definitely want to hear what you have to say about what is going on here."

Jane watched as emotions flashed across the boy's face as he considered what to do next, and then, finally, Kenneth slowly nodded and began to speak.

~----------~

"This is Judge Ruth, may I help you?"

"Ruth, it's Jane. . .Jane Thompson." Jane said in the loud tones people tend to use when using a speaker phone.

"Jane!" the tinny voice grew several degrees warmer. "How are you, my dear? And to what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me so early this fine rainy day?"

Jane chuckled. "Well, it is bright and sunny here, Ruth. As to why I called, well, I am having a great deal of difficulty correlating the behavior the young man you sent to me with the records you sent me. If he is really as bad as your file says he is, my experiences with him lead me to believe that he is beyond my help and we will need to vacate his sentence to the boys' home."

The phone line went completely silent for several seconds before, "Jane, I haven't had my second cup of morning coffee yet, and I can't handle strange humor in this condition. Just what the hell are you talking about?"

Jane shot a look to Marie and Darryl before fixing her gaze on the now boyishly attired Kenneth. "Why, I am talking about Kenneth Roberts. You know, Sheila's boy - you remember our sorority sister Sheila Martini, now Sheila Roberts?"

Again, silence answered Jane's question. "Jane." the Judge said with an air of great control. "I have not sent you any boy since Darryl. Yes, I remember Sheila, but I have not talked to her since our last college reunion two years ago."

"Damn." Jane said under her breath. "Ruth? I have a problem and I am going to need your help. I have been had, and the person who did this to me and to Kenneth did it using your bone fides. More than that, she provided me with a file of records to document his problems and bad behavior. Some of the most damning of those records are printed on your letterhead."

"WHAT!?!?" hot anger rolled through the phone lines. "You are telling me someone conspired to put this boy under your program and used *my* office to do it?"

"That's what it looks like, Ruth."

"Fax me the pertinent documents, Jane. Use my private fax line, not the office one. I have got two hearings scheduled for this morning, but I will be free this afternoon. I will look into it myself and get back to you."

"Thank you, Ruth."

"I hope you have that young man out of skirts, Jane. As an officer of the court, I hereby inform you that boy. .. what's his first name again, Jane?"

"Kenneth, Ruth. Kenneth Roberts."

"Yes. All right. I hereby inform you that Kenneth Roberts is not under any court directed program originating in this office and that you have no legal authority originating from this office to discipline him. Do you need that in writing, Jane?"

"Understood, Ruth, but I have already taken him out of the program. He's sitting here right now, Ruth, listening in on my speaker phone while exquisitely turned in a ragged Chicago Bears t-shirt, a pair of threadbare bluejeans and as decrepit a pair of running shoes as I have ever seen in my life. The pinnacle of male teenage haute couture as I'm sure you'll agree. And no, I bloody well *don't* need it in writing, your Honor."

A warm chuckle rippled from the speaker box. "All right, Jane. Obviously, you've had time to figure out something wasn't right and stopped what you were doing." *not nearly soon enough* Jane told herself, *I knew something wasn't right before I took him to Caro and Sandy, but didn't believe the evidence of my own eyes and ears.* "Since you've had time to figure out something wasn't kosher, have you come up with any idea of just what the hell is going on here and more importantly *why*??"

Jane sighed. "Yes, I think we do. Let me give you the quick version of it and you can get the long version after you've finished your hearings."

~----------~
Part 8:
 
Jane and Marie sat in side by side lounge chairs watching the two boys frolic in the swimming pool. It seemed so strange she reflected as she sipped Marie's tart lemonade, to see someone in a boy's swimsuit cavorting in her pool, let alone *two* such someones.

"So, Sheila's behind this?" Marie asked softly.

"She has to be. She is the one who first introduced me to the concept of Victorian petticoat discipline all those years ago when we were sorority sisters."

Jane winced as Kenneth pounced on Darryl and both of them disappeared under the surface wrestling. Boys were just so. . so . so . . . boyish. Except for that mop of hair Kenneth was trying to keep out of his face. She reminded herself to get Sandy to come over and undo the long blond mane she'd given him and then dye his remaining hair black again. She'd been right about the blond hair and his dark coloring, though - striking and very attractive.

Sighing at the thought of not having any of her girls in residence, Jane turned back to Marie. "She had all the Victorian erotica classics on the subject . . ."Gynecocracy", "Miss High Heels", "The Petticoat Dominant" and a few others I can't remember anymore." Jane gave a self deprecating smile. "The first boy I ever petticoated was her boyfriend after she'd talked him into going to a costume party as a girl. I think she kept him in skirts on and off for the rest of their time together."

"Is he the one she married? Did she keep him in skirts after the wedding?"

"No. By all accounts, Sheila went a little wild after she graduated. I heard that she even worked as a professional dominatrix in California for a while. Care to guess what her specialty was?"

"Boys into girls?" Marie asked with a hint of resignation in her soft voice.

"Yes indeed. As I understand what happened, she went too far a couple of times and put a resistant client into the hospital with her "encouragements". The last one almost landed her in jail. That's when her father stepped in and basically ordered her to marry his handpicked successor unless she wanted to cut off from his financial support. One of those patriarchal "do it or else" type marriages of convenience. Evidently, she didn't really give up her little hobby - just didn't charge for it and kept her liaisons very discreet."

Jane sipped at her glass before continuing. "Still, she lucked out. He was a very good man, from what I saw and heard of him. Masculine, yet refined - by all accounts a gentleman who was truly a gentle man. Now that I am no longer prejudiced against Kenneth by that damnable file, I see a lot of the father in the son. Both of them have very clear pictures of themselves as men. Very unusual for a young man Kenneth's age."

Marie smiled. "He does seem to be quite a fellow. I find it hard to believe he wasn't overwhelmed by his treatment here. I don't imagine there are very many young men his age, bad boy or not, who would not have been fully under your power by now."

"I know what you mean." Jane said as she relaxed in the sun. It felt so good to let herself go limp for a change - something she hadn't been able to do that since she'd begun to have reservations about her treatment of Kenneth. "He was determined not to surrender to me because that is how he has learned to deal with his mother. Sheila evidently sees every crack in his composure or control as an opportunity to attack. He's learned that incredible self control as a self defense mechanism. If he didn't give in to her, she couldn't hurt him further, I guess."

"Well, it was certainly effective against us. I still can't believe he wouldn't let what we did or threatened to do to matter to him. Maybe what is really amazing is that he went along with us at all."

"As I said, he understands himself very well. He did not want to go to that home, decided I was the lesser of the two evils he had to choose between and did what was necessary to stay. But it was very obvious we weren't getting the responses we wanted and expected from him. He couldn't have understood that part of the program because that is not why he thought his mother sent him here."

"His mother is really the beginning of the Jane Thompson Home for Wayward Boys Who Become Winsome Girls?" Marie asked, using the joking, private name the pair of them had come up with to describe the school.

"Well, she and her boyfriend certainly fired my curiosity about that type of thing, although I will admit that it was more the intense thrill of dominating and feminizing a male that interested me at first. Then, during my senior year I took a course in behavioral psychology given by this ardent feminist. It may be hard to believe in the times we live in now, but back in the mid to late seventies, this professor's course and her views were considered pretty radical. Anyway, one of her course requirements was to do a study/research project on some type of behavioral modification process. In passing, I mentioned Victorian petticoat discipline to the woman. To my utter surprise, she positively loved the concept and told me I should get right on it."

"I always wondered where you had gotten the basis of your program. It was just too clearly designed to attack the boys' psyches to have been something you stumbled on by chance."

"Believe it or not, there are still organizations in England that train governesses to use that type of discipline with their male charges. It is not something they advertise, but it is not much of a secret in various circles, particularly among the women of the old aristocracy. My professor put me in contact with one such organization. I spent my semester break studying with the Head Training Mistress of that Governess Training School."

"They really do that? Like we do here now?"

"Not entirely like you and I do. I brought back what they taught their governess students, which was mostly technique, but their goals for using petticoating were much more limited than what we try to achieve. In their view, petticoating was a particularly intense, very humiliating punishment for rowdy boys - classic negative reinforcement. If you were bad, you went into skirts until you behaved properly, but I saw potential in using those methods in a different way. I spent the whole semester working on that project, combining the techniques and methods I had learned in England with bits and pieces from other psychological theories, primarily Skinner's operant conditioning theory. The resulting paper was actually the first draft of the blueprint for much of what we do here."

Jane stole another glance at the two boys who, evidently having exhausted one another, were sitting by the pool sipping their own lemonade, talking quietly - completely relaxed. Maybe she'd have to make sure her girls got some type of intense exercise in the future if that utter calm was a result. She had always made them study dance, but that wasn't intended so much as exercise, but rather as feminine reinforcement.

A picture began to take shape in Jane's mind. Some high impact aerobics, perhaps, in skin tight exercise leotards, with other real girls their age and led by a particularly demanding instructor. Even better if she could find an instructor she could trust enough to bring into her little conspiracy. The possibilities of what that woman could do to work the girl-boys over mentally, emotionally and physically were very intriguing.

Jane Thompson smiled at the short movie playing before her mind's eye - it was a smile that more than fifty young men would recognize instantly and probably still shudder slightly on seeing it. Jane Thompson concocting yet another way to terrorize her wayward would-be lasses. The poor dears would feel utterly exposed, completely inept and if she chose her instructor well, thoroughly exhausted by the end of that first session.

It offered tremendous potential for sissy humiliation (*you couldn't keep up with the other girls? How tough does that make you, miss? Better learn to be more graceful or the _real_ girls in the class will figure out you are a boy beneath that lovely tutu.*) while they burned off some of that excess adrenalin and aggression. Multiple birds with one stone. What a delightful concept.

Very happy with that little innovation, Jane returned her attention back to Marie and her story. "I actually got to try out my entire program while I was at Eastmore. The old Head Mistress had died early in the fall term and I was appointed to her position. It was then that I found out that several of my "girl" students had really been petticoated boys, sent to Eastmore for a variety of reasons. The reasons are the same ones we most often deal with here and now - for being too aggressive, too violent, too disrespectful of their primary female care- giver. To make a long story very short, I contacted the parents and guardians of the boys involved and found out what their goals were for the boys. I took over their program personally, seeing it as an opportunity to test my own theories."

"Those poor boys." Marie smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Those poor boys, indeed." Jane replied with a soft chuckle. "I wasn't as laid back then as I am now nor did I fully understand just how hard I truly was pushing them. I am afraid their year at Eastmore was emotionally and mentally devastating for them. I kept them on for "summer school" at the end of term, and that's when I put them back together. That's also when I realized that I could not be both the "bad guy" and the "good guy" in the equation. The school nurse stepped in and filled that role, but it was not as successful as what we do right now. She was still an adult and someone who worked for me."

"Just like when we don't have a senior student and I have to step into that role? Those students seem to take longer to figure things out even though I try very hard to help them along."

"Precisely." Jane affirmed. "And besides, I need you to do all the really evil transformation stuff so that I can be the terrible Inquisitor who judges their performance and finds it wanting." Jane's overblown, pompous tones set them both giggling.

Regaining her control, Jane continued. "For a while, I thought about using one or two of the real girls as my little darling's mentors, but discarded that idea. Girls that age don't understand and are often not fully in control of their power as females. There were just too many possible problems and I didn't have as strong a lever to keep the girls in line as I did my sissies. All it would take is choosing the wrong girl for the job, and it would be all over for me and my program."

"So that is the origin of the "big sister" concept?" Marie asked.

Jane nodded. "As it happened, one of my darling young men did not perform well enough to graduate back into his trousers and had to repeat his year in an Eastmore uniform. Since he knew what I was doing, I ordered him into the "good cop" role as a condition of his own ultimate release. Not knowing he was also a be-skirted boy, the same as they were, my poor prissy darlings flocked to him when the awful Mistress Thompson abused them so basely and so sorely."

"It was a great success." Jane continued. "As you just noted, the boys learned the masquerade much faster with his help so they could begin to learn the other lessons that can only commence after they could pass adequately. Most boys finished the program in the allotted one school year and went back to their homes much better for the experience, but there were always those who did not get the message the first time. In my time at Eastmore, I always had at least one big sister in residence."

"If it was working so well, why did you leave?"

"The restrictions placed on me as Head Mistress that had nothing at all to do with school, but that affected the rest of my life very negatively. The school board chairperson was a woman who could have been Edith White's more conservative older sister. She delighted in lecturing me on my responsibility to always be the ultimate paragon of feminine virtue and morality one too many times. I *was* a good role model for the girls, but I wasn't going to live like some saintly, cloistered nun just to suit that sanctimonious old bat. I left the school and started my consulting business. That got boring after a while and I started looking for something else. One of my clients, a woman, was having problems with her son. We got a little drunk together one night and I told her about the skirted boys of Eastmore. Despite the alcoholic haze, she remembered that conversation the next time her son got into trouble."

"And the rest is history."

"I suppose, but things have certainly not been going according to plan of late."

The harsh, electronic tone of the portable phone Jane had set down on her side table ended the conversation. Jane picked it up and greeted her caller.

"Jane? Ruth here. There are no records here that in any way resemble the ones you faxed to me. Not on file anyway. Of course, none of the clerks would admit doing something like that since it is a criminal act to falsify such records and court orders."

"So we don't have anyone we can use to bring Sheila into line?"

"Not right now. We could confront her, but if I recall her well, she's a cool customer. I don't think she'd break unless we really leaned on her hard, and right now, I am not sure we have enough evidence to be able to do even that much."

"I see." Jane said wearily. "Well, where does that leave us?"

"The only paper in that whole damn file that is in any way legitimate is the one she signed giving you custody of her son until such time as you deem him to have satisfactorily completed your program. Regardless for her reason for making that guardianship change, that particular record is a completely legal and binding document."

"So, I could keep him here with me until we can decide what to do about Sheila?"

"Or until his eighteenth birthday, Jane, if that is what it takes. That would put a real crimp in your activities with other students, but it would keep him out of that bitch's hands."

"True. Unlike Darryl, I don't believe Kenneth could or would play the female while I break in a new student."

"Or you can just send him home. I can try putting the fear of God in her."

"No, she is sufficiently well off financially that she would simply move out of your jurisdiction. No, Ruth. I will keep him. It will take some getting used to, having a boy running around the place. Blast!," Jane burst out. "That means I will probably have to redecorate his room, but there is no way I am going to let that bitch have him back. She tried to use me and my program for her own perverse purposes, Judge, potentially endangering my boys' reputations and quality of life at the same time if things had gone badly wrong here. I am not going to let her win or get away with it. Somehow, someway, I am going to fix her."

"So long as it isn't too illegal, dear, I will be right there with you. She soiled my reputation too, remember. I didn't get to be a judge by letting people wipe their feet on me like a doormat. Hey, I have got to run. I will call you if I hear anything or think of anything."

"Same here, Ruth. And thanks."

Jane broke the connection and set down the phone. For several minutes she simply sat there, watching the boys and mulling over what she knew for the thousandth time. Finally, she turned her eyes back to Marie who'd been watching her longtime friend very intently. "Well, Marie-dear." Jane said lightly. "How do you feel about raising a couple of boys for the next few years?"

Marie set down her lemonade and stood. She watched the boys for a few moments and then bent over to kiss Jane on the cheek. "Just fine, cherie. I think we will both like it just fine. Maybe, as you said earlier, we have been in the petticoating business a bit too long. Or maybe for too long without a real break. This will give us a time out of our own."

"*I* don't really think we've been doing it too long, Marie, but I will agree with you on one thing. With those boys over there? We will do just fine."

Marie nodded before standing back up. "I will go start dinner. Tell those two heathens that I don't feed anybody who isn't properly dressed for the evening meal. Just because they are out of skirts doesn't mean they can forsake good manners and behavior."

"I know." Jane laughed. "Or we'll put 'em both back into the Shirley Temple line."

"Right!" Marie asserted with a high five to Jane before heading into the house to start meal preparations.

~----------~

Darryl was laying down in his bed staring up at the frilly canopy, thoroughly pissed off at what Kenneth's Mother had tried to do to her own son. Not an asshole type son who might actually deserve it, but her own very nice, very well behaved, very gentlemanly son. That a mother could do such a thing to her own child infuriated him.

Intuitively, Darryl knew this feeling of rage derived from his own mother trying so hard before she'd died to make things better for her younger son. Moms were supposed to be special! *This* one did not *deserve* to be called Mom. She just happened to be a female someone who got pregnant but who did not bother to get an abortion.

Christ, he fumed before remembering what Jane would do if she heard that epithet slip out in normal conversation. Still, sometimes even the best behaved, most well mannered guy in the world had to curse - it was the only way of expressing the anger and fury he was feeling.

Christ, that bitch is like Stephanie's father. Only worse. Kenneth's mother was doing this because she got her rocks off on seeing males publicly humiliated by wearing women's clothing and maybe getting caught. At least Stephanie's father thought he was doing the right thing by his son, rescuing him from his Mother's and Aunt Jane's program.

Well, at least they'd fixed Stephanie's father's wagon. He'd been so shocked to see that old guy's grandson in full female regalia he'd acquiesced without much of a fight. It had been great.

Too bad they couldn't do the same to Kenneth's mother.

An idea began to flicker in Darryl's mind.

Maybe they could at that.

Quickly, the young man jumped to his feet and headed out to find Aunt Jane. She'd know how to make this work if anyone could. And there was very little doubt in Darryl's mind that Jane would be motivated to find a way to make his idea work.

Although she might prefer to phrase it more delicately, Darryl knew that Jane was thoroughly pissed off, too.

~----------~

As his guardian thought over his idea, Darryl took the rare opportunity to look around Jane's private sitting room. He'd bet that few if any of Jane's young men had ever been admitted to this special place. It was clear to Darryl that this was where Jane went to get away from the prison of her own making, if only for a little while. Even the furniture in this room was markedly different than anywhere else in the Victorian mansion. The furnishings in this haven of Jane's were overstuffed, broken in to the point of being shabby and most of all, comfortable. In Darryl's experience, very little of the furniture in the rest of the house had been selected for comfort and in many cases, the selection criteria seemed to be just the opposite. If it was uncomfortable, overly showy and difficult to sit upon gracefully, Jane had probably used it to decorate the students' quarters and the public rooms.

Lord, he thought amazed, Jane was practically sprawling on that lazyboy recliner, her left leg dangling over one of the arms, her right leg tucked up under her bottom. She wasn't even wearing her trademark blouse and instead sported a faded, hole worn Winnie- the-Pooh t-shirt. And, *omigod* Darryl goggled, *are those really BLUE JEANS she is wearing??? Aunt Jane???*

He knew he'd never seen her in those before. A smile flitted across his face as he made a quick mental list of every little comment Jane would direct at a student who she found in a similar position of inelegant repose.

"What do you think you're smilin' at, mister?" a softly amused voice cut through his ruminations.

She even talks differently in here, Darryl thought amazed. "Umm. . .I was looking at . . .at . " he stumbled for something other than what he was actually looking at, "your chair." he blurted out.

"Uh huh. Sure you were, Darryl, sure you were." Jane's familiar wicked smile coupled with her change to a more dignified position brought bright color to her ward's face. "All I will say, dear, is that for the first time since your arrival here, you are really in my home. Before this, you were merely in my house."

"I think I had already figured that out, Aunt Jane." he said with some pride at the obvious honor she was giving him. "So, what do you think about my idea?"

"It would be very difficult to pull off, dear." Jane said carefully. "First of all, we'd need to have everyone, us, Sheila, Ruth all in the same place at the same time, and it would be best if we could be in Ruth's jurisdiction when we do it."

Her ward nodded his understanding. "But all that means is that we have to go to her. Ruth already lives in the area."

"True, but don't think for a minute that Sheila is going to willingly put herself in the same room with both Ruth and me since she has been using each of us to manipulate the other. I might decide to ask Ruth more about Kenneth's case and that would ruin all of her plans."

"But it could work, couldn't it?"

"It might. We would need some specialized electronics so that we can constantly monitor her interactions with Kenneth, particularly when she is alone with him. Remember, she is still avoiding me. I don't think she wants to talk with me about her son for fear I will figure out her nasty little game."

Jane became silent again, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she worked through the possible scenarios in her mind. "No, we will need something to smoke her out, and there's only one lure that is certain to work. That would also solve the other big problem, too, but. . ."

"Well, let's go do it." Darryl enthused, his anger about what Sheila had done to her son still burning hot and hard.

"We can't make that decision, dear." Jane said reprovingly, "because we are not the person most affected by it. You and I are both outraged, and I promise you, I will make that bitch pay. Someday, some how, she *will* pay both for what she tried to do to Kenneth and for using me to try to do it. But to make her pay now, using your plan, we'd need Kenneth's active participation which he may not want to give. If he refuses, or is even reluctant, we can't press him on this."

"But I don't get it. I've talked to him, Aunt Jane. He is even more pis. ." Darryl's face flamed bright red again as he caught himself, "I mean, upset about what his mother did than I am. Why wouldn't he want to take part in this."

Jane chuckled at his discomfort and said easily, "I've heard and said 'pissed off' before, Darryl, and although I try not to use such a phrase in polite company, I agree that it fits here. I am indeed, pissed off." She shrugged. "As to why Kenneth might balk at my plan? Think about it, dear. I am sure it will come to you."

He did, for several long moments and then he saw the problem. "Oh shi... I mean, darn. You mean . . .?"

"Quite so." Jane chuckled. "Go to bed, Darryl. Let's think about this over a good night's sleep. Maybe we will think of something else that will work. If not, we will put the idea to Kenneth *and* we will abide by his decision."

Darryl didn't much like that. Why couldn't Aunt Jane be . . well, _Jane_ about this and make it happen. Sighing, he rose and gave Jane a kiss on the cheek before leaving for his own room.

Jane sat unmoving for another half hour working the plan over in her mind. "Well," she finally said aloud. "I think it will work if Kenneth will go along with it. Now, I just have to figure out how to market the concept to him. Good thing I have a lot of experience selling things that people don't think they want or need to buy anything.

Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep herself with Darryl's concept nagging at her, Jane went down to the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea. Soon, she was settled in her study, furiously scratching notes onto a yellow legal tablet.

Two hours later, the half full pot of tea now cold, Jane reread what she'd just written for the third time. It could work, she thought. All she needed now was Kenneth's complete and willing cooperation, and Ruth's go ahead.

~----------~

**brrrrrrinnnnnnng! brrrrriinnnng!**

A hand emerged from the covers, and blindly fumbled for the source of the penetrating noise. Finding the alarm clock, the hand bashed the snooze button several times to no effect. The noise continued.

Unable to sleep through the unremitting clatter, Judge Ruth finally roused enough to realize it was her phone and not her clock. Moreover it was her "home line" instead of the business line ringing. *If this is some cop who's somehow gotten my private number and wants a warrant approved, it had damned well be for some heinous capital crime like a mass murder or I may just kill him.*

"This is the Judge," she growled into the phone.

"Ruth? It's Jane."

Her eyes really open now, Ruth glanced down at the brightly lighted numerals on her clock. "Jesus, Jane, do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I do, Ruth," was the tart reply, "It's an hour later here and I have not been to sleep myself yet."

"What's the matter? Is something going on with that boy, Kenneth?"

"Yes and no, Ruth. Look, I think I may have a way to do something about Sheila that won't hurt Kenneth, but I am going to need your help and his to pull it off. Before I take it to him, I need to know if you can and will help. It's not quite illegal, but it definitely falls under the category of unethical."

"I promise nothing." was the very lawyerly reply. "But if it does something to and about that bitch, well, lets just say that I am disposed to help you already."

"Okay, this is what we are going to do. . ."

~----------~

Kenneth, Darryl and Marie sat around the small coffee table looking expectantly at Jane. Each of them had a cup of tea and had helped themselves to pastries and snacks from the low tea Marie had prepared at Jane's direction. Finally, Jane cleared her throat and looked directly at Kenneth.

"Kenneth, Ruth and I have been looking into what action can be taken against your mother in retribution for her crimes against you and me. Clearly, we have a solid case of falsifying documents and making a false sworn statement. Unfortunately, if we do take her to court for that, it means everything comes out in the open. What I do here, but more importantly, what happened to you and all my other young men here. In recent months, I have had to face the possibility of public exposure at least twice. I would regret that, because I honestly believe that I can help certain young men turn their lives around."

"We know we've helped the boys who have been here before you, Kenneth." Marie chimed it. "Jane has the files to prove it."

Jane waved that off. "Be that as it may. As I said, I would regret the end of my program, but I have had to prepare myself for that eventuality and I am quite certain that I would be able to get on with new things in my life once the furor died down. The real reason we cannot take her to court is you."

"Me? How so, Aunt Jane?"

The familial name on Kenneth's lips warmed her. He'd begun using that name instead of his extremely formal "Ms. Thompson" once he had been absolutely sure she was on the level - before he'd even gotten his boy-clothes back. Jane's willingness to finally listen to him, and more importantly, to believe him enough to unlock the bedroom door that morning had gone a long way towards bridging any gap that remained between the pair. Trust and affection had quickly followed.

"Because you will become a media _thing_. A thing of pity for some, a thing of revulsion for others, but in all cases a thing and not a person. You won't have a life. Every time you turn around, someone will expect to see you swish, or they'll check you for panties when you go to the gym. I, Ruth. . ._none of us_ want that for you."

"So she just gets away with it? This isn't the first time she's done something like this. Before I learned I could stand up to her, it was girl costumes for every Halloween, or girl parts in plays at the local theater. She once even found this summer camp for boys who want to play at being girls and tried to send me there. Fortunately, the ladies who ran that camp insisted that the boys had to want to be there. As soon as any boy decided he'd had enough of skirts and dolls, he was allowed to go home." Kenneth's face flashed a dark smile at the memory. "I was home thirty minutes after my mother dropped me off for the first day."

"Yes, Kenneth, she gets away with it unless we can do something outside the law. Ruth and I have come up with a plan, but we are going to need your help to pull it off."

Kenneth studied the look on his temporary guardian's face. She was hesitating, he realized, and Jane Thompson never hesitated about *anything*. What on earth, he asked himself, could involve him in such a manner as to make this forthright, self confident woman hesitate?

Then he knew. "You want me to face her as Kendra." he said flatly. "Okay, explain the plan to me, Aunt Jane, and be sure not to leave out the part about why it can't be done as Kenneth."

~----------~
Part 9:
 
An incredibly intense two weeks later, Jane maneuvered her rental car through the tree-lined streets of Kenneth's home town of record. She periodically checked the rear-view mirror to make sure that the van with Darryl and Ruth was still close at hand.

The days leading up to this little drive had been very demanding. Darla, Marie and Jane had spent hours every day drilling Kenneth on the finer points of being Kendra. Every evening either Sandy or Caro or both had come over for two hours of make up and hair care lessons. Even Brenda Franson had gotten involved in the act, spending both Sunday afternoons refining the girl's gestures and movements, and fitting her with specially selected outfits designed to enhance Kendra's boyish figure.

The results were spectacular, Jane smiled, stealing a glance at her ward. She was rigged out in a version of the "senior student meets the train" outfit - a light grey-green dress, complete with three petticoats for fullness, hosiery, two inch pumps, a hat and matching gloves. Marie had thought the second and third petticoat were overkill, but Jane had overruled her on that score. Sheila would be ecstatic at the excessively prim and prissy look of her feminized son.

Jane's former student had kept Sheila's house under surveillance so that they would know when she'd returned. They also knew where she'd been - at the old house in the city where she and Kenneth had lived while her husband had still been alive. During her time there, a young man had been observed entering the house, but not leaving it. Instead, the watcher had reported the departure of a very bedraggled-looking and upset female in a very short skirt and incredibly high heels who limped away from the house just before Sheila herself left for the airport to return here. The house appeared to be empty following the departure of the primary subject.

Ruth and Jane were convinced that the precipitous move to this town was part of Sheila's overall plan. It made the threat posed by Ruth seem all the more real. That she hadn't sold her old house probably meant she would return there to her old life once her aims for Kenneth had been achieved. A life that evidently still involved forced feminization of young men and then driving them out into the public to face humiliation or worse.

*That unspeakable . . . unspeakable. . .* For all her classical training, Jane Thompson, Schoolmistress, could not come up with a sufficiently vile epithet to describe what she thought of that female.

"Easy does it, Aunt Jane." Kendra's soft voice chided as she touched a gloved finger to Jane's white knuckled hand gripping the steering wheel. "It will be fine." she smiled under the incredibly long lashes Sandy had spent an hour applying, one lash at a time, the last night before the trio had left home. They'd been in town now for three days, staying with Judge Ruth, waiting and getting ready for the final act in this horror drama.

On the bright side, Ruth and Kenneth/Kendra had hit it off famously. At first, Ruth had been concerned that the boy would blame her for all that she'd also been an unwitting pawn in his mother's plan. Kenneth was too smart for that, and besides, he'd seen just how badly that particular "pawn" wanted Sheila's blood. Well, this pawn was about to become a queen and wreak havoc on Sheila's little war game of strategy.

A soft smile crossed Jane's tense features as the memories of those first few hours at Ruth's home. Poor Ruth had never had children of her own and was quite at a loss as to what to say to the teen, so she'd started talking about her career both as a lawyer and as a judge. To Jane's utter bemusement, her ward had been fascinated. Soon, the pair of them had become all but inseparable as the young man constantly pumped the older woman for every bit of information about her career.

"This is the street, Aunt Jane. Third house down on the left."

Jane parked the car at the curb and turned to face the beautifully made up young man. "We don't have to do this, you know. You are welcome to stay with me as Kenneth. No one will think the less of you for not going in there like this."

Kendra smiled grimly. "I would, Aunt Jane. I know this is going to be difficult, but not because of all this." she said running her gloved hand down her dress. "This is just a game, that's all. Playing it doesn't really change anything essential in me and it definitely doesn't threaten me. With her," and she inclined her head toward the house occupied by his mother, "It would not have been a game. She truly wanted to change me - mentally, physically and permanently. What makes this so tough is that she's my mother, and I can't find it in myself to love her. In fact, I really believe that I hate her." Kendra's voice hitched and Jane fished for a tissue.

"Calm down. We don't have time to fix your makeup. If you need a good cry, do it after we leave, okay? Damned overemotional males." Jane muttered, just loud enough so she knew she'd be heard.

It worked. A chuckle bubbled up from Kendra, who then nodded. "Thanks. I am under control now."

"Is it show time, young lady?" Jane asked one last time.

"Lets do it, Aunt Jane."

~----------~

Sheila Roberts was already thinking about taking another sanity- trip back to the city. There just wasn't anything worth doing in this backwards burg. Certainly none of her more . . .esoteric pleasures were to be had around here.

She thought about Horace, the male slave she was currently training back home to be the slut maid she had named Whorish.

And about what she wanted to do to him the next time he attended her in her private little dungeon.

Sheila had just read about this person who performed voluntary surgeries neutering male humans. Sheila shuddered in barely suppressed sexual arousal at the thought of watching the scalpel slide oh-so-very-delicately into that ugly sack of skin. Yes, Whorish was going to "volunteer" for that little operation when she got back home just so Sheila could watch and see it done. Maybe she could even get the man to do it to her slave without using any anaesthetic. After all, didn't she have the goods on him? What was a couple of useless balls of male flesh compared to going to prison and losing everything?

Sheila was getting god awful tired of this place. She'd only moved here because good old Ruth presided over the local court that seemed to be a regular first stop for so many of Jane Thompson's bad little boys. Bad little boys who, by everything she had been able to learn, found themselves sent to Jane to be changed into girls. Another ripple of arousal lanced into Sheila. Just how far did Jane go in turning bad boys into good little girls? Maybe Jane would like to know the address of that man who provided the neutering service. Better yet, she'd just keep that bit of information as a surprise for her old sorority sister. It would be Sheila's little contribution to the program when she ultimately took her rightful place as Jane's partner.

Sharing a drink with Barbara Nash at that reunion two years ago had been the best piece of luck she'd ever had. That was when she'd found out about what Jane was doing with herself these days. Some discreet inquiries by a very expensive investigation service had turned up the connection to Ruth. From there, it had been child's play to buy a house here in this town, find and bribe that clerk who liked the ponies too much for his paycheck and build that apparently damning file on her "crime-hardened" son.

*How would that clerk look in skirts and petticoats?* Sheila wondered. She certainly had enough on him to win his "willing" compliance to a little playtime. She'd even worry about all that safe and sane crap when she played with him. At least at first, anyway.

*Losing your focus, Sheila* she chided herself. As to her son, well, the only thing hardened about that boy was his resolve not to let her turn him into the girl she really wanted him to be. Just like his father in that regard. Oh, they'd both played along with her at times - Halloween, costume parties, special evenings from her husband, but neither of those damned males had ever taken her and the transformation seriously. She'd tried very hard with Kenneth after his father died, but he was just too certain of himself for her to make any headway in her goal.

Until she'd learned of Jane and her little alternative to jail for the bad boys. Who'd have thought Jane would be the one to create something like that. Oh, she'd helped Sheila that time at school, when they'd first dressed old what-his-name up as a streetwalker for the sorority costume party, but for her to come up with something like that operation?

Amazing. Well, Jane had selfishly kept the fun all to herself long enough. Kenneth was by way of a test to see just how good dear little Jane was at her craft. If she was good enough, then she'd be getting a new partner in Sheila or else. Sheila shuddered in almost orgasmic delight at the thought of the file the investigator put together, along with the names of the boys who'd been in her keeping, appearing on the desks of eight major gossip columnists, and into the hands of five tabloids and three talk show hosts in forty eight hours.

And if Jane didn't succeed with Kenneth, then she'd have to pay for her failure. She wondered how Jane would look on Hard Copy, or how her boys would feel about being hounded by the Springer Show?

Sheila cursed as the annoying buzz of her doorbell intruded on her lovely dream of skirted little boys scurrying around in fear, doing her bidding.

She could not believe her eyes when she opened the door. "Jane? Jane Thompson?" *What the hell was she doing here? And who was the young blond in the 1940's church dress? I didn't know anyone even made hats like that thing anymore.*

"Hello, Sheila. May we come in?" Jane asked. Sheila couldn't think of any reason why not and stood aside to let the two women enter.

She guided them into her ornate living room and bid them to make themselves comfortable. "Would you like some tea? Some coffee?"

"Some tea would be wonderful." Jane answered sweetly. "Why don't we have this little darling prepare it for us while we talk? She won't have any difficulty finding the makings?"

"N.. no. . I keep everything except the milk on the counter beside the stove." Sheila answered, still wondering what the hell was going on. She had to be careful. She couldn't afford to anger Jane. She might decide to drop Kenneth from her program and that would mean she'd have to call Ruth. Sheila had to prevent that from happening for as long as she possibly could.

"Dear?" Jane turned to her protege. "Please prepare a light tea for three? I would also like you to serve."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson." The girl actually curtseyed, Sheila thought in wonder, before moving gracefully into the kitchen. For just a moment, she wondered if Jane's companion was one of her boys, but immediately discarded the thought. Too feminine entirely. Sheila herself had never managed to get a male to pass that well, so surely little Jane Thompson couldn't. *Too bad those heels aren't higher. The girl has great legs and a cute butt.*

"What brings you out here, Jane? Aren't you a long way from your school?"

"Not so you'd notice, Sheila. As you know, my program involves forcing my pupils to face and come to grips with their gentler sides by making them live that way until they do."

The smile that lit Sheila's face was one part hunger, one part triumph and one part something else much darker and evil. "Yes, I know. You were our last hope, you know."

"I could tell." Jane replied equably. "As to our purpose here, Some," and Jane put steel into her voice, "of our students resist and require much stronger measures to break their silly macho self image. Sometimes, we have to make them face their worst nightmares before they see the wisdom of compliance and submission. For some young men, that is being made to appear in public as a male, but seriously feminized - a true sissy. Others have to face the constant threat of exposure by putting them in tenuous circumstances where their slightest miscue would give them away, knowing that I will abandon them to their fate if they fail to carry off the masquerade."

Jane was lying, but Sheila wouldn't know that her boys were *never* truly in danger of being truly exposed. This was, as Jane well knew, the other woman's greatest fantasy since she'd first read of Victorian petticoat discipline almost twenty years ago. "I see." she breathed, her breathing becoming noticeably shallow and quick.

"Yes, and some very rare, hard core, testosterone challenged male animals require even harsher treatment."

"How are you coming with Kenneth, Jane? Is he giving you a hard time?"

The smile Jane gave the other woman was just a bit triumphant. "Oh, he's become quite the she, darling, a true sweetheart. He was very difficult the first few days, but we've got that turned around." Jane's voice became low and confidential. "You should have seen the look on his face when he realized that first shampoo was heavily laced with a bleaching agent. For some reason, being made into a blond just destroys the little dears. Must be some silly male stereotype."

Sheila closed her eyes against the rush that image induced in her. "You know, Jane, I am quite jealous of what you are doing. In many ways, it has long been the type of work I wanted to do with my life."

*I am sure of that, you amoral strumpet.* Jane growled deep in her mind. "Well, I have been very lucky, Sheila. I mean, my work is deeply . . ." Jane let her lips curl into an intentionally sensual smile, "satisfying." she purred throatily.

The other woman literally squirmed in her seat, and Jane could see a fine sheen of perspiration forming on her upper lip and forehead. "Oh, I can believe that." Sheila breathed.

"Yes, verrrry satisfying. Of course, a great deal of that satisfaction comes from overcoming each challenge posed by one of my girlie-boys, from finally crushing their pathetically overblown adolescent male egos so that I can then rebuild them according to my own _personal_ requirements and standards." Jane moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and winked salaciously at Sheila.

A sharp, visible shudder shook Sheila's body, her eyes and mouth closed tight. *My God*, Jane thought in disbelief, *Did she just have an orgasm?*

"I would just _love_ to dedicate my life to that kind of plea. . uummm. . . work. Have you ever thought of taking a partner?"

Jane was saved from having to answer by the timely return of Kendra carrying the tea service on a silver tray. Deftly, she set the tray down on the small coffee table and sat down. "Shall I pour, Ms. Thompson?" She asked in her soft, deceptive voice.

"Please do, dear." Jane said as she turned back to Sheila. "Do you still take yours with sugar and a squeeze of lemon?"

"Yes, I do." was the curt reply. *Not happy at having your little opening ignored, are you, Sheila? Tough!*

"Your tea, Ms. Roberts." Kendra offered the saucer and cup, filled with the steaming brew.

"Thank you, . . .Jane?" Sheila's voice had a hard edge to it.

"Yes, Sheila?" Jane smiled as she accepted her own cup of tea.

"I cannot properly thank your young lady since you have not introduced us." Sheila's tones were chidingly reproving.

Her eyes all wide with feigned surprise, Jane set her cup down. "Oh, _do_ forgive me, please, Sheila. I just never thought you would need introductions."

"And why not?!?" was the sharp return. "She is a guest in my house and I have never met her before in my life. Of course I need an introduction."

"Well, if you insist." Jane said before turning to Kendra and ordered sternly. "Kendra, make your curtsey to your Mother."

Kendra stood and made the classic movement with her petticoated skirt - very well, too, Jane noted with pride - then remained standing, head slightly bowed, hands clasped in front of her, her legs straight and together. Jane almost laughed at how well Kenneth was presenting Kendra to his Mother. The picture of classically demure, slightly embarrassed girlhood.

"That's really you, Kendra?" Sheila whispered, a fierce, not altogether clean light burning her translucent eyes.

"Yes, Mother." the girl-boy answered in a soft, sweet voice.

"Didn't I tell you, Sheila, that some of my boys require particularly harsh rites of passage when they refuse to submit to the inevitability of the feminization? In this case, Kendra finds herself forced to function as a female in the outside world, instead of the relative safety of my home, knowing that the least misstep will have disastrous consequences." Jane's voice dropped back into the "two-girls-sharing-a-confidence tones. "But the harshest lesson of all is having to present herself to her own Mother. Quite devastating to the dear girl. Isn't it, Kendra??

The girl's eyes dropped even lower as she avoided looking at either of the two older women. "It is really awful," she responded, letting just a hint of a sob crack her voice, "You didn't have to do this. I was learning." she accused.

Jane had been paying more attention to her old sorority sister than she had to Kendra when she made that little revelation. Sheila was unable to conceal her delight at her son's transformation and complete humiliation. It was time to dangle the bait a little closer.

"Not nearly quickly enough," Jane retorted with all the hauteur of a Regency Dame, "At least you weren't before you found yourself out and about in your lovely skirts. I will admit that things began improving as soon as you knew that we would not return to my house until you made _significant_ progress towards your inevitable girlhood. In fact, Kendra-darling, let's demonstrate for your mother just how well you have or have not learned your lessons."

For the next fifteen minutes, Jane put Kendra through a carefully choreographed display of feminine movements, gestures and behaviors. She made her sit, stand, glide about the room, simulate entering and leaving a car in a short, very tight skirt, powder her nose and refresh her lipstick and a myriad of other, more subtle examples of the "total girl".

"Excellent. My, Kendra, but aren't you quite the sweet, polite little girl, now?" Sheila cooed and was delighted at seeing a red flush color her feminized son's face.

Jane saw Kendra color rise, too, but she knew that it was rage coloring her ward's face and not humiliation as Sheila was assuming. *Don't blow it darling. Time for phase two.* Jane thought.

"I have been trying, Ma'am." Kendra offered submissively. Jane wondered if the poor dear was choking on her obsequious persona.

"And very well, too. I must say, Jane, that this is definitely an improvement over the rowdy young brute I sent to you. And what else have you planned to help my poor boy over his unacceptably male natures?"

"Oh, I have some plans for _her_," Jane said, emphasizing the feminine pronoun and bringing a broad smile to Sheila's face, "Some she knows about, some she doesn't. For example, she will be appearing at a cotillion that will be held near my home dressed as one of the old time debutantes. Of course, she will be expected to dance with anyone who asks her."

"Oh, how delightful. Dancing with boys? In a lovely white formal?"

"Just so." Jane said equably. "Dancing the waltz, tightly pressed against a strong male body is an excellent way to suppress those male natures you're so concerned about, Sheila. And more importantly, our little Kendra knows that failure to be perfectly sweet and biddable means more such experiences in her life until she does."

"More boys? Maybe having to go steady with one?" Sheila asked, her eyes alight with pleasure.

"Dates are likely. Going steady is only a last resort if she truly displeases me." Jane turned a hard glare at her protege. "Young boys do expect certain . . .. favors from their steadies these days, don't they, Kendra? Isn't that why that poor girl was dragged into the boys' lavatory at school?"

The ruddy flush of fury on Kendra's face deepened, and for just one second, Jane was afraid she might have gone just one step too far with that last remark. *Please, don't lose that control of yours, now - not when we're so very close.* she begged silently.

"As you say, Aunt Jane." Kendra finally got out, her voice harsh with the effort to control his fury.
 
 
Part 10:
 
*Time for phase three,* Jane decided, *but do I dare leave him alone with her as furious as just being in the same room with this woman has made him?* She contemplated that for a few moments, pretending to glare at the still red-faced girl standing between Sheila and herself. *There's no other choice. Only Kendra can take the woman to the next step. We need her too excited to remain cautious.*

"Sheila, we will have to be going if we are to catch our plane and be home in time to pretty up little Kendra for her night out with the boys. May I use your powder room? It is a long drive to the airport."

"Of course. It's just down the hall over there."

Jane rose and then looked down at Kendra. "Be a good girl for your Mother, Kendra. I will be right back."

Moving quickly to the small bathroom, Jane closed the door and pulled the earphone to her miniature receiver to her ear. Fortunately, the tiny transmitter hidden on Kendra's person was working perfectly.

"So, I have won at last, Kenneth." Jane heard Sheila's self satisfied tones in her ear, remembering at the last minute to check the other device hidden in her suit jacket. Her receiver was also attached to a small tape recorder in case the equipment in the van failed.

"I guess you have, Mother." was the patently male response.

"I told you I would, miss, and don't use that crude male voice around me ever again."

"You wouldn't have won without that pack of lies and false records you put into that cursed file, or with that Judge of yours lying for you." Kendra accused.

"No one else needs to know that those records are all forgeries. As a Juvenile, your records are sealed. No one will know they weren't true for your stay at Jane's, and then they will be returned to me and destroyed without a trace. Only Jane, Judge Ruth and I will ever know they were fakes."

"So that means that Jane was in on your little conspiracy, too?"

"Of course she was." Sheila said heartily as Jane's fury flared at yet one more malicious lie, "You are really becoming quite the stereotypical dumb blond, Kendra. I gave her those files in case you did something stupid like try to escape. Jane would have been able to use those records to get the cops to bring you back. Only the order sending you to Jane's lovely little delinquents' home was real. And I *thought* I told you to stop speaking to me in that disgusting masculine voice. You are NOT a man or even a boy now, nor will you ever be again!"

"Yes, Ma'am." was the more softly inflected response.

"You have forced me to tell Jane how you just misbehaved," Sheila said in exaggeratedly disappointed tones. "But, I am sure she will find a suitable punishment for your insolence. Perhaps she will make you ride home with one of the boys after the cotillion."

"She wouldn't do that!" Was the horrified reply.

"Oh, but I am sure she would." Jane could hear the smirk in Sheila's voice. "In fact, I am going to insist that she do just that. Hopefully, she knows a real Don Juan-type for you. Oh *HO*, but you don't like that idea, do you, Miss??!?"

"He'll find out." was the soft, tear-choked reply. "He'll find out that I am not really a girl. . . .at least down there."

The laugh that came through the earphone made Jane's blood freeze. "Why, that won't be a problem for long, darling, because as soon as you are finished with Jane's little charm school, we will say good bye to good old Kenneth for good. I will have you back in skirts within an hour of Jane releasing you. Then, as punishment for resisting me for so long, I am taking you to a doctor I know of down in Mexico. You will be a girl *every* where within the year and you will never have to worry about being found out as a boy 'down there', again."

"That can't be legal. I am still a minor. They can only do that to boys who get badly hurt . . . down there." Jane could hear the hard swallow.

"So what? There is nothing that cannot be accomplished if you have enough money. Until then, however, I suspect you will have to learn what most girls do when faced with an amorous male trying to get into their panties. Better learn to like using your mouth on a man, little girl, otherwise, they might be tempted to seek . . .other pleasures."

There was a pause in the exchange until Jane heard Sheila speak again. "It will be a suitable posthumous revenge against your father, don't you think, for having resisted my intention to feminize him all those years. Having his family line die out, - because his son is no longer able to father children. Do you know what the best part of all this is, Kendra-darling?"

"No, tell me, please."

"Why, I am going to be doing this all the time from now on. Jane will have no choice but to take me into her little group. Only, I will want to make those nasty little boys into delicious little girls - permanently. Just like I will you."

"You are a sick woman, Mother."

"Sick? Don't be silly, Kendra, I am not sick. I am just a woman who knows what she wants and who knows precisely how to get it. You, however, are a very naughty little girl. I think you had better find something to practice sucking on between now and that cotillion, darling. I can practically guarantee you will need to know how."

Jane had heard enough. She walked back into the sitting room to see Sheila looming over a cowering Kendra. Jane wondered if that emotion was entirely an act on Kendra's part. Jane suspected that there was a good deal of real fear and revulsion coursing through her student. True evil does that to good people.

Sheila heard her coming and spun around to face Jane. "You have avoided me long enough, Jane. What you've done with this _girl_ is truly remarkable. I want to join you in your work . . .maybe eventually open a second house under my supervision, say in Chicago or perhaps California."

*The woman is has absolutely no conscience. She has just spent five minutes threatening and terrorizing her own child and she is almost giddy about it.* Jane thought disgustedly. *How could I ever have thought of that miserable piece of human excrement as a friend?*

"You really think so? Well, I will have to give that a good deal of thought before I make such a major change of direction."

Something dark and perhaps evil, flashed in the other woman's eyes. "I really must insist, Jane dear." Her voice all cool, confident persuasion. "I just know I could add so much to their eventual development into fine young women. So much better than being disgusting men."

Jane gave every indication of considering the proposal, but was in fact watching the tense anticipation grow steadily on Sheila's face. "Well, Sheila, I confess I never thought to take on a partner. Besides, my methods and purposes are probably different from yours, and I am not certain we would be compatible either way. But for the sake of argument, whatever do you have in mind for my "girls" - what are you so certain you could _add_ that I would want in my program?"

Sheila might have been giving a sales pitch to the board of directors at a major corporation. "Why, I have _vision_, Jane. I can see what we could make of this thing of yours, with just a little drive on our part. We could practically franchise your process, have houses like yours all over the country, turning disgusting males into perfectly lovely young women. . .or almost women."

"Do you really think there is all that big a market for such services, Sheila? After all, we are not talking about a mainstream program here. I cannot imagine that most American fathers would see the value of putting their son in skirts."

"Oh, I am sure that we will be very busy. If not, we can go out and get students if that is required. So many boys living on the street today. Who'd miss one or two along the way? We'll consider them research and development, or product demonstrations."

"We're just going to go out and pluck young men off the streets and spirit them away to our little Victorian houses of transformation?" Jane was absolutely enthralled by this woman. How could she just *say* such things and seem so matter of fact; how could she sound so eminently reasonable about this abominable concept? "And you think that street hardened young toughs will simply fall in line the way my boys have in the past? My students have always had some type of motivation to comply with my demands - be that jail or expulsion from school or forced enrollment in some type of military school. We wouldn't have that to hold over such young men."

"Oh pooh." Sheila said airily. "Of course we will have something on them. They'll need food, won't they? They'll hate pain, won't they? They comply or they don't eat. They submit, or they will be hurt. I have become quite skilled with the single tailed whip in recent years, Jane." A thoroughly frightening smile darkened Sheila's features as she chuckled softly. "My, I almost hope that they *don't* comply and submit - at least not at the beginning."

Jane struggled not to let her revulsion show in her face or her voice. "I see. Sheila, I have always promised that my young men would not be permanently harmed or marked while in my keeping."

"Have to change with the times, Jane dear. Trust me, hearing the little darlings scream will make your juices flow. A wonderful rush. Not only that, but I was just reading about this man who fixes things for people like your young ladies, very effectively, too. I think a merger between him and us would be highly beneficial to both parties. And especially beneficial to all the young hooligans we can get our hands on as we remove the root cause of their problems once and for all, at their masculine root. Maybe I will start collecting their testicles as mementos of their time with us." The last came out on a dreamy sigh of anticipatory pleasure.

*I don't believe this!!* Jane's mind screamed. *She _has_ to be talking about that bastard who was brought up on charges for performing male castrations without a medical degree or medical supervision. I just read about him this morning over breakfast. And she really _is_ drooling! God, I don't believe anyone could be that mad or that evil.*

"But Sheila, there will be older students. One reason they assist me with the newer students because it is in their best interests, although late in the program they begin to see the benefits. I don't think any of them would willingly support us if they knew about *that* idea."

"Don't be naive, Jane, of *course* they will still help us because we will leave them no other choice. Otherwise they will be made to regret their obstinance very, very much."

"Naturally," Sheila continued, completely oblivious to the horror on the faces of her two guests, "we'd have to put a stop to taking referrals from Ruth. The legal system isn't ready to accept the rightness of taking that step." Sheila concluded with every sign of rationality that made her all the more frightening to Jane. "But just like the parents we will have to convince using our little R&D projects, once we have evidence of our successes, perhaps even the politicians will see the value of such changes."

*She isn't mad.* Jane realized, *I almost wish she was out of her mind because that would be easier to accept than this cold blooded, carefully thought out plan to physically emasculate the young men who are sent to me.*

Holding on to her fury by the barest of margins, Jane tried to answer the other woman. "Well, I will give it every due consideration, but I am disinclined to do anything like that, Sheila. After all, how would I ensure that all my girl-boys get the treatment they truly deserve if someone other than me is overseeing their rehabilitation. Not only that, but the wider the circle of people who know about what I do, the more likely public exposure or a failure becomes."

Sheila's eyes became cold. "Oh, but you really need me as a partner, Ms. Jane Thompson, Victorian Schoolmistress." She said with a strangely frightening calm, almost reasonable voice. "You need me to keep the files I currently have on you and your former students out of the national press.

"Do I *really*, Sheila." Jane's control finally slipped and the full measure of her fury bubbled through, "Do I really?"

Jane moved to the house door and opened it wide. "Jane, come back here, damn you! I am not through with you yet. You do not want to make me angry with you, not while I can put you out of busi . . . . ?" Sheila stopped as she noticed what Jane was doing. "What are . . ?"

Sheila's question was lost as she saw who was entering through the open door. "Ruth??!?"

"Hello, Sheila. Fancy meeting you here. Hello again, Jane, Kendra."

"Hi, Aunt Ruth." Kendra responded, a smile on her lovely face for the first time since she walked into her Mother's house. "Did we get it all?"

"Every self incriminating word, darling. The wire worked perfectly." Ruth affirmed. "Darryl is in the van right now making duplicates. Good job."

"What is the meaning of this?" Sheila hissed. "What are you doing here?!?"

"Putting a stop to your abuse of this young man who, in the eyes of the law, is still a child." Ruth said in a low, dangerous tone, "And to end your lying manipulation of Jane and me for your own perverse purposes."

"You cannot prove anything." Sheila blustered.

"Oh, but we can. First of all, I have in my possession that file you gave to Jane along with all of your correspondence with her. You know the file, Sheila. It's the one that could get you charged with about fifteen counts of forgery and twice that many counts of falsifying legal records since you admitted to forgery when you gloated at Ken here, confessing that you made them up. Oh, and before you start claiming your word against ours that the tape is real? Jane is a witness since she watched you from the powder room."

The other woman seemed to shrink momentarily before something brought her back. "You can't charge me." she retorted confidently, "Charging me would bring Jane's little enterprise out into the public light. It would destroy her silly little charm school. Besides, I will guarantee that result by releasing my records on her mini-reform school to the press and the tabloids. You can't threaten me. You don't *dare* charge me let alone bring me to trial."

Kendra stood and stared at the woman who was his/her mother. Jane, doing her level best to keep her own fury under control, saw the deadly rage and intent flashover in those grey eyes. "Kendra, no! Don't do that." Jane barked as she reached over to grab her student's arm and pull him back, out of reach of his mother.

The moment's respite helped, letting Kendra regain her composure. Nodding his thanks for the timely respite, Kendra turned back to his mother. "Trust me, mother, if you don't do exactly what Judge Ruth tells you to do, I will go to the police right now, dressed as I am, and press charges against you. Are you so stupid as to think I would let you get away with what you just proposed to do to me and countless other guys? In your dreams, you sick fool."

"No, it would be your word against mine. None of them would dare corroborate your claims. Jane has too much to lose."

Jane stepped up and stood beside Kendra. "Perhaps I do have a great deal to lose, Sheila, but I will be right there beside Ken every step of the way. At the police station, at the arraignment and at court on the witness stand. In fact, Ruth already has my signed, sealed deposition detailing my entire operation and in particular, my dealings with you to use against you should you ever pull any more of your nasty little tricks with your son or with me."

"You can't do this to me. We could have had so much together, Jane, playing with those boys together."

"You really don't understand, do you? You are blinded by your own evil desires and fantasies. What I do to my students, Sheila, I do in order to help my boys grow into fine young *men*. My goal is *always* for them to leave my keeping improved, enhanced, and *never*, in *any* way, diminished by their time with me. Do you think I would continue my school if there was the slightest, most minute chance that a vicious, amoral monster like you might become involved in my work?"

Sheila was becoming agitated now, tears wear forming in her eyes. "Its not fair!" she shouted. "I just wanted to be in on the fun, too. After all, I showed you all about this game first. You should have to share with me in return."

For a few moments, Jane could only stare at the other woman. "Fun?," she whispered hoarsely, "Did you really say 'fun'??" she said, her volume growing with each syllable until her final words were a screech of raw fury.

Before anyone in the room could react, Jane was in an all- consuming rage the like of which she would have sworn was beyond her. She was on the smaller woman in an instant, her hands closing around her antagonist's throat before letting go and bucking Sheila's knees with a vicious backhand slap to the face. Not satisfied with that, Jane pulled her foe to her feet by the hair and slapped her again, this time with a forehand blow that sent Sheila reeling backwards to the floor.

Jane strode over to drag the defeated woman to her feet so she could knock her down again, but was intercepted by Kendra and Ruth, each taking one of her arms and pulling her back.

"Enough, champ." Kendra teased.

"Enough? ENOUGH? Hell no, it's not enough." Jane yelled, still struggling to get free so she could destroy the other woman's evil once and for all, her feet kicking out, trying to reach the face her restrained arms could not. "I haven't even *begun* to share the *fun* with that piece of garbage."

"Calm down, Jane. We've won." Ruth said soothingly even as she pulled with all her strength to pull her friend away from her intended victim. "She can't hurt you or Kenneth anymore without going to jail for a long, long time."

That finally broke through the red hot fury fogging Jane's mind. She relaxed and felt the grips on her arms relax also. Relax, but not release. Just as well, she thought.

"So you want to *play*, do you, Sheila. You STUPID bitch. . .do you want to know what I really do with my young men? Of course you don't. You *want* to think that I *play* with them. Well, let me tell you that *play* doesn't begin to describe what I do to those boys. I have to *break* them, damn your unfeeling, black soul, really shatter them psychologically before I can begin to help them. When you start out with a warped piece of wood, sometimes you have to break it before you can begin to straighten it out again. But you, you damned fool, you sent me your son, who is not warped at all, but rather is as strong, straight and true as a young oak tree."

Jane's voice broke and she felt a comforting squeeze on one of her arms. *Kenneth*, she realized through the haze of her rage, *trying to support me.* "Do you know what happens when you break things, Sheila? They *never* go back together perfectly. That's okay when you start out with something that isn't straight and true to begin with, if in that breaking, you have a chance to make it better, but that wasn't how it was with your son. You tried to make me break a fine, gentle human being for nothing other than your fantasies and pleasures. Only his incredible strength and good nature let him survive what I tried to do to him and come out of it still whole and not warped. And you DARED to USE *ME* to perpetuate that evil."

The grips on her arms immediately tightened, but Jane only shook her head. "I am done, Ruth. Beating her bloody, though satisfying, won't accomplish much and I can't find it in me to kill even a worthless slug like her. I just wish someone would hurt her as badly as she wanted to hurt my boys, but I won't be the one to do it. Someone should do it to her, though, someone really should, but it won't be me." She nodded her head sharply. "No, it won't be me."

The hands holding Jane finally slipped away. "The Hell it won't!" Jane bellowed as she moved too quickly to be stopped and drove a hard right hand directly under Sheila's sternum. The blow had every bit of power Jane could muster behind it and literally drove the other woman careening into the wall where she ignominiously crumpled to the floor, wretching and fighting desperately to get air into her lungs.

Her self defense teacher would be appalled, Jane mused. No skill, no finesse, no art, but, goodness, it had certainly felt good doing it.

Jane smiled down at the wide-eyed, thoroughly frightened woman with a great deal of satisfaction, even if her knuckles felt like she'd just punched out a brick wall. It was worth it! "Pronounce sentence, Ruth." the calm, controlled Jane had returned from the momentary madness of her fury. "Tell her what happens if she violates her parole, and then lets get out of here."

"Very well. Sheila Roberts. This is what you have to do to avoid being charged with child abuse and multiple counts of forgery and falsification of government records. . ."

~----------~
Part 11:
 
Several days later, Jane and her two wards were sitting on Jane's patio, sipping iced tea.

"She'll hate living in that town permanently, you know." Kenneth mused. He still had the long, blond hair, but he had changed in male slacks and a pullover as soon as they'd returned to Ruth's house, and had been out of skirts ever since. "She told me we'd move back once I'd been "reformed"."

"All the better." Jane said with grim satisfaction. "And having her report to that women's shelter for three hours a day and for ten hours every weekend ought to keep her out of too much mischief."

"I knew she was bad, especially when she sent me here with that pack of lies, but I never understood just how truly evil she had become until I had to sit there listening to her plans for me and the other boys who fell into her power." Kenneth mused. "Do you think the threat you and Aunt Ruth hold over her will be enough to keep her off your backs?"

"On one hand, it is almost sad that your Mother is not mad, Kenneth, because there is a chance that someone might be able to help her. However, in regard to your question, I think it is to our advantage that she is sane. Her entire motivation is her own self interest. The case against her is iron clad so long as you and I are both willing to drop our masquerade and testify against her. She doesn't want to go to prison any more than you wanted to go to that nonexistent boys' home. She'll keep her mouth shut. After all, there are no men to abuse in a women's prison."

Judge Ruth had sentenced Sheila, albeit quite illegally, to twenty five hours of week of public service until Kenneth reached his twenty fifth birthday. The threat of the depositions, records and tapes were her parole against taking retaliatory action against Jane or Kenneth.

"I know all that, Aunt Jane, but there still is a chance that she will release those records. She may be sane and self interested, just as you say, but I am not sure she is completely rational on the subject of you and me. For me, I don't care, but I worry about all the boys you might not be able to help."

"Don't worry, dear. I'll find a way to help them, whether I can continue in my current fashion or not. But I won't stand by and let her get off without seeing justice done - for you and for me. If need be, I will face her in court."

"As will I."

Darryl gave both Jane and Kenneth a very dirty look. "Aunt Jane, if you were going to punch her lights out, couldn't you have given me a little warning? How am I ever going live it down when I have to tell my grandkids that I missed out on seeing their great step-grandmama play John Wayne?"

"John Wayne? Me??" Jane burbled, highly amused.

"Sure." Darryl replied. "I *heard* everything through Ken's wire, mainly a really loud *thunk* followed by the sound of Sheila tossing her cookies. That "I won't do it - the hell I won't" line is right out of one of his Maureen O'Hara movies. McClintock, I think. And YOU had to do it when I couldn't see it, darn you Aunt Jane!"

"Smile when you say that, pilgrim." Jane retorted in a horrible John Wayne imitation.

"Ummm, Aunt Ruth? Wrong cowboy." Darryl observed with a sly grin, "I think it was Gary Cooper who said "Smile when you say that." Although maybe the Duke did say "pilgrim" . . . sometime."

They were still enjoying the tension release of laughter when the patio door opened and Marie hurried. "Jane? Judge Ruth is on the phone. She says it is important."

Jane picked up the portable phone beside her deck chair and answered it. "Jane? I've got a live one for you. He reminds me so much of David before Beth that it makes my heart ache. Tell me you'll be able to take him on now that Kenneth isn't in the program. Please?"

Jane looked over at Kenneth, smiled just a little sadly and shook her head. "It won't work, Ruth. I have made a commitment to Kenneth that includes retiring Kendra for good. Having a male around would just encourage the new student to believe that he wasn't completely alone in that frightening new world of feminine behaviors and fripperies. That early feeling of isolation is critical to what comes later."

"I have an idea on that score." Ruth plunged on, "Kenneth could stay with me. You know he's been talking about being a lawyer like his Aunt Ruth." Jane smiled at the pride in her dear friend's voice. "I could get him a part time job interning here at the courthouse so he can see how things happen in the real world. An internship like that would go a long way toward getting him into one of the better law programs, too."

"Ruth? I have to speak with Kenneth, first, and I also need to think about it. I have been thinking I might need a vacation from all this after the last few. I haven't been exactly successful of late."

"Jane, this boy *needs* you!"

"He may need something I can no longer give him, Ruth. I need to think about this. I will get back to you in the next day or so, all right?"

Reluctantly, Ruth finally agreed and hung up. Jane returned her gaze to the young men seated next to her. They were both staring at her intently.

"I am sorry, Aunt Jane, if you feel that you failed with me."

"Kenneth. . I . ."

"But you *didn't* fail with Kendra, Aunt Jane!" Darryl said intensely. "In fact, you succeeded far beyond what I thought was possible."

Jane turned her schoolmistress glare on her ward. "And just *how* did you come to that conclusion?"

Darryl grinned, not at all bothered by her look. "In about two weeks, you took him from being Kenneth to being Kendra, and Kendra was so perfect, so . . .let's see, what did you threaten me with? Oh yeah. . .so adorable, winsome and sweet, that his own mother did not recognize him. That's about as good as it gets, and you pulled it off in less than three weeks."

"But it wasn't the same." Jane protested.

"No, it wasn't." Kenneth said quietly. "It was better. Remember I told you it was a game, Aunt Jane? That it did not threaten or change the real, essential me?" Jane nodded. "That was the truth. Another truth is that now that I am no longer being threatened with lifelong dressing, I have found that I can actually enjoy the game . . . in moderation of course."

"Oh, of course in moderation." Jane retorted, laughing softly.

The gamine grin on Kenneth's face was pure Kendra. "Of course. Not only that, but the looks on Sheila's face when you told her who I was, and when you knocked her on her butt were priceless, memories I will cherish forever. I would never have had them if not for you and Kendra."

Jane did not want to discuss it further. "Ruth wants to send me another boy. I told her we'd have to think about it. She said you could go live with her, Kenneth, since if I do take him on, the only way you could stay with me would be as Kendra. Darryl?" she asked the other boy.

"Same answer, Aunt Jane. Count me in. I believe in you one hundred percent."

Tiredly, Jane rose to her feet. "I need to go for a walk and think a bit, boys." Both boys rose and kissed her on her cheek.

~----------~

It was a very introspective Jane Thompson who strolled aimlessly around her home. The simple truth was that she was afraid to take on this student. Just as she had been before Kenneth had arrived on the scene, only more so.

That time she was simply afraid of failure. This time she was afraid she might lose her own soul.

Jane had always known that there were people who played dominance and submission games or sexual games using the props and tools she used with her young men. Having thought about that a great deal since leaving Ruth's house, Jane could understand how it such games could become an obsession, and how an obsession could go beyond the pale and become an evil, twisted thing.

A thing that could consume a person's soul, leaving nothing but the evil behind. As it evidently had with Sheila. Seeing that evil, up close, had given Jane pause. Could *she* fall into that abyss, too? Could Jane end up as evil as Sheila?

Great God above, but she did not want to *ever* become like Sheila. Yes, she enjoyed her games with the boys, enjoyed watching their fearful looks and embarrassed poses, and if she was being completely honest, some of those games even excited her. Is that what finally ate away Sheila's soul? That excitement that fed upon the harsh emotions her program was designed to spark in her young men?

How could Jane continue to put her young men through her program of terror and humiliation now that she knew what was possible?

Jane couldn't seem to find the answer, so she kept on walking, kept on trying to find a solution she could live with.

Jane made her way around the grounds, and found herself thinking of all the be-skirted young men who'd made a similar trek on their way to being given their femme names. She walked into her little English garden and saw Old Tom lovingly pruning one of her climbing rose plants. He saw her and instantly, his old lined face broke into a smile.

"Missus Jane! How are you doing, Ma'am?" he asked in his usual pleasantly gruff tone.

"Hello, Tom. I am fine," she answered pasting a smile on her face. "And you?"

"Doin' fine, Ma'am. . just fine." Then he looked at her more closely. "But, maybe you don't look so very fine. You look like you're carrying a lot of weight on your shoulders."

"I'll be fine. I just have to decide if I am going to take on a new student or not."

Tom returned to his pruning. "I surely do respect what you do here, Ms. Jane, helping those young folks like you do. Must be hard, too, deciding what boys to take in and what boys not to take in."

Jane felt as if someone had just upended a swimming pool filled with ice water over her head. "Tom, I teach girls." she said carefully.

"So it seems. But I have been here since the very first, Ms. Jane, and I have eyes. Every time the young one brings her new friend out to meet me and my boy, well, that new friend almost always has a fit. One of them slipped up once. Not too badly, but badly enough. I started looking more closely then and I think I've figured out what goes on here. By the time one of your lads is far enough along to make the introductions, well, if I didn't know already, I would swear he was a girl, but the new ones. . . well, they do try, but they don't have it all down yet."

Stunned, Jane could not even find the wit to try to dissuade him from his unfortunately correct conclusions. "Why haven't you said anything? Does any one else know?"

"Because it really wasn't any of my business. Still, I figured out pretty quickly that those boys were here to learn manners. I suspect they must need a whole lot of learning if you have to get them into girl clothes before they'd learn anything. They do seem much nicer, more mannerly, when it's their turn to make the next set of introductions. And no, I haven't told anybody - Like I said, it isn't anybody's business but yours."

"Does. . .does your son know, too?"

"That one?!?" Tom snorted. "He's too young to notice anything other than the young missus having pretty legs, or that she smells really good or that she looks very nice in her pretty dresses and make up."

"You've known all this time?" Tom nodded. "And you don't think it is an evil thing to do to those boys?"

The old man gave a bark of laughter. "You aren't an evil woman, Ms. Jane. I've seen you watching over those boys when you think they don't see you for a lot of years now. You're right careful with them and you seem to keep getting new ones so somebody must figure what you do is important. I remember that time the little red haired one fell down and broke his leg. God, he was pitiful, laying there in the driveway just screaming his lungs out. An evil woman would have thought of herself first. You had that little fella in the hospital before you even took the time to wash the makeup off him."

Still amazed, Jane could only shake her head in wonder. She remembered that boy, too. It had taken some mighty fast talking. Fortunately, she'd already enrolled that boy in Deirdre's children's theater so she'd been able to explain the cosmetics that way. Her nurse friend had cut the girlish undies off the boy before anyone else had seen them, but that was as close as she'd ever come to having a boy publicly revealed. "I see." she said softly.

"You worry about being evil, too. The really evil folks I've seen, well, they just don't worry about being evil. They just are and you aren't. I figure it would be a real shame if you thought you could help that young fellow, but didn't try because you worried too much about being evil. Awful lot of bad things out there for boys these days. Too darn few good ones. You're one of the good ones, Missus Jane." he said with a sharp, emphatic nod of his head.

Jane's heart warmed and tears prickled against her eyelids at the words of this old man who had evidently been more a friend to her and her boys than Jane had ever realized.

"Tom?" The old gardener looked up from his pruning at Jane. "What happened to your homey, down east New England accent all of a sudden?"

A wide grin split Tom's face. "Oh, it's still there, Missus, when I need it. When you first came here, I decided to give you a bit of show during the interview. Then, the young'uns started coming along and I just kept using the accent. They just kept coming, each one expecting me to sound like I had when he'd first been introduced to me. I was sort of stuck."

"You are a very sweet man, Tom. I really do appreciate your support and loyalty all these years, even though I never knew until now just how supportive and loyal you truly were." Carefully, so as to avoid the sharp thorns of the trellised rose bush, Jane bent over and pressed a kiss to Old Tom's grizzled, whiskered cheek. "Thank you, Tom. For your silence, your help and your kind words." And then she briskly left the garden in search of Marie and the boys. Her family had some big decisions to make.

~----------~

"Boys, I've decided I want to try to help Ruth's new candidate. Kenneth?" Jane asked. "I made a promise to you, so the final decision is really yours. Stay with me as Kenneth, stay with me as Kendra and help me work the new boy, or stay with Ruth."

"I'd like to stay with Ruth, Aunt Jane. So long as I can come visit you periodically."

"You know you are always welcome, dear. Just make sure any new students are fully indoctrinated first." Jane said warmly before turning to Darryl. "Marie?"

"Bring him on, Jane. I think I am ready for anything after this pair of clowns."

Jane smiled at her friend's joke before turning to the final player in her little play. "And you, Darryl, are you willing to be Darla again for a new "little sister".

Darryl fidgeted in his seat. "Out with it, Darryl. I won't mind if you say no." Jane prompted, even as she held her breath against the disappointment she knew she'd feel if he did say no.

"Oh, it's not that, Aunt Jane. Of course I will help with the new girl, it's just that . ."

"Darla." Jane ordered.

"Could you ask Judge Ruth to *please* make sure we get a *real* one this time? I don't think any of us could handle another one like the last few. Just a nice, average, normally obnoxious-bad boy delinquent you can turn into a good girl, okay?"

"Darryl, my friend." Kenneth put in with an air of great indignation. "Are you perhaps implying that I am not normal?"

"If the high heel fits, sweetie. . ." Darryl replied in Darla's dulcet tones.

"Why you . . ." Kenneth theatrically lunged towards the other boy, but Darryl was prepared for such a maneuver and kept just a step ahead of him.

Jane and Marie watched in tired amusement as the two boys went tearing off, laughing like loons.

"Darryl did say a "normally obnoxious bad boy", didn't he?" Jane asked Marie with a soft chuckle.

"It would be nice." Marie agreed, taking a sip of her drink. "It definitely would be nice. What say we go ask Ruth if she's got one?"

The old, familiar Jane-smile flashed. "Let's go find out, partner."

 
 
End of Tales of The Season - Kendra's Story

 

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Author's Note: Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted only on sites where *no* fee (including so called adult checks) of any type is charged and provided that my authorship, the story itself and this statement of rights (including the attribution to Mr. Lawrence's original story) are included and are unchanged.

Essentially, the principal character, Jane Thompson, is a woman who uses her "Victorian Method of Petticoat Training" to deal with hardcore young males who are in serious need of civilizing. She usually keeps two cross dressed students at a time - a senior student ("big sister") who helps with the indoctrination and initial training of the junior student (little sister).

This story asks the question: how does such a woman pass her Christmas holiday?
 

---

 
 
The Christmas Season
 
Jane Thompson took another look at her gaily decorated parlor and sighed quietly. A Yule Log blazed cheerfully in the pine- garland-gilt hearth; crepe-streamers in bright reds and greens cascaded from each ceiling corner to the crystal chandelier above her head. The tree was beautiful - sparkling with tiny fairy lights and tinsel, and of course, topped with the little girl angel she'd bought because it reminded her of one of her students. Her gaze shifted back upwards, to where dozens of colorful, fanciful holiday cards encircled her, lovingly taped along the crown molding. Each card was a memory - a friend, a colleague, an acquaintance - but the vast majority were from her boys; the young men she'd led to manhood by teaching them to be girls first.

Every one of her boys, except for the lad she'd graduated only a short week ago, had remembered her with a card. She hadn't really expected anything from Shelly - Sheldon Harris the Third was too close to his admittedly harsh experience with Jane to feel very fond of her. Perhaps in the future, he'd come to recognize Jane's version of tough-love for what it really was, and find it in himself to think fondly of her.

Shelly had been through a particularly hard four months with Jane. First because he was as arrogant, snotty, overblown young male animal as she had ever had to deal with, but secondly and more importantly, because he'd been too close to his majority. Soon after the New Year, Sheldon, or Trip as he preferred to be called, was going to turn eighteen whereupon his mother's wishes ceased to have any hold on the young man. So he'd been treated to the full Jane Thompson course of studies. It had actually been fun to get one she could really cut loose on, really put the fear of Jane into, and initially, he'd fought her. He'd lost, of course, Jane simply had too much experience and he was the ideal subject for her method, but it had been an extremely trying and painful rite of passage for him.

If she'd had more time, she could have taken things more slowly, more gently, at least a little bit, and taken longer in breaking him down. Only she hadn't had more time, so she'd been forced to be quite brutal with Trip. Even towards the end, when she'd seen all the signs she looked for when one of her girls "turned the corner", he'd never become at all that close to Jane. Part of that was that he had not gone through the experience of being a big sister and working with Jane as they indoctrinated a new student.

Not having a new junior student move in when Shelly's big sister had graduated had been a conscious decision on Jane's part. Whether Jane deemed him finished or not, Shelly was going to be leaving Jane's home only two short months after his big sister had left. Either when Jane would "graduate" Shelly back into Trip's trousers or when Sheldon's birthday removed him from his Mother's and therefore Jane's power. No big sister was better than one who disappeared too soon in her little sister's indoctrination period. That would raise questions that Jane could not answer and still proceed with the little sister's training.

A week ago, Jane had admitted to herself that there was little more she could accomplish with him. The improvement in him was startling and it had been days since she had honestly found something in his deportment and manners that was in anyway unpleasing. Jane just hoped it was real and not an act, but keeping him with her and in skirts over the holidays would have accomplished little. Such an action might even have upset him enough to make him reject her teachings out of hand and revert to his old habits. So she'd freed him from her petticoated prison.

Trip had not said a single word to Jane after she had told him she was graduating him. He'd submitted in silence to Caro and Sandy restoring his masculine appearance, had ridden to the train station without saying a word and then had boarded the train without so much as a wave or a backward look.

The utter lack of any feeling from him that day had hurt Jane badly. Even the memories still hurt.

Well, she'd been tough on students before, and they had eventually come to appreciate what she had done for them; even coming to care for her. It just was just so painful when they left - particularly this time since there was no one else in the house to focus her attentions on, to help her ignore the feeling of emptiness, of loss, and yes, of hurt.

How come the evil, manipulating, feminizing bitch-women of so much of the TG fiction on the Internet never seemed to feel like this, she wondered sadly to herself. Life would be so much easier if her feelings were so remote, so plastic. She was so very good at putting up the mask of indifference to their fears and humiliation, and she honestly had to admit that she enjoyed inflicting those emotions on the little darlings, but it was only a mask. A woman did not dedicate her life to helping, and she really was helping, *dammit*, young men and not have a caring side to her. She just was never able to show it to them.

It was just the holiday season, she told herself yet again. Everyone is depressed about something and this time of year just amplifies that feeling. At least her other boys remembered her fondly, she mused, smiling as she scanned the row upon row of greeting cards one more time.

If only she wasn't alone, dammit. She could get past the melancholia that had closed in on her when Marie had left for church and to spend the day with her family in Providence if she had someone to spend the day with.

In the past, Marie and Jane had always done something special with the girl-boys they had with them at the time. For a few days, they were allowed to relax and enjoy themselves, albeit still in skirts, but without the constant mind games and verbal torments that were part and parcel of Jane's method. A couple of times, Mothers had come to share the Christmas feast with Jane's little group. That had worked well once (the boy had been well along in his rehabilitation and the Mother had been effusive in her praise) and disastrously the other time (the boy had not yet turned the corner and the Mother had teased him mercilessly setting Jane back weeks with that one).

This was the first time in almost twenty years Jane had not had at least one skirted boy in her home over the holidays. The huge Victorian house seemed so empty, so devoid of life. She'd thought to invite some of her friends over to share the holiday, but that had not worked out. Carolyn and her husband, Bill were celebrating the holidays at a mountain lodge in Vermont. Marie, Sandy and Betty Franson were out of town visiting with their families. None of her purely business colleagues were all that close with her.

The brandy decanter beckoned to her, but she resisted that. She would not meet Marie in the morning with her eyes bloodshot and falling out of her head from a hangover. It would just make Marie feel bad for having left her friend alone on the holiday and besides, Jane hated surrendering like that. Quietly, Jane walked to the door, took one last look at the tree and other decorations and then turned off the lights. The door closed behind her with a loud, echoing click.

~----------~

Jane tried watching television, but everywhere she turned was something that reminded her of what she was trying to forget. "It's a Wonderful Life" was the final blow and she'd turned the television off and tossed the remote across the room. The radio was even worse - every damned station was "Joy to the World"ing or decking the damned halls. She found she couldn't concentrate enough to read or to work.

"Bloody hell." she fumed. "I'm almost to the point of screaming "Bah Humbug" just so Dickens' Christmas Ghosts will pay me a visit. Oh, what the hell. I am going to go take a nap. Maybe I can sleep most of the day away."

~----------~

The house was dark as a pair of dark clothed figures furtively crept up to the back of the house. "You sure she's here?"

"*SHHH*! Where would she go?"

"Lots of places. She's rich, remember?"

"Even if she is out, we'll get her when she comes back, so lets move in, okay? We're not going to let her get away. Now be quiet and let me work this lock."

"All right. You sure you can do that?"

The back door unlatched and swung open silently on its well oiled hinges. "Okay, lets make sure we know where she is, before we do anything else."

A quick check of the downstairs revealed no sign of life. "Lets check her room." Whispered the shorter of the two. "Be careful of that step. It squeaks."

"Wonder which time you fell down them you found that out." was the amused response.

"Damned heels." was the quick, whispered response. "You wait here, I can move more quietly alone."

Moments later, they were slipping down the stairs. "She's sound asleep."

"Helluva way to spend Christmas - sleeping. And alone, no less."

"Lets get busy. We have a lot to do in the next hour. Help me with this electronic stuff."

"You sure this is gonna work?"

"The techno-wizard at my dad's company said so. Just get it set up right and after that, it works like a computer game with that joystick. Oh, and go unlock the front door before we get started."

~----------~

Something tickled at Jane's consciousness. Jane stretched and tried to burrow deeper into her covers. She knew it was still Christmas and she did not want to wake up.

(aaannnnnneeeee. Jaaannnnneeee Thommmpsssooon. Wake up, Jane.)

Jane's eyes snapped open at the eerie voice calling her name. Had she been dreaming that?

(Wake up, Jane.) the voice repeated, coming from outside her door.

"Marie?? Is that you??" she managed to ask, her heart beating a mile a minute.

(No, Jane, I am not Marie. I am the Ghost of Christmas and I am here to show you the true meaning of Christmas. Come to me, Jane.)

I don't believe this, Jane thought. And I didn't say bah humbug, dammit. Someone was in her house and she was alone. And her gun was in the study. Jane slipped into her shoes and found her keys before getting a black-iron poker from her bedroom fireplace. Maybe she could get to the garage and her car.

Slowly, she opened the door, poker raised.

(Hello, Jane. You won't need that.) the voice said gently from above her head as she looked out the door.

Jane's head snapped up and she gasped, dropping the poker. A semitransparent shape floated above her - a young male dressed in a red tunic and green leggings.

Finding her voice, Jane managed to squeak "You're a ghost?"

"Indeed. Now, follow me, please." He directed and then began to float towards the stairs.

Not sure what was going on, but no longer feeling threatened, Jane made to follow. "Aren't you supposed to offer me your hand, or tell me to touch your coat so I can fly with you?" she asked flippantly.

"Only for long hops." the voice said cheerily from the head of the stair. "Have to conserve energy these days."

"Oh, all right. But I don't understand why all Christmas spirits have to be male."

"Leave it to you, Jane Thompson, to complain about that. I wasn't planning to do this quite yet. Oh well, the best laid plans of mice, men and ghosts." the spirit sighed. Suddenly, the leggings became red and the tunic became green and lengthened; the shape of the ghost shifted subtly, becoming feminine as did the facial features and hair. "This better?" asked the now very female ghost decked out in a green dress and red stockings.

At Jane's open mouthed nod, the spirit began to float down the stairs. Jane followed her slowly, eyes blinking against the otherwise darkened house.

At the foot of the stairs, the spirit gestured towards Jane's parlor door. "You will wait for me in there," the feminine voice ordered, "While I prepare your Christmas experience."

With that, the spirit disappeared.

Thoroughly bemused, Jane decided to do as directed. She opened the door carefully and slid her hand around the doorjamb to find the light switch. It clicked loudly and the flash of light momentarily blinded her.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, AUNT JANE!!!"

The shout almost knocked Jane backwards but she found herself swept up by many hands and pulled into the parlor.

The very *full* parlor.

Jane shook her head, trying to clear her dazzled eyes, not quite willing to believe what she saw.

Her boys. The room was full of her boys, and they had decked themselves out as their feminine alter egos. Each and every one of them looked like one of the cute female "Santa's Helpers" at the mall in red, velvety mini dresses with white fur piping and matching stocking hats. There was Beth(David), Charlene (Charlie), Erica (Eric), Darla (Darryl), Valerie (Eugene) and Joan(John), and . . . . and . .so many others. How in heaven's name did they get here?? Jane's head was spinning and she feared she might do something really silly. . . like faint.

Before Jane could quite form words or decide what to do, she was being passed from one student to another, being thoroughly hugged and kissed at each stop.

Finally, she found herself near the tree and came to a stop. There, kneeling beside some type of computer was . . "Sheldon?? I mean, Trip?"

The winsomely made up face beneath the floppy red 'Santa-hat' looked up from the screen. "Shelly, Aunt Jane." she said as she leapt up into her arms.

Jane pulled back from the hug and saw Sandy and Michelle beaming at the pair of them. "But what? I mean, who? HOW??" she stuttered.

Michelle grinned. "Marie told me you were going to be alone. I was going to come up, but then, I got a better idea. I called the guys in your rogues gallery and asked if they could come here for the day."

"And I," Sandy cut in, "Spent the whole day fixing them up." she snorted inelegantly. "NEEDED the whole damn day, too. Forgot every blessed thing we taught 'em, Jane, the lot of 'em."

"But the ghost, I mean, how did you do that?"

"Holography, Aunt Jane." Shelly answered. "Charlene and I setup a small infrared network with a bunch of holographic projectors around your bedroom and staircase. A few speakers and microphones so that I could carry on a little discussion with you and voila, instant ghost." Shelly's face became mischievous, "I even planned the petticoating of the ghost for you although I did plan to do it myself before you asked for it."

Jane dazedly made a quick head count. More than half of her boys were here - to be with her. "And you all came?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Michelle took Jane's hand. "Well, everyone who could come at such short notice. Some had family commitments they couldn't get out of. Shelly's got a conference call set up for later tonight so those who couldn't come will still be here, at least in spirit. I got everyone airline tickets. Shelly handled those that I couldn't get tickets for by sending her father's company's corporate jet for them."

"You all came." Jane said again, still not quite believing it. "Even Shelly."

Shelly hugged Jane again. "Even me." The very feminine vision went up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on Jane's cheek. "Thank you for what you did for me, Aunt Jane." she whispered. "And Merry Christmas."

A piercing whistle cut through the happy babble and made Jane nearly jump into Shelly's arms. She spun to see a grinning Sandy, her fingers still at her lips.

"Okay, you girls. Let's get into the kitchen and get out the good china. Michelle's caterers will be here in a half hour or so, and we need to be ready. I, for one, am HUNGRY! Worked my fingers to the bone on you, today." she complained loudly.

"First things first, Sandy." Michelle interrupted raising her hands high into the air. "Ready everyone??" Instantly every eye in the place focused on Michelle. "Sing!" she ordered giving the down beat.

"For She's a Jolly good Fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow. ."

"Wait-a-minute!" Jane yelled in laughing protest. "I am not any type of fellow!"

Shelly lifted a single finger to Jane's mouth to shush her. "If *you* can make *us* into honorary ladies, then we think *we* can make *you* into an honorary fellow. Right, Girls?"

"RIGHT!!" was the overwhelming response. Followed by "For She's a Jolly Good Fell-ell-low, which NOBODY can deny! YAAAYYYY! Merry Christmas, Aunt Jane!"

The tears she had been fighting all day began to flow, only now they were spurred by joy and not loneliness. With a strength born of love, Jane pulled Shelly and Michelle tightly to her side. "Merry Christmas to all of you, darlings. Thank you for making this the best Christmas of my life."

"Don't thank them yet, Jane." Sandy warned. "You haven't seen the presents yet."

Jane's eyes swept the room one more time, taking in the bright, laughing faces and turned back to Sandy, her lips curled into what felt like a permanent smile. "Oh, but I have, Sandy, and I've never seen their like before."

---

 
 
End of The Christmas Season

Caitlyn, Jane's latest student, is about to be sent back to the system.
So far, the Season's Program has not worked as the student is just too clumsy to successfully pass.
The question is WHY?

 

---

 
Author's Note: Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are maintained.

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. ~Tigger
 

---

 
 
Part 1: Demons in the Night
 
Clichéd as it might sound, it *was* a dark and stormy night. A much-anticipated Canadian cold front had pushed down into southeastern New England only to collide with the sweltering humidity of a July-Bermuda high. The resulting thunderstorm had been an awesome explosion of sound and light, and for a time, had distracted the woman seated in the elegantly furnished home office from her dark thoughts and even darker feelings.

Jane Thompson was an austerely handsome woman, not quite pretty, but her classic features were the type that did not change significantly with the passing years. When she admitted her age she was nearly fifty, but she looked at least fifteen years younger than that. This night, the still dark auburn hair that she ordinarily wore in a severe bun or a perfect chignon was unusually mussed and hanging down loose about her elegant face. The finely etched wrinkles lining her normally smooth forehead gave mute evidence of the steadily building headache behind the icy blue of her eyes.

The room suddenly seemed to close in about her, becoming stifling, almost airless. Jane stood and walked over to the door that opened onto her beloved English garden and flung it wide open. For several minutes, she simply stood behind the screen door, letting the still mist-dampened breezes cool her. "If only all my problems were so easily solved," Jane sighed aloud.

How many times, Jane reflected as she returned to her seat, had she found herself sitting up alone in the darkness like this? How often had she been the only person awake in her huge old Victorian mansion planning the next trial or excursion for one of her students? How many nights had she lain awake, unable to sleep because she had been worrying if she had pushed some boy too hard or too quickly, or if she had not pressed another one far enough? Probably at least a dozen times for each and every one of the nearly sixty young men she'd taken into this very house as her students.

Her students, Jane thought with a slight ghost of a smile, only *left* her home as "young men". With rare exception, they had all been little more than obstreperous boys when they'd arrived at her house as prospective students. Boys she'd subsequently forced into learning to behave like proper young ladies so that she could then help them learn to become fine young men.

*The Jane Thompson Winsome Girls Home for Wayward Boys,* she thought to herself, *the name Marie and I have jokingly given my little program over the almost twenty five years I've been doing this.* She remembered yet again that the big FIVE-OH was looming very large on her personal horizon - only a little more than two years in the future. *Where have the years gone?*

"Spent making money and building young character," she told herself. The financial games helped to assuage Jane Thompson's not insignificant competitive drives. Profit and loss statements were the scorecards that clearly showed who won and who lost in that type of sport, and Jane *liked* winning - a *LOT*. In fact, Jane won quite regularly at the game of high finance - so much so that only the most reckless of the financial high rollers dared crossing entrepreneurial swords with her anymore.

However, those pleasures paled into insignificance when compared to her other avocation. She had become a teacher so that she could be close to and work with children. Eventually she had focused on a very specialized curriculum - petticoating wayward boys. Jane's unique program had a long history of success with her students, helping them to turn their lives around and to grow into productive, caring human beings - *men* in the finest sense of that overused and often misused word.

The truth was that her boys filled a basic, deeply seated need within the complex woman who was Jane Thompson - a need for family. Jane's be-skirted young men, along with Marie and a few carefully chosen and completely trusted co-conspirators, were Jane's family, and she had come to love each and every one of them. *Even if some of them never quite believe that I do until after they've left me.* she thought wryly.

Jane Thompson's love was often a very tough brand of love, but collectively, her little circle of friends and students filled a ragged bleeding hole that had been torn into Jane's life that day over twenty-five years ago, when a viral infection had attacked her ovaries and fallopian tubes. The resulting fever had left Jane delirious for more than four days, and she had very nearly died. Jane had survived, thanks in large part to the heroic efforts of some superb doctors, but her dreams of ever holding in her arms a child of her body had not.

And Jane had come to view the words "sterile" and "barren" as being the foulest words in the English language.

She'd only lost two young men back to the system - spectacular failures to be sure - one to a life of violent crime as a drug runner and the other to a life of "legal crime" as an unscrupulous corporate robber baron.

Those failures haunted Jane, particularly on this dark, airless night, because tonight Jane had finally forced herself to confront the growing likelihood of a third failure. Carlton Everett Jeffries the Fourth, known for the past five months as Caitlyn, seemed no closer to "graduation" now than he had at the end of his first month in her program.

"DAMN!" Jane exploded. Everything about this boy should have been a perfect fit for her regimen. Deprived of parental attention. . . getting in with the wrong crowd . . acting out to fit in. Eventually, he'd gone too far, had found himself in Ruth's courtroom and under Jane's special tyranny shortly thereafter. She'd been almost gleeful at the thought of working and playing with this boy. But as Robert Burns said, the best laid plans of mice, men and petticoat disciplinarians oft times go a' glee. Or something like that. Suffice to say that things began to go awry.

Several unanticipated problems cropped up once Caitlyn had begun to settle into what passed for Jane's routine. The worst of these problems was Caitlyn's lack of coordination. Simply stated, the girl was an absolute *klutz*!

Putting the girl into a pair of high heels was an invitation to disaster. No amount of reluctance or recalcitrance could fake the badly swollen ankle that had laid Caitlyn up for over a week. *Twice!* Even Jane's trick of forcing a student to study ballet to improve her grace and poise had been a complete flop. Jane did not even like *thinking* about her charge's performance at dance school.

For the first time in Jane's long experience, and despite her large and continuing financial contributions to the dance studio, the ballet instructor had actually asked Jane not to bring Caitlyn to class anymore.

"She tries hard, Ms. Thompson, really hard, but with our spring performance coming up, it just wouldn't be fair to the other girls. I promise all of my ladies that if they work for me, I will find a place for each of them on the stage, but . . ," she shrugged sadly at Jane.

The instructor had been right, of course. Even aside from the risk of additional injury to her charge, Jane couldn't have Caitlyn falling in the middle of performances the other girls had worked so hard to make beautiful. Unfortunately, Jane also saw Caitlyn's effort and wanted to see that continue, too. Ultimately, the two women had compromised. Caitlyn's recent ankle injuries were used as reasons to keep her out of the shows, but she would continue to take class with the dance mistress, working on her floor-work, basic positions and at the barre.

Then there was the not-so-small problem of make-up. If Caitlyn's gross physical coordination was abysmal, her fine motor skills were even *worse*. Her hands shook visibly whenever she tried to execute the delicate movements of brush and pad needed to apply cosmetics properly and subtly. When she attempted anything but the lightest, simplest "at-home" look, the girl came out looking like a circus clown at best and a five-dollar-an-hour streetwalker at the worst.

Unfortunately, both problems were far more serious than they might sound at first blush. Jane's program required a certain degree of "near-exposure" to work. Fear of being discovered as a boy in girl's clothing served as "incentive to succeed" for her students. Once that fear of discovery effectively diverted the boy's attention, the other, more important elements of Jane's program demolished his false, angry pride so that a sounder, more positive self-esteem could grow in its place. Only after they'd made that leap forward could they begin to see themselves and their surroundings in a new light.

For the first time in her memory, Jane couldn't take any pleasure in her excursions with one of her students. With the all the others before her, Jane's carefully orchestrated dances on the edge of exposure had terrified them but given Jane a delicious thrill of power. With Caitlyn, though, the risk of exposure was just too real. Her garish makeup (when Jane forced the issue of having the girl do her own) drew unwanted attention.

Worse yet, there was always the very real possibility that her clumsiness might cause her to fall and hurt herself badly enough to require treatment at an emergency room. Jane had gone to the hospital with an injured boy-girl once before and had just barely managed to get away without revealing her student's masquerade. Jane knew she could not count on being that fortunate again. The moment some orderly or nurse discovered the secret currently hidden in Caitlyn's delicate lace panties, all of Jane's previous students would be compromised as well.

Jane felt cornered by this decision. Caitlyn was obviously trying as diligently as than any student she'd very had in her program. Yet Jane knew she would shortly have no other legal option but to send her back to Ruth and a more traditional juvenile correction program, however ineffective that might be.

She snorted derisively to herself, *Yeah, like my program is any better. At least in this case.* It seemed . . . no, it WAS patently unfair, but Jane was caught up in a horrible moral and ethical dilemma - with serious legal overtones.

The court order required Jane to provide training that would rehabilitate Carlton into a polite, law-abiding citizen, but as yet she'd been unable to do that. Lord knew she'd tried, but so much of Jane's program had been stymied by Caitlyn's inability to master the skills of passing unread as a girl in public.

If she couldn't help the child to learn to behave properly, she was legally bound to return Carlton to state custody. Unfortunately, to date, Jane could provide no hard evidence of the sort of radical, extremely obvious transformation in attitudes her methods required. Jane had to be able to certify that the improvements were *real*, and that the student wasn't putting up a very convincing act during the relatively short time frame she had him under observation.

*God, what a coil* Jane fumed. *If only he wasn't one of the court order-referred cases. If he'd been sent here by his family, then I could just keep him with me until I found *something* that worked for him. Only he *is* a court case and soon I will have to answer to Ruth for his progress. What do I do then? Lie to her? DAMN!*

Tomorrow, she told herself. She'd look at the whole situation again tomorrow before she made any permanent decisions. "Playing Scarlet O'Hara now, are you, Ms. Jane?" she chided herself aloud, "And besides. It already *IS* tomorrow." In her heart, she knew she was only postponing the inevitable and that soon, all *too* soon, she would be legally required to start the process of making Caitlyn back over into Carlton so that she could then send Carlton back to Judge Ruth and the boys' home.

But not tonight - she wouldn't . . . couldn't do it tonight.

Jane's beloved antique grandfather clock chimed twice for two AM. Wearily, she pushed out of her chair to go to bed, not that she expected to sleep, but she had to try - no matter how badly she felt about failing Caitlyn.

"Face it, Jane Thompson, that boy is part of *your* *family* now - one of your boys to help and to protect - and you cannot stand facing that you have failed him," she told herself sternly.

Rationally, she knew the situation wasn't entirely her fault. There was more than enough fault to go around to all the key players, but knowing that did not do much to lighten Jane's own guilt and feelings of inadequacy. Jane *knew* that Carlton would not rehabilitate at that juvenile detention facility. Certainly her other two failures had not been improved by that experience, unless you believed in negative improvement. Still, she couldn't think of anything else she could do with the child at this point. She tried every sneaky trick and humiliating stratagem she'd accumulated in over twenty-five years, but all to no real effect.

With a heavy heart, Jane made her way silently up the stairs to her room. Only force of long habit made her glance down the hall towards the student rooms. Instinct told her that there was something wrong an instant before she could put her finger on what that something was.

There was a faint halo of light arcing onto the hall rug from beneath Caitlyn's door. *Why is she up at this unholy hour?* Jane wondered before her icy fear clutched at her heart. *Is she planning to run away? Or maybe she already has run off, but left the light on?*

Jane turned and ran down the hall to her upstairs study. Inside, she slipped in behind her desk and turned on the surveillance monitors and selected Caitlyn's room. These new devices had seemed a prudent way of keeping watch over her students in their early days, especially after her experiences with Michael and Kendra. She could set tasks for her boys and then watch to see how they reacted in what they presumed was the privacy of their room or bath, so that she could intervene in time if something went seriously wrong.

The gray image coalesced into the color picture of a figure moving about in the intensely feminine room. For several long moments, Jane could only stare, unable to credit the evidence of her eyes. It was not possible. There was simply no way that figure on her monitor could be Caitlyn.

But it was. Amazingly - almost unbelievably - it was Caitlyn, but it was a Caitlyn Jane had never seen before.

Caitlyn was dancing. There, in her oppressively feminine room, in the middle of the night, Caitlyn was dancing.

Jane took a few moments to absorb the scene. Her student's appearance was like nothing Jane would have believed without seeing for herself. Caitlyn had outfitted herself in one of the dance leotards, completing her outfit with the classic ruffled skirt of the ballerina's tutu. Her hair was up in a perfect dancer's knot and her face, Jane thought in amazement, her face was beautiful. The student who could not seem to create anything but the most garish cosmetic presentation, even after months of makeup instruction, had achieved just the right effect for the role she was dancing.

Even without the music, Jane recognized the choreography - Caitlyn was practicing one of the lead dancer's solos from "Sleeping Beauty", the ballet that Caitlyn's dance school was currently planning for their spring performance later that month.

Only then did Jane realize that Caitlyn was not only dancing, she was dancing en pointe. *None* of her boy-girls had ever achieved that level of proficiency before - mostly because it wasn't necessary. Jane's purpose in having them practice dance had always been twofold. First, the exaggerated arm and hand movements, along with the steps improved her students feminine presentation and grace, and of course, her other reason for such a girlish activity was that it gave her plenty of opportunity to tease and humiliate the little darlings. *Still, I have never before had a student stay in dance class long enough to develop beyond that goal. Klutzy-Caitlyn,* she thought using Darla's disgusted nickname for her little sister, *has been in that dance class far longer than any of my other students.*

Perhaps it was Jane's fatigue-fogged mind, but it took several moments for her to realize precisely how well Caitlyn was dancing. Her steps and positions were precise, her spins balanced and flowing, her leaps powerful yet graceful. Moreover, she was obviously working to perfect her interpretation of the dance routine. Every once in a while, she would stop, go back and then repeat a sequence of movements over and over again until Jane saw her nod her satisfaction and then proceed to the next steps.

*This does not make sense,* Jane thought over and over again. *Kicked out of the upcoming performance - almost kicked out of the dance class entirely and NOW the girl was dancing like THAT!?!? How is this even possible?!?* Jane fumed as she watched the screen. *This is not the clumsy, stumble-prone child I see falling all over the dance floor three times a week at dance class. This is a talented, proficient young dancer. Maybe even a prodigy.*

Jane sat glued to her monitor, watching her student move confidently through the entire dance solo one last time. Just as she finished, her alarm clock buzzed. Caitlyn turned off the alarm and than sat down to undo her hair and clean off her makeup. *Does that efficiently and well, too.* Jane noted.

Caitlyn carefully gathered up the disposable items she'd used to clean up and hid them in the pocket of her bathrobe. She folded her leotard and slipped it into her dance bag along with the toe-shoes, then she shrugged into her nightgown and got back into bed.

Jane continued to sit and stare at the monitor long after the room had gone dark.

A student who still cannot put her hair up without tangling it or put on makeup or dress herself without looking like a clown - an ungainly, uncoordinated accident waiting to happen on the dance floor or on the sidewalk.

A lost cause.

A *Failure*!

That is what everyone had concluded about Caitlyn over the past few weeks, and yet, Jane had just seen how well her student had really absorbed her teachings.

A key question in all of this was why was she hiding her light under a bushel? A student who could make herself look as pretty as Caitlyn just had done, who could move as beautifully as Caitlyn had been dancing, had certainly mastered everything that Jane wanted her to learn about the masquerade. Surely, the girl knew that life around the Thompson household became much easier once Jane saw both effort *and* progress on the part of her girls. Darla had become so exasperated with her seeming intransigence that she'd come out and told the girl that, but to no apparent effect.

The other question that begged an answer was where and how had Caitlyn learned to dance like that. Jane was not an expert, but there was little doubt in her mind that what she had just witnessed far outstripped anything the current soloist was capable of doing in both skill and maturity of presentation. *Maybe her male ego is still so rigidly inflexible that it won't let her do something so femme as be even considered for the part of the prima donna dancer in a ballet.*

Perhaps that was what she was dealing with here. Was Caitlyn sufficiently motivated to passively resist Jane's program and, just as importantly, skilled enough as an actor to simulate effort to comply with the program? Well enough to fool even her, with all of her experience with boys pretending to get the message?

Then again, perhaps that was not the case with Caitlyn. Again the grim question assailed her - was Caitlyn intentionally tripping over her own feet just to defy her? Would even the most rigid, gender-phobic male ego be able to justify practically crippling herself with clumsy falls whenever she was made to wear heels?

She still did not have an answer. Perhaps, more honestly, she did not really want to *know* the answer.

Who was she really dealing with at this point? An implacable, bad actor in Carlton, or a very unusual Caitlyn? And if it was Carlton resisting her method so much more effectively than any student Jane had ever taught, why in god's name would he get out of bed at two o'clock in the morning to dress and make himself up so beautifully and then dance? Why would he chance his deception being discovered?

Ejecting the tape cassette from the recorder, Jane pondered her next course of action. *What to do, what to do? Should I go in there and confront her with the proof of this tape?* Shaking her head, she put the tape into her desk. *No, that might change her behavior if she knew about the hidden surveillance cameras. There is more to this than meets the eye. Obviously, there are things about Carlton Everett Jeffries IV that his parents have not told me.* Jane considered that line of thought for a moment. *Perhaps because they don't know themselves?* That made as much or more sense as anything she had just witnessed over the past hour.

Jane evaluated that theory for a moment and then pulled out her planner. She found the number she wanted and dialed it. The office was closed, of course, but Jane left a voice mail message asking for an immediate phone conference.

Once that was completed, Jane made her way back downstairs to her office. She had plans to make and she would not be able to sleep after that performance anyway. Her mind was too full to relax, so she might as well try to figure out what to do next.
 
 
Part 2: Confrontation and Disaster and Unexpected Strength
 
The morning breakfast table found Jane exhausted - mentally, physically and emotionally. Only her own superb cosmetic artistry gave her any semblance of a decent night's rest. Darla, with her own skills honed over the past two years as Jane's ward and assistant, could tell that Jane had used a much heavier hand with her makeup than was her normal preference for breakfast at home. Marie saw the same thing, but with her longer experience with Jane also took in all the signs of a sleepless night and moreover, she thought she knew why.

Caitlyn only knew that Jane seemed more irritable and sharper-tongued towards her than she had been for quite a while - since her first few weeks under Jane's supervision. *I wonder what she has in store for me, today* she thought morosely. *God, I am so tired of feeling helpless.*

"Girls," Jane's firm tone broke through Caitlyn's thoughts, and she looked up from her plate to the older woman. "We will be doing some more walking practice today, Caitlyn. I am determined that you will attend Edith White's ball next month wearing those lovely white sling-backs we purchased for you last week."

Darla groaned inwardly, wishing Jane would just give up. Walking practice meant yet another morning wasted trying to keep Klutzy Caitlyn from breaking a leg or worse. Still, she had promised Jane that she would help. "All right, Aunt Jane. What time do you want us and where do you want to do it?" she asked, pasting a forced smile on her lightly colored lips.

Jane gave her ward an approving smile, but shook her head. "Not you today, Darla. You have that appointment with Caroline this morning. You may use the car. Marie will be assisting us. Perhaps you would clear the table and take care of the dishes before you leave?"

While post-meal KP was definitely *not* Darla's favorite chore, it was infinitely better than yet another session of fighting to keep Caitlyn from killing herself in high heels. "I'd forgotten, Aunt Jane. I'll be happy to take care of the clean up." She rose and began to collect the dishes.

"Thank you, Darla," Jane approved before turning to Caitlyn and Marie. "Marie will oversee you putting on make up suitable for evening wear, and then you will come down to my office. We will practice in the main hall today."

Caitlyn nodded, a weary look on her face. "May I be excused, please, Ms. Thompson?"

"You may," Jane responded. The girl rose from the table and prepared to leave the room when Jane lifted a hand to halt her. "I expect you to give me your *very* best effort today, Caitlyn," she said in a tightly controlled voice. "Your future depends, in large part, on how you handle yourself today. Now is the time to put your best foot forward. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Caitlyn felt her heart start pounding and had to fight to keep from squirming under Jane's stare. "Yes, ma'am. I understand," she replied with only a slight tremor in her voice before curtsying and leaving Jane's presence as quickly as she could.

Jane watched in silence as the girl walked out of the room. Then, with a sigh, she reached for the coffee pot to refill her cup. She desperately needed the caffeine.

"Is this in the way of a last chance, Aunt Jane?" Darla's soft question made Jane jump. "I mean, didn't you say just the other night that there was no way you could let her go to a deserted park in heels let alone to something with as much visibility as one of Edith's debutante monstrosities? Do you really think you can get her up to that level in the few weeks you have left when you've already spent months working her with nothing to show for it?"

"I can't tell *her* this is her last chance, Darla. She just might give up on me and I can't have that. However, I suspect you are right on that score. Ruth's probation officer will be meeting with me soon to review the girl's progress, and I just don't have much of anything to report that's positive. She hasn't done anything bad while here, but neither has she successfully made any of the usual transitions that demonstrate changed attitudes and outlooks. She's no more ready to be a big sister now than she was when we first met her on the train, and as you well know, *that* is when her real training occurs. My time with her is running out, Darla."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Jane. I know how badly you feel about this."

"Thank you, dear. By the way, I put Darryl's boy clothes into the trunk of the car earlier. You can change down at the gatehouse and go up to Providence for the day. I understand the Paw-Sox are playing this afternoon," she said with a teasing grin. One thing Darla had never quite managed to control was Darryl's love of baseball. Jane had never quite broken him of going for the sports page instead of the fashion or business page first. Except when Darla was playing big sister, of course. Then she would smuggle the sports page to her room.

"Thanks, Aunt Jane. I need to meet with the Registrar folks up at the university anyway. I want to make sure that everything is all set for the fall term. I can still be at the ballpark in time for the game. It will mean I'll be getting home later than I would if I was going to Caro's, though."

"Don't worry about it. I don't think Caitlyn will notice or remark upon your arrival time. Have a good time, dear. See you at supper." Jane finished her coffee and stood. She was starting to leave the room when Darla intercepted her and hugged her close.

"You've done your best, Aunt Jane," she whispered in Darryl's voice. "It is not your fault that you have run out of time with this one."

Suddenly weary beyond words, Jane let herself cling to her ward's strong young body for several moments, fighting the tears of frustration, anger and sadness burning behind her eyelids. "I know, but it still hurts." Jane broke the embrace and strode out of the dining room, leaving a worried Darla staring at her retreating back.

~----------~

Jane was furious - with herself more than with Caitlyn and she was becoming steadily more incensed with each passing moment. In truth, for all her acting out for her students, Jane rarely lost her temper with or around one of her boy-girls, but she certainly had lost it in the face of Caitlyn's continued clumsiness. For the past hour, Jane and Marie had walked the main hall, flanking the struggling student as she made her painfully slow, awkward way on yet another lap up and down the long, central hallway. And Jane still couldn't tell for certain precisely what was happening with this student - which further stoked her already burning temper.

The exercise could scarcely have gone more poorly. Since the moment a very sheepish-looking Marie had escorted their latest project into Jane's office, they had been served up one failure after another.

The child's make up was as bad as Jane had ever seen it. Except for the foundation, nothing else had been properly applied. Lipstick and eyeliner applications were uneven and jagged, distorting the shape of the mouth and eyes. Mascara seemed to clump at one end of the eye, making her lashes seem to travel only half of the eyelid. Her rouge application wasn't quite two red dots on Caitlyn's cheekbones, but it was close. *Well, at least her hair looks adequate,* Jane consoled herself, *but that is probably Sandy's last permanent that doesn't require anything more by Caitlyn than a good brushing out.*

The walking exercise in the dainty, nearly three-inch heeled shoes had been a series of near disasters. Jane and Marie had each caught a falling Caitlyn at least a half dozen times, and that was before Jane had given up counting in disgust and disappointment.

*DAMN the boy!* Jane's mind shouted. *What do I have to do? Tell him that if he doesn't start moving like we BOTH know that he can, he is out of here within the month? Where is the grace, the elegance of movement I saw last night? Those heels are as nothing compared to what he was doing last night in ballet shoes.*

As her temper became ever more volatile, Jane did not realize she had not kept her position next to her charge until the disaster she'd always feared struck.

Catching Marie in the crossfire.

Caitlyn came down awkwardly on the heel on Jane's side, and it began to roll under her. Marie immediately saw that Jane was not going to be able to catch Caitlyn in time and leapt to the rescue. She caught the toppling boy-girl and tried to brace her own feet to stop the fall. Unfortunately, she had planted her right foot on one of the small, colorful accent rugs that decorated the ceramic tiled hallway. Marie got a first-hand insight why those scraps of color as sometimes called slip rugs. Her right foot slid forward, out from under her and under the body of the still falling Caitlyn.

Marie's scream of pain as she took Caitlyn's full weight on her extended knee tore Jane from her ruminations and sent her scrambling toward her friend. Caitlyn was there first, having spun on her knees to get off Marie and help her to lie down on the floor.

"What happened!" Jane yelled as she fell to her own knees beside Marie.

"My. . my knee," Marie rasped through gritted teeth. "I couldn't catch Caitlyn in time and she fell onto my knee. Oh, God, Jane, it hurts."

Jane made a quick examination of the injured leg. "Call 911, Caitlyn. I don't think it is broken, but she may have ligament damage. We need to get her to the emergency room."

Caitlyn nodded and raced off to the parlor, only to return moments later. "There's been some kind of massive accident up towards Providence, Ms. Thompson, and the remaining rescue units are on other calls. They asked what the problem was and told me that since this isn't life threatening, we may have to wait a while before they can get to us."

"Like hell we will," Jane snarled, shocking Caitlyn with her curse. She stood and stalked into her office. On returning she tossed a ring of keys to Caitlyn. "I am going to immobilize that leg. You go to the garage and bring around the estate wagon, then come back here. I will need your help getting Marie down to the car."

"Right," Caitlyn answered as she hurried to the garage.

Getting Marie down the long walk to the driveway was not easy, but Jane and Caitlyn managed it. Jane drove while Caitlyn sat in the back with Marie, trying to give what comfort she could, even if it was only providing one hand for Marie to squeeze and another to hold an ice pack against the rapidly swelling knee.

Fortunately, there was more than enough help available when Jane squealed to a stop at the emergency room entrance. Once inside, Jane noticed how perspiration and tears had ravaged Caitlyn's face. She handed the small necessities make up kit she carried for her students to her. "Go clean your face, Caitlyn. They will think you are a potential patient. I will wait here for the doctors to finish with Marie."

She watched the boy-girl walk off in search of a lady's room and then turned back to stand vigil on her best friend.

~----------~

Several hours later, the good news was that Marie would not require surgery. She would, however, be required to stay off her feet for up to a week before she could even begin to think about moving around, and then only with crutches for perhaps another few weeks.

Caitlyn had been very quiet during Jane's long vigil, as the doctors had worked on Marie. Nor had she said very much during the drive back to the house, not wanting to disturb Marie as she dozed in the back.

When Caitlyn did finally speak, her voice gave Jane a jolt. "Ms. Thompson?" Jane fought to calm her heart and nodded to the girl who then continued. "Marie sleeps upstairs, doesn't she?"

"Actually, she sleeps on the third floor," Jane responded, wondering what was going on in that bleached blond head now.

"Well, that might be a problem. First, it will be very difficult for her to get up there, even with us helping her, but more than that, if there was some type of emergency, like a fire, we might not be able to get her downstairs safely."

"Oh, lord," Jane sighed. She was so bloody tired. The adrenalin that had sustained her throughout this crisis had waned long ago, and nearly thirty-six stress-filled hours without sleep was catching up with her. "You're right, of course, but there aren't any bedrooms on the ground floor," she said with a defeated tone.

Caitlyn looked at her for several moments and then decided to chance it. "Ummm. . . isn't that sofa in your office a pullout bed? I know you like your privacy, but maybe we could move that into the parlor? The downstairs powder room is close by, too."

Relief rolled through Jane as she acknowledged the intelligence of the solution. "My privacy compared to Marie's comfort and safety? Nonsense," she said, before quickly adding when she saw Caitlyn's face fall. "Your idea is perfect, dear, but we won't move the bed. We will install her in my office. Once we get her inside, you run up and get some linen and then make up the bed. Good thinking, Caitlyn."

~----------~

Marie was soon settled in relative luxury in Jane's office. "I can't be laid up for as long as the doctor said, Jane. Who will take care of you, the girls and the house?"

"I will take care of the house for you, Marie," Caitlyn firmly cut in before Jane could come up with an answer. "*YOU* will stay put and get well. You took care of me when I fell, and now I will see that you take care of yourself." At Marie's mutinous glare, Caitlyn smiled. "If you don't stay put like a good girl, I will sic Ms. Thompson on you."

That earned Caitlyn a chuckle. "Jane does make a good threat, doesn't she, chicka?" Marie said.

"Works for me," Caitlyn said pertly. "Now, I am going to go make you a nice cup of tea and see if we still have any of those cookies that you watched me bake the other day. I'll be right back."

Jane stared in fatigued bemusement at her hopeless student taking charge of Marie.

"What has gotten into *her*?" an amazed Marie asked her friend.

"I have no idea," Jane said with a weary smile. "But since I am too tired to do you much good right now, and since Darla is still not back from her excursion, I am glad whatever it is has gotten into her right now."

Caitlyn came bustling back into the room with a loaded tea tray filled with cookies, pastries and some fruit. She efficiently moved a coffee table over near Marie's makeshift bed and set the tray upon it. "Shall I serve, Ms. Thompson?" She asked.

"Yes, please pour, Caitlyn," Jane replied knowing she would probably spill the hot liquid if she tried to serve.

Soon, Jane and Caitlyn had taken seats near Marie's couch, and each of them had steaming cup of tea and a small plate of food. The food and tea were greedily, albeit daintily consumed. Jane noted with a hidden smile that the tea was not her preferred Earl Grey, but rather a soothing herbal blend. Obviously Caitlyn intended that Marie would not be kept awake by too much caffeine.

Soon, the medication caught up with Marie and she was once again sleeping deeply. The sounds of her friend's gentle, rhythmic snoring combined with exhaustion to lull Jane to sleep as well.

A gentle hand taking the empty cup from Jane's lap startled her back to wakefulness. Caitlyn put a finger to her lips to stifle a cry of alarm. "Ms. Thompson," she whispered. "You are dead on your feet. Why don't you go up and take a nap yourself. I will sit with Ms. Marie if that will ease your mind."

For long moments, Jane only stared at her student, eventually causing her to squirm under the hard scrutiny. "I won't run away," she told the older woman disgustedly.

"No," Jane agreed thoughtfully. "I didn't think you would. You've had ample opportunity today and did not take it. Heavens, I even gave you the keys to the wagon twice - once to bring it around to pick up Marie and once at the hospital to take it to the parking lot. As focused on Marie as I was, you could have been hundreds of miles away before I realized you'd run."

"Ms. Marie needed both of us, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn said simply. "Besides, I figured out a long time ago that I really have nowhere to run to if I did manage to get away from here."

The two sat quietly for several minutes after that, each regarding the other with cautious, yet curious eyes. Finally Jane nodded and rose from her seat. "Darla should be back in two or three more hours. She can relieve you if Marie and I are both still asleep. Call me if you think there is anything wrong." She pointed to the small speakerphone on her desk. "Intercom 2 rings in my bedroom."

"Rest well, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn offered quietly.

"I will, now," Jane replied as she headed for the door. Just before she crossed the threshold, Jane turned back to face her charge. "Caitlyn?"

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?"

"Thank you for your help today. Marie is very special to me and when she was hurt, well, I was not at my best."

"She is a very special lady, Ms. Thompson. She tries to be tough, but she cares too much for it not to show through some times. I like her a lot and I really do want to help you take care of her."

Jane nodded. "Then, I must thank you again. I will see you later." And then Jane left the room and went up to her own bed, her mind a-whirl with the day's happenings and surprises.

She'd worried that she might still be too keyed up to sleep, but that fear lasted only until the moment her head touched the pillow.

~----------~

The house was dark and quiet once again. Darla and Caitlyn had both long since gone up to their respective beds. Jane, however, was savoring the relative peace of her office. A fire burned cheerily in the fireplace, and soft classical music played in the background.

Seated behind her desk, Jane kept a silent vigil - watching over Marie as she slept, her injured leg cushioned 'just so' by Caitlyn. The sleep was the student's work as well. She'd seen Marie trying to fight the pain and had demanded to know if Marie had taken her latest dose of pain pills yet. Jane had known the answer even before Marie's negative response - Marie hated taking drugs of any kind as much as Jane did. This time, she hadn't been allowed any choice in that matter. Caitlyn had gently and sweetly browbeaten Jane's longtime friend until Marie had swallowed the pills out of self-defense. The strong muscle relaxer and painkiller soon knocked Marie out. Only then had Caitlyn been willing to go up to her room and rest after their hectic day.

Who would have ever believed that Jane's awkward little chick could be so ferociously determined to take care of Marie? She'd been a clucking broody hen one minute and a growling tigress the next. Just another amazing bit that did not seem to fit anywhere in the increasingly complex and confusing mosaic that was her Caitlyn.

One thing was certain, however. As long as Marie was laid up, and Caitlyn was taking such excellent care of her, Caitlyn had a home with Jane Thompson. They would see what happened after that, but for now, any thought of returning Carlton to the juvenile justice system was put firmly aside. One way or another, Jane would keep the probation officer at bay for at least another month. There were simply too many unanswered questions about Miss Caitlyn Jeffries, and Jane was not about to give up on this child until she had answers to all of them. She now *owed* this child, and Jane Thompson always paid her debts - in full.

Marie gave a little moan of pain as she tried, unsuccessfully, to turn over in her sleep. Only now could Jane let herself look backward and honestly admit to the terror that had gripped her in those first few moments following Marie's injury. Marie was such a big part of her life - her family - that to have her hurt was hard for Jane to bear.

In the dark silence of her sleeping home, Jane felt so very alone and so very inadequate. At times like this she yearned for someone to hug her, to hold her and pet her, and to tell her she was doing fine - that everything would be all right. Someone to guard *her* during the long, cold night when the dark dreams and the darker fears came calling as she was guarding her best friend.

But there was nobody like that for Jane Thompson.

Jane knew that many of her young men suspected that her relationship with the vivacious Marie was of a far more intimate and physical nature than it truly was. Some of her circle of co-conspirators had, at one time or another, hinted that they thought that, too, but nothing like that had ever come of Jane and Marie's friendship. It wasn't that Jane was any more adverse to a sexual relationship with another woman than she was to having one with a man. In fact, she had experimented with lesbian lovemaking in college and had found it a beautiful experience when it was done well.

She smiled at those old memories. *Another of what passed for a 'radical act' back twenty-odd years ago. Naturally, that just made it all the more exciting for a finely bred young debutante from *the* Hamptons like Miss Jane Anne Thompson.* She'd been so naively fearless in those days.

However, she had never even considered such a relationship with Marie. Marie was, in every way that counted, Jane's sister. They were family, but they were not lovers. They cared for each other, supported each other, *loved* each other, but not in the physical sense beyond the normal affectionate hugs and gestures of one sister to another.

Perhaps it would have been easier for them both if they had been lovers, Jane mused. Lord knew that both of them wished for someone special in their lives. Jane had had affairs in the past, and she was fairly certain that Marie had as well, but each of her own relationships had sputtered out and died after a few months. In her youth, Jane's innate honesty about her inability to conceive a child had ended at least two promising romances cold. More recently, at an age where her role as the progenitor of the next generation was no longer a significant issue, other problems, such as who came first in her life, had cropped up.

None of the men recently in her life had been willing to accept the short notice cancellations when one of her boys needed her immediate personal attentions, or her sudden departures (once just before the "consummation of the act") when a girl-boy had a crisis experience. Simply stated, her lovers had been unable to accept not being number one in Jane Thompson's life, and Jane had not yet met the man who could become more important to her than her boys. So, Jane Thompson slept alone, contented herself with what she had with Marie and her boys, and faced the demons of the night on her own.
 
 
Part 3: Investigations, and a Cry for Help
 
The next afternoon, Jane and Marie were chatting together while Jane changed Marie's bed linens and the two girls prepared lunch. Jane was recounting the full story of their mad rush to the Emergency Room and Caitlyn's major role in that adventure. Marie shook her head in disbelief, and then began giggling as the image painted by her friend struck her funny bone. "Lord, Jane, but she must have gotten some very strange and pointed stares, wandering around the waiting room and hospital halls in her bare feet and her face looking like a four-year-old's finger-painting project."

"She wasn't barefoot," Jane said off-handedly.

"Oh? I guess she had time to change into flats before we left?"

Distracted by stuffing Marie's pillow into a fresh pillow case, Jane responded off-handedly, "She didn't cha . . . " then Jane's eyes went wide and her mouth formed a disbelieving 'O'. "My god, Marie, I just now realized. Caitlyn spent the entire day moving effortlessly in those heels once she focused on you."

"She didn't," Marie asserted staunchly until she took a good look at Jane's face. "Did she?"

"She did," Jane replied thoughtfully. "And now that you mention it, her face was completely passable, too. Once she came back from redoing her face in the hospital's lady's room, that is."

The two friends said nothing for several minutes before Marie asked in a slightly nervous tone. "Jane? Just what is going on here with that child?"

Jane only shook her head. "I don't know, Marie. I really don't know, but now I wonder what will happen tomorrow morning when we try the walking practice again."

~----------~

The next morning after breakfast, Jane and Darla found Caitlyn happily spoiling Marie with the patient's very favorite breakfast.

"Caitlyn?" Jane called as she came into the room.

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?" The girl answered, looking at Jane more than a little warily.

"Put these on, please," she said tersely as she handed the girl a white shoebox. Jane saw Caitlyn's face go white, and the easy manner that had been so evident with Marie dissolve. *It is as if she is turning into a flesh-toned statue or life-sized mannequin right before my very eyes,* Jane thought.

They worked on Caitlyn for the next hour, nearly getting her killed twice. The three inch heeled ankle boots helped a little. The extra ankle support from the stiff leather uppers kept Caitlyn's ankle from rolling, but she still fell regularly. Jane even had to modify the "course" to keep Caitlyn away from Jane's antique desk and its sharp corners that could easily crack a skull.

At the end of the hour, Jane let Caitlyn slip back into her flats and sent her off to see about lunch preparations. Darla stayed behind with Jane and Marie.

Closing and latching the door, Jane turned back to face the woman and the boy dressed as a girl. "Well, that was certainly as inept as I have ever seen her."

Darla snorted indelicately. "Did you expect anything else, Aunt Jane?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Yesterday, when Marie was injured, there was suddenly no sign of our Klutzy Caitlyn," Jane answered, staring directly at Darla who had the grace to blush.

At Darla's disbelief, Jane laughed softly. "It's the truth, dear."

"She just walked? In heels? Without falling?"

"Yes, yes and yes," Jane replied in the tones used by Mothers of adolescents for thousands of years.

"The question is," Marie interjected, "Why is she faking like we just saw? Doesn't she believe that you will send her back to Judge Ruth if she doesn't shape up?"

Jane came over and took the seat next to Marie's makeshift bed. "I am not sure of much of anything right now. Yesterday, I would have been positive that the child knows what will happen. Today? As I said, I am just not sure."

"Then, there are a couple of possibilities. A - he really *doesn't* believe you when you say he could get shipped back so he is simply finding a way to make life around here difficult," Darla said ticking off her points on the fingers of her right hand. "B - he thinks he is going back regardless and is trying to make you think he isn't learning so you'll keep him as long as possible."

"Or C," Jane said, "None of the above. Marie, did you notice the change in Caitlyn when she realized what was in the box?

"Now that you mention it, I did. It was like the life drained out of her. One moment she is fussing over me with this huge smile on her face, and the next, she was literally shaking. I could feel the change in her because she had one of her hands on my brow."

"Interesting. I saw her entire demeanor change when she realized what I intended for her to do," Jane added thoughtfully. "It was as if every muscle in her body became rigid. Small wonder that she could not move about in them in that condition."

"But, Aunt Jane," Darla cut in. "You said she did just fine yesterday, and those sling-backs don't give near the support that those ankle boots do. How come she could walk yesterday and not today?"

"Marie's injury, Darla," Jane replied. "The moment Marie was down and screaming, something changed in Caitlyn - physically and mentally. She's the one who settled Marie and then went for the station wagon when the local ambulance wasn't available."

"Weird," Darla said, "And just a bit scary."

"Scary?" Marie asked. "How so, chicka? Our Caitlyn evidently has a cool head in an emergency."

"Scary in that, no matter how cool you are under pressure, if you are clumsy for real, you are clumsy in an emergency. I could see her kicking off the shoes if she was cool and collected, but suddenly being able to walk in heels? It doesn't work that way. What that has to mean is that she *can* walk in heels. So what is scary is why has she been falling all over herself whenever Jane tries to get her into a pair?"

"Oh." was all Marie could say.

Jane considered the videotape still hidden in the drawer of her upstairs study. "So, we are back to the question of why would she fail intentionally, and why did she break character?"

Marie looked smug. "She broke because she cares for me."

"True," Jane said. "That much is obvious given how hard she has worked at looking after you, but that is not the entire answer. As Darla points out, given the emergency, she could have slipped off the heels without me noticing. Goodness, I did not even realize until this morning that she *had* worn them all day yesterday."

"Then she forgot," Darla said with some finality. "But that still leaves the nasty fact that she has been faking it ever since she arrived."

"Do you think, Darla, that even the most determined boy would intentionally injure himself to thwart me? Maybe the first time was an accident - he didn't realize that it would hurt that much, but then to turn around and do it again, injuring his other ankle even more severely than the first? Before Nurse Nora arrived, I was certain he'd broken his ankle that time and I don't ever want to go through *that* again. If he *is* that determined, then I agree, the boy is frightening and moreover, he needs help that I cannot give him."

"Why not, Aunt Jane?"

"Because to a certain extent, my program relies on a student's basic self interest and instinct for self protection to work. At least in the early stages it does. For the most part, that means that my little precious is afraid of being caught out in his petticoats and skirts, but if a student is not afraid of that, it ruins everything. A student who would willingly accept public discovery would leave me completely impotent because I could not take him out in public. There'd be too many repercussions to my other boys."

"But that is not the same thing here, Aunt Jane. Caitlyn is just as terrified as any other student when you drag us down to the Chalet or to the mall."

Jane smiled ruefully. "But it *is* much the same thing, dear, if Caitlyn is a student who willingly accepts serious injury to resist me. Such a child has issues that need to be dealt with by an therapist experienced in dealing with such self destructive behaviors. Neither my program nor I are equipped to deal with that."

"You've had boys with destructive pasts before, Aunt Jane."

"Ah, but their destructive urges were always aimed outward, away from themselves. Part of the benefit of putting them into skirts is that they cannot freely vent that destructive fury without giving themselves away, which is the one thing they find worse than swallowing their anger and obeying me. If Caitlyn has inwardly directed destructive inclinations, then my program is worthless to her."

"But she's been such a good child here, Jane," Marie protested. "I know she hasn't learned very much about some things, but she has always been ready to help in the kitchen or to clean up the house. And now, she is taking care of me."

"I know, Marie. That is why I am baffled. Those behaviors don't ring true with a boy who is willing to break his leg to avoid doing what is expected or desired from him. I just wish I could confront him on it. Catch him in the act, so to speak."

The threesome sat quietly for a few moments considering that idea, and then Darla's finely featured face broke out in a mischievous grin. "How about this idea, Aunt Jane?"

~----------~

Jane and Darla watched Caitlyn again fuss over Marie. Darla's plan had worked perfectly. Now all Jane had to do was figure out how to deal with the results.

Following a superb lunch - the kitchen truly was one aspect of her masquerade that Caitlyn had mastered - Jane had again ordered her student into the ankle boots. This time, in accordance with Darla's scheme, Jane had Caitlyn walking around the room such that one leg of each lap was close to Marie's bed.

It had only been a matter of time until Caitlyn had lost her balance near Marie. Acting her part to perfection, Marie had made a seemingly instinctual lunge to catch the falling girl-boy.

And had screamed!

In the passage of a heartbeat, Caitlyn had been at the bedside, cursing herself for being responsible for Marie's renewed pain while trying to resettle Marie comfortably. She'd moved about efficiently - puffing a pillow, repositioning and immobilizing the injured knee, finding Marie's pills and getting a glass of water.

All while still wearing the three inch heels.

Caitlyn finally satisfied herself with her patient's condition, and only then remembered Jane. Shyly, she turned to face her teacher and tormenter and became instantly aware of Jane's focused scrutiny.

For several moments, she simply stood there, waiting for Jane to say something. When she didn't, Caitlyn felt like fidgeting, but knew that would only earn her a scold for unladylike behavior. Finally, she could stand it no more. "I. . . I am sorry, Ms. Thompson, but when Marie hurt like that, I forgot the exercise," she offered hesitantly.

The half mocking smile that curled only one side of Jane's mouth did little to reassure the young man in feminine dress. Jane gave a half snort, half laugh and replied. "That is evidently not all you forgot, Caitlyn."

The sardonic tones confused Caitlyn as much as the words. "I. . . I am afraid I don't understand, ma'am."

Jane did not immediately answer, choosing instead to simply watch the girl. At long last, however, not even Jane could stand the quiet any longer. "Your shoes, Caitlyn," she said in a dangerously gentle voice. "You have forgotten you are wearing that pair of high heels. Sufficiently to move quite gracefully in them."

Shock rippled through the girl as she stared down at her own feet in mute disbelief. When she looked back up, Jane was again smiling that awful half smile. "Just as you did yesterday when we took Marie to the hospital."

"Oh. . . my . . . god. . . " Caitlyn said, recalling the previous day.

Jane lifted a single brow in high challenge. "Indeed," Jane's voice was coldly curt and commanding. "Why don't we go up to my study and discuss this. . . .miracle in private, Caitlyn. Darla, see to Marie, please."

Spinning on her heel, Jane headed for the door, only to spin back at the sound of Darla's inarticulate scream, just in time to see Caitlyn's headlong fall to the floor. A sickening thud resounded as her temple hit hard against the ceramic floor tiles.

~----------~

With Marie on Jane's sofa, the best that Darla and Jane could do for Caitlyn was to stretch her out on the floor. For long minutes, the threesome kept a grim watch on the teenaged figure. Once again, Jane found herself caught between the jaws of a dilemma. She was, by this point, more than half way convinced that Caitlyn was putting on an act - with the shoes, with the makeup and now with this fall. What the girl hoped to gain by this charade was beyond Jane's comprehension, but she must have some goal in mind.

Unfortunately, Jane was not *completely* sure that her charge was pretending to be unconscious. She had certainly felt like dead weight when Darla had assisted Jane in moving Caitlyn. If she *was* unconscious from that fall, then Jane had to get her to medical attention.

In the end, there was really no dilemma at all, Jane realized, if Caitlyn wasn't acting and was actually hurt, she'd been out too long. *And so my life of helping young men ends today, because I stupidly failed to use that tape as reason to ship him back to Ruth two days ago when I first found out,* she thought as she picked up her phone to dial 911.

Jane had pressed the "nine" key and was shifting her finger toward the "one" when Caitlyn moaned and began to lift a hand toward her head. Setting the phone down, Jane moved back to her student and knelt beside her. "Easy, Caitlyn," Jane said softly.

"Oh. . my head," the girl whined as she tried to rub at her temple.

Jane caught Caitlyn's wrist and pulled it away. "Let me see, Caitlyn." Jane ran gentle fingers along the smooth forehead towards the golden hairline. . . . and froze.

A lump, already large, had formed where Caitlyn's head had impacted the floor. "Darla, get some ice, please," Jane ordered.

Caitlyn opened her eyes and looked up into Jane's dark green orbs. "What happened, Ms. Thompson?"

"You fell when you tried to follow me," Jane said neutrally.

"The heels," Caitlyn said softly as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. "I am so confused about all this, Ms. Thompson."

"You are not the only one, Caitlyn. Once we make sure you are not badly hurt, we are going to have to talk. I think we have a great deal to say to each other."

~----------~

Nora Bedford walked into the Jane's downstairs office bristling with barely contained emotion. She'd been called on when Caitlyn kept slipping in and out of consciousness after going back to her room.

"What would you do if I told you he has a slight skull fracture and needs to be in the hospital?" The nurse asked quietly.

"Does he?" Jane asked as she reached for the phone.

Nora regarded Jane for several moments before shaking her head. "No, it's just a bad bump. I am just angry with this whole shtick just now, Jane. That *boy* hurt himself trying to obey you when you have evidence that he cannot walk knowing he is in heels."

"He'd walked just fine when he thought I was hurt, Nora," Marie interjected.

"So what, Marie? There is a large body of incidental evidence about people who do many things in a crisis that they cannot do when they are thinking about what they are doing. You were a psych major, Jane - you told me that when I agreed to be part of your little team. How do you know that he's faking? What have you done to find out if his problem is real or something he is putting on? What just happened here is NOT a test! This makes. . .what? Three times he has injured himself?"

Jane had said nothing during Nora's quiet tirade, but nodded when she finished. "It is the third time, Nora, and you are right. I made the simple assumption that it was an act. Maybe his injuries have been an accident, or maybe he has willingly sacrificed his body in fighting me."

Nora shook her head. "You know what concerned him the most? It wasn't his own condition, I'll tell you that much."

Jane could only shake her head. "Who was going to bully Marie into taking her medication, since I told him he was on bed rest for the next day or two," Nora said tartly. "I had to promise him that I would see to his "Ms. Marie" before he'd relax and rest."

"Doesn't sound like a real hard-nut case, does he?" Jane mused sadly.

"No, he doesn't, Jane. And there is no doubt in my mind that his concern for Marie is very real."

"I don't doubt it either, Nora. So, what do you think I should do next?"

"You're the expert, Jane, but if it were me, I'd figure out whether she is fighting you and taking the risk to her body, or if there is something else at work here."

"You're right, of course," Jane answered. "What about Caitlyn? What does she need tonight?"

"Like I said earlier. It is just bad bump. Except for a headache, she'll be fine by tomorrow. She'll sleep the night away, but you may want to keep an eye on her. If she wakes up and needs to go to the bathroom, she may be dizzy or disoriented. She might fall again. Whatever it is with her problem, Jane, I don't think it is intentional or something she does consciously."

"I don't know, Nora. I really don't, but at this point, even subconsciously it poses a significant danger - both to Caitlyn and to everyone else who has ever been associated with my program. I am going to call Eric and ask him what to do next."

"The early student of yours who became a psychologist? The one who came when Michael tried to kill himself?"

"The same. I'll call him in the morning after I sit up with Caitlyn tonight."

"I'll sleep in her room tonight, Aunt Jane," Darla offered immediately. "So you could try to get through to the doctor right away and then get some rest yourself. You look really shagged out."

Shaking her head, Jane smiled at her ward. "No, dear. She is my responsibility. She was hurt because I made the assumption that she was acting out. I will watch over her tonight, but if you would stay with her while I make the phone call?"

Darla returned the smile, and walked over to Jane. "Sure 'nuff, Aunt Jane," she whispered and then kissed her on the cheek. "We'll take care of this one, too."

~----------~

The phone buzzed in Jane's ear. She felt, rather than saw, Marie's concerned gaze. On the fourth ring, someone picked up. A feminine voice offered, "Davis residence."

"Sylvia? Is that you? This is Jane Thompson."

"Jane," the other woman's voice warmed, "And how is Eric Junior's favorite Godmother?"

"Troubled, I am afraid, dear. I have a boy-girl problem and really need some help. Is Eric home?"

"Sure. . .just a minute, Jane. I will get him for you."

Jane closed her eyes as she waited for her former student to come on the line.

"Jane? What's up? Syl said you had a problem with one of your boys? What can I do for you?" A familiar voice came on.

"Oh, god, Eric. It is such an abysmal mess."

For the next fifteen minutes, Jane briefed Eric on Caitlyn and her antics. "I have never had a situation like this before, Eric. I mean, she danced beautifully, and then when Marie was hurt, she went from a walking disaster to completely competent even carrying extra weight in an instant. She's either faking, and has intentionally injured herself no less than three times, or there is something else happening. *Is* there another explanation?"

Eric was silent for several moments. "Well, I would say it is something to do with the program. . . ."

"Tell me something I don't already know, dear."

"As I was saying," Eric interrupted in exaggeratedly pompous tones, "regardless of which of your two broad options it is, it is something to do with how she is reacting to the program, and apparently, something to do with how she reacts to being public in the program."

Jane considered this before replying. "But *what* is it?"

"I don't really know, Jane," was the equable reply. "But then, my specialty is crisis intervention."

"This *IS* a crisis, Eric," Jane almost yelled into the phone.

"To you, yes, but not in the sense that I mean, Jane. She hasn't attempted suicide or something as drastic as that. Even if she is allowing herself to be injured, that is not an act of desperation so much as an act of defiance. No, something about this whole thing is tied up in your student's self image. I think you need to go to a specialist on this one."

"But I can't do that, and you know it. It was one thing for Michael - he was no longer in skirts unwillingly when we took him to the psychologist in Providence. Caitlyn is, and she might very well expose the whole program if I took her to that therapist."

"How about Doctor Art?" Eric asked quietly. "He knows about the program because he is the one you sent me to see when I wanted to go into psychology. He works with people dealing with gender and identity issues as the main part of his practice and I know for a fact that he thinks very highly of you and what you do with your boys. We talked about that when he was feeling me out for my motivations in studying psychology."

Momentarily, Jane's mind seemed to stop and then flew back to those days at school, more than twenty-five years ago. Art Philips had been very special to Jane back then. So special, that Jane herself had broken off with him when it became clear that she could never hope to give him a family. "I. . .I don't have his number," Jane almost stuttered.

"Got something to write with? I have it right here on my desk. It's his office number, but you might try information and see if his home number is listed."

Moments later, the number was indelibly inked into Jane's address book. "Good luck, Aunt Jane. If you think I can help, give me a call. Any time. Gotta run. Eric Junior needs a story. Love you!"

"I love you too, dear. Thank you for the help."

Jane hung up the phone, only to sit staring at it. Art Philips, she mused, after all these years. *You are procrastinating, Jane Thompson. You have a child who needs help and if Art can provide that, then that is who you need.*

Grimly, she reached for the phone and dialed the number. Art was not at his office, but he did have an answering service. The operator on the other end dutifully took Jane's name and number, and that it was vitally important that she speak with the Doctor at the earliest possible time.
 
 
Part 4: A Voice and Face from the Past
 
All too quickly for Jane's peace of mind, the phone shrilled its electronic summons. "Hello? Thompson residence."

"Jane? Jane Thompson? Lord, it is good to hear your voice. This is Art Philips. I just got your message and returned your call immediately. What can I do for you?"

Grimly, Jane again recapped the Caitlyn experience, up until the most recent injury, and then summarized Eric's reading on the situation. "I should have packed him off to the juvenile lock up facility ages ago, Art. He's just not getting any of the benefits of the program since he can't go out in public, and I could never trust him as a big sister. The new student would likely read him in the first week or so."

"So why haven't you done that, Jane?"

"Because it feels wrong," she sighed. "Every instinct tells me she is trying her best, and then, there is the way she took on caring for Marie. She's quite the little nurse."

"But you're concerned about the dancing and the sudden ability to walk in heels?"

"Shouldn't I be?" Jane retorted, getting tired of Art's Socratic style of conversation.

A low, pleasant chuckle sounded over the phone. "Sorry about that," Art said, not sounding at all sorry. "Answering questions with questions is one of the little occupational hazards of my trade. For what it is worth, however, I agree with Eric. You say he suddenly went completely stiff when you pointed out he was still in heels? Interesting."

"But what do I do, Art?"

"Get him together with a good therapist, Jane." Jane started to argue but was cut off by her old friend. "I *know* that would ordinarily endanger your program, but there won't be any problem with the therapist I have in mind. Completely trustworthy and discreet, I assure you, and a very big fan of yours, too."

"Oh really? And who have you been talking to about my program, Art?"

The chuckle was back. "Aren't you lucky I don't have anything planned for my two weeks vacation that starts tomorrow? I will be on the first plane to Providence. I should be there by tomorrow evening."

"You? You're the therapist you were talking about? You'd come here? Just like that?"

"Of course. You have always been special to me, Jane," was the soft reply. "Now," the voice firmed and became business like. "Who should I show up as? Art or Diana?"

"Diana is still with us?" Jane asked, surprised.

"Yes indeed, and quite often, actually. I can be my own best example of overcoming emotional/physical obstacles for my patients, and frankly, Diana helps some of my gender-dysphoric patients be more at ease with me since they see me as someone who understands their feelings better. Besides, I enjoy being Diana."

"I see. Then I think, at least for the beginning, it might be better for you to arrive as Diana. With few and intentionally uncomfortable-for-her exceptions, she's been without obviously male contact since she arrived. Artemis would be a new variable, perhaps causing her to react unpredictably," Jane snorted. "As if she had been at all predictable to this point in time."

"All right. Diana it is, but the guy name is now just plain 'Art'. I legally ditched Artemis years ago," he paused. "Okay, I will be there when I get there. I will rent a car, so don't worry about having anyone meet me."

Jane closed her eyes, the relief of no longer feeling quite so alone in her battle almost orgasmic in its intensity. "Thank you, Art. I really, really do appreciate this."

"No problem. I am already looking forward to it. Get some rest, Jane. It sounds like you have had a hellish couple of days." The line disconnected, and Jane gently returned the phone to its cradle.

"Okay, Jane. I am dying of curiosity," Marie broke into Jane's reveries, "Just who is this Artemis who is evidently also a Diana? I don't remember any boy named Artemis and I would have. I always loved that show "Wild, Wild West" and Artemis Gordon in particular."

"Someone I knew a lifetime ago, Marie."

~----------~

"You remember I told you that the first guy I ever helped put in skirts was Sheila's boyfriend? Yes, well, that wasn't all that great an experience once it was done. Not that anything particularly bad happened to the boy, but there was just this feeling that I did not want to be around them. At the time, I decided it was that I did not want to appear to be poaching on a sorority sister's guy. Now, after what we learned from Kendra's sojourn with us, maybe it was something else that was bothering me about Sheila even then."

"But it had been great fun. Not just the dress-up and make up games, but the dominance aspects of it. I found that I really enjoyed the one giving the orders and having them obeyed, no matter how silly they might actually be, or watching the darling blush bright red at a teasing comment or observation. Anyway, after I separated myself from Sheila, I decided I wanted a boy like that of my very own. I found Artemis Philips, or perhaps, Artemis Philips found me. I was never quite sure."

"Maybe it was a little of both, Jane?" Marie asked gently.

A smile softened Jane's worried face. "Perhaps it was. We just sort of kept bumping into each other. At first, he was just a nice guy who took a few of the same classes I did. The first thing that caught my attention beyond that was his slender build since I was thinking about the games I had played with Sheila's boyfriend. I started gathering information about him. Where he lived, who he'd dated, what his old girlfriends thought of him. I was planning my campaign when he suddenly started showing up at the oddest places. The club I went to for dancing, my favorite corner of the library, the park where I went running in the mornings before school. The more I saw him, the more I liked him. I ended up liking him a very, very great deal."

"Sounds like you weren't the only one gathering data and planning something, Jane."

"No, it doesn't, does it? Suddenly, we were quite the item - dating, going out walking together, studying together. When I started teasing him with the dominance games, he just played with me as though they were nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly after that, I had him fully rigged out in one of my most feminine outfits from the skin out and he was marvelous. Took a bit of doing to tease him into going out in public with me, but even he saw he looked so good that he'd pass on even the third of fourth look. Besides, " and here Jane's smile became quite feline, "I rewarded him very well for those little outings."

"I'll just bet you did, Jane Thompson," Marie said haughtily before breaking into giggles. "Lucky guy."

"Lucky me, you mean. He never made me feel odd for liking that type of play and always seemed to enjoy it as much as I did, yet I always knew that he was a man in every finest sense of that word. I think the biggest surprise was that I could dominate a guy and still respect him *as* a guy. Sheila never respected her boyfriend, and I think that may have been one of the reasons I backed off from them. I think in many ways, I have tried to teach my boys the special characteristics I found in Art, both as Artemis and as Diana."

"I guess you chose the Diana name as a play on Artemis, both of them being Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt?"

"Sort of. This all happened before I learned the value of having similar sounding names for my boys when they are en femme. I had an awful time getting Art to answer to Diana without hesitation. Of course, I think part of that was pure pique on his part. He has always hated being stuck with name Artemis in the first place. The name was one of those Old Boston "first son gets named after some distant ancestor" family traditions. Art always contended that it was a girl's name, so I chose to name his feminine alter ego Diana as a tease." Jane sighed. "Those were some very special times."

"Whatever happened to that relationship, Jane?"

*A hospital happened,* Jane thought as a wet warmth prickled behind her eyes. "Life happened, Marie," Jane answered softly. "We both needed to move on." *He needed and deserved the family I couldn't give him after my illness.*

"Well, it's nice to know he still cares enough to come to your rescue like that."

Feeling very grateful, Jane could only nod her agreement. "I need to go up and relieve Darla. I will send her down to help you get ready for bed. I'll leave Caitlyn's door open. Yell if you need anything. I don't expect I'll get much sleep in any case. The chair I put in her room is the most uncomfortable antique monstrosity I have ever found. Hoist by my own petard."

"Good night, Jane," Marie said softly. "Try to rest."

~----------~

Contrary to her expectations, Jane managed to fall asleep while watching over Caitlyn, but her fears about the comfort of the chair proved painfully true. Jane awoke with a start and a groan of pain when Caitlyn began to stir. She'd managed to put a severe crick in her neck and shoulders in the course of her long night's vigil.

Her groan finished waking Caitlyn, who sat up in surprise when she found that she was not alone in the dawn-gilt room. "Ms. Thompson?!? What are you doing here?"

Jane tried to arch her neck and shoulders, but the pain stopped her short. Grimacing, she looked at her student, her head cocked to one side. "You had a mild concussion, Caitlyn. Nurse Nora said you should not be left alone until your head cleared. How are you feeling this morning?"

The sleep rumpled boy-girl considered that for a moment, taking a quick mental inventory. "Okay, I guess. I only see one of you," she said with a gamine little grin, "But my head does ache where I banged it. No dizziness, and I am too hungry to be nauseous."

"Teenagers and their stomachs," Jane said softly.

"I'd say, Ms. Thompson, that I feel a lot better than you look right now. What is wrong? Why are you holding your head that way?"

"This chair," Jane answered ruefully. "is not designed for overnight sleeping. My neck and shoulders are painfully stiff."

"I can fix that," Caitlyn perked, getting out of her bed with a decidedly unladylike bound. Before Jane could chastise the girl for it, however, Caitlyn was helping Jane gently out of the chair and onto her bed. She arranged Jane on her stomach and used pillows to prop Jane's head so as to take the strain off her neck and shoulders. "This might hurt a bit at first, so let me know and I will go a little easier until you loosen up."

To Jane's utter surprise, Caitlyn began a very careful, and apparently very knowledgeable massage of the distressed muscles. Momentarily taken off guard, Jane stiffened. Feeling that, the girl-boy stepped back. "Am I hurting you, Ms. Thompson?" she asked solicitously.

"N. . no. . .you just surprised me is all. I am not sure this is a very good idea, Caitlyn," she said. Jane moved to rise, but a stab of pain to the back of her neck stopped her the instant she tried to lift her head off the pillow.

"Let me try, Ms. Thompson," the girl entreated softly. "If it doesn't help, you won't be any worse off than you are right now, and it should help. I will be ever so gentle with you."

Jane wanted to argue, but couldn't. Her neck and shoulders were becoming stiffer every moment. "All right. But be very careful where you put your hands, young lady," Jane warned darkly.

"Like I said, you just tell me if it hurts too much and I will back off." And with that complete misunderstanding of Jane's warning against trying to cop a quick feel, Caitlyn resumed her massage. "This silk is great for this type of work, Ms. Thompson. It makes my hands slide on you without massage oil and it holds the heat, too."

Almost miraculously, Jane could feel her muscles warm, and become pliant under Caitlyn's touch. *I can't believe I am letting her do this,* Jane thought. *I can't believe she is doing this without prompting and is actually working to make me feel better. Why would she do that??*

"Why?" Jane asked in a drowsy tone.

"Why what, Ms. Thompson?" Caitlyn asked as she began kneading at a particularly tight knot of muscle.

"Why are you helping me? After yesterday? One way or another, a great deal of the blame for your own injury yesterday is my fault, and I have given you little cause to like me in the past months. Why would you even think of helping me?" The last sentence was slurred on a moan of near bliss as the knot relaxed under Caitlyn's fingers.

"Because you hurt," she responded indifferently. "I hate seeing anyone hurt - and I knew I could help you."

*That makes no sense either. If Carlton felt that way, why is Caitlyn here with me?* "But your offense involves assault. You fought with other students regularly. And you hate seeing anyone hurt??"

Caitlyn's fingers stopped momentarily. In the vanity mirror, Jane saw her student's eyes close, almost in pain, before she shook herself and continued her massage. "I hate hurting most of all, Ms. Thompson, but sometimes there just doesn't seem to be any other choices. My father has this Kenny Rogers' tune he always used to play called "Coward of the County?"

*Kenny Rogers,* Jane thought smiling, *Doesn't that bring memories.* A very young Jane Thompson had loved listening to "Kenny Rogers and the First Edition" - so much that she had even forgiven Kenny for moving into the Country and Western world. "I know the song, Caitlyn," Jane told her student.

"One of the last lines in the song is . . "Sometimes you've got to fight when you're a man. . " - Dad sure did play that song a lot - especially when he thought I wasn't spending enough time with the guys."

"You fought because your father wanted you to fight?" Jane asked, her drowsy somnambulance broken by the bitterness she heard in Caitlyn's voice.

"He never said so, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn said briskly and then stood back up. She offered Jane a hand. "I think that about fixes you up, Ms. Thompson."

Jane took the proffered hand and stood. "My, that is much better," she said, meaning it. "Thank you very much, Caitlyn."

"It was my pleasure, Ms. Thompson," the boy-girl answered formally.

*Why is it that I believe you mean that?* Jane wondered thoughtfully. "Where ever did you learn to do that?"

Normally, the diffident shrug that answered Jane would have earned a student a scolding, but she held her tongue this time, hoping for a real answer. She got one.

"My mom used to be a dancer - ballet - good enough to have danced lead in some smaller companies if she hadn't met and married Dad. She still works out at a dance studio and sometimes she comes home with a sprain or a stiff back. I learned helping her."

"I see," Jane replied, although she wasn't sure she really did. "Well, I must go dress for the day. Are you feeling well enough to help with Marie today?"

A bright smile lit Caitlyn's face, making her as beautiful as any student Jane had ever taught, even without a trace of make up on her face. "Oh, yes. I will be fine, Ms. Thompson."

"Very well, then. I will see you at breakfast, then," Jane moved across the room and slipped out the door. Once outside Caitlyn's room, Jane came to a complete stop and simply stared off into space. *I think I actually believe everything she just told me, even though it makes absolutely NO sense at all.*

Well, she certainly had something else to tell Art when he arrived later that day. Maybe *he* could make some sense of all this.

~----------~

The day passed quietly into mid-afternoon. Jane had tried to keep up her usual banter on manners and decorum, but that had been the extent of her efforts with Caitlyn. Jane was still tired after her night in that abominable chair, and she knew her judgment was not at its best when she was this tired. Besides, there did not seem to be much point in the game until Art arrived. Maybe he'd be able to help Jane figure out how the rules had been changed with this student.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner starting in the parlor caught Jane's attention. Except for taking time out to prepare lunch, Caitlyn had been caught up in a massive cleaning frenzy all day - ever since Jane had announced at breakfast that she was expecting a visit from a dear school chum of hers. The main public rooms - the entry foyer, front parlor, living room and dining room - literally gleamed, and Jane was positive that Caitlyn was carrying over that same dirt search-and-destroy attitude over into readying the best guest room.

Jane had not ordered the girl to clean like that. In fact, what cleaning Jane demanded of the girls was more to emphasize their feminine condition by having them work at stereotypically female "maid-ish" tasks. Dusting with a feather duster, plumping pillows, setting out flowers, doing dishes and other such dainty tasks were part and parcel of their indoctrination, but heavy cleaning was done by a service Jane brought in every two weeks or so.

When Jane had cornered Caitlyn to find out why she was doing this, her answer had been direct. "Because I promised Ms. Marie, Ms. Thompson. I don't want her fretting over the house and trying to do too much too quickly." Jane was trying to find something to say about that, when the girl-boy had continued. "You will tell her I am doing a good enough job at it, won't you, Ms. Thompson? Even if there are places you think I need to go back and fix? Otherwise, she's going to think she needs to get back into it."

"Of. . of course," Jane had stuttered. "I. . . I will come back later to inspect your work to show you what you need to correct." *After I find a pair of white gloves to inspect with since that is the only way I am going to find anything to criticize in this room. What has gotten into the boy?? Is his word *really* that important to him?!?*

~----------~

Art called Jane a little after 3:00 P.M., telling her he'd landed at Providence and would arrive within the hour. When Jane had told this to Caitlyn and Darla, intending to have them go clean up to receive visitors, Caitlyn had gone pale. "Dinner, Ms. Thompson, I forgot all about dinner."

"I've already arranged for dinner to be delivered," Jane said with her fingers crossed. "I did not want Marie to be fretted either. We will dine at eight tonight, but if you could have a low tea prepared, Darla, for when our guest arrives?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane," Darla had replied. "That won't be any problem at all."

Nodding her approval, Jane had shoo-ed them both up to change while she made a semi-frantic phone call to a local restaurant. That little white lie, told to preserve Caitlyn's feelings, ended up costing Jane a great deal.

But the girl had worked so hard today, Jane told herself by way of rationalization. Even Marie at her best would have been hard pressed to deal with such an unexpected arrival of company.
 
 
Part 5: Jane's Old Boyfriend - Diana.
 
Darla answered the doorbell's summons. "Hello, young lady. I am Diana Philips. I believe Jane is expecting me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Darla answered with a curtsy. "I am Darla, Jane's ward. Won't you please come in?"

The woman barely got in the door before Jane swept out of her office and gathered the other woman up into a warm affectionate hug. "Diana! How wonderful to see you again!" she cried, as much from relief as from pleasure.

They held each other just a moment longer than might have been proper, but Jane felt somehow buoyed up by the presence and support of her old friend. When they finally pulled apart, Jane caught the glimmer of a smile and a wink before she turned to introduce her little band. "Diana, I believe you have met Darla? Darla, this is my old school friend, D. . . Ms. Diana Philips." Jane had only at the last minute remembered not to use Diana's professional title of "doctor". At least, not until after Diana had formed an impression of the girl.

Jane gave her old friend a thorough once over as her foster child made a "Miss Manners"-perfect greeting to Diana. Diana made a very attractive woman. She was still quite slender, with a nicely shaped, subtle figure. The skirt of her dark blue travel suit went to knee level and showed off a very nice pair of legs. Her skin was smooth, and except for laugh wrinkles about her eyes and mouth, unlined. Only her hair gave away anything of her age. Done up in a complex French braid, her hair was a shimmering silver. A touch of color, and it would have looked like that almost white tone of Nordic blond. Still, the impression was one of a younger woman in her late thirties, early forties, who had gone prematurely gray.

Diana finished her pleasantries with Darla and then turned her head expectantly towards Caitlyn. Picking up her introductions, Jane continued, "And this is my newest student, Caitlyn Jeffries. Caitlyn, this is my dear friend, Ms. Diana Philips."

"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," Caitlyn said softly as she, too, curtsyed. Not as well as Darla, but a good effort nonetheless, Jane mused.

Caitlyn had obviously dressed carefully, keeping well within her limitations in the arts of dress up and make up. She wore a casual, but nice sweater and skirt combination, with white stockings and a pair of smart flats. Her cosmetics were very light, in one of the few styles she had managed to master and her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. All in all, she looked like a very young teenage girl who had just recently been given permission to wear a *little* bit of make up by her mother.

Diana smiled at Caitlyn. "My, aren't you lovely. Let me get a closer look at you, girl." An elegant, finely fingered hand reached up to cup Caitlyn's chin. The girl went very still, her whole body taking on that nearly frightened, "doe-in-the-headlights" tension that Jane recognized from the previous day's second "walking practice".

Diana tilted Caitlyn's face this way and that, cooing happily at her, and complimenting her looks. Caitlyn, for her part, could do nothing but stand there and take it, seemingly unable to move even her lips enough to make a suitably pleased or grateful sound.

She only relaxed after Diana released her and had turned back to face Jane. "Well, I must say I am happy to be here, Jane. I am sure we'll have a great time."

Forcing a smile, Jane nodded. "I do hope so, dear. Why don't I show you to your rooms? Darla? Caitlyn? Would you have tea ready when we come back down? Say, about twenty minutes?" Jane then led her friend toward the stairs. "I will get Tom and his boy to bring in the rest of your luggage, Diana, but let's at least give you a chance to freshen up after your trip."

Darla and Caitlyn watched the two older women leave. "Let's go finish making the tea, Caitlyn," Darla ordered. "I've got the sandwiches and pastries already finished."

~----------~

"Does she *always* freeze up like that when someone touches her?" Diana asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

Jane shook her head. "Not that I've ever noticed, Diana, but then I don't let people other than my immediate little circle just touch my girls with such familiarity. Actually, the only other time I have seen her freeze up like that was yesterday when I surprised her with that second exercise in heels."

"The same exercise that you called her attention to her walking in them without difficulty when she responded to Marie's apparent re-injury?"

"Yes. However, Marie tells me she often freezes like that when she oversees Caitlyn's cosmetics training."

"Neither of which she does very well," Diana said thoughtfully, "except when she was fully focused on an emergency?"

"Yes, and also at two o'clock in the morning, when she thought everyone else was asleep."

"When you saw her dancing?" Diana asked. At Jane's emphatic nod, she frowned. "I'd like to see that tape, Jane. Later tonight. In the meantime, what do you know about her home life?"

"Only what is in the files provided to me by her parents and Ruth. Her mother doesn't work, but is involved in many charities and committees. Dad is a fast-track business type who doesn't have as much time to spend with Carlton as he might wish. Nothing all that unusual. Certainly nothing that would explain the problems he has had with me," Jane admitted. "However, I have dispatched an investigator to check things out a little more deeply. He was scheduled to arrive in her hometown around noon today, in fact."

"Excellent. Well, that about covers everything for now. I am starved. Wearing this infernal corset limits how much I can eat, but I still get hungry. Anyone who believes that "I'm never hungry in a corset" garbage hasn't worn one. I still get hungry - I just get hungry a lot more often because I can't stoke up the fire as well as I can when I am in my corset-less male skin."

She caught the worried look on Jane's face. "Don't worry so much, dear. My first reading of your problem child is that Caitlyn is essentially a pretty nice kid. There is something else at work here. We just have to figure out what it is."

~----------~

Diana watched, her eyes glued intently to the small TV screen, as Caitlyn's screen image completed one last graceful spin, held her final position for a full ten count and then dropped into an incredibly low curtsy.

"Remarkable," she repeated for what had to be the hundredth time since she'd joined Jane in the upstairs study after everyone else had gone to their beds. "No wonder you thought she was defying you, Janie. Lord, but that was incredible."

"Yes, it was, and you know that I *loathe* being called Janie, Artemis," Jane said in her most intimidating "teacher-to-student" voice.

"Sure I know it, Janie," Diana answered unfazed, her amber eyes twinkling with mirth. "Why do you think I use it? For the same reason you call me Artemis."

Choosing not to pursue the argument, Jane waved a tired hand toward the now-blank screen. "What do you think?"

The laughing eyes immediately became serious. "I am not ready to make a diagnosis, if that is what you are asking, Jane. However, I am beginning to see a pattern. She's completely alone in that video, and because of the hour, she expects to stay that way. After the way she reacted to me giving her the "grandmotherly" going over and complimenting when I arrived, I decided to try other, similar types of contact - which I did, numerous times over the course of the evening."

"And you learned?" Jane asked with great patience.

"She doesn't react like that simply from being touched or addressed. I don't know what makes the difference, but it is very obvious when it does happen. I have seen dress shop mannequins with more flexibility."

"You think that is significant?"

"Have any of your other students reacted that way? If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that for almost all of your boys that kind of contact - a friendly touch, an honest compliment, a hug - would be like a manna from heaven to a starving man."

"No, now that you mention it. At worst, they might be very suspicious of any contact or attention of that nature, worried that it is something I have instigated to cause them more humiliation, but for the most part you are right, Diana," Jane admitted wryly. "They don't get much in the way of simple affection in my keeping, especially in the early days, and they relish whatever they get."

Diana reached over to pat Jane's hand. "Understandable. Such life changing experiences are almost never easy rites of passage. Yours is far kinder and gentler, and much more effective than others I have seen."

"Thanks, Diana," Jane said softly. "So, what do we do now?"

"Well, I'd like to stay in here after everyone goes off to bed and see if she dances again tonight. I want to observe the entire affair from start of finish."

"She may not dance tonight," Jane cautioned. "I only saw her do it that once."

"Then I will keep coming back each night." A teasing smile lit Diana's face. "I *am* a woman of leisure for the next two weeks. No one will notice if I sleep past breakfast."

"All right, darling, but why don't you do your waiting in my private rooms? I assure you that you will be far more comfortable there than you will be in here, and I do have the same monitoring systems in there as you see here."

"Offering to show me your etchings, Janie?"

"Maybe at some point, smartie, but for now I am just offering you a place to sit that will be far more comfortable than anything in here."

Grinning widely, Diana rose and offered Jane her hand. "Comfort is good - very good, in fact. I really was not looking forward to sitting on . . . " her nose wrinkled delicately in disgust as she looked down at the settee she'd been occupying, "*that* antique monstrosity for any longer than absolutely and unavoidably necessary."

Jane laughed softly at her friend's obvious discomfort. "Antiques of that era were built to *look* pretty, Diana, not to be comfortable. Not only that, but they were designed in an age when women wore bustles and ungodly corsets. So, of course, no normal human being could sit comfortably or naturally on any of them. Besides, why do you think I bought them? They are an acid test for my girls. When one of my laddie-ladies can sit down gracefully on one of these instruments of gluteal torture and still look sweet and winsome, I know I have made real progress with that student."

"But on the downside, *you* have to sit on them, too, and get sore, stiff necks in the bargain," Diana said slyly.

"True, dear. I believe the appropriate slogan is 'No pain, no gain'. But there are advantages to everything. Sitting in one of those abominations puts me in the perfect mood to terrorize my little darlings."

"Every silver lining has a cloud. I am sure that those things must qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, Jane," Diana giggled softly as they made their way into the hallway leading to Jane's apartment.

"Well, if you don't tell Ruth, darling, I won't. Besides, I am not technically a penal institution. It's true that many of my boys come here as an alternative to incarceration, but they are not actually under a sentence. At least, not formally under sentence."

"Only because you don't really exist as far as anyone knows, except for Ruth and a few other trusted officials like her."

Jane opened the door into her rooms and motioned Diana to enter first. "God willing, it will stay that way, too. Now, do you still drink brandy, or would you like something stronger?"

"Brandy is a fine idea, Jane. Something aromatic to the nose, smooth going down, with just a touch of a bite would be just right for talking the whole night, remembering the good times we shared together."

~----------~

Surprising both of them, Jane and Diana managed to wake up in time for the normal Thompson breakfast hour of 8:30 A.M. The meal itself was plain - just coffee, fresh fruit and pastries, but tasty and nicely presented.

"Thank you for seeing to this, Darla," Jane said as she refilled her coffee cup.

"Oh, it wasn't me, Aunt Jane," Darla replied. "I was going to do it, but Caitlyn already had everything just about ready when I came down. All I did was make the coffee."

"I see," Jane murmured. *That girl was up for almost two hours last night doing the equivalent of a high impact aerobics class and she still gets up in time to fix breakfast? Not just fix breakfast, but in time to make up individual plates and flower arrangements? Why isn't she drooping from pure exhaustion?* "Thank you, Caitlyn. Everything was lovely."

"I'm sorry we didn't have a hot breakfast, Ms. Thompson, but yesterday was market day, and with Ms. Marie laid up and Ms. Philips coming to visit, I forgot to remind you we needed to go shopping."

"Don't worry, dear," Jane said with a touch of warmth for the girl's evident - and to Jane's mind, quite real - concern. "We'll get Marie to help us with a shopping list and take care of it today."

A momentary frown clouded Caitlyn's face. "Umm. . Ms. Thompson, today is class day. If it is all right, and you don't think Ms. Marie will need me, I would like to go."

Diana watched the interplay between the two with keen interest. *So, she likes going to dance class, but Jane says that she performs as badly there as she did beautifully last night. One would think, at first blush, that her intent at failing there was a ploy to get out of the class. If one had not seen her dance in the privacy of her room, that is."

"I would like to see the dance studio, Jane," Diana interjected. "I just love watching young people move so freely and elegantly. Are you preparing for a show soon, Caitlyn?"

Caitlyn's head drooped and she broke eye contact with the older women. "Yes, Ma'am. Sleeping Beauty, only I won't be performing." *Was that the merest sigh of regret I heard in her voice,* Diana wondered. "I am not yet able to dance in public."

*What a clanker,* Jane thought. *Yet, if she wants to go, then there is hope we can find out what is really going on here. "All right, Caitlyn. I will drop you and Diana off at the studio while I go to market. Darla will remain here in the case that Marie needs any assistance."

The smile that lit Caitlyn's face momentarily stunned everyone else around the table. "Oh, thank you, Ms. Thompson. I will go change as soon as I clear away and clean up from breakfast."

"No, you go get ready now, Caitlyn," Darla broke in. "You got up and did all the hard work. I will take care of the clean up."

Caitlyn rounded on her "big sister". "You're sure? I mean, it won't take but a minute. I could help," She offered quickly.

"Caitlyn!" Darla all but growled.

"Yes, Darla?"

"Go . . . Get . . . Ready!" Darla ordered. When Caitlyn still hesitated. "NOW!"

Another of those blinding smiles lit Caitlyn's face as she stood to leave. "Thank you, Darla," she said, and then leaned over to kiss her shocked mentor on the cheek before hurrying from the room.

No one said anything for several long moments. Darla simply held her cheek and stared at Caitlyn's exit door, her eyes wide and her mouth round. "She's never done *that* before," Darla finally managed to rasp out.

"Another puzzle piece, Jane," Diana said with admirable reserve as she took another sip of her coffee.

"Yes, it is," Jane agreed, her own expression mirroring Darla's. "But she seems to be getting each new piece from a different box. Just when you think you're putting together a landscape puzzle, the dratted girl hands you a piece from an abstract art rendering." She shook her head. "Now what?"

"She wants to go to dance class. I will try and observe her behavior there without her realizing it."

~----------~

Diana watched the class warming up at the barre. It was a mixed class - if you could call a grouping of twenty teenagers, only three of which were boys, mixed. At least one of the boys seemed quite talented. Probably why the dance mistress was willing to take on a ballet quite so advanced as Sleeping Beauty for their performance.

Something of a ballet buff, Diana watched the class unfold with growing respect for the dance mistress. She drilled her students hard, but always with encouragement, always finding something positive to balance each correction. She showed extraordinary patience with Caitlyn, who seemed ready to fall on her bottom anytime she had less than both feet planted flatly on the floor.

Caitlyn stayed in the warm-up room while the rest of the class went onto the studio's mocked up stage to practice the actual choreography of the ballet they would be dancing. Most of the girls seemed to have something encouraging to say to Caitlyn as they passed by her. *Evidently she is at least liked here. Is that the reason she wants to attend, even though she seems determined to be inept? Is it friendship and acceptance she finds so seductive about this place?*

Diana took a position in the main studio that afforded her a covert view of Caitlyn in the warm-up room while still giving the appearance of watching the performers on the stage. Soon, the wonderful music of Tchaikovsky filled the small theater and everyone was caught up in the master composer's magic.

Including, Diana suddenly realized, Caitlyn. Obviously oblivious to anything except the rapture of the music, Caitlyn's exercises at the barre suddenly became fluid, graceful and to Diana's eye at least, highly proficient. A quick glance at the soloist on the stage showed that Caitlyn was following each movement and step. Lost in the music's spell, Caitlyn had again 'forgotten' to be clumsy.

~----------~

"So," Jane said reflectively, "Once again she is distracted, this time by the music, and forgets herself. Did the dance mistress see any of this?"

"No," Diana replied, taking a sip of her tea. "And I didn't call her attention to it. Something is happening there that I don't think we can afford to lose at this point. For one thing, she is accepted and apparently well liked there."

"She is? Even as poorly as she dances there?"

"She isn't a threat to any of them now that it is known she won't be in the performance, and she goes out of her way to make herself useful. She gets drinks, or she'll play the piano to accompany someone who wants to work a little extra on a part. I even saw her partner one of the soloists as she warmed up before going on stage. Nothing very elaborate, Jane. She just held the girl's hand and balance points while the girl did her extended movements."

"So, as yet another puzzle box opened and its contents scattered onto our already full table. Is this making *any* sense to you, Diana? If she hates the feminine touches here, she should hate them - period. If she is really uncoordinated, she should be uncoordinated all the time."

"I think it is fairly clear after this afternoon, and after watching her both on tape and live last night, that she neither hates the feminine touches nor is she uncoordinated - quite the opposite in both cases, in fact. Having established that fairly firmly in my mind, I am at a loss to explain the other things I have observed about her."

"Be sure to let me know when you figure it out, then," Jane said in mild disgust. She started to say something else, but was cut off by the phone.

Sighing, Jane picked up the phone. "Thompson residence."

"Jane? Hi, this is Reggie Walters." Jane smiled as she recognized the name and voice of her former student who had gone on to become a security specialist. Reginald (Gina) had been sent to Jane because the combination of his very inquisitive mind and his skill with computers had gotten him in trouble. Several very large companies objected to fourteen year olds hacking their computer systems and helping themselves to free samples of whatever the company happens to be selling. Now, Reggie used his skills as a private investigator/security systems expert - often fighting the same type of kid he used to be. Two of Jane's more recent students had been "caught" by Reggie who had then referred the distraught parents to Ms. Jane Thompson.

"Reggie, so good to hear from you. What have you found out?"

"Well, don't ask me how you knew, but you were right. I talked with Carlton's mother and he has had formal ballet training. She used to dance professionally herself at one time - quite well, in fact - and continued taking classes when she retired to get married. She used to take him to class with her all the time. It was a regular thing with them from the time he was old enough to walk, right up until about a year and a half ago."

"Why did it cease to be a regular thing?" Jane asked as she put the phone on speaker.

"His mother doesn't know. He just refused to go with her anymore. She is still a little upset about it because evidently, the boy was talented, if perhaps not quite in the way Mom might have liked."

"How so, Reggie?"

"Evidently, he was really graceful and very dedicated to improving his skills. Unfortunately, even by the time he was almost fourteen years old, he wasn't developing much in the way of upper body strength. He could dance the child parts, but he wasn't strong enough physically to partner a ballerina, even as just one of the chorus."

"They don't call it a chorus in a ballet, dear, but I understand your meaning. So he stopped taking lessons well over a year ago?" Jane wanted to reaffirm.

"As far as his Mom knows, Jane. Is there a reason you are concerned about that?"

Jane looked over at Diana who nodded her assent. "Yes, there is, Reggie. He's been dancing here, and far too well for there to have been a long layoff before coming to my home. At least, I think that he is too adept not to have been taking lessons. Could you check around, maybe go to the studio or any other local studios and see if they have any information about that?"

"Sure, Jane. No problem." Reggie paused. "Jane?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I think you should expect a call from the boy's mom. She was very concerned that her son hasn't made more progress in the time you've had him there."

"She's not the only one, Reggie, but thanks for the warning. I will expect the call. Bye now."

Jane hung up the phone and looked at her old friend. "Well, at least we know that he *used* to study dance. That's something."

"We know a good deal more than that, Janie," Diana said softly. At Jane's raised brow, Diana gave her a wan smile. "We know that something happened in his life - something sufficiently important to change the habit of a young lifetime rather abruptly. A habit, I might add, that we have graphic proof that the young man still enjoys, albeit in private."

"Traumatic?" Jane asked warily.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no. We will have to wait and see. Right now, we just know that something made him feel he had to quit."

"I take your point." Jane rose from her seat and stretched. "I need to take a walk before I settle down to fixing dinner. With Marie still on bed rest, someone needs to cook. The girls have done their part so tonight is my turn."

"Need some help, Janie?"

An evil grin that more than one hundred boys and young men would have instantly recognized and feared lit Jane's face. "Certainly, Artemis. How are you at chopping onions?"

"Makes my mascara run, and I told you, my name is Art, now. If you *must* call my by a masculine name. I do prefer Diana when I am dressed, dear."

"Well, come along. We have plenty of cotton balls and cold cream for fixing your face later. I buy the stuff by the caseload since my boys need to fix or change their faces so very often. Surely *you* remember that, even if you weren't really in my program."

"Bitch," Diana retorted affectionately.

"Just so you keep *that* firmly in mind, darling," Jane gave back sweetly. "I think salads and French Onion soup will make just a perfect dinner, don't you?"

Aunt Jane's main house, circa early 1930's.

---

 
 
To Be Continued...