Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I promise this is not going to be just another forced fem story, although there is this aspect to the story—my hope is that it will be a journey of discovery for Joey and that I can portray that journey adequately in the manner that I envision it. There will be some happy times and some sad times ahead—if you want, watch that journey with me as it unfolds.

I look at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time today. It has moved all of 90 seconds. I am officially going to die! This day is never going to end… I play with my pencil and groan silently to myself. I look at the math equations on the board and unsuccessfully fight a yawn…

“Joey! If you are not going to pay attention, then go and see Ms. Rogers…again! I swear, this is the fifth time this week and it is only Tuesday!” I startle as Ms. McMillan, my math teacher, sends me to the principal’s office. I sigh and wordlessly get up. I leave the room to the sniggering of the others in the classroom…

I wait outside Ms. Rogers’ office as she has a ‘conference’ with my mother. My dad is out of town on a business trip, not that that matters—Mom is a ‘stay-at-home’ mom and is the one that always gets called to these meetings…

I guess a bit of background would be good at this point… Let me introduce myself; I am Joey Rousseau. I am fifteen and in tenth grade. I have a younger sister, Amy, who is 14, and a younger brother, Josh, who is ten. There is not a lot else to say, really. We live in a boring backwards town where I attend a boring backwards school. I am not a bad kid, really—I am just bored all of the time. School is just so boring. My grades are good but I am seemingly always in trouble anyway; even though I am not really doing anything to warrant it. The teachers just seem to think I am not paying attention—it is just that I am bored to death…

There is not really anything for me to do around here that is in any way stimulating. I am a scrawny kid for fifteen; my dad tells me that runs in the family. It seems that he did not hit puberty until he was almost eighteen. The only consolation is that when puberty does hit men in our family, it hits with a vengeance. My dad is quite well built and loves going to the gym. He does not push me to go, though, knowing how it feels to be a ‘late bloomer’. My mom is gorgeous—it seems puberty is not issue on her side of the family unless you consider full-blown curves for girls at fourteen an issue. Amy is a testament to that; she could put many eighteen-olds to shame. Mom is also quite smart, but elected to put any career options aside after she got pregnant with me at sixteen. In this town, women are expected to be good little housewives and take care of the kids, anyway, which is exactly my Dad’s way of thinking. He got a “man’s job” at eighteen when he married my pregnant mom and expected her to do her part for the family. Of course, all of this has shaped my views on gender, as well…

I startle again as the door to Ms. Rogers’ office opens and she beckons me in. Mom gives me that look and I shudder involuntarily. She has never lifted a finger against me but I hate disappointing her. She just shakes her head and says, “Why can’t you be like your sister and brother? They never give me any grief!” Ms. Rogers gives me a semi-encouraging smile and says, “Have a seat, Joey. I know that you are not trying to cause any grief. We have finally figured out what your ‘problem’ is. You really are bored with the material here because you are technically a genius. There is no sense in your continuing school here—we can’t challenge you.” I give her an incredulous look and then glance over at Mom, who is trying to hide a bit of pride that is none-the-less showing on her face. Ms. Rogers continues, “I have contacted my alma mater, St. Paul’s, and with the scores you achieved on that test I gave you last week, they are willing to give you a full academic scholarship.” I blink. St. Paul’s? But… I clear my throat and sort of squeak, “St. Paul’s? That’s a girl’s college!” Ms. Rogers smiles and shakes her head as she says, “No, not any more. They went co-ed this year. You will be one of their first male students—one of eight. You will be a couple of firsts for them, actually—first male scholarship recipient and first teenage genius of either gender. You have missed the first couple weeks of class, but that should not be a problem with your skills. The fact that they are on a different schedule than most colleges and started later is what means you won’t have to wait until next year, anyway. Your Mom is going to take you over there right now to enroll you and get your class schedule. Your options are limited because of your late enrollment, but that will be better next year. Good luck, Joey—or should I say Joseph now that you are a college man?” She grins and ushers Mom and me to the door…

I sit in the car, shell-shocked. So that is why it has been so boring for me…but college? And a girl’s one at that. Yeah, it may be co-ed now, but no one is going to see it that way. It will always be “Joey is going to a girl’s school!” I look over at Mom and gingerly ask, “Mom, is this really a good idea? Shouldn’t we wait on Dad, I mean? Won’t he be mad?” Mom gives me a sidelong glance and says, “You let me deal with your Dad. I missed out on a lot of good opportunities in life; college being one of them. You are getting a full academic ride—as long as you maintain your grades, which Ms. Rogers assures me won’t be a problem if you apply yourself. Your Dad is not one to value education like I do, but he is not going to argue with ‘free’. You had just better not embarrass me and drop out or anything…”

The rest of the two-hour ride to the campus is fairly quiet. I stew about how Dad is not going to like Mom meddling like this; it is not something she should be deciding—that is the man’s job… But, I know enough to keep quiet to Mom. Dad will get this mess straightened out. I only had one more boring year of school and then I could have dropped out and found a man’s job somewhere… At this rate, Amy will be married and have kids before I can even think about getting one… I also know that Mom has powers over Dad, ones I don’t understand—so, for now, until Dad rescues me, I decide to go along with this insanity and give it my best.

When we finally pull onto campus I can’t help but groan out loud. It is a strict Catholic campus and looks like something from Dracula’s revenge. The main building is old and made out of weathered stone. It is covered in ivy and gives me the shudders just looking at it. It must be lunch break because all I see are college girls milling around in the college’s uniform of a white blouse, burgundy scarf, dark grey skirt, and navy blue blazer. I glance around and see two guys standing by themselves, both considerably older than me, in dark grey pants with a white shirt, burgundy tie, and navy jacket. They look uncomfortable in their clothes, but are seemingly enjoying the ‘view’. There is also a mix of nuns and ‘civilian’ women mingling with the crowds. Mom interrupts my visual reconnaissance of the area and ushers me into the main building.

After a short meeting with the ‘Mother Superior’, who welcomes me, and three additional hours of administrative meetings and paperwork, I find myself in my dorm room. Since I was not expected, they did not have a room for me together with the other guys and I was on a different floor, at the end of a long hallway full of girls’ rooms. It is a handicap room, meaning that I don’t have to share and it has its own bathroom—so, that is a small consolation. Mom is putting my new uniforms and other clothes into the closet and I get pale as I realize that I have no idea how to tie a tie. She giggles and shows me. She giggles more at my incredulous look and says, “What? I have been watching your Dad do this every morning for over fifteen years. You don’t think I would pick up on how to do it?” After a little while longer, she hugs me and is out the door—leaving me to my uncertain fate.

At first I just sit there and stare at the door, then I finally pull out my schedule and sit down at my desk. I look around the room for the thousandth time. It is austere. Basically, it is a bunk, a simple desk and chair, a worn rug on the polished hardwood floor, and…a well-lit mirrored vanity. I shake my head at that and look down at my schedule. Ms. Rogers had been right—it is not anything that I would have normally chosen. I got into some good math classes, but the only history classes that were available were ‘Woman’s History 101’ and ‘Great Women of the World’, a special topics class, that was added to fill up my schedule. This is just great… Not only am I stuck in a girl’s school, but I am going to have to be subjected to how ‘great’ they are… I roll my eyes and notice that it is time to go down to supper.

I almost jump back into my room as soon as I open my door and enter the hallway. It is full of girls—in ‘normal’ clothes. The hall bathroom is at my end of the hallway—and is where all of the girls go. I am almost run over by a girl in a bathrobe hurrying out, her hair wrapped in a towel. She had obviously just taken a shower and a strong flowery scent follows her as she rushes by, giving me a surprised look as she does. Suddenly I am surrounded by girls asking all kinds of questions…

My ‘posse’ of girls escorts me to the dining hall where I am thankfully rescued by the guys. They are disappointed, though, that I am so young, so I know that I won’t be able to count on too much rescuing in the future… After I quietly eat, listening to the guys talk, I dejectedly walk back to my residence hall and up the five flights of stairs to my floor. I don’t even make it halfway down the hall to my room before I am pulled into a room full of giggling girls wanting to ‘know everything about me’… I answer what seems like a million personal questions and finally make it back to my room right at eleven, which is lights out.

The next morning, the alarm goes off and my heart pounds as I wake up to an unfamiliar room. When I finally remember where I am, I laugh at myself and get up to go shower. I dry off and get out one of the uniforms from my closet. I sit at the vanity and struggle with the tie, but finally get it knotted; well, sort of…. I shrug and hurry out into the hallway. It is empty and I look at my watch. Breakfast had started 15 minutes ago and I had been warned that if I missed it, it was a long time to lunch… I hurry to the dining hall and find a seat at a table that just has one girl sitting at it. She introduces herself as ‘Emily’ and giggles when she sees my tie. She finishes her bite of egg and says, “Silly! First, you shouldn’t put that on until after you eat and brush your teeth. Do you notice any of the guys with a tie—or the girls with their scarves on? She wipes her hands on her napkin and reaches and straightens my tie into a nice tidy knot. She shrugs and finishes the last bite of her egg. She gets up to leave and smiles as she says, “See you in class. I assume you have algebra first?” I nod and she hurries off.

Twenty minutes later, I enter the room where I am to have my first college class—algebra. I was told that this will be an easy class for me, but that I need to take it, since I had never had algebra before and need the foundation. I sit down towards the middle of the class and a few minutes later a flood of girls and a couple of the guys come in. I smile as I see Emily and she comes over and sits next to me. I am lost in class, at first, since I missed the first two weeks, but Emily points out a few things in the book and I quickly catch up. That is when I find out that Emily is three doors down from me and we decide to study together—she is a freshman, like me, and has several of the same classes that I do—including the women’s classes.

The rest of the day passes quickly and before I know it Emily and I are sitting in my room going over the day’s lessons. She quickly got comfortable in my room; she kicked her heels off, and is sitting on my bed quizzing me on some of the woman’s history stuff. Finally, I groan, “Why am I learning this stuff? This may be important for you, but I have no need for it.” She giggles and says, “What is the matter, Joey? Are you saying that women aren’t important?” I shrug and say, “No. That is not what I am saying at all. Women are important. Someone has to keep the home fires burning, right?” I see a flash of anger in her eyes and then just as quickly it is gone as she says, “Oh, you are teasing me. You rascal! I hope you aren’t truly chauvinistic—that won’t go over well at this college.” She giggles again and starts quizzing me some more.

When it is time to go get supper, she sits down at my empty vanity and turns on the light. She pulls a ton of makeup from her purse and starts working on ‘refreshing’ her face. While she is doing that, I sort of stare at her—she really is very pretty. She giggles again and asks, “What? You want to put some on, too?” I turn bright red and say very emphatically, “NO! Not at all! I am just wondering…well, I noticed all of you girls are made up to the nines here. You are all very pretty and always well-dressed—not a hair out of place. That just doesn’t fit in with how I thought it would be at a Catholic school, college or not.” She really giggles at that and says, “Silly! This college was founded to make women as successful as they can be. It is ingrained in the ethos here that you have to take care of yourself and look good to be successful. Did you not get the speech about staying well-dressed and groomed?” I roll my eyes and nod my head as she finishes putting on her lip gloss. She turns off the lights on the vanity and we go out into the throngs in the hallway to make our way to supper.

The next day is my first ‘Great Women of the World’ class. Mrs. Braun is the professor and pulls me aside as the other girls get to work on their projects—I am the only guy in this class. She explains to me that the purpose of this class is to turn in a research project and term paper on the important contributions to society by a woman of my choosing. My first deliverable is to pick my important woman and outline why I chose her—what are the attributes that made me think her worthy. She look at me and says, “This is due today and I cannot give you an extension as the rest of the term is dependent on this choice. I realize that it is short notice and the others have had a couple of weeks to decide, so I will give you a little leeway, but it needs to be a good-faith effort. I also realize that you did not really choose this class and probably never would, but remember that you have to pass this class to keep your scholarship…”

I go back to my seat and open my laptop. I google “Important Women” and get a long list of such women as Hillary Clinton, Margaret Thatcher, Madame Curie… I groan. I can’t put these forth, I could never make it seem like I believe it myself… I look back at the list of questions—“What are your person’s assets that make them important? What importance are they and to whom?...” The list goes on…then it hits me and I do another Google search before I start furiously typing. I email my paper to Mrs. Braun right as the class ends and sigh. She gives me a look as I leave the room and she does not look happy…

I get an email the next day to appear in the Mother Superior’s office. I groan and make my way at the appointed hour. Mrs. Braun is waiting in the room with her. I shrink a little. The Mother Superior tells me to come in, to close the door behind me, and to sit down. Mrs. Braun wastes no time in starting the berating, “Is this all a joke to you Mr. Rousseau? At this point, you are sitting at a square ‘F’ for my class. There is no way to pass now, I am afraid. You lost your scholarship on your second day here. That is quite the record to add to your ‘firsts’ here!” The Mother Superior looks grim but adds, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Joey?” I blush and say, “I meant no disrespect, really! To me, Scarlet Johansen really is an important woman. OK, I am looking at it from a teenage boy’s point of view, but that is the only one I have. She was just awesome in the Avengers!” Mother Superior looks at me intensely and then turns to Mrs. Braun to say, “You know, Milly, he has a point.” She continues, ignoring Mrs. Braun’s blusters, “He comes from a town that views women like we are still in the 50’s. His Mom told me that his Dad is right there with that thinking. Plus, just because he is a genius doesn’t mean he is mature—we are used to mature young women, not immature brat boys. Maybe we should give him another chance—a way to earn some extra credit and pass your class if he takes it seriously and does well?” She takes Mrs. Braun into a side conference room and closes the door, leaving me to myself for several minutes. Finally, they both come back in. Mother Superior looks at me and says, “Joey, are you willing to do what it takes to get back into good academic standing at this college? Mrs. Braun has agreed to my proposal…and so has your Mom.” My heart jumps at that one…Mom will KILL me if I get thrown out and Dad is still gone so I can’t expect help from him… I timidly nod, not even asking…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As the story progresses, please remember that this is fiction. I am not in any way holding myself to reality, just ‘near’ reality. I am in no way endorsing some of the actions in this story as realistic, so please don’t get upset if some things happen that should not really ever happen in true life—at least not in a responsible environment. They are only meant to help the flow of this fictional story and should not be taken seriously.

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joey realizes that he has lost control of his life for the foreseeable future.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I must caution readers that this particular chapter in the story may be offensive to some. It includes scenes that many would consider abusive in nature. To be honest, they are, but there is a reason for this that will come out later in the stories within this universe.

If you do not think that you want to read this particular chapter, then here is a sanitized synopsis so that you can skip to the next one and still follow the story line: Joey is forced by the group he calls the Joy-Squad to be pierced and tattooed. He is obviously confused and hurt, both physically and mentally. This is NOT the theme of the rest of the book.

I look at the sea of girls before me—well, OK it is ten to be exact—but it is intimidating none-the-less to be in the hot seat in front of these girls. Emily is among them and I am most ashamed to be doing this in front of her. I really don’t want her to think badly of me…

Mrs. Braun taps her foot behind me and says, “Well? Are we going to get this show on the road or am I going to just have to the curtain call? Swan song, Joey?” I grimace and look back out at the feminine sea in front of me. I sigh and say, “Ummm, I don’t really know where to start. It seems my choice of important woman was not in keeping with the standards of this class.” One of the girls, a beautiful red-head named Shauna pipes up and asks, “Why? Who did you pick? Jenna Jameson?” I blush profusely. I don’t know if it is the question or the fact that I even know who that is… I shake my head and lamely respond, “No. Err…Scarlet Johansen…” There is a lot of loud laughter from the class until Mrs. Braun shuts it down with a “Girls!” Shauna looks at me again and asks, “So, who else would be in your top three?” I blush and Mrs. Braun says, “Go on. Answer her!” I gulp and whisper, “Well, Christina Aguilera and Emma Watson, I guess…” More giggling then a hushed silence as Mrs. Braun explains why we are here, “As you girls can see, our genius boy Joey here is not quite in line with the level of this class. He claims that is because he does not have the proper perspective to make a proper choice. I have agreed to allow him a chance to get some extra credit, so he will not fail this class and lose his scholarship. That is where you girls come in… Mr. Rousseau has agreed to become Ms. Rousseau for the remainder of the year. If ‘she’ can convince me that ‘she’ is worthy of a passing grade then all is well and Mr. Rousseau can finish out his studies here without any issues from me. If not, well…”

Mrs. Braun has to rap on her desk several times to get the chatter to stop. She continues, “You have an idea of the kind of girl that Mr. Rousseau here thinks is ideal. I trust the lot of you can make him into some semblance of that. If he gives you any resistance—or seems to show any signs of not taking this learning experience seriously, then I want to hear about it.”

More rapping on the desk and Mrs. Braun continues, “So, girls, I would like you take on Ms. Rousseau as a project. If Joey can get extra credit in this class, then so can the rest of you. If you can turn our Joey here into a bona-fied Joy by the end of the year—one that I can take to any venue without question, then you will each earn an ‘A’ for the class—no matter what the rest of your work looks like. That will, of course, require detailed journaling of your contributions and feelings of the process along the way—a juicy blow-by-blow diary, in other words. Deal?”

This time there is no rapping for quiet as the mob of girls descends on me…

A few of the girls stay behind to talk to Mrs. Braun as the rest, Emily in the lead, take me to my room. In a matter of minutes I am seated at my vanity in the middle of six chattering, giggling girls. They are fighting over how the best way is to turn me into ‘Joy’… A little later, the other three girls, led by Shauna come in and Shauna raises her hand for quiet. When the babbling settles down, she says, “The terms of the agreement are that we are in charge and anything is fair to give ‘Joy’ here a fair assessment of what being a girl is like. We are to use ‘her’ top-three important women list as inspiration. The key is that, in the end, ‘Joy’ is supposed to be a real person—a real girl. That is what we will be graded on. How she puts that to use is what ’she’ will be graded on… So, ‘Joy’, what is it you like about your top-three?”

I spend the next several hours being grilled about what I like about Scarlet—her boobs, her hair, her face…? Then the same about Christina, and then about Emma… Finally, the throng, save Emily, disperses to do whatever it was that Shauna had doled out for them to do. Shauna, it seems has turned out to be the leader of the ‘material’ things. I look at Emily and she shakes her head as she says, “You really got yourself into something here, Sport.” Emily is to be my main “inner” advisor. Phase one is mostly on Shauna to get me to outwardly look like a girl. Emily’s job is get to me to feel and act like one—phase two. The others will be in various support roles during those phases… Emily looks back over at me and asks, “How did you think that was going to go?” She looks at me hard and then giggles as she says, “You really DON’T get it, do you? You adorable, sweet little brat.” Then she surprises me as she kisses me full-on; tongue and all. “She grins and says, “We will have to work on that now, won’t we? First time? I guess I keep forgetting that I am three years older than you… Anyways—get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day for you. This weekend will likely be worse…”

I wake up, once again confused, to insistent pounding on my door—I am wrapped up in my bed and can’t seem to get out from under the covers. I finally figure out is my…nightgown? Oh yeah. My nightmare begins today… I stagger to the door and finally get it open. Shauna is standing there, impatiently tapping her foot. She looks at me and says in an exasperated voice, “What? You are still in bed? Girl, you need to get with it! You are lucky that we have a pass on all classes today…Mrs. Braun has more pull than I thought—I guess it helps to be the Mother Superior’s right-hand gal… Come on, we have a tight schedule today… Get dressed…jeans or something neutral. We will get you girlied up as the day progresses…”

An hour later, I am with three of the girls in the closest town—in the town’s only salon. Georgette, one of my ‘Joy-squad’, as they have started calling themselves, works here part-time. The place is normally not open Friday mornings, so we have the salon to ourselves. Georgette starts giving orders and I find myself stripped down to my undies. Paula and Gwen are the two ‘helpers’ and Gwen just pulls off my undies leaving me naked in front of them. They all three giggle at my under-whelming ‘equipment’—of course it is small; I have not even come close to puberty yet… Georgette looks me over and says, “Well, the good news is that you are already mostly hairless. This won’t take long…” She has me lay down on a table and waxes my entire body, including my face—removing what little fuzz I have. When she is done, I am smooth as a baby’s bottom—all over. At that moment, Shauna walks in with a box. It looks kind of heavy, but I am more worried about the shocked look she gives my naked body—then the giggles… She hands the box to Georgette and asks how it is going. Georgette smiles and says, “We were just getting ready for the laser…” The next hour is spent running a laser over my entire body—where I had just been waxed. They explain to me that it will slow down the growth of the little hair that I have. After that, Georgette has me lay back down on a table and opens a can of what smells like glue of some sort. She makes some marks on my chest and starts spreading what obviously is glue over my chest. Then she presses a cold jiggly mass down, first on one side, then the other. The weight on my chest is disconcerting, but she just keeps pushing down on it. After a bit, she says, “OK, sit up and let’s see how they look.” I sit up and the weights pull down on my chest. I look down and feel the blood drain from my face. I stutter, “I…I…I have…boobs!” The girls laugh and Gwen says, “Yeah. D-cups. Just like you covet…”

I get up off of the table and Shauna hands me a really short pink satin robe. I pull it on and tie the string-belt around my waist. Georgette leads me to one of the chairs at a sink and washes my hair. My hair is not really long by most standards and is sort of a muddy brown. After she has rinsed it out, she leads me to a regular stylist’s chair. She looks at me and says, “We have decided that the best compromise of your ‘important’ women is turn you into a pretty strawberry blonde…” With that she starts mixing up some smelly chemicals and spreads them all over my hair, making sure that it is all saturated with the goop. While she is doing that, Gwen has put my feet and hands into a hot liquid of some sort. I quickly figure out it is wax when she pulls them out and it cools into a coating. She removes the wax and then sets out working on my nails—both hands and feet. She meticulously removes my cuticles, using some sort of caustic liquid and wooden stick of some sort. Then she cuts my nails short and files them smooth.

I lose track of what is happening for a while after that. Georgette rinses my hair and starts adding in long hair extensions that are the same color as my newly-dyed strawberry blondness. Gwen starts gluing ‘claws’ to my nails and is busy doing things that I try my best to ignore. All I know is she is busy mixing pasty stuff, putting it on my nails and buffing it out… An hour or so later, Gwen is finishing up filing my nails and Georgette is cutting my hair that is now miraculously falling below my shoulders. As Georgette finishes cutting my hair, I smell the unmistakable scent of lacquer and know that Gwen is applying nail polish of some sort to my nails. I can’t look right now as Georgette is in control of how I hold my head. I am faced away from the mirror, so I don’t even know what she is up to…

Georgette finishes cutting my hair and leaves it damp. Gwen keeps working on my nails…and Shauna starts working on my face. First, she applies a clay-like coating to my face that I later learn is a ‘mud pack’ and lets it dry. By the time it is done and Shauna is pulling it from my face, along with half of my skin it seems, Gwen is done with my nails. Shauna then turns my chair towards the mirror and tells me to pay close attention. I don’t have time to look at my nails but can feel that they are really long. My hair is a long wet mess that Shauna brushes and clips out of my face with little ‘butterfly clips’. Then she starts explaining all of the makeup that she is using—expecting me to remember what she is saying and doing. It is a blur of foundation, eye liner (something about cats), eye shadow (in three shades), mascara (something about butterflies), blush, lip liner, lip stick, lip gloss, and oh…who knows what else…

I am shocked at my face when Shauna is done, but Georgette quickly turns me away from the mirror and starts keeping my attention as she is drying my hair…talking about rolling a brush this way and that as you are blowing it dry… I am completely lost when she turns the blow dryer off. I am flabbergasted when she turns me back towards the mirror and I see myself… I stutter, “I…I…I look like a girl…like a pretty girl. H…h…ho…how can that be?!?!?” The other girls laugh and Shauna says, “Hon, we are just getting started…!”

I am lost in my face in the mirror. The layered strawberry blond hair feathered into my face. The eyes, perfectly made up to pull you into the deep pools of green. The glistening ruby-red lips—plump and moist. I raise my hands to my face and see the long French tips on my fingers. Gwen says, “They are just a quarter inch for now. We will get them to glamour-length once you have a chance to adjust to them.” I glance down at my toes and see the deep red color on the nails—a tough gel finish perfectly matching my lips…

Shauna looks out the door and waves us over. She says, “Joy, we are just going next door. No one is looking right now, so…hurry up!” Before I know what is going on, I am ushered out the door and over to store next door…all just wearing my pink uber-short robe and some flip-flops that came from who-knows-where. I feel like my new ‘boobs’ are going to bounce up and hit me in the eye as we rush over… When we get inside, I see Clarissa, another of the ‘Joy-Squad’ talking to a heavily pierced and tattooed girl. Shauna grins at me and says, “This is where you meet one of the more ‘naughty’ sides of your idols. Be prepared to be pierced and tattooed—all in the vein of your ‘important’ women…” I look at her and feel the blood drain from my face…for the thousandth time today. I stutter in a whiny voice, “B…b….bbb…but that is really permanent…do we have to…” Shauna looks at me sternly and asks, “Now Joy, do I have to tell Mrs. Braun that you are resisting? No? I didn’t think so. Remember, we won’t do anything to you that your ‘important’ women wouldn’t do to themselves…”

Shauna leads me over to Clarissa and the tattooed girl, whose name is Zoey I am told. Zoey has me sit down on a stool and tells me to sit up straight. She looks at Clarissa and says, “So, let me make sure I have this right. You want her to have both earlobes triple-pierced, along with the right upper ear cartilage, the left inner ear cartilage, the left side of the nose, and the navel? Did I miss anything on the piercings?” Clarissa nods her head and says, “That should do it…for now.” Zoey nods and then continues, “As for the tattoos: the Chinese symbol for ‘joy’ down the back of her neck—about 4 inches; the colorful hummingbird we discussed in bright colors on her left butt cheek—about 6 inches; and a Celtic joy knot on the inside of her right ankle—about 3 inches? Did I miss anything on that?” Clarissa shakes her head. Then Zoey asks, “And you are sure on that final procedure? That is expensive on top of all of this. You are going to owe me a lot of hours in the shop, girl.” Clarissa says, “Yes, I am sure. We will work it all out. Joy here is worth it, aren’t you, Sweetie?” I had gotten more and more pale with each item listed and am feeling really faint. I know better than to argue, though. I smile wanly and just nod my head.

Zoey goes over to a cart and wheels it closer. She loads several piercing guns with starter earrings. She makes several marks on each ear and looks at Clarissa to confirm the placement. She just nods her acquiescence. When Zoey pierces my ear lobes, it does not really hurt much—not physically anyway; but with each ‘pop’ of the gun I get more and more emotional. When she is done with the ear lobes, I am allowed a quick look in the mirror. I have a succession of ‘diamond’ studs in each ear, from large to small—front to back. The large ones are about a 1/4-inch in diameter and the small ones maybe 1/8. She then pierces the upper cartilage of my right ear, which hurts, and places a 1/2-inch gold hoop in it. Then she pierces the cartilage fold inside my left ear, which hurts a lot and places a small gold hoop in it. Another extremely painful pop and the left side of my nose is pierced and fitted with another small gold hoop. Finally, she has me lie down on my back and picks up a nasty pair of pointy pliers. She grabs the fleshy fold above my naval and stretches it before punching a hole in my naval. I nearly pass out as she puts a piece of jewelry in the piercing—it has a large ‘diamond’ jewel that sort of stretches my navel, it is so big. There is a smaller sparkly clear blue stone protruding from the top hole above my navel.

If I thought that was bad, I had another thing coming. Zoey has me lie on my very sore tummy and starts drawing on the back of my neck with a marker of some sort. Clarissa had put my newly long hair into a tight bun high on my head. Then Zoey starts drawing on my left butt cheek. After a minute, Clarissa starts pointing and touching my thigh and my back around that area and I hear Zoey ask, “Are you sure? Of course I can—it would be pretty. OK, you are the boss.” I feel the drawing get bigger—going down and around my left thigh a bit and up onto my back, towards the small of it. It feels like she is drawing some sort of swirls, or something. Then, finally, she draws a symbol on the inside of my right ankle, about an inch or so above my foot. After that, I hear a sharp buzzing and pure, unadulterated pain as the needles bite into the back of my neck and upper spine delivering the permanent ink deep under my skin that I am so dreading.

After a few minutes, I guess I start to get used to the pain a bit. It still hurts like you-know-what, though and I think I may have even whimpered a bit. Shauna comes into view with a box of red wine and pours a large glass of it. She hands it to me and says, “Here! We are not barbarians. This will take the edge off—the whole box is yours; we have our own!” She giggles and goes back around to watch the progress Zoey is making. The next hours are a blur of buzzing, pain, and…relief as the wine kicks in. Now, mind you, I had never had wine before this and, after a couple of gulps, I am already feeling it and relaxing…

I lose track of time gulping the wine and the next thing I know Zoey and the girls help me turn over onto my sore back; I am so sloshed by now that I don't care. Through the fog, I feel Zoey messing around with my little guy below and…it feels like she is sticking something UP it… Shauna just lifts my head up and gives me another gulp of wine. I feel two sharp pains somewhere down there…it is hard to pinpoint at this point. I hear Zoey say something like, “Once the holes have healed, the bar can be removed and the front is like a normal Prince Albert that can sport a curved barbell that will fully plug the front, since the urine will exit through this hole back here…” I have no idea what she is saying.

A moment later, I mercifully pass out…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As the story progresses, please remember that this is fiction. I am not in any way holding myself to reality, just ‘near’ reality. I am in no way endorsing some of the actions in this story as realistic, so please don’t get upset if some things happen that should not really ever happen in true life—at least not in a responsible environment. They are only meant to help the flow of this fictional story and should not be taken seriously.

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joey finds a protector—and it is not his Dad….

I wake up to the headache from, well, Hell… My mouth feels like it is lined with cotton; my tongue feels like parched leather. I groan and look around the room with eyes that feel like they have been sand-blasted. There is subdued light barely making its way through the heavy pink fabric of my curtains. I cough and groan again. I try and sit up and the weights on my chest make me have to give it an extra attempt before I am actually able to sit unsteadily on the bed. My back feels like it is on fire. My ears are hot. My belly button area is pulsing with pain. I feel like CRAP!

I am sitting there in self-pity when the door bursts open, flooding the room with bright light. I literally scream--both from being startled…and the pain the noise and light causes my aching head. Emily happily bounces in and says, “Girl! You look like C-R-A-P! Come on, we need to get you presentable. You have a really busy day.” She is carrying a tray and sets it down on my desk. She helps me stand up—I almost fall flat on my face—and over to my chair. She says, “I didn’t figure you would want to go down to breakfast, so I brought breakfast up to you. Don’t get used to it! Here…DRINK! It is the best thing you can do.” She hands me a very large glass of orange juice that I greedily gulp down. In the meantime, she fills a large pitcher with water and I gulp down a couple of glasses of that. By then, my throat does not feel like it is AS coated with ground glass. Emily makes me take a few bites of toast and some scrambled eggs, then she hands me a couple of white caplets and a cup of steaming hot strong coffee and says, “Ibuprofen and caffeine…the manna of the Gods when it comes to hangovers…” I gulp down the medicine with the hot coffee and give her a thankful look.

Emily tells me I can’t take a shower because of my new tattoos, but she offers to help wash my hair and give me a sponge bath. As I start towards the bathroom, I realize that I have to pee really badly after drinking all that I had. I tell Emily to give me a minute and go ahead in. I lift the toilet seat and reach down to grab my little guy. I yelp in surprise as I find some sort of rod running through him. It does not take me long to figure out that whatever the contraption is, that it will interfere with me peeing. I don’t have time to think too much about it, because I can’t stop the pressure—I really have to pee. Only…it the pee is all coming out of a hole in the wrong place and is dribbling down my leg. Emily comes in and quickly drops the toilet seat and makes me sit down to finish. She says, “You were modified a bit…you will have to always sit like a girl to pee now…” I sit there in shock as my pee tinkles out like a girl. Emily shows me how to properly wipe. She looks a little disturbed and says, “Just so you know—I did not and do not agree with…this…”

I look at Emily and seriously feel like crying. This is too much…what did I do to deserve this? With a bit of venom in my voice, I ask, “Why have you all turned on me? Turned me into some sort of caricature…basically a bimbo…?” Emily looks at me perplexed and turns it around on me, as she says, “While some of it may have been a bit overboard, it i/em> what you described to us as the perfect woman—what an important woman is like… What is not to your liking?” I sigh as she starts to help me sponge off…At least the ibuprofen is beginning to kick in… I lick my still parched lips and say, “This…” I gesture towards myself. “This…looks more like…Mylie Cyrus or Britany Spears —or at least what they pretend to represent for shock value… but, there is really no sense in discussing it—you and your posse have made up your minds; and seem to have Mrs. Braun and the Mother Superior behind you. I am not so sure about my Mom—I KNOW my Dad will have a fit when HE finds out…” Emily looks very pensive after that as she quietly helps me finish washing off…

Emily almost has my hair blown dry when my door once again is thrown open. I guess I can kiss any sort of privacy goodbye for now… Shauna comes rushing in with a bag in her hand, pulls Emily to one side, and whispers in an agitated manner into her ear. Emily looks at her and says, “How should I know? Yesterday was your show…remember?” Shauna rolls her eyes and starts pulling some clothes out of the bag. She comes over to me and says, “We are going to have to find some makeshift clothes for you. Our plan was to take you shopping and get you outfitted today, but, for some reason, the Mother Superior wants to see you right away. I grabbed some things from the other girls that we think might fit… Oh, and you haven’t even started your makeup yet. This is a DISASTER!”

The next half hour is a rush of Emily finishing drying my hair and pulling it back into a tight, high ponytail. Shauna quickly puts some makeup on my face. It is much lighter than yesterday, although my eyes are still a wonder to me…the thick eyelashes the makeup gives me, together with the colored lids and thin, highly arched eyebrows make my green eyes pop and just draw my gaze straight to them in the mirror… After a few tries, we find a pair of lacy girl’s jeans, with heavily adorned pockets, a blouse that will barely close over the large boobs I now have glued on (safely tucked away in a bra—which is a whole other story), and some three-inch pumps that match the color of the pumps.

Shauna looks at me and says, “That will have to do for now. We will worry about a purse and other things later. Come on, Joy, we needed to be over there ten minutes ago. The MS does not like to be kept waiting.” I give her a withering look and shrug. There is no need to even comment on that…but I do grimace and say, “You really expect me to walk in THESE? Let alone hurry?” Shauna gives me a withering look back and asks, “What is the matter? The almighty guy from the town from Hell can’t handle heels? Three-inch are starter heels…for real girls, that is…” Emily rolls her eyes and sighs. She grabs my left arm while Shauna grabs my right and they walk me out my door between them—literally keeping me on my wobbling feet, like I am once again drunk out of my mind…

Ten minutes later, I stumble into the Mother Superior’s office—Emily and Shauna waiting at the door behind me. She gives me a surprised look and dismisses the two girls—telling them to close the door behind them. She says with a slightly amused crinkle around her eyes, “I don’t mind you being barefoot—IF you did not choose those shoes…” I give her a thankful look and sigh in appreciation as I kick off the shoes. I say, “Remind me to forget that…’experience’… I can’t believe that I did not break my ankle on the way over here.” I laugh a little at myself and then say, “I don’t suppose you have to worry about heels?” She shakes her head no and says, “Well, not anymore; but I was not always a nun… So, you must be wondering why I asked you to come—and don’t worry, I understand that it is not your fault that you are late. It would have been a miracle if you had made it at the time I asked Shauna to have you here…”

She gets up and pours two hot cups of tea. She gestures towards the cream and sugar and takes a sip of hers; black. I cautiously follow suit and quietly wait as she gives me a critical appraisal. Finally, she asks, “So, how do you feel?” I almost drop my cup—I had expected most anything, but not that question. I take a sip of tea to cover for the awkward silence while I contemplate my answer. Finally, I decide to be truthful. What have I got to lose? I put down my cup and say, “Well. I don’t know how to answer that question, honestly. I hurt. I was pierced, tattooed….and otherwise humiliated by this whole thing. Those girls have chosen to make me look like some sort of bimbo…I don’t know why. It can’t be because of who I said were important women…they are definitely not bimbos. Well, at least not that I know of…” I can’t help but grin a little at myself. The Mother Superior smiles and says, “And yet, that is the second time since you got here this morning that you have made a little fun of yourself. I like that… But…please…go on…” I shake my head and say, “I don’t get it. I really don’t. I mean, this stuff is permanent… Wait until my Dad finds out…”

The Mother Superior sits quietly for a few minutes to see if I add anything else, but there really isn’t anything else for me to say. She nods and says, “Well, I know some things that none of you do, but this is not the time for those to come out. Not yet, anyway. I will let you know that Shauna and her family hold the town you come from in contempt—better said, they hold any males from that town in contempt. It is up to her to tell you more, though—it is her personal business. The thing is that, because of that, she lost perspective over this project—and has hurt you. Shauna is a born leader and has easily convinced the others, with the exception of Emily, of blindly following her lead. I signed off on this project and so it is ultimately my fault that you were hurt in this manner. I can’t let you off the hook on the project—things happen for a reason—and there is a reason for this. But, I can make up for the hurt… Come over here and lay down…”

She leads me to a couch and has me lay down. She kneels down beside me, places her hands over my heart, and bows her head down until her forehead touches her folded hands. I am not sure what to make of all of this…but, all of a sudden, I feel a warm glow come over me…and, slowly, the pain…disappears. The headache…gone. The pain from the piercings…gone. The pain from the tattoos…gone.

She raises her head and slowly gets up. I notice she is shaking—like she is really weak… She smiles wanly at me and asks, “Do you feel better?” Wonderingly, I nod and say, “The pain is gone…” She sits, still unsteady, and says, “I…have some…gifts… You are healed…for now. I promise you this. The things that happened to you yesterday because of what the girls subjected you to will not be an issue when your ‘project’ comes to an end. Whatever you choose to do at that point will be entirely up to you… The piercings can be healed. And those tattoos, well, they are magnificent pieces of art, but the ink has some special properties that even the girls are not aware of. I know Zoey well and she is a genius in her art, not unlike you will be… I did not lightly recommend to your Mom to sign the consent forms she requires…”

She takes a shaky breath and looks really pale. Though she is visibly shaking, she looks at me unwaveringly—straight in the eye and says, “Go take a hot bubble bath and let your worries soak away before they drag you off to go shopping. I promise this will be a learning journey for all of you. I also promise that this journey will not harm you in any way—I will see to that. Now, go—I am afraid I am going to have to rest a bit…”

I give her a worried look and she shoes me towards the door with a dismissive motion of her hands. I grab my shoes and quietly slip out with them in my hand. Emily and Shauna are waiting outside and pull me outside. I hop around in my bare feet on the hot concrete sidewalk until Emily makes me sit down on a bench to tell them what happened.

I look at them both, wide-eyed, and simply say in a small, awed voice, “She healed me…”

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joey finds a protector—and it is not his Dad….

Shauna looks at me…extremely pale…and stutters, “Sh…sh…she…what? Th…th…that…is impossible…! She only does that when…” If possible, she pales even more—but then turns silent. I process that. I don’t know what it means, but I sense that I have an advantage, so I press it. I look at Shauna and say, “The Mother Superior advised me to go take a hot bubble bath and soak. I think you and I need to talk; I will leave it up to you whether you want Emily to join us in my bathroom, or not…”

Twenty minutes later, my tub is running full of steaming hot water—the bubbles are already mounding over the top. I stand in front of the steamy mirror and look at the tattoo of a colorful bird on my butt—stretching up to my lower back and down my thigh—and wonder just what the Mother Superior meant by it being ‘special ink’… I can’t help but trust her after she somehow healed my—physical—wounds. All of my piercings are completely healed, as are my tattoos… What do I do with this? I will admit, though, the artwork is exquisite—if it were on someone else…

I slowly climb into the steaming water and mounds of bubbles. My fake breasts float strangely in the water under the bubbles. Shauna meekly comes in and sits on the lowered toilet lid, next to the tub. Emily leans against the door frame. I lay there and soak in the heat. Who knew? This REALLY IS AWESOME! Even if it does smell like flowers… I lazily look over at Shauna and ask, “So, I understand that you hate the men from my hometown. How does that exactly play into what you put me through yesterday? And why exactly would you? What do you even know about my home?” I swish my hands through the hot, steamy water and marvel at my long fingernails—waiting for Shauna to respond…

Shauna is quiet for several minutes. Emily and I both just look at her and wait. Finally, Shauna opens up…slowly at first, “Well, it became personal to my family about sixteen years ago, when my Aunt was brainwashed and kidnapped by one of the evil men from your town. My grandmother mourns her daughter. My mother mourns her sister….and I mourn my cousin. It is all because of people like your father…and, ultimately, like…you… Men, like your father and others in your town, erode what women are about. Women, like those in your town, are prisoners that are only there to please the men… Your choices of women for class only support that!”

I almost hyperventilate in the hot water…then, finally, calm down. I look at Emily, who seems to be sending me moral support, and then at Shauna. I take a deep breath and say, “You are probably the biggest bigot I have ever met. You know NOTHING about my Dad. You know NOTHING about my town… How DARE YOU?” I almost jump out of the tub to strangle Shauna. Emily hurries over and holds me down—thanks to the slippery tub… Shauna is, if anything, even paler… She takes a deep breath and says in a small voice, “My Aunt was seduced by a…man…from…there…and got pregnant. She was then brainwashed into leaving home and going…there…and forced to stay. None of us have heard from her…or her child…since. Can you blame me…or my family…for hating that town or its men? The authorities have sided with the town, saying that my Aunt went voluntarily and local law is in the town’s favor. Somehow, this...evil…guy…convinced my Aunt to abandon her family and submit to the town’s medieval view of women as God’s given gift to men… Your men value women that submit to them; cater to them; do everything they want…including being a baby-factory for them. Can you blame me for hating…you… and your values…?”

I settle back into my hot water and don’t say a word… Finally, boiling mad, I splutter, “So, that is your justification for turning me into the bimbo…this caricature…?” I wait to see what she says… Emily, takes a sponge and starts washing down my back…soothing my raw nerves… Finally, Shauna responds in a haughty voice, “Look…you led us to every decision that we went with. Obviously, your…upbringing…has colored your view of women. I mean look at who you think is important.” I take a deep breath and let the flowery smell of the bubbles sink in before I counter, “No, I guess I don’t understand. Please clue this idiot in…”

Shauna is quiet a couple of minutes. She is obviously disturbed. Finally, she continues, “Look, you are obviously enamored by sexy women…look at your picks. I…we…were only trying to play to your wishes.” I don’t give in… I swish through the water with my hands and play with a mound of bubbles, focusing on my long nails. After a bit, I respond, “So, you are saying that Scarlet, Christina, and Emma are bimbos?” I leave it at that…and she uncomfortably responds, “No; YOU do.” I smile…not that I am amused, but because I have won, and ask sweetly, “What would make you say that?” She coughs and says, “Well, look at your responses to our questions about what you liked…they were all about boobs and figures and beauty. It was obvious what you were about…”

I am quiet for a while. Did I really come across that way? No—it HAD to be how she…they…WANTED to perceive me… I reach down and pull the stopper out the stopper--the water is getting cold. As it drains, I say, “Not that YOU care, but, Scarlet is important to me because she plays a really cool super hero that is poised and calm and gets the job done. She plays a woman that is vital in saving a zoo…and many more such roles. I like Christina because she has a voice that is unrivaled and I can appreciate it from an artistic point of view. She played a role where she was tenacious and won her star role because she stuck to guns. I just love the role that Emma played—I mean she was AWESOME as Hermione. Who could not love that role? Are they beautiful women? Yes. Does that matter? Well, of course any guy will appreciate that—but, I mean…THAT is not ONLY what I appreciate about them… YOUR biased questions only made it SEEM like that is what is important to me because of what you CHOSE to read from my answers…”

After that, Emily shoos Shauna out of the room and helps me get dried off. I put on the same clothes that I had on before—including the shoes. I laugh as I try to walk. Emily laughs with me and gives me a kiss—again, full tongue, and says, “That is for encouragement. You ARE going to be an AWESOME girl, and something as mundane as a few inches of heel is not going to stop you. You gave Shauna a lot to think about—but, don’t let it go to your head…you really are not completely innocent, you know… Whether your town is a factor, or not, you DO have some outdated perceptions about girls…” I try and press her on the subject, but she won’t say anymore before the full ‘Joy-Squad’ arrives and we start getting ready to go to the same small mall that I had my ‘experiences’ at the day before…

I almost balk before we leave, but remember my promise to my Mom to do my best. I am not worried, though. Dad will be home tomorrow… I am sure that I will be home very soon after that…and the Mother Superior will have to make good on her promise to remove all of this girly stuff from my body… I look at all the healed piercings in my ears and my nose and mentally picture the rest… I look so ridiculous. If I didn’t love Mom so much…

Less than an hour later, we are at the mall and I am trying on outfit after outfit in one of the higher-end clothing stores. Shauna has backed off a little from turning me into a complete bimbo, but I get the impression that she is still pushing to have me as close to that edge as she can get me. Everything that she picks out is designed to show of ‘cleavage’ or my midriff, displaying my belly button jewel and tattoos. None of the shoes she picks out are less than a three-inch heel. When I protest that she is just trying to embarrass me, she just points at her own and asks if I had ever seen her in anything less? To be honest, I hadn’t—but, I had never really paid that much attention, either… Of course, I have to also get several purses that go with the shoes. When it comes time to pay for all of the stuff, I wonder how that is supposed to work. Shauna pays for it all without blinking—it seems, when she told her Mom about the ‘project’, including where I am from, she was given pretty much a blank check to get the extra credit for class; I guess her parents are not poor. Not that any of the kids at St. Paul’s are that are not there on a scholarship; tuition is outrageous…

After we leave the clothing store, we go to the local earring store and the girls pick out several pairs of glittery, dangly things. They also get a bunch of big hoopy things, you know the ones that look more like bracelets than earrings. Speaking of bracelets, they get a bunch of those…and glittery rings, too. There are other things that I have no idea about, maybe hair things? While it is all costume stuff, the bill is still more than I can believe.

Finally, they take me to a makeup store and pick out all of the ‘essentials’ for me. Gwen promises to show me how to use it all and Georgette chimes in that she will give me lessons on how to do my hair properly… All I can think of is that this is all a waste of time and money, since Dad is going to get me out of here. I just have to hold out until tomorrow…

After we back to my room, Gwen quickly does my face up and Georgette styles my hair so that I can ‘model’ my new outfits. Emily does assure me that this is a normal rite for girls and something ‘we’ love to do… I am in my third outfit, a tight little forest green dress that shows off ample cleavage, when there is a knock on my door. Well, that is new—someone is actually knocking? I look around; the whole ‘squad’ is here… Emily opens the door and a girl that I have seen around campus before but don’t really know whispers something to her. Emily nods and closes the door after the girls disappears down the hall. She looks at me and says, “I guess we are going to have to postpone the rest of the show until later. The Mother Superior wants to see you again.” I give her a questioning look and she shrugs back, indicating that she has no idea. This has to be it! Dad must have gotten home early and is going to get me out of here!

Ten minutes later, I am in her office for the second time today. She looks more energetic than when I last left her, but…somehow…sad… She gives me an encouraging smile and says, “You look very pretty in that outfit, Joy. Maybe the dress is a little low-cut, but it is very pretty.” I smile wanly back—the last thing I want to hear is how ‘pretty’ I look… She takes my hands and tells me to sit down on her couch. She sits down right next to me and continues to hold my hands tightly. She looks at me and says, “I need you to stay strong. Your mother called a few minutes ago. She had to hang up, but will call back as soon as she can. I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news on her behalf. It seems your father’s plane has gone missing somewhere in the wilderness of British Columbia in Canada. Everyone is missing…”

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joey finds a surprising new family….

I feel the world going dark and the Mother Superior squeezing my hands to keep me from passing out. I blink and look into her eyes, not comprehending for a second. Then her words echo in my mind, ”They are all missing…” All I can say is, “I have to get home. I have to take care of Mom. I am the man of the house while Dad is gone—it is my responsibility…” Mother Superior looks at me and says, “It is OK to cry, Sweetie. Let it go…” I look at her in defiance and say, “No, it isn’t. Men don’t cry. I have to get home…”

Right then the phone rings and M.S. answers. She hands me the phone. I take it and hear Mom say in a tearful voice, “Baby? Are you there? I am so sorry that I could not tell you myself. I can’t stay on the phone long, though. We all have to be available in case they call us with news. Tomorrow, I am going to fly to BC to be closer to the search area. Your sister and brother are going to stay with your grandmother here in town while I am gone. I need you to stay there and be strong for us, Sweetie. Go to church tomorrow and pray—the Mother Superior will help you through this. I will keep you up to date through the Mother since your cell doesn’t have a signal there.”

I say in a choked voice, “No, Mom! I need to come home. It is my duty…I am a man. I have to…” Mom breaks in and says, “Hon, there is no argument in this. The airline will only pay for me to go. There is nothing that you can do here. I know that you are well taken care of there—I know that I don’t have to worry about you, too, with the Mother looking out for you. Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is—you need to be an adult for me, right now. Just pray that they find him. Pray hard for us! I have to go, Hon…they may be trying to call…”

I say goodbye and the line clicks on the other end… I hang up the phone and collapse on the couch. The M.S. comes over and hugs me. She says, “I am sorry, Joy. I have my gift, which is to physically heal. I have no special gift to help with emotional pain. I can tell you that if you let it out with a good cry, it can help tremendously. I know that you think that is beneath you—that it is something that only a woman is allowed to do; that it is a sign of weakness for a man. No one has to know. Just let it out…” I steadfastly shake my head and fight back the tears that so desperately want to come out. I say, “She doesn’t want me to come home. She wants me to stay. I don’t understand…” M.S. hugs me again and says, “It isn’t that she doesn’t want you home, Sweetie. Right now, she has to focus on them finding your Dad. There is nothing that you can do—any more than she can. You are both forced into waiting; and honestly where you wait is mostly irrelevant. You do have a support group here. One that is, I am sure, very willing to help you through this—if you give them a fair chance and don’t shut them out.”

M.S. gets up and gets a vial of pills. She takes one out and hands it to me with a glass of water. She says, “Take this. It will help you better work through this. You will need to take one of these pills a day—don’t miss any, though. Like always, I promise that they won’t harm you. I had not planned on giving you these, but, under these circumstances, I think that it is best.” I hesitantly take the tiny pill from her and swallow it with some water. I take the vial from her—it has no markings on it to indicate what the pills are—and stick it in the purse that was still slung over my shoulder from the ‘fashion show’. After a few minutes, I say, “I don’t feel any different…” She smiles sadly and says, “It will take some time for them to start working. In the meantime, go tell your friends what is going on. I am sure they want to know—and will want to help.”

I slowly make my way back to my room. I fight the tears all the way; determined not to give into them. I am so distraught that I don’t even notice that I am not stumbling in the heels. I make it up the stairs and hesitate in front of my closed door—I hear the babbling and giggling of the girls through it and almost bolt down the hall. I take a deep breath and open the door. Emily rushes over and hugs me as she says, “You are back! What did…?” She trails off when sees my face and then quietly asks, “Joy…ey? What is wrong? You look like you have seen a ghost!” I fight the tears harder as Emily sits me down at my desk and the girls gather around me. I sit quietly for a few minutes and finally tell them what happened.

What happens next takes me completely off guard. These girls, the ones that have been trying their best, in my opinion, to humiliate me, Shauna front and center, all pile on me in a supportive group hug. While I am still fighting to keep my eyes dry, all of the girls around me have huge black trails of mascara running down their faces from the tears freely flowing down their faces. At first I am put off by this display of emotion; after all, a group of guys would never fall apart like this. But the longer it lasts, the more I realize the pain they are feeling—for me—is heartfelt; the more it sinks in, the less uncomfortable I become with the situation. A single tear escapes my eye and trails down my cheek as I gently extract myself from the group. I take a deep breath and decide to be honest with them. I say, “Girls, I appreciate your concern. To be honest, this is completely foreign to me—being in such an emotional…but very caring…environment. As a guy, I really want to run right now… I am supposed to be stoic and shoulder this like a man…and because, well I HURT. I know you think my Dad, like other men in my town, is some sort of monster—yet, here you are grieving with me at his disappearance.” I take a shaky breath and continue, “I guess I thought you would be…happy…about it…”

Shauna looks stricken and says, “Look, Joy…and I am not calling you that out of spite, right now… For better or worse, you are one of us. You are in pain. We are here to help. End of discussion. Now, what can we do?” I look at her and shrug. I quietly say, “I have no idea. I am even more helpless right now than when you started poking holes in me…at least I could have fought back at that. I am mad at mother for not letting me come home… Don’t get me wrong; I am beginning to understand that you are a surrogate family, of sorts, while I am here…and the M.S. is being really great—she gave me some sort of medicine that is supposed to help me process this… Oh, by the way, don’t let me forget to take it…one a day—she says it is important—what do I know…it is in a vial in that purse over there… Anyway, I just want to get away from here…even if it just for a day or two…have a home-cooked meal…and feel like I am at home… Is that too much? I don’t know…”

I don’t notice Shauna quietly step out into the hall as Emily and the other girls start removing my makeup and brushing out my hair. Before I know it, I am in a soft, warm nightgown and being put to bed. Emily is in the chair beside my bed and says, “We will take turns staying with you tonight. You let us know if you need anything. You will have to get up earlier than you are used to, to get ready in the morning. It takes a girl longer, you know—but you need to attend mass tomorrow…”

I don’t sleep well, but, true to their word, I am not alone one minute all night long. I startle however when Shauna quietly shakes me and says, “Joy, it is time to get up. We are going to help you get ready for mass…and when that is over…you are going to come home with me to my house. Mom is expecting us for lunch…the Mother Superior has excused us from class for the next couple of days while you stay with my family.” I look at her, shocked…I can’t believe she is doing this for me…maybe it IS just because she feels guilty, but it is sweet, none-the-less… I give her an awkward hug and go to take a hot shower. A few minutes later, I come out and Shauna giggles as she shows me how to properly wrap my body in a towel to cover my breasts…and how to wrap my hair in a towel like a turban. She then sits me down at my vanity and says, “I am going to do your makeup much heavier than would be normal for this time of day—or for church. But…you look like a zombie, right now, with those bags under your eyes…” She gets busy right as Georgette comes in and starts working on my hair. Both Shauna and Georgette look perfect…there is no telling how early THEY got up to get ready, so that they could get ME ready… Of course, if they just let me be Joey then none of this would be necessary—and I would be missing out on this…wonderful care… Oh…this is so confusing… Dad, please come home…my world is upside down right now…you can fix it…you can make things like they…are supposed to be…?

A little less than an hour later, I am standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door. I am in the second most conservative outfit that the girls picked out for me yesterday. Shauna had vetoed my most conservative one, because it is black and she insists that we are not going to a funeral service… The dress that I am in is electric blue, comes to just above my knees in a swooped hem line. It has a scoop neck that is too low for church, so Gwen has loaned me a ‘camisole’ that hides my ‘breasts’ in a complementary manner. The blue sets off the color of my dyed strawberry blond hair beautifully. The makeup, while heavy, is not garish. I can’t believe it. I look like a really pretty girl…one that I would not recognize as me in a million years… And…somehow…I am not freaked out about it…

Emily clears her throat and says, “Joy, you look beautiful…and no one is going to know…about, well…they just won’t… We need to go. Mass starts in fifteen minutes…” I sit through mass, surrounded by the ‘squad’ and am grateful when Father Brown says a special prayer for “Joy’s” Dad…and our family… After a tight hug from M.S. and another emotional group hug from the squad, I get into Shauna’s car and we take off on the two-hour drive to her family home—in directly the opposite direction of my own… I had thought about trying to convince Shauna to just take me to MY home, but knew that she would be unwilling to go to my hometown…and that Mom would be furious if I did, as well.

On the drive, Shauna tells me about her family. She is an only child, something I think I envy her for in a way… I laugh as I tell her that siblings are a mixed bag of blessings and curses. I already know some of the other stuff…about her Aunt… As she talks about her family in such a doting manner, I realize that family is very important to her…and the rest of her family…and my former…hate…no extreme dislike…for her melts another several degrees… Then, I start to tell her about my family…how my Dad’s main focus is to provide for us…to treat my Mom like a queen while she takes care of us kids and our home. I let her know that Mom has never given ANY indication that she regrets having gotten pregnant with me and moving to our town. Then, in a moment of weakness, I tell her, “You may not believe this, Shauna, but I don’t always agree with every value and moral in our town. My Dad loves my Mom and every one of us kids; of that, I have no doubt. My Mom loves us, too—and I do not in a moment believe that she really regrets any of her family choices, but I can’t believe that there are not better ways… That being said, is having a real family all that bad? You know, one where there is a real parent at home… There are sacrifices, sure…but, coming home from school to a parent…not an empty house while both parents are working…is…somehow special…” Shauna glances over at me as she pulls into the driveway of our destination and says, “I could not agree more…and do you know that my DAD decided to stay home while I was a kid in school while MOM pursued her career…? I am only saying…there are options…if everyone is open to them…” I smile and say, “Well, I will give you that my hometown is not generally open to new ‘options’—the OLD way is ALWAYS the best one… And, yes, old-fashioned values ARE the old ways… Change is not well accepted…”

We get out of the car, my heart pounding. I know they KNOW I am ‘the project’, but I still feel like a freak… Shauna’s Mom, Jen, hugs me as we enter the front door and makes me feel so welcome that I forget all about being nervous, though… Her Dad, Jeff, is no less welcoming… We have no more than gotten into the living room, a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen, when my cell phone rings…it startles me, since I am used to it not working at the college… I turn red and struggle to find it in the purse that Shauna gave me to hold all of my ‘essential’ stuff… Amidst profuse apologies, I finally find it and see the call is from Mom. I step back into the hallway and answer it…

The first thing that Mom tells me is that there is still no news on Dad’s plane…then she tells me that M.S. had told her that I had come home with Shauna. She says, “I am so glad that you have found friends to help you through these trying times, Hon. Believe me, you will eventually realize what a blessing that is… Now, tell me a bit about Shauna and her family…I need to thank them for taking care of my baby…” I groan and tell her that I can take care of myself and that I really have not met them to speak of, yet. She presses me for what I know and I say, “OK, OK…Shauna is at college with me…her Mom, Jen, seems really nice. Her Dad, Jeff, also seems nice, but…” I hear Mom gasp loudly as she breaks in to my explanation and ask, “Wh…wha…what is their last name, Dear? And where do they live? Tell me…quickly…” I roll my eyes at her impatience and say, “McMillan and Hope, why?” There is dead silence on the other end. I look to make sure I have not lost the connection…it is still very active…five full bars…when I hear, “Jo…y, please put me on with…Shauna’s Mom…” I say, “OK…GEE…just give me a sec…”

I go into the living room and timidly go over to Mrs. McMillan. I say, “I am really sorry to interrupt, but my Mom would like to speak to you…” I hand her the phone… She says, “Yes, this is Jen…and you are Joy’s Mom?” I hear very clearly what my Mom says, “Jenny? Hello, Sis…it has been a long time…”

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joey finds out more about the family he didn’t know existed….

Mrs. McMillan sinks into her couch...with an audible gasp simultaneous to my own… I once again feel faint. I sway a bit and Shauna, who had not heard what was said, grabs me. She gives me and her Mom a questioning look. Mrs. McMillan is deathly pale as she speaks into my phone, “Lily? Is that really you? You mean that…Joy…Joey…is my…nephew…niece…whatever? O…M…G…” She drops the phone and I pick it up in the middle of the uproar… I am barely able to speak and say, “Mom? What is going on? Are you saying that I am in your sister’s house…that Shauna is my…cousin?” It is quiet for a minute, then Mom says, “Yes…it is true…I don’t know how…or why, but God has seen fit to bring our families back together… Please let your Aunt know that I am SO sorry for…not being in touch…and we will work it all out…later…but I have to go… I am so sorry, Jo…oy…, I have to go…the plane is boarding. I love you!” The phone goes dead…

I sink down next to…my…Aunt. I feel drained—likely as pale as she is. I say, “I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say… Shauna, maybe it is best if you take me to the bus station—I am sure that I can get a bus back to the college…or something…” Shauna looks at me, confused, and her dad…my…uncle…says, “Nonsense! I know that we can’t fully celebrate, because your father is missing…BUT, there is NO way we are going to turn you away…not after we finally have you here! Jen. Jen, SNAP OUT OF IT! This is your…well, your sister’s child! The one you have been longing to meet…for sixteen years…don’t you have anything to say?”

To say that all Hell breaks loose at that point would be an understatement. Shauna comes over and hugs me tightly. She has a wondered look in her eyes as she says, “Cousins…?” Mrs. McMillan comes over and nearly smothers me with a hug like I have never experienced. When she finally lets me come up for air, I see that tears are streaming down her cheeks. She says, “So…I don’t know what to say. We have been wanting to meet you for so long…and here you are. I wish I could say it was under better circumstances…but I am SO glad to finally get to meet you. Come…let’s eat some lunch and…talk…”

I am ushered into the dining room and we are sitting around the table several minutes later. We have not even dished out the food, all of us still a bit in shock, when another, older lady rushes into the room. She gives me a haunted look and asks, “Is it true? Are you really my granddaughter?” Aunt Jen, as she is now insisting I call her, speaks up and says, “Come in, Mom; this is indeed your grandchild—we are still working on how to deal with the ‘daughter’ part…” The older lady, the grandmother I never even knew I had, comes over and hugs me. She says, “I never thought this day would happen—so much was said…so many bitter things… But, you are here…you are here…” She sits down, with the same shocked look as the rest of us, and then…my stomach growls very loudly. That relieves the tension and everyone laughs. Uncle Jeff starts passing the food around and it tastes wonderful. We are however all still somewhat subdued in our conversation while we eat—there are so many elephants in the room that it is hard to count them all…

Aunt Jen insists that we just leave the dishes piled up in the sink and go back to the living room to deal with all of those elephants… I start by telling how I wound up at St. Paul’s to begin with—at Mom’s insistence while Dad was away. Shauna picks up with why I am sitting here dressed as a girl—misunderstandings and all. Finally, I broach the subject of my Dad. There is an awkward silence, then my ‘new’ Grandma asks, “Sweetie, I am sorry about your father. I sincerely hope, for your sake, that he is found safe and sound. I can’t say that I have many good things to say about the whole incidents that led to your mother leaving us, but I still love your mother very much—and you, too, even though I have never been able to meet you. So, tell me, how has your mother been? Has she been happy…there…?”

I can’t help but think about how unfair that question is, but if the events of the last few days have taught me anything, it is to keep an open mind long enough to something…and someone…a chance. So I choke down my rising bile and take a deep breath before I respond. In as even a tone as I can manage, I say, “As far as I know, my mother has led a happy life in our town. I know that you all have your notions about my hometown, some of which are likely true; but things are also just as likely not as black and white as you assume. I don’t know the story behind Mom leaving you—other than a very short version that I got from Shauna when we had no idea that we were talking about our same family. What I can say is that my Dad has always treated my Mom like a queen, as far as I can tell. Mom has always looked out for my sister, my brother, and I—and has never once complained about anything. I have never gotten the impression that she is bitter about her choices—even when she told me that she wanted me to go to college—to have the chance that she gave up to have me—it was not bitter; just a wish for me to have the opportunity—something that I would not have had otherwise. My Dad is not big on education—he has done very well working his way up through the ranks with just a high school diploma. It is not that he has anything against education—he just doesn’t see the need; as is with most of the people in my town. As you know, it is very blue collar…” I am shaking a bit by then, my nerves getting to me…

Aunt Jen looks at me and says, “Mom, I think that is enough of that for now. Lily has said she will be in touch—those are questions you should be asking HER, not poor Jo…oy… But, did I hear you say you have a brother and a sister?” I smile, thankful for the change of subject and tell them about Amy and Josh. Finally, though, we get to the last elephant of the day… Uncle Jeff looks at me and says, “OK, now it is my turn. I know we are not blood relatives, but in this family—family is family. I can’t stand to see you forced into that outfit…and role…against your wishes. My family has given a LOT of money to St. Paul’s over the years and I think that I can get this straightened out. If you want, I can loan you some clothes and you can get out of that dress.” I give him a grateful look and say, “That means a lot to me, Uncle Jeff. Having your support means more than you know. But, I got myself into this mess and…I think I am meant to get myself out. Two days ago, I would have jumped at your offer. However, assuming I stay at St. Paul’s through this, if Mrs. Braun does not stand up to her part of the bargain…then I may let you ‘talk’ to them.” Shauna looks at me and says, “So, that means that you want to stay on as Joy for the term?” I…slowly…nod and say, “I am SURE I will regret it by the time it is over even more than I do now, but I trust that you and the squad will treat me fairly from now on…and I will honestly attempt to learn the lessons that M.S. seems to think I can get from this.”

Shauna comes over and gives me a hug. She whispers in my ear, “Promise!” After that, Aunt Jen sends her on some mysterious errand and tells me to follow her upstairs. She shows me the guest room, where I will be staying, and asks me to undress. I blush and ask, “Don’t get me wrong, but…” Aunt Jen just laughs and says, “Joy, get used to it; it is just us girls. I just want you to strip down to your panties and bra. It is OK—I want to see what the girls have done…” She helps me unzip the dress and I let it fall to the floor. I slip off the shoes and pull down the pantyhose. I stand there, somewhat embarrassed, in only a bra and panties. Aunt Jen pales when she sees the tattoos and my belly button and says, “OK, Shauna and I are going to have a SERIOUS talk. She had no right…” I shake my head and say, “You are right, Aunt Jen, but Shauna and I have come to an understanding—it is OK. The Mother Superior has promised that the tattoos won’t be an issue when this is over with—and she healed them all, along with the piercings… The only thing that really bothers me is the one piercing that you can’t see…but…well…I can’t argue its purpose for now, I guess.” Aunt Jen doesn’t seem really surprised that M.S. had healed me, but is livid when she finds out why I will be sitting down to pee for the foreseeable future…and makes me show her. I say, “At least it makes it easier for me to be…flat…down there…the way it all sort of curves now…”

Shauna comes in a few minutes later and is somewhat surprised to see me standing there, basically naked, in front of her very irate mother. After giving Shauna a tongue-lashing and promising to continue the discussion later, Aunt Jen takes a shopping bag from Shauna and asks me to take off my bra. By now, I am beyond worrying and struggle to undo it. I finally get it undone and drop it on the bed. Aunt Jen has me lay down and uses a solvent from the bag to remove the large breast forms. I sit up and feel strangely light without them. I look a little confused and Aunt Jen says, “We are going to set a few things right…you are going to be a respectable niece. I still can’t believe…” She pulls a different bra from the bag and explains that is a ‘padded, push-up bra’ that is ‘more appropriate for a girl my age’. She helps me put it on and then stuffs in some smaller silicone forms to help fill it out. When she is done, I look much more like a normal girl—with a B-cup…and much less like a junior porn star. I put my dress back on and Shauna tells me to leave off the hose as she hands me some fuzzy slippers to wear around the house.

We go back downstairs and I help clean up the kitchen…well, sort off, since I really don’t know where anything goes—let alone how to do what I was raised to think of as “girl’s chores”… I find that there is an easy routine between Aunt Jen, Shauna, and…Grandma… as they quickly finish up the work and leave the kitchen sparkling clean. Aunt Jen then says, “Shauna, why don’t you take Joy upstairs and get ready to go to the mall with your Grandma and me. I think we have some further work to do before I can relax about what you girls have done to Joy…” Shauna rolls her eyes and takes me up to freshen my makeup and put my hose and shoes back on…

After several hours of shopping, my wardrobe is more complete and greatly toned down. I even have some girly jeans and leggings, along with several tops…and flat shoes. Aunt Jen says, as I sigh when I try them on, “Just so you know, I agree with Shauna that heels should be your staple shoes…but, there are times when flats are fine…” I also receive several more pairs of earrings to tone down my look; the biggest difference being that they are all smaller and less…showy. The hoop in my nose is also replaced with a tiny diamond stud, which suits me just fine. All in all, when it is said and done, I look much more like a typical teenage girl—which is sort of scary to me that that is even possible.

I am in ‘my’ room sorting through my new things with Shauna when my cell rings again. Shauna grimaces at me as I dig through…my…purse to find it and says, “First thing when you hang up, we are changing that ring tone…something sexy…like ‘Fireball’, or something… I roll my eyes and answer it, “Hi Mom, are you there? Have you heard anything?” I hear her sigh and say, “Yes, I am in BC. There is still no news and the search has been called off for the night. It was such a small plane and is such a large area to search… So…how are you getting on there? I am sorry you got thrown into the middle of…my bad history… I really do love them all there and we will work it all out… I have been thinking about it all day along with worrying about your Dad.”

We talk a little longer and I hang up. Shauna looks at me and asks, “You OK?” I nod and she swipes my phone. She laughs and says, “So, now for that ringtone…and don’t forget to take your pill…”

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joy settles in for a while….

The next couple of days go by quickly. I learn more about the extended family I never knew I had. Mom had never really talked about her side of the family. On the few occasions that I had asked, she had become evasive and somehow always changed the subject. Dad was no better source. Finally, I just gave up asking. What I now find out is that Aunt Jen had chosen not to work and stayed home with Shauna when she was a child. She does work now that Shauna is in College, though. Uncle Jeff is an executive at a local company; but is able to spend a lot of time with his family—not like a lot of execs that are never home; and unlike my own Dad who is out traveling most of the time.

After a few days, though, it is time for us to go back to St. Paul’s. Mom is still in BC and there has been no luck finding the plane—the weather, which caused the problems to begin with, remains unhelpful. I have settled into a routine, of sorts, as Joy. Shauna has been giving me makeup lessons that I find to not be as difficult as I thought. As a matter of fact, I have started sketching, something I saw Grandma doing and decided to try at her urging. It turns out that I am a natural and have an artsy side that I never knew about. Somehow that translates into my being able to easily ‘paint’ my face.

On the drive back, Shauna and I just talk about this and that and are back on campus before we know it. It takes us two trips each up the stairs to get all of my new clothes into my room and several minutes to get them all put away in the closet, as well as to get my makeup organized and spread out on my vanity.

Shauna is just about to go to her room, when there is a knock on the door and Emily pops in. She gives me a big hug and fauns all over my new look. Then she says, “M.S. would like to see you as soon as you are finished settling in. She says it is no hurry, to take your time.” So, I spend the next few minutes catching her up on the events of the past few days. Of course she is surprised to find out that Shauna and I are really cousins—and is overjoyed that I have decided to not fight the ‘project’ anymore, but to really give ‘Joy’ a chance.

I check my makeup in the mirror before I leave my room; Shauna has been relentless about me making sure it stays pristine—as was Aunt Jen. Ten minutes later, I am standing in front of the Mother Superior’s door. What a difference a few days makes; although I am in three and a half-inch heels, I easily walked over in them—thanks to a relentless Shauna (and Aunt Jen) that has made me practice, practice, practice… The distraction was welcome, though. I knock and enter at the Mother Superior’s invitation to come in. She gets up and gives me a tight hug and I feel a warmth come over me before she says, “You look wonderful, Joy—much more appropriate. Is there any news?” I shake my head and say, “Not on my father—they are still searching, but hope is growing dim.” I feel my eyes tearing up; I fight it, but it is a losing battle and the tears start flowing—I just can’t stop them. M.S. hugs me again and says, “Those pills I gave you are starting to work. I am going to be honest with you about them; I didn’t tell you before because you were not in the right place mentally… They are female hormones…not strong ones, but strong enough to let you know what it feels like to be a girl…and let your emotions come out. I urge you to keep taking them to complete your experience—I promise they are safe.”

After a few minutes, I am able to get my tears under control and say, “Well, I do wish you had told me about the pills, but I also do trust you. I don’t really like not being able to control my emotions like just now, but I will admit that it feels good to let it out.” I start to tear up again, but am able to better get it under control now that I understand what is happening to me. I sniffle a little and M.S. hands me another tissue; I already know I am going to have to do some significant work to clean up the black streaks that I know are running down my face… I dry my nose and say, “I do have some other news, though…” I tell M.S. about Shauna being my cousin and some of the background. She says, “It is wonderful that your family is coming together for you in this time of need. I will keep you all in my prayers!”

We talk a few more minutes and then I go into her bathroom to clean up the best I can before going back to my room. I sit down at my vanity and redo my makeup, since it will be time to go down for dinner in a few minutes. I am just finishing it up when Emily comes in and asks if I am ready…

Like Emily, the rest of the squad is pleased with my new look and glad that I am ready to make a true effort at accepting the challenge. I think Mrs. Braun is most surprised when she sees me the next day in class. She seems somewhat suspicious that I am not fully cooperating until Shauna and Emily firmly convince her that all is going well. And so, the next several days pass in a whirl. Classes are OK—they are definitely more challenging than in high school, especially the math classes. I find that while I am good at math, it is really not where I fully excel. While I never really thought anything about the arts—or art--THAT is what I am finding I love…

At least the classes are distracting me from the never-ending lack of news on my Dad—as are the extra-curricular lessons the squad gives me on being Joy. I am becoming quite adept at makeup, hair, and even walking in heels. But there is still a lot for me to learn—things like sitting, posture, hand movements, vocabulary…it is never-ending. They have me practice standing up and sitting down properly, getting in and out of cars ‘like a lady’, holding my hands and arms correctly when I walk…

One thing that was awkward, at first, but I am slowly getting more into, is they have me reading these ooey-gooey romance novels and discussing how I feel about them—or what I think the female characters are thinking. We also all watch a ‘chick-flick’ every evening; the girls make me watch how the female characters act and interact and again there is a discussion about ‘feelings’. The more I read and watch, the more I get in tune with the female feelings…and the more I cry at the emotional points in the plots.

As a matter of fact, I have become more and more emotional; but after the first few days I have become able to get it better back under control. Don’t misunderstand me—I am still much more emotional than I was before…but, I am better able to control it. At least as well as any other girl.

And so, my first three weeks at college come to an end. Of those, I have spent two and a half as a girl and my Dad has now been missing for two. I am glum about my Dad. Mom calls me, through M.S., and gives me daily updates—which are basically always, “No news…” It is time for me to go to her office for my daily update and I check my makeup in the mirror, a totally unconscious habit now, and quickly walk over. The click-clacking of my heels on the concrete sidewalk is a now familiar sound and I barely notice it as I hurry over, unconsciously placing one foot in front of the other in a typical ‘model’ walk. I knock on M.S.’s door and wait for the invitation to come. The phone rings just as I enter.

I hear Mom crying on the other end. She finally calms down enough to say, “They have called off the search…there is no sign of the plane. The weather must have gotten them completely off course, they were too low for the radar, and there was nothing anywhere near the vicinity of their last transmission. I don’t know what we are going to do…” There is quiet weeping on both sides for a bit, then Mom says, “I am coming home day after tomorrow. I will come to see you when I get back and we will figure where to go from here…” Mom hangs up because neither of us are in the best shape to talk. M.S. just hugs me for a long time—and I unashamedly cry my heart out.

I am just about to leave M.S.'s office when the phone rings again. I start towards the door as she answers and stop cold as she says, “Joy. It is for you—it is your mother.” My heart falls into my stomach as I take the receiver and listen to my Mom’s voice say, “Joy. They just called; the passengers from the plane just walked into a town here in BC—they are alright! Your Dad is alive!” At that point, I really do start to cry; this time in utter joy…

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joy finds out how Dad will react to the news….

At the news that my Dad has survived, M.S. calls all of my friends to the chapel and we all say a prayer in thanks of his safe return. Of course, everyone is overjoyed at the news and there is an impromptu party afterwards that lasts well into the night.

Mom had promised that she would ‘call with more news tomorrow’, and if possible let me talk to Dad. As that time gets closer, I start to get really nervous about how Dad will react to the news of me becoming Joy for the term. There is no doubt that he will not be happy about it—on top of me being in college… But, I like college—and Joy is part of that package, for now—so, he is just going to have to deal with it…

I sigh, still unsure what to do, and decide to get ready and go over to M.S.’s office a few minutes early to get her advice. I go to my closet and just stare at the clothes, tryinig to decide what to wear. I had basically been wearing dresses since my last shopping trip with Aunt Jen and decide to just wear a pair of jeans and top today. I grab a pair that has bejeweled back pockets and pink lacy embellishments and giggle at the thought of even considering wearing them. Did I just GIGGLE? I giggle again at the thought. I find a pink, scoop-necked top that will go well with the jeans and a pair of matching pink socks. I take off my fuzzy robe and pull on the top and pick up the jeans. I remember that when I bought them they were comfortable, since the fabric was so soft and stretchy, but had seemed a little wide in the hips; not now. When I try to pull them up, I have to struggle to get them up my thighs and over my hips. I am perplexed. I can’t have gained that much weight… What is even stranger is that, once I have them up, they button and zip just fine—the waist is perfect. I look at myself in the mirror and see that I am filling the jeans out like they are intended to be. My hips and thighs seem to have widened—and my rear is clearly ‘bubbled out’ in the stretchy denim. I am getting a girl’s figure! This probably explains why my bra is getting tight…and the itching and soreness in my breasts…

“I told you it was safe, Joy—not that nothing would happen”, explains M.S. She sighs and says, “The dosage is low; low enough that we did not expect body changes this quickly, but with your family history—late-onset puberty from your Dad’s side that makes up for itself with a vengeance when it does set in, but early-onset from your Mom’s; it seems your body was just waiting for any hormones to react to. But, don’t worry, Dear. This too can be healed. Trust me, I will ensure your body is the way you want it after this project is over.”

I start to complain, but at that moment the phone rings. M.S. answers and hands me the phone. I hear Mom say, “Joy? Your Dad would like to say hello!” I hear some rustling and my Dad’s voice say, “Joey? Son, I didn’t think I would ever see you again—I didn’t think I would ever see any of you…” His voice trails off and I say, “It is so good to hear voice, Daddy. We were all praying for you and I am so happy you are safe…” I hear shock in his voice as he says, “So, it really is true…you really do sound like a girl… I don’t understand all of this. We will talk about it more when your mother and I come there; we will come as soon as we can. I have to go for now…the doctor is calling for me.”

I slowly hang up the receiver and sigh. M.S. looks at me with an inquisitive look. I sigh again and say, “Dad seems to be fine…I just don’t know how he is reacting to…well, Joy… He said they will be here soon… I am looking forward to seeing them…both. I thought I would never see my Dad again, but…now I am afraid he will take me away from here… I have come to like college…and…I want to finish…”

The next several days are a mix of joy and trepidation. Mom and Dad are now coming in three days and I still don’t know what will happen. I have not been able to talk to either of them much, but they are now finally back home and Dad has been pronounced fine. The company gave him a couple of weeks off to recuperate and he sounds strong enough—but, somehow…different.

I stand in front of the steamy mirror. I am gently patting myself dry from my shower—my skin has grown soft and sensitive. I am extra gentle around my breasts. They are really sore and have grown into small mounds. My nipples are even sorer and are swollen—about the size of small pencil erasers. I finish drying off and put on my panties and my bra. I no longer need the silicone inserts with the bras I have; they are nearly too small even without them. I slip into a cool sundress and some matching heels. I quickly do my makeup and style my hair. I put on my jewelry and check myself in the mirror: Nothing but a cute girl stares back at me. I shrug and sigh…then start downstairs—Mom and Dad are supposed to be here any minute.

Their SUV pulls up the main drive—Dad driving, as usual. I watch as he parks and they get out. Dad opens the door for Mom, as always, and they walk up to the main building, holding hands. I am standing at the bottom of the steps to the main entrance. Neither one of them recognize me. I go over and give Dad a hug…a handshake does not seem appropriate in this dress and four-inch heels. He nearly chokes when he figures out it is me. While he is spluttering, I hug Mom and say, “I am SO glad to see you, Dad! The Mother Superior would like for us all to come to her office, if that is OK with you.” Dad looks at me again and says, “Well, you seem to have adapted to this role very well, Jo…y. Are you OK? I mean this looks somehow really…permanent…” I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek and say, “For this term, it is permanent…but M.S. says that she can make me normal when this is all over. I never thought I would say this, but it is worth it to be here. College is amazing…I am not bored in class anymore. And now that you have been found, I can fully concentrate on my studies!”

After our meeting with M.S., where to my surprise Dad is all for me staying in college and doesn’t make a fuss at all about my ‘project’, we go over to my room so that they can see it. True to form, soon after we get there, the door just pops open and Emily comes in. I introduce her and just as I get done, the door opens again and a pale Shauna comes in. She looks at my parents and I am not sure what she will say. She takes a deep breath and asks somewhat timidly, “So, you are my Aunt Lily? May I give you a hug?” Mom sobs and pulls her into a big hug. Shauna then looks at my Dad and I am afraid that she will say something bad, but she just says, “That makes you my Uncle Rob, then. I am so glad that you are OK…for Joy’s sake.” To my surprise, she goes over and gives him a hug, too. Then she says, “My parents would like all of us to come home to their house. I know it will be hard, but Joy and I don’t have any more classes this week and we have the weekend free…?” She leaves it open-ended. I did not know she was going to ask, but I am as anxious as she is to hear their answer.

After quickly packing our bags, Shauna and I put them into the back of the SUV and climb into the back seat. To both of our surprises, my parents were actually OK with the idea. Don’t get me wrong, they are both really nervous about the prospect of coming together with our family again after all of these years…and the bad blood that has boiled since then. They both took one look at me…and Shauna; how we are getting along so well, like sisters really, and could not say no. So, we are on our way. As soon as there is cell phone reception, Shauna calls Aunt Jen and lets her know we will be there for supper.

On the two-hour drive over, Dad tells us the story of how their small plane had to make an emergency landing after being forced to fly low because of the weather; lightning had struck one of the engines. It had forced them way off course and they eventually ran out of fuel and had to crash land. The pilot had found a clearing large enough to set down, but not large enough to come to a complete stop, so the plane had pushed into the forest and did not leave a typical crash trail that could be seen from the air in the bad weather—it was perfectly camouflaged, however unintentional. The all-female crew and the six passengers, four women and two men (including my Dad) had finally decided to hike out after waiting two days. The radio was dead, the weather was terrible, and food was running low. It took them ten days, but they finally got back to civilization—a small town about seventy miles from where they had crashed. My Dad tells us that if it had not been for the women on the crew, who had taken charge in spite of the men, and their quick thinking on some things that none of them would be alive today. He looks at me in the rear-view mirror and says, “It has changed my outlook on a lot of things. If going to college makes you happy, then that is what you need to do. If you have to pretend to be a girl to do that, and you are OK with that, then I am the last person to stop you. It will take me a while to get used to two daughters, though.” Shauna and I giggle, and I say, “And about the time you get used to it, the project will be over…”

Dad pulls into the drive and Shauna hops out to run inside and greet her parents. I know she did it to give us some time to mentally prepare for this. I put my hands on each of my parents’ shoulders from behind and say, “It will be OK. If I can do this,” looking at myself, “then you can get through this—I have faith in you.” Mom reaches up and pats my hand before she dries some tears from her eyes…and we get out.

I stand back with Shauna, holding my breath, as my Mom and Dad go up to Aunt Jen and Uncle Jeff. There is no screaming; no shouting; no blaming… Mom hugs Aunt Jen…and Dad shakes Uncle Jeff’s hand. My heart starts pounding when my grandparents come down the stairs; I have no idea whether they will make a scene. Grandma just cries and they both hug a weeping Mom.

Having gone through this a few weeks before, with my arrival, the ice is broken more quickly; but there is still a lot of emotional baggage to work through. Slowly, ever so slowly, we start catching up as a family.

Joey learns some unexpected life-lessons and finds out some unexpected things about himself along the way. In this part, Joy has a decision to make….

After a long supper and discussion afterwards, my parents go home with my grandparents to spend the night. I will stay in the same guest room that I had stayed in before at Uncle Jeff and Aunt Jen’s house. The next morning, we all meet at Grandma’s for breakfast. Mom and Dad have to leave soon after that, since they need to get home to pick up my sister and brother from my other grandparent’s house. While it is clear that it will take some time for everything to completely smooth out, forgiveness was given on all sides—and promises have been made to come together as the family we are supposed to be.

I wave as the SUV takes off and Grandma hugs me. She smiles at me as she breaks the hug and says, “Either your Dad has changed a lot, or I sorely misjudged him. He really does love your mother.” I look at her and say, “It is likely a lot of both. He has changed since this incident…but, he has ALWAYS loved my Mom; at least as long as I can remember…”

Grandma, Aunt Jen, Shauna and I head to the mall soon after that—Uncle Jeff and Grandpa stay home ‘to relax’. The weather has warmed up considerably over the last couple of weeks and the pool at Shauna’s house is open and warmed up. Since, in all my shopping, I never got any sort of swimwear, Aunt Jen insists that we go find something of my own, rather than me borrow something from Shauna. Of course, with women, shopping for something as simple as a swimsuit is a near all-day thing, which is why I am sure that Uncle Jeff and Grandpa decided to stay home. I wind up with a couple of bikini’s that complement my skin tone and hair color—and a few other purchases that Aunt Jen and Grandma insist on getting me, including some new bras that fit me better with my growing breasts. We get home in the early afternoon after stopping to eat lunch at Shauna’s favorite restaurant.

Shauna makes sure that I am liberally coated with a high-SPF sun block and we go swimming. I am still amazed at the fact that I am ‘naturally’ big enough to fill in the top of the bikini—when they had measured me for the new bras, I found out that I am now a full B-cup and likely to still get larger. Shauna and I just enjoy a lazy afternoon, swimming and laying out by the pool reading girly books and magazines. I don’t even notice this seems normal to me—Uncle Jeff and Aunt Jen are very aware of the change in me just over the past couple of weeks…

Uncle Jeff and Aunt Jen drop us off at St. Paul’s the next day and go to speak with M.S. while they are there. Shauna and I go to our rooms and settle back in for class the next day…

And so, the term quickly passes. My body continues to develop; I end up with envious curves and a beautiful face and body—real model material, actually. My mind wraps itself around being a young woman and I now have a full understanding of what that is; with the exception of certain female monthly ‘visits’ and corresponding organs, I feel every bit like a young woman. It is hard for me to even remember being Joey. When Mom and Dad had brought my sister and brother for their first visit, Amy pretended to be shocked at my outgoing appearance and nature, which is frowned upon for women in my hometown, but I could tell she was really jealous—something Mom and I later discussed in private. The truth of the matter is that my “Joy-Squad” has turned me into a confident young lady—one that M.S. is very proud of; and one that passes Mrs. Braun’s test with flying colors as she takes me to a very expensive and very formal dinner to test my poise and female character. I pass her class; and the girls in the squad all get A’s.

And so I find myself in M.S.’s office. She holds my hands in hers, facing me, and says, “You have turned into a beautiful young woman, Joy. Now it is time for you to decide what your next step is. I guess that you are ready to go back to being Joey?” For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to say. I had known this time was fast approaching, but had avoided thinking about the decision. I look at her with haunted eyes and say, “I don’t know what to do, Mother Superior. I really don’t. I like being Joy. I like my friends and my life…but I feel like I am expected to going back to being Joey… And, is it all just because I am used to being Joy now? It is all so confusing. What should I do? You are so wise—tell me, M.S., please!”

M.S. smiles and says, “I can’t tell you what to do, Child. But you are wiser than you know just for being perceptive enough to ask these questions of yourself and to seek counsel. I promised you that this would all be OK in the end—that you would be normal. The tattoos that you have; the ink that Zoey used is a special type that she has invented and will someday market and become very rich off of—after it passes all the requisite tests. If it is subjected to a special light, depending on certain settings, it will turn anywhere from transparent to so vivid it actually glows in the dark for several hours. If you want your tattoos to disappear, she can turn them transparent. When you are ready, all you have to do is remove your jewelry from your piercings and I will heal the holes—it will be as if they were never there. The changes that your female hormones have caused to your body will be reversed as soon as you stop taking the hormones and I turn on your male ones. So, you see, Joey is still there…but you have to choose to bring him back. Come, Child, lay down over here.”

I lay down on her couch and she once again lays her hands on me and I feel a glowing warmth come over me. When she is done, she is again visibly weakened—it must take a lot out of her to do whatever it is she does; but she seems much more weakened than the last time. She smiles at me and says, “Go. Sleep on it tonight. Trust your subconscious to make the proper decision for you—the one your deepest self wants. Then come see me tomorrow and we will discuss your future. I have given your subconscious a little help… Now, go, Child. I must rest—I am not as young as I once was.”

I leave her office and am surprised that it is already dark. It was midmorning when I had gone to talk to her. I glance at the clock tower and gasp—it is nine o’clock at night. What had seemed like minutes had taken hours. What did she do to me? I take inventory of myself. I don’t feel any different…just…pleasantly tired and sleepy. I yawn…

I wake up the next morning—refreshed. I had had vivid dreams of becoming a girl…a real girl. I took that to mean that my subconscious was guiding me to choose to stay as Joy. I am actually relieved—I have made my decision; and it is the one that I knew I wanted to make but was afraid to admit to. I bounce into the bathroom, blissfully ready to start my day…

I sit to pee and let out a scream as I notice that I am bleeding…from a real vagina…

I pull a long strip of toilet paper from the roll and fold it into a thick pad. I slip on a robe after I place the ‘pad’ inside my panties and then quickly hurry to Shauna’s room. I quietly, but insistently, knock on her door. After a couple of minutes, a sleepy Shauna opens and asks, “Joy? Where is the fire?” I push my way in and something in my look must register with Shauna, she is instantly awake and asks, “What is wrong? Are you OK?” I nearly pass out as my adrenaline surge wears off, so I sit and say, “I think I am going crazy!” I hold up my bloody hands and say, “My sheets are covered in it, too.” Shauna is instantly concerned and asks, “Where are you bleeding from? Do I need to get you to a doctor? Did you cut yourself? Di...” I just open my robe and pull down my panties…

Shauna shrieks, then is quiet for several heartbeats and then, finally, squeaks out, “Bbu…bbbuu….bbbut how? Ummm…let’s get you a tampon…you have already soaked that tissue…quite some flow you have there…” She guides me to the bathroom and I tell her about my conversation with M.S. from the day before…and my dreams…and how I had woken up to…this…

Shauna says, “Lucky I had to pick up this ‘variety pack’ of tampons last time…it was all they had…it has ones for heavy flow…” She helps me insert it and clean up in her bathroom. Once the blood is gone, she says, “Now, tell me again. Exactly what did M.S. say before you left?” I think back at what she had said… Go. Sleep on it tonight. Trust your subconscious to make the proper decision for you—the one your deepest self wants. Then come see me tomorrow and we will discuss your future. I have given your subconscious a little help… I say, “She said something about coming back today and that we would discuss my future after I had made my decision…” Shauna asks, “Did she…do…anything to you?” I say, “She laid her hands on me, but I was not like this when I went to bed; I know that for a fact—but she said to trust my subconscious…”

An hour later, Shauna and I are knocking on M.S.’s door. I hear a weak, “Come in,” and push open the door. M.S. is sitting behind her desk, still pale, and does not seemed at all surprised to see me—Shauna, however, is a bit of another story. She, none-the-less, waves us both in. She looks at Shauna and says, “Your family has long known my history, so I don’t mind if you stay. It is up to Joy…and you…as to whether you stay.” It takes all of two seconds to decide she is staying and M.S. continues, “So, I sense that Joy is here to stay.” It is not a question and I nod. “I understand that you are likely a very confused young lady right now—a real young lady. First, let’s settle that I did not directly do that. I gave you the power to do it to yourself if that was the path you chose…”

I gasp and feel faint. Shauna squeezes my hand and asks after I sit there in shocked silence, “You swore to the church that you would not use your powers anymore. Why with Joy? What would make you change your mind?” She looks at Shauna and says, “I swore I would not follow the Church’s orders on who to help and who not to help anymore. That is when we struck our deal and I came here, but this is not fair to Joy…she does not know my history.”

M.S. asks Shauna to make a pot of hot tea and moves to her couch. We sit and Shauna pours three cups of tea and lays out some cookies. M.S. starts her tale. She explains that, as a young girl, the Church had discovered her powers. In those days, magic was still misunderstood and she could have easily been prosecuted as a witch. It turns out that she is several hundred years old, but she is weakening. She is quick to tell us at our concerned looks that she is not going anywhere anytime soon, but that she is definitely growing old… Anyway, the church had taken her in and…abused…what they had taken to calling her ‘powers’; making her help those that they thought deserved it—and denying those they thought did not. She says, “You see, had I been a man, they would have pronounced me a saint performing miracles; as a woman, they did not want to broadcast that I had a ‘power’ and kept me hidden, instead.” She goes on to explain that in recent history, a few decades ago, the church had prevented her from healing someone that she deemed the correct person and made her heal another instead—this had been the polar wrong decision and had had severe consequences to humanity. It turns out that if M.S., just ‘Gwen’ at the time, had saved the girl and let the guy die, it would have resulted in a huge medical advance and a great coup for the church.

To my surprise, this is where Shauna…and Uncle Jeff’s family comes in. The girl that had died was part of their family—as an influential family, they threatened to expose the church and ensured that Gwen became a Sister and was never forced to use her powers against her will again. Eventually, about ten years ago, ‘Sister Gwenevere’ became the Mother Superior of Saint Paul’s. She rarely uses her powers anymore to avert attention—she only uses them in very special circumstances and only if she sees the use making a difference to the world. That is why Shauna, who knew this, was so surprised when I told her that she had healed me.

M.S. asks Shauna to make more tea and sips on the fresh hot brew. She sighs and says, “And now, my dearest Joy, I have to explain myself to you…and how you come to be sitting here as a real girl…one that has a lot to yet learn about herself. Vicki Rogers, your former principal is a dear friend of mine. When she contacted me about you and the fact that your tests showed some interesting results, I asked her to follow up with some additional tests. That is why you took so many. To be fully honest, your scores show you to be a genius, yes, but not in the capacity you were allowed to believe. We did not mislead you—we simply did not lead you. You were allowed to believe what you wanted—that you are a math genius. As you have likely figured out by now, you will never have much problem with math, but that is not your true strength. You scored off the chart on things like empathy and other things important to me…your upbringing had just masked those things. I was intrigued and agreed to work out a deal to take you on. Your Uncle Jeff actually footed the bill for the scholarship.” There is a gasp from both Shauna and I. She continues, “No, he had no idea who you were at the time…only that I saw potential and asked for his assistance.”

We take a quick break for all of us to go to the ladies room. Shauna makes me change my tampon… Then we are back and M.S. continues. She explains how she has been searching for someone with a very special character…and characteristics. The test that Mrs. Rogers had given me was designed to ferret out potential candidates. She explained that she had a small army of people administering the test…and that I was one of the few that had passed it. That is why she had pulled me here…

She sighs and then slowly continues, “Joy, now I have to apologize to you. You were put through some things…unplanned by me, but allowed by me none-the-less. They were completely unfair. The way I let Shauna and the others mistreat you.” Shauna blanches and M.S. says, “There is no denying that you were mistreating poor Joey, Shauna. It is OK…you have learned your lesson, right?” Shauna blushes and just nods. M.S. continues, “You were forced brutally into being a girl…bullied and very nearly tortured. I knew this was happening and allowed it. For that I apologize. What you must know, though, is that, depending on the outcome, I had the power to erase that whole series of events. I could have put your body back to where it started and erased your memories of any of it happening. There would have been no negative consequences to you. That does not make what happened right, but it was within my power. Do you understand the danger of my ‘powers’?”

She pauses, then continues, “Anyway, right or wrong, I let it go on as a test. I needed to know how you would react—and you reacted beautifully. You did not rise to the lure of money by attempting to sue us. You did not take the bait and try and retaliate against any of the girls. Then, when you had an out, one your Uncle Jeff knowingly gave you, you honored your agreement. You also experienced how it feels to be forced into something against your will…you will need to remember that experience. All of that, along with what I was able to read directly from you with my powers let me know that you were a prime candidate for whom I was looking for. There was just one thing left…I needed a girl…a real girl…and that had to be your choice—free and clear. No one could influence that…”

I don’t even know when the pizza was ordered, but there is a slight break as Shauna answers the door and pays for the pizza with the money that M.S. gives her. We sit back down and between bites of pizza, M.S. continues, “When you were in here yesterday, Joy, I transferred certain latent energy to you. That energy was to lay dormant until you made a choice one way or the other—to go back to Joey, or to remain as Joy. If you had chosen Joey, the energy would have quietly dissipated and you would have come here today for me to reverse all of your changes. When you chose Joy—from your innermost core—that energy fully activated and transformed you into the girl you are now. That energy is still active in you…and are only the beginning of the powers you will have as you…and they…mature.”

I sit there in shock. I don’t know how to respond to that… Shauna looks at M.S. and asks, “So, what does that mean, M.S.? You gave Joy your powers?” M.S. nods and says, “Sort of. I injected her with my energy. Her powers will develop in her own way. They are different in each of us that has them. I received mine a long time ago and it took me quite some time to grow into them. I don’t think it will take Joy as long, but it will take some time to see exactly what they grow into.”

I am still silent as I process all of this. Finally, I speak up and ask, “You said we would discuss my future today. I think you knew how I would choose. I don’t understand how, but we can talk about that little tidbit later. What exactly did you mean by that?” M.S. smiles and says, “See? That is what I mean—very perceptive of you. The choice is obviously up to you. I can only split my energy a very few times…you are the first in many, many decades…and the last to receive it. I was having a hard time regenerating before this split. I can barely manage it now. That energy is what has kept me alive for so long. Anyway, I gave that energy to you freely and you are free to use it as you choose.”

She pauses for effect and a sip of more tea. She continues, “My proposal is that you finish your degree here, under my tutelage to learn about and grow your powers. Then, with your Uncle’s financial support, you will start up a ‘school’, or maybe better said a ‘center’ of your own. One outside the confines of the church where there are no religious pressures to believe in a certain way. One where young people will attend that need a particular type of guidance that you and your team will be able to give. They may be volunteers—or mandated. You could use your new powers to their maximal good. I would, of course, be available as a resource when you need it. I know this is a lot to think about, but you have some time…”

I just nod...and take a sip of tea.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the end of this series of chapters, but the beginning of a universe that I plan on building out. There will be more to hear of Joy and her new center, “The Joy of Life”, in the future.

This is the transitional series to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

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It all started earlier this summer when Mom insisted I get a summer job. Of course I procrastinated; I mean why would I want to work when I could just relax and have fun like my friends. On the last day of school, Mom had had enough though, she actually picks me up from school and says, as I climb into the car, “Terry, I am taking you to the mall. There is a job open at New York and Company that you are going to take. Cheryl, you know, Christi’s mom, is the manager there and she said she would be happy to have you.”

I look at her like she has turned green and grown antennae… Finally, I am able to speak, “New York and Company? That is a girls’ clothing store… What am I supposed to do there?” She shakes her head and says, “I don’t want to hear any lip; you’ve had weeks to find a job and you have put it off. No more. This is a good job. Cheryl is even going to pay you a few dollars above minimum wage if you do well. Besides, Christi will be working there, too. I know you really like her…”

I am mortified and whine, “Mom! What are you talking about? And…even if…that doesn’t make up for working in a girl’s store!” She just smiles and says, “No matter. That is where you are working this summer. Besides, even if, as you say, you don’t like Christi, which makes me laugh, think of all the other girls that will be shopping there. It is about time you got a girlfriend—you are nearly sixteen!” I say, “Yeah…nearly sixteen and still no puberty…thanks, Dad!” Mom looks at me sternly and says, “Don’t you be bad-mouthing your poor father, God rest his soul, he couldn’t help his genes…any more than I could help love him. You may stay scrawny like him, but that does not mean someone won’t love you…”

I don’t even try a comeback…she is pulling into the mall parking lot and there is no use. She parks and makes me get out and follow her into the mall and then up the escalator to the second floor where New York and Company is located. She literally drags me into the store and a…cute girl—she looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, greets us, “Welcome to NYC. I am Amber. Can I help you find something in particular? That section over there is all on sale…fifteen percent off…”

Mom shakes her head and says, “No, thank you though, Amber. Actually, we are here to see Cheryl McReady. Is she available—she is expecting me, Grace Kinsley. Could you please let her know?” Amber bustles off to get Ms. McReady and I stand there trying not to drool at the gorgeous girls milling about the store. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all…

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Amber takes us to an office at the back of the store and Ms. McReady hugs mom and says, “Grace! I am glad you brought Terry. Terry, I am glad you are willing to take the job. Amber, please take Terry and show him around the store. He is going to be working with us this summer…” Amber looks at me strangely, but smiles at Ms. McReady and says, “Sure thing, Ms. M. Come on, Terry, let me show you around…”

I follow Amber back out into the store. Obviously, I have never been in here before… She shows me the sections: pants, jackets, accessories, shoes… She looks at me and says, “I guess you are about a size two…let me measure you…” She grabs a tape measure and starts measuring me. I stand there, stunned, and ask, “What are you doing? What difference does it make what girl’s size I am?” She giggles and says, “Oh, I just like to guess peoples’ sizes. See? I was right. A size two, short. Most girls would kill for that…”

Before I can retort, Ms. M. and mom come out. Mom says, “You are all signed up and an official NYC employee now!” Ms. M. says, “Welcome Terry. You will have to sign a few papers but you are otherwise good to go. Christi can’t come in tonight and I need the help, so your Mom agreed to let you stay and start straight away…” I look at mom, shocked. I finally, stutter, “B…b…but…” I don’t get any more out.

Ms. M. says, “The only thing is you are not dressed for work… Normally, I would say you could use your discount here…” Amber speaks up and says, “Ms. M. I just measured Terry—he is a perfect 2S. I am sure that we can find some things here and no one would ever know.” I pale as Mom says, “It is settled then. This job is not about the money—it is to get him off his tail this summer… Here Cheryl. Take my credit card and use it to get him whatever he needs for the job—even if it is in another store. Obviously, I prefer getting a discount whenever possible, though. I trust your judgment and I need to run. I will pick you up out front at eleven, Terry.” And…she leaves…

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Amber pulls me over to the clearance rack and says, “I know we have some things in here that would fit…let’s see if they will work. With your discount, you can get several outfits that way…” She sorts through the pants and finds several pair of solid black and some pin-striped ones that, unlike some others on the rack, have belts on them. The belts are the skinny girly kind, but she says that we can change that out. After she pulls out three pair of the pants she goes to the racks of ‘tops’ and pulls out several button-front shirts; in white, solid colors, and striped.

She looks at my sneakers and white socks and shakes her head. She picks up a package of black tights and adds them to the pile. She goes over to the shoes and says, “There is not a huge selection here, but let’s check your size first.” She measures my foot with one of the foot-size gauge thingies and proclaims me a size 6 ½ (women’s). Then she says, “We have these flats, but they are ballet flats and would probably stand out as more girly than you would like. We have these new booties in…they are open-toed and open-backed, and have a pretty high heel. I don’t really think it would be noticeable, though, with those pants…and it would give you a little extra height. Let’s see…here we go. We have them in your size and in black. Perfect!”

She grabs a belt and shoos me towards the changing room. She stops at her purse and pulls something out on the way. She tells me to go in and take off me clothes, “I will hand you some things to put on over the door. Use this first, though…I always keep a spare in my purse. You can keep it; make sure you use it every day, though!” She hands me an unopened travel-sized stick of vanilla-scented Secret deodorant. “You need it and believe me, we will know if you are not using it!”

She pushes me in one of the stalls and closes the door. I stand there, unmoving for a while—until she asks, “Are you undressed yet?” I groan and say, “No. I don’t think this is a good idea…I mean everyone will know that I am dressing like a girl.” Amanda says, “They won’t know. I promise. Look—try these on. If it looks girly, we will figure something else out…”

I sigh and strip down to my underwear. I shudder and open the deodorant. I smell it and it is actually not, too bad…although pretty strong vanilla. I rub it on under my arms and say, “OK…I put on the deodorant…it feels funny—I have never used deodorant before.” Amanda mumbles something about that being obvious and then says, “OK, try this blou…shirt…” She hands me a white shirt. I pull it on and start to button it up, but have trouble. I complain, “The buttons are on the wrong side. How am I supposed to do this?” Amanda giggles and says, “I am sure you will figure it out. Just keep trying…” I grumble, “People will know it is not a guy’s shirt with the buttons on the wrong side.” Amanda asks, “How many times have you looked at which sides the buttons are on. No one will pay any attention. Are you done yet?” I finish them up to the last three on the top and give up. I try and button the sleeves, but there is only button that sort of lets the cuffs flare open. I look in the mirror and it is true; if you are not specifically looking to see which side the buttons are on, you can’t really tell. The cut of the shirt is a little off, pulling in at the waist and flaring at the breast more than usual, but the material really feels soft and nice.

I say, “OK, I have the shirt on. I guess it is OK…” She hands me the black nylon tights, already out of the package and says, “We don’t have socks here, so these will have to do…” I look at them like they might eat me, and whine, “Can’t we just go to a shoe store and get some socks?” She says, “Well, we could, but you have already paid for these now that they are opened…and I promise that no one will be able to tell; it is not like you will be wearing a skirt, or anything…” I sigh and say, “So, how do I put these things on?” Amanda giggles and asks if it is OK to come in and show me. After she shows me how to roll them on and get them situated, I grumble, “OK…I guess…these feel funny. They are tight.” Amanda giggles as she says, “That is why they are called tights, silly. I think we will need to get you different underwear, though. Boxer briefs are not the best with the pants…and especially with tights. Hang on…”

She disappears, leaving me standing in the dressing room, feeling like an idiot. A few minutes later, she comes back and says, “I just went to VS next door. Here…I got you the ‘boy cut’ style—just ignore the bit of lace. They were on sale…” She hands me a pair of pink girl’s panties that are cut like a boy’s briefs, but have lace around the waist and legs. I let out a little noise of surprise and exclaim, “I am NOT wearing those!” She laughs and says, “Oh, come on Terry, who is going to know—besides they are paid for. They were on sale and there are no returns on them. Do you want to tell your Mom you wasted her money?” I say, “why couldn’t you get boy’s underwear?” She says, “Victoria’s Secret is right next door, so it was quick—and this is as close to boy’s as they get there… I will just step out so you can change into them.”

I shoot daggers at her back as she leaves the little stall and closes the door. I look at the…undies…holding them between two fingers like I might catch something from them and sigh. She is right. If Mom finds out they spent the money and I refused to wear the stuff, then she will kill me. She, of course, will believe them over me in the mood she is in right now. Dang! I should have found another job…even McDonald’s would be better than this… I unroll the tights and change into the…undies…and am surprised at how soft they are. The lace tickles a little, but they feel really nice. I shake my head and roll the tights back on.

Amanda comes in when I am done and says, “There, that is much better. See. Those boxers were all wadded up in there…that would have shown through your pants. They may look like guy’s pants, but they are made for girls…the fabric is totally different and would show that mess under pants.” She messes with my tights telling me I need to keep the seams straight and then hands me a pair of black pants. I pull them on and the material rubs against my nylon-clad legs and it feels…good. I struggle with the first button, the ‘safety’ button that is hidden on the inside of ‘good’ pants. It is on the wrong side again. When I finally get it buttoned, I notice that it pulled a triangular flap over the fly area, meaning that even with the zipper open, the area is closed. I ask, “How am I supposed to pee with all of this stuff…and this stupid flap? The…undies…don’t have an opening, either.” Amanda says, “You will have to unbutton your pants, of course, and pull things down. There aren’t any urinals here in the store anyway, only a toilet…and you better not get pee everywhere…that is just so gross…”

I get the other two buttons closed and close the really short zipper. I notice that the thighs are a bit tight and the legs flare out a bit—Amanda tells me that is normal for ‘modern’ boot-cut pants. I also notice that they sit really low on my waist. I try to pull them up, but Amanda tells me they are supposed to be that low—that they are mid-rise pants, which is the style for women…to give the impression of a longer torso. I slide on the boots and feel really funny with the three-inch heel and the open toe and back…

Ms. M. stops by at that moment and inspects me. She says, “Well, Terry, you look very nice. No one would ever know that you are wearing female clothing. You will want to button that one button, two open ones, I don’t mind—three is too much…cleavage….well, chest… you know what I mean. The shoes are the closest thing to a problem, but you will be mostly behind the counter for a while anyway. Just make sure to put your belt on. Now, your hands are still a problem. Your skin is rough and those nails are atrocious. Not only do they look bad, but you could snag some of our more delicate material… Amanda, please see what you can do. I will let your Mom know something needs to be done long term…” She looks up and says, “…and Amanda, see what you can do with that mop of hair, as well…” She gives her an apologetic look and turns to leave, then turns back around and says, “Oh, is that vanilla I smell? I will say that is much improved over that sweaty smell from before…make sure you continue to use your deodorant!”

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Amanda takes my hands and trims my nails and files them. Then she hands me some hand lotion to apply to my hands. Then she takes some sort of gel and spreads it through my hair before she brushes it into a style she seems OK with. She says, “You really need to get some good vitamins, your nails are too thin; they are actually cracked and split. They need some serious help. Keep using the lotion on your hands and it will soften up your skin and help get rid of the rough spots… Now, put on your belt and come on—I will show you how to use the register…”

The first couple of steps are weird in the high heels. Thankfully, they are wider heels and I adjust fairly quickly, but still marvel at the click-clack sound they make on the marble flooring. Ms. M. just nods at Amanda when she sees me…

Amanda shows me how to work the register and I pick it up pretty quickly…and the night goes pretty fast from there, since there is a steady stream of customers…none of which say a thing about me or the way I am dressed… Maybe they are right…no one noticed anything…or at least laughed at me. But Mom is going to have to get me some real clothes… This is too nerve-wracking…even if they DO feel really nice…

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Mom picks me up outside the mall. I have several bags with the clothes from the store…and the clothes I had worn in. I had wanted to put my sneakers back on to walk out, but somehow…they had gotten lost. Ms. M. promised they would show up… Walking out in the booties was a little nerve-wracking, but no one paid me any attention, at all… I throw the bags into the back seat and climb in the front. It is a quick ride home and I am happy to get to bed…

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To be continued...

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joy’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, we will catch up with Joy and find out a bit more about how things are going for Terry.

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I wake up to the sun shining brightly in my eyes. I glance at the clock…almost eight thirty… I stretch, careful to not wake up Emily, blissfully sleeping and somehow ignoring the bright light. I smile and lightly brush a few strands of hair out of her face as I recall last night’s ‘activities’. I can still feel the glow…

I quietly get up and put on my silk nighty and a robe. I go into the kitchen and look out at the glorious day…and make some coffee… Emily and I had been up late last night. Me studying up on the defense for my psychology Ph.D.—and her studying for her finals for her social services degree. After that, well, we need to ‘unwind’. I smile again at the memories…

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Thirty minutes later a very sleepy-eyed Emily comes out of the bedroom—drawn by the smell of the coffee. She comes over and gives me a kiss and I hand her a mug of the steamy brew…strong and sweet like she likes it. She smiles and says, “That was wonderful last night. We should do that more often!” I giggle and tease her back, “What? Study late? I think that can be arranged!” I duck the bagel that comes flying towards me and we both giggle some more.

I take a sip of my own black coffee, carefully blowing on it to cool it down a bit, first. I look over the mug and say, “I have to meet up with M.S. in an hour for another practice session. I don’t feel like I know anything about controlling my energy yet.” Emily rolls her eyes and says, “I think you have come a long way over the last two years. I mean you got your B.S. and now you are preparing to defend your Ph.D. thesis…that is amazing. I mean I know you are a genius, but that is still amazing. Look at me, I am barely ready to just get my soshe degree and you are going to be Dr. Joy!” I grin and say, “And we are going to make a mad team! Look out ye with problems!” We giggle and I go to get ready…

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Forty minutes later, I am taking the short drive from the off-campus house my Dad insisted on renting for me to school. I park in my designated spot and walk up to the main building and to M.S.’s office. I knock and quickly enter at her bidding. I walk over to her and give her a big smile and hug and we get started for the day…

An hour later, my brow is glistening from my efforts. The tiny pin prick in her finger is not healing...if anything, it is bleeding more. M.S. says, “Joy, relax…you know you can’t force it. Come, you have mastered everything you need to control the flow of your energy…but you keep your channels clogged because you are trying too hard and your mind too cluttered. I want you to meet up with these two women. Here are the addresses in town. One is a very good friend of mine—don’t tell the Church—that teaches yoga…but spiritual yoga. She will help you with clearing your channels. The other is the ballet mistress at the studio in town. It is a very respected studio and taking some lessons there will help you settle down and further hone your self-discipline. I should have sent you to both a long time ago—I really don’t know why I did not think of it before…

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The next day Mom surprises me. She gets me up at eight and says that she has taken the day off… that Ms. M. had talked to her and that there were some things we needed to do to get me ready for work that evening. I groan…

We pull into the parking lot of Mom’s hair stylist an hour later and I look at her inquisitively. She looks back and asks, “I assume you still insist on letting your hair grow out?” I am surprised at this…she normally wants me to basically buzz-cut it… I carefully nod… She continues, “Well then, we need to get it shaped up…it is looking too wild… Cindy is going to straighten it out and make you look presentable. She can cut it so that it will have shape as it grows. Mind you, I still think you should cut it, but you were a good sport yesterday and if you keep up your good behavior at work, you deserve some leeway in how you want to look.” She giggles and says, “It just can’t be…ape man.”

I get out of the car and wiggle around, trying to get my clothes situated. After wearing the clothes I did at work yesterday, my normal clothes feel…well, itchy. I follow Mom in and she introduces me to Cindy, her stylist. Mom says, “Cindy, Terry has a new job at New York and Company and needs to look presentable for work. I have agreed to allow him to continue to grow his hair out, but it needs to be shaped up. He also needs to have something done with his nails. They are a disaster…” Cindy takes a look at my nails and says, “Well, it looks like someone tried to salvage what they could…they will take some work, but we can make them look good. I will check your toes, too…”

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I know better than to say anything…Mom is letting me grow my hair, so I am not going to push it… Cindy has me sit down at a sink and lay back. She washes my hair…it is really weird having my hair washed this way, but it feels nice. When she is done, she wraps a towel around it and takes me over to her styling chair. I sit down and she takes off the towel. My hair is a wild mess. I had been able to put Mom off from making me get it cut for several months…thankfully she had been really busy, so it was not that hard. But I knew she was gunning to get it buzzed—which makes me the laughing stock at school, since most of the boys are growing theirs out more, now.

Cindy runs her fingers through the wet blonde mess and asks me, “OK, Terry. What are you thinking? How do you want it styled?” I sit there and think…not really knowing what to say. Finally, I say, “I don’t really know. I never got that far, since Mom never would consider letting me really grow it out.” She nods and says, “Well there is absolutely no shape to it, since your last cut was basically just clippers with a guard…it is all the same length and that is why it looks this way now. Four inches is not that long at it is still too short to do much with—other than to start shaping it up. Honestly, it has been a long time since I cut a guy’s hair but I am sure we can get it looking right. I am going to add in some layers, along with a taper in the back. I think sweeping bangs would look good on your face. It will be sort of like what I would do for a pixie cut on a girl… Does that sound OK?” I shrug, “I don’t think I will tell anyone that is what it is called, but I trust you to cut it and make it look OK… Anything that Mom will like and allow me to grow it out…”

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What seems like forever later, but according to the clock is only thirty minutes, I am looking at myself in the mirror. Cindy is drying my hair with a blow dryer and using her fingers like a brush. She takes a hair straightener and straightens the bangs she had blown to the front and to the right. The bangs are longer on the right and sort of feathered—she had used a razor to get that look. Overall, the look is slightly girly, but I am sure that I can comb it and make it different. She says, as she finishes up, “You will get the best results blowing it forward like I did and with a straightener, but the way it is cut, it is really low-maintenance. It will always fall basically into this shape…although, you will have to get used to the bangs falling into your face. Now, let’s show your mom and get to work on those nails.”

Mom is surprised at the look and shakes her head but says she is OK with it if that is what I want. I don’t say anything, not wanting to rock the boat. Cindy then takes me to a table and has me sit down. I brush the hair from my face and can already tell it is going to get annoying, but smile as Cindy takes my hands and looks at them. She says, “These are terrible!” She puts my hands into some sort of hot wax and lets it cool, then pulls it off. Then she puts my fingertips into a bowl of soapy-looking water. She does the same with my feet, while my hands soak.

While my feet are soaking, she pushes back the cuticles on my fingers and examines my nails. She says, “These are beyond hope, really. The only way I am going to make them look decent is to glue acrylic nails on them. And you are going to need to take some really good vitamins. The acrylic tops will protect them until your real ones grow out healthy. She gets busy gluing, cutting, and shaping the acrylic nails. She says, “I am going to leave them about an eighth of an inch past your fingertip. That is nice healthy length; you can of course grow them out longer if you want, although that is about as long as a guy would normally let them grow. You will have to come in weekly for your hair and we will take care of your nails, too…” Then she fixes my toe nails. She applies a strengthener to them and then a couple of coats of clear polish. As she is doing that, I look at my fingers…the tips aren’t really long, but still are visible, since they are bright white and squared off to my fingers… They look like Mom’s only shorter.

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Two hours after arriving at the salon, Mom pays and we leave to go get some lunch. Mom takes me to the same mall that I now work at and we go into the Applebee’s. I am momentarily embarrassed when our waitress asks us what us ‘ladies’ would like to drink. Mom lets her kindly know I am a guy and we order.

After we finish eating, Mom takes me out into the mall and into some lingerie store I had never heard of (or paid attention to). She gets several packages of black tights. Then she picks up several pair of girl’s panties…in boy cut style, but plain white in ‘microfiber’ (whatever that is). When we get out, I ask, “Why did you get those? Why can’t I just wear normal socks and underwear? This is crazy, Mom.” She looks at me and says, “You have new clothes that are very nice, but are not what you are used to. Boy’s clothes are less finicky. Girl’s clothes show things more, since they are stretchy and a bit tighter. Trust me. Panty lines are embarrassing enough for a girl—I don’t think you want any. Besides, experiencing tights—or pantyhose as some people call them—will be good for you. And before you ask, no, we are not getting you different clothes…or shoes. We got a really good price for really nice stuff and no one is ever going to know…”

Finally, she takes me into Old Navy and finds several ‘camisoles’ in colors similar to my new shirts. I give her a really quizzical look as she holds up the silky things with spaghetti straps. She says, “I saw how you didn’t really button your shirt yesterday, so, you are going to wear one of these under your shirt. The silky nature, the lacy trim, and the cute little flower right here in the front will be incentive enough for you to button that third button and keep it hidden.” I groan and whine, “It was only because the buttons are on the wrong side…I will keep it buttoned. I promise!” Mom looks at me and says, “With this on underneath, I am sure you will.”

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Soon after that, we are back home and Mom tells me to get ready. I take a shower, but Mom makes me wear a plastic-rubbery hat on my head to keep from getting my hair wet. She tells me I can practice learning the style tomorrow. I get out and dry off. She has already laid out some charcoal grey pants with a black pinstripe, and pale yellow shirt and yellow camisole, and my other undie stuff. I sigh and get dressed.

After she drops me off at the mall, I dejectedly make my way to the second floor and to NYC. I walk in an Amber greets me, “Terry, you look great! Nice hair! And look at those nails! Go straight to Ms. M.’s office—she has something for you.” I nod and click-clack my way to the back of the store and to her office. She calls me in and says, “Terry, you look great! Much better than that mess from yesterday! I see you left your hair long. I think that suits you.” She fidgets a minute, then continues, “I…err…I ordered your nametag from the engravers down the hall and they delivered it a bit ago. I…well...they…made a mistake. It is understandable with where you work and all, but they misspelled your name. I don’t have any more store blanks and will have to order them, but because so many seasonal hires have been made company-wide, they are on backorder and it will take a couple of weeks…at least.

She hands me the nametag and I pale when I see the name ‘Terri’ engraved in it. She says, “I am afraid you will just have to wear this one for now…it is our policy. I am sure no one will even notice…”

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joy’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, things click for Joy and Terry is in for a surprise (hint: A girl likes him).

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I sigh and open the door to the yoga studio. I am not sure what I am supposed to accomplish here, but M.S. insisted that both the yoga and the ballet would help me…so, here I am… The first thing I notice is that it is bright and cheery in the studio. There are pristine wooden floors and bright colors on the walls. Mats are rolled up and neatly piled up close to one of the walls. I let the door close and the little bell tinkles again. A beautiful young red-head, not much older than me, comes out to greet me. She says, “Hi, I am Eileen. Welcome to my studio. Classes don’t start for another couple of hours, though.” I smile and say, “Hi, I am Joy. This may sound a bit strange, but I am here at the strong recommendation of the Mother Superior at St. Paul’s…” She laughs—it is a nice laugh; sort of like the tinkling of the bell on her door. She says, “Yes, she phoned me a bit ago and said you would be coming by. Come on in and we will get started…I will give you private lessons—especially since we will be working more on the spiritual side.” She gives me a critical appraisal, eying me up and down, and continues, “Not that we won’t work on your core and posture, too…”

She takes me to her little shop and finds me some yoga pants and a top on one of the racks and tells me to go change into them. When I come out, she already has two mats unrolled on the floor and some soothing music playing in the background. I smell some sort of incense. She runs me through a physical warm-up of various yoga poses, salutations and such, then has me sit cross-legged and we work on just breathing and calming my mind for about thirty minutes. She keeps talking about me finding my center…

It is strange, as she gets me deeper and deeper into the exercises, I can almost feel a glow in my core—like I can almost touch my energy…

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I take the name tag that Ms. M. is holding out towards me. My hand shakes a little as I attach it to my shirt—it is one of those magnetic ones. She smiles and says, “OK, Terry, you are behind the register again tonight. You did well last night—we have a new sale starting tonight, though, so it will likely be busier. Just let Christi know if you need help. She should be here in a bit. Amanda’s shift is almost over.”

I go out into the store in a sort of a daze. I walk to the register—the click-clacking of my shoes somehow louder in my ears than before. I am just about to go behind the counter when I hear, “Terry? Is that you?” I turn and see Christi. She says, “Terry! You look hot! Oh…wait! I didn’t know. This is AWESOME. You are Terri with an ‘i’ now? When did that happen?” Amanda pipes in, “Yes, I didn’t know that putting you into some girl’s clothes was going to turn you into one. Are you serious about this?” Ms. M. comes in just then and says, “Girls! Leave poor Terry alone. It is my fault…well, it was a misunderstanding with the engraver. She understandably thought any Terry working here would be a girl and the name would be spelled with an ‘i’…

Ms. M. goes back to her office and Amanda leaves. Christi comes over to chat since the store is empty at the moment. She says, “Terri, I don’t care if it was a mistake. You look hot like that. Your hair is cute and…well…I could see myself going out on a date with you…Are you interested? I have liked you a long time, but I am not into…well…normal…guys…” I almost drop the money I am counting. My heart is pounding. I have been wanting to go out with Christi for ages…and all it takes is for me to wear some girl’s pants and a shirt to get her to ask ME out? I sort of stutter, “I would love to go out with you. I have wanted to go out with you for quite a while, too. But I never thought you would be interested…”

Right then a stream of customers comes in and we are busy until our ‘lunch’ break. It still seems weird to call a break at nine o’clock at night a ‘lunch’ break. Anyways, Christi had convinced her Mom to let us take ours together and she insists we go to the food court. I tell her that I am not sure I want to, dressed like this, but she is insistent. She says, “Oh, come on, Terri. You are working here like this…what is the difference?” Finally, I give in and we go to the Domino’s counter and each get a slice of pizza.

We sit down to eat and Christi asks me a bunch of questions about how I am liking working at NYC. Then she quizzes me about me getting my hair and nails done and how I decided on this cute style. She says, “It is like a cute swept over pixie cut. I love it! And those nails—daring for a guy. But why did you not go longer if you are being daring? I mean with that hair? You know what we should do right now? We still have over half an hour left on our break…” She doesn’t say anything else. She just grabs my hand and pulls me back into the mall…

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I help Eileen roll up the mats and say, “Thank you, Eileen. You know, I think this is really going to help me in my…work…with M.S.” She laughs and says, “You don’t have to be so cryptic, Joy. I know all about Sister Gwen and have a good idea why she sent you to me. Just because she is…currently…a Catholic…and I am a practicing Buddhist, doesn’t mean that we are not good friends. She has spent a lot of time on a mat here, too. I could feel your energy—it is very much like hers, but stronger. Once you get control of it, you will be a force to be reckoned with. Just don’t let the Church find out about it—at least not while you are still at St. Paul’s…”

I give Eileen a hug and walk down the street. I enter the dance shop connected to the studio and wonder what it is that M.S. finds so important about ballet…

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“What is this place,” I ask. Christi smiles and says, it is a little mall stand and the girl that runs it, Susi, is a miracle worker when it comes to eyebrows. Yours are a mess and really don’t go with that cute hair. Come on, my treat! Hi, Susi!”

Before I can really get a word in edgewise, the girls have coaxed me into the chair and Susi turns on a bright light. Christi whispers something to her and she nods. Then she starts plucking out brow hairs—starting with what feels like half my brow at a time. I yelp as the first ‘bushel’ comes out. Christi giggles and says, “Oh, come on Terri. Man up! It is not that bad!” I whine a little, “I don’t know about this…” Susi says, “Well, I can stop, but you will have funny, mismatched eyebrows…” I shake my head and she continues on…

When she is done, she holds up a mirror for me to look at her work. I am surprised. It felt like she had pulled out my whole eyebrow. In reality, they weren’t that much smaller—just evenly shaped. And tapered to a fine point on the outside of my brow. They were sort of feminine-looking in my eyes, but not overtly so. I had seen some guy actors with brows that looked a lot like these.

Susi tells me, as Christi pays, “In the future, it will be easier to keep them cleaned up. Christi here is a weekly customer of mine—I hope maybe you will come back, too.” I look at Christi’s thin, arched brows—now those are girly and they look really good on her. I nod and say, “Maybe I will. Thanks, Susi.”

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A pretty young girl, Emma, greets me as I enter the store. I look around at the tutus, leotards, tights, and point shoes… I smile at Emma and say, “Hi. My name is Joy and it seems I will be taking some lessons and need the appropriate…equipment…” She giggles and says, “OK! Well, welcome to our studio. I take it you are a beginner, then? Let’s get you the basics…”

A few minutes later, I have on a black leotard, pink tights, and pink ballet flats. She adeptly puts my hair into a bun and tells me I will need to learn how to do this myself. I have let her know that M.S. sent me over and she lets Mistress Rose know that I am here for my private lesson. And before I know it, I am in a studio with a stodgy, very strict woman—in a bun that looks like it is pulling her face to the back of her head--learning the five positions of ballet and how to do proper Demi-plies.

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We get back to the store just as our break time is up. Ms. M. looks at me and says, “Something is different about you, Terry. You look…neater… Oh! Did Christi take you to see Susi? She loves that girl and her work. Your brows look very nice.” And she goes back to her office.

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Joy makes progress and Terry starts having doubts.

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“You want what?!?!” Mom asks with a shocked look on her face. My first week is up at the store and this is my first day off. Christi wants to go on a date at the mall and then spend some time at her house—she also has convinced me that I need to get my ears pierced. I look at Mom and say, “I know it sounds strange. But lots of guys get their ears pierced now. And…well…you sort of were pushing me on Christi…” She says, “Don’t put this on me, young man. First, you get your hair cut like that. Then you get your brows shaped. Neither overtly feminine, but not really masculine, either. Now you want me to sign a permission slip to get your ears pierced?” She shakes her head…

I don’t let Mom know at that point, that I have come to really like wearing my girl’s panties… Actually, I prefer all of the girl’s clothes to my own—at least the way they feel. My normal boy’s stuff itches me when I wear it now… She looks at me and says, “You are sure you want to do this? I know I said that if you did well at work that I would give you more leeway into how you look, but I didn’t really have this in mind… Cheryl tells me you are doing really well, so…” She blows out a lung full of air and then says, “I guess so. You will have to use your own money, though. Do you have enough?” I look at her and say, “Yes, more than enough. Thank you, Mom!” She hands me the signed permission slip and I hurry upstairs.

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I am sitting in M.S.’s office giving her a mini version of the Spanish Inquisition, “What did Eileen mean that you had spent a lot of time on one of her mats? And…she said something about you ‘currently’ being Catholic. And what is with Madam Rose’s bun? Can you get any more uptight than that woman?” M.S. laughs and says, “Goodness, Child. One question at a time! Yes, I go to the yoga studio at least once a week. It is good to stretch out and unwind. It is also a great place to meditate. As for ‘currently’ being Catholic. I have told you about some of my past. Before the Church ‘brought’ me into their fold—to ‘protect’ me; I was a practicing Wiccan. Deep down, I still hold a lot of those beliefs—and the Church knows it. I just don’t let them out to play much anymore. As for Rose, well, her type of discipline will be good for you once you start to understand your energies better.”

She gets up and pours us some tea before sitting down and pricking her finger. She hold it out to me and picks up her cup of tea with the other hand. Smiling and blowing on the hot liquid, she takes a careful sip and patiently waits…

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I quickly take a shower and use the moisturizing body wash that Mom had gotten me. I towel off and put on a clean pair of panties…it just happens to be the ones with lace that Amanda had gotten me at VS. I also put on a camisole—I have become addicted to the feel of the silky coolness against my skin. I just towel my hair and leave it damp… I put on a pair of my scratchy jeans and a polo shirt—after putting on my deodorant. I smell the vanilla scent wafting up as I lift my arms to get the shirt on. I shake my head, I used to think this shirt was really soft…

Mom drops me off at Cindy’s salon, then takes off to take care of some other errands. I go inside and Cindy washes and styles my hair. She doesn’t really need to cut much after just a week, but she does snip a little here and razor a little there… The vitamins that Mom got me for my nails supposedly are for hair, too. Cindy says that my hair will likely start growing a little faster now that they are in my system.

She looks at my nails and says they still are fine. She does take the clear coat off of my fingers and then does something to fix the little gap at the base of nails, where they had grown and the acrylic ones that are glued on show. Like my hair, she says they will likely start growing a bit faster with the vitamins. She asks if I want her to file them back to the original length. I shake my head, no. I have decided to be a bit more ‘daring’—just to show Christi I can be… It is not like they are really a girl’s length yet, or anything…just maybe a sixteenth of an inch longer than last week.

After she finishes putting the top coat back on my fingernails and pronouncing my toes fine, I pay her. Mom is just pulling back up when I exit the salon. She looks at me and shakes her head as she says, “I see you decided to keep it long. I had hoped you had changed your mind… I guess that means that you still want to go through with the ears, then?” I nod my head and say, “Yes, Mom. Christi is going to meet us at Claire’s at the mall in about twenty minutes—she just texted me.”

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I take a deep breath and concentrate just on that action for a moment. It is strange how my mind begins to clear—and that after just one session with Eileen. I take M.S.’s hand and carefully fold it into mine and pull it close to my heart. I close my eyes and breathe slowly and evenly and try to find my center. I notice that inner glow again from yesterday and feel a slight tingling in my hands. I open my eyes in surprise and let go of her hand. The pin prick is gone…

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Mom goes to Claire’s with me to attest that she has given her permission. Christi comes up to the store at the same we do, but from a different direction. Mom greets her and we go inside. I hand the permission slip to the girl and Mom affirms that she has signed it. The girl, Emily, takes me back to a stool and has me sit on it. She then shows me the starter studs that I can choose from. She points to some really sparkly cubic zirconia ones and says, “These are actually on sale. You can get them for half price. Or you can get two sets for the price of one.” Christi smiles and says, “These are perfect, Terri! They would look great on you on you. Ms. K. can Terri get a double pierce? That would look so cool! Mine are triple-pierced and I love it.” She pulls back her long hair to demonstrate and continues, “Terri—now THAT would be daring!”

Mom shakes her head and says, “They are Terry’s ears and I promised I would not interfere. Terry, just remember, you have to live with the consequences. School will be starting up soon and these won’t likely be healed enough to not wear any studs in them without closing up by then. Are you prepared to wear not only earrings, but two earrings in each ear?” I feel a little run over by this whole thing—sort of like a Mac truck had come through the store and I was in its path. I had not even mentioned a double-pierce, let alone thought about one. What do I do now? Christi is pushing me more and more to be ‘daring’… I look at Christi, obviously intent on my doing it and say, “I will go with the double-pierce. Thanks, Mom…” I am SO going to regret this, I just know it…

Mom just shakes her head and says, “Like I said, they are your ears, Terry. I am going now. Cheryl will drive you two home with her in two hours. Just give me a call when you are ready to come home and I will come pick you up.” And she takes off as Emily loads the piercing gun. First Emily cleans my ears with alcohol and then makes some marks with a Sharpie. Christi shakes her head and Emily wipes them off with some more alcohol. Christi points and Emily makes new marks. Christi nods and Emily shows me the marks. They look even to me, but what do I know? How am I supposed to know that a girl’s studs are usually placed closer to the edge of the ear than a boy’s to allow for wearing more petite, dangly earrings. Boys usually want to wear larger studs, so the hole is typically placed more in the middle of the lobe. The second set of marks that Christi approved is really close to the edge of my ear—like hers… I just say, “I trust you and Christi. If you think they are where they need to be, then let’s do this before I change my mind.”

Four clicks later—there was surprisingly no pain at all—Emily is putting the backs on the studs and cleaning up the trickles of blood with some special antiseptic. She shows me how to turn the studs and how to use the antiseptic. I pay and Christi and I leave. On our way out, she stops at one of the racks of earrings—all dangly and sparkly—and says, “I can’t wait until your holes are healed up and we can shop for pretty new earrings together.” She takes my hand and leads me out. I feel a little weird about the way she said that, but follow her without comment.

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I smile at M.S. She hugs me and says, “Congratulations, Child. Your first healing—well, other than your own transitional one. This is but the beginning, though. You must keep up your yoga and the ballet. I can feel your energies strengthening and you must learn to control them. You have been very fertile ground for them—I believe they may well be stronger in you than they ever were in me…”

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Christi and I walk around the mall and go into the big music store to browse around. She seems a little distant, though. Finally, after we are done at the music store, I walk with her to the food court where we get a drink and sit at one of the tables. I can’t stand it anymore, so I ask, “Christi…is something wrong? You seem…well…distant today, like you don’t want to be with me. Did I do something?” She takes my hands in hers and says, “No, Terri. It is just…well…like I told you…I am not into…normal guys… I prefer you in your girl’s clothes. I would prefer you even more if those that you wear were even more girly. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want a fru-fru gay guy. Not that there is anything wrong with them. I just want a guy that is confidant enough to be feminine. When I saw you last week with your hair in that cute style and your nails fixed up…and in NYC’s finest dress clothes…it made my heart sing. Walking around with you in those boy jeans and that shirt is kind of turning me off… It is not your fault; I just like the way you look better the other way…”

I sigh and sit there quietly for a few minutes. Finally, I say, “Christi. I wondered why you liked me all of a sudden after never giving me the time of day before. I am still me, no matter what I wear, though. I don’t know that I could ever be ‘daring’ enough, as you say, to dress up really like a girl. I am not really all that brave. Getting my ears pierced today nearly gave me a heart attack. Thinking about what everyone is going to say when I go back to school with two…” I let the sentence trail off. I take another breath after a short pause and say, “I have a confession, though. I LIKE the way the girl’s clothes feel. I wish I could wear them all the time—so that no one knew.” I get a small voice and say, “I am wearing a pair of my girl’s panties and a camisole right now. I haven’t worn boy’s underwear all week…”

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M.S. pours us another cup of tea and says, “So, you are starting to connect with your center and your energy flow. You say you feel a ‘glow’. That is good. You need to continue practicing connecting with that ‘glow’…you have not quite made the full connection yet…you will know when you do; trust me. When you make that connection…your perceptions of the world will change with it…”

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Christi and I finish our drink as we discuss the merits of girls’ clothes versus boys’. She, of course, is all about the looks—where I am all about the feel… She checks her watch and says, “We should go to the store. Mom will be ready to leave pretty soon and I want to check something, first.”

We go up to NYC and walk in. Amanda is there greeting people and is shocked to see my ears. She gives me a hug and says I look great. Christi whispers something in her ear and Amanda nods, thoughtfully. Then Amanda says, “Well, Terry—I think we can find some cheap jeans and tops that, with your discount, won’t set you back much. I know Ms. M. will let you get them on credit. So, you like the feel of girl’s clothes?”

I give Christi a look that could kill. Amanda says, “Don’t blame Christi, Hon. I have noticed how you act in girl’s clothes…and how you act in boy’s—like right now. Come on. Let’s see what we can find that is on sale or on clearance.” Several minutes later, I have a pile of jeans that are passable for a guy. I draw the line at the leggings they try to get me to get. There is also a pile of the company’s ‘Mercer soft shirts’ in various patterns and styles, including the cropped ones. The price is just too good. This will take up my entire next paycheck, but it is worth it to have some nice clothes to wear outside of work.

Ms. M. comes out and is surprised to see my ears, as well. She approves the credit and says she will deduct the clothes from my next check. I pick up the bags and Ms. M. leads us to her car in the mall’s garage. On the way home, she says, “I am sorry, but I am going to have to come back to work for a couple of hours. I need to finish up an issue with the inventory and the next order. I am sure you two will be fine. I will bring supper home with me when I come.” She drops us off in their driveway and pulls off after Christi gets the door open and we are inside.

I drop my bags on the floor and take off my sneakers so I don’t get anything on their really soft white carpet. Christi tells me that her dad is on a business trip—so we will be alone until her mom gets back. She says, “Come on. Bring your bags up to my room and you can model your new clothes for me.” I blush but grab the bags and say on the way up the stairs, “You do know that modeling clothes isn’t really a guy thing, right?” She giggles and says, “So…pretend like you are a girl for a bit…” Again, I am not sure if she is joking, or not—so I don’t respond and just follow her to her room.

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Joy finally connects with her energy and Terry is hooked.

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I unknot myself from the human pretzel that Eileen has me folded into. I groan and she says, “Not bad for your second session. Now, let’s work on centering yourself.” She leads into a series of breathing exercises and I start to feel the glow that is becoming more familiar—but I just can’t seem to make the connection to it. I sigh and Eileen says, “You are still trying too hard, Joy. Give it time…you will get there. You are much closer than you were even yesterday…”

I sigh again and roll up my mat. I don’t even bother changing out of my yoga gear before I leave. I just grab my bag with my ballet stuff in it and hurry down the street to the ballet studio. I change into my ballet stuff and timidly go into the private mirrored studio where Madame Rose is waiting for me.

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I look around Christi’s room. It is sort of what I expected a teenage girl’s room would like—of course, I have never been in one, but have seen a few on TV. Anyway, it is all soft pastels and pillows. Posters of a few girl’s bands and few dolls are the main decorations. Christi breaks into my appraisal of her space and says, “Come on silly. I want to see how you look!”

I sigh and ask, “Where would you like me to change?” She rolls her eyes and says, “Well, right here, silly. It is just us girls, after all…” I sort of shake my head but pull out a pair of the new jeans and a ‘paper white’ top—it is one of the ‘cropped’ ones—which just means it is too short to tuck in. I take off my boy jeans-revealing the lacy VS panties that I forgot I had on—of course, I blush and Christi giggles as she stresses that she loves them. I take off the polo shirt, revealing the silky white camisole, with all its lace and the flower on front. Christi asks, “So, you have one of those on at work all the time? You should totally unbutton another button and let it show—that is CUTE!” I groan and pull on the shirt. I quickly button it up, now used to the buttons on the other side. The shirt is soft and feels glorious compared to the rough polo shirt I had on before.

I take the jeans and pull them up my legs. I sigh in contentment as the soft denim stokes my legs. They are a thousand times softer than my boy jeans—and the slight stretch in the material makes them really comfy. I know I am hooked—I don’t see how I will ever be able to wear ‘normal’ jeans again. I tuck in the shirt and button and zip the jeans. I stand there and Christi has me turn around.

She says, “That is perfect for you in “boy mode”. We are the same size—except you are a 2 short and I am a 2 average. Are you willing to play around with some accessories, just for here? It would be fun!” I shrug and say, “I guess…if it will make you happy…and no one finds out…” She smiles and says, “OK. Hang on.”

She pulls out a glitzy gold chain belt—it is only like a half inch wide and way longer than it needs to be. She has me feed it through the loops and let the extra length just hang down after I buckle it. Then she takes out a pinkish scarf thingy that is a big long loop. I am told that it is ‘coral’ and it is an ‘infinity’ scarf. She loops it around my neck and I notice the sparkle from the sequins as she does. She undoes the buttons on my shirt and just leaves it open—fully showing my camisole under it and the scarf.

She goes to one of her drawers and pulls out a pair of short, lacy socks and has me put them on. She says, “We are even the same shoe size. It is great!” She goes to her closet and finds a pair of black booties with a really high heel. She says, “This is my favorite pair of booties for jeans. They are called “photogenic booties” by Impo. Some people call them shooties. Anyway…put these on and let’s see.” I say, “Are you sure, those are really high heels and they are really pointy…” She giggles and says, “Well, the heels are four inch—but it is a 3/4 inch platform, so they are not really much higher than the ones you have been wearing at work. They are more of a stiletto than yours, but I have faith you can handle it. It is not like we are going on a hike or anything…”

I give her a disgruntled look and put them on. I tie them and stand up. The heel, of course sinks into the deep pile of her carpet. She takes my arm and leads me into her bathroom, where the tile floor gives me a more solid surface to navigate. I practice a few steps and find that I can master them OK after a bit. I am not going to be walking any model runways any time soon—but I won’t break my neck.

Christi then says, “Sit down here at my vanity, Terri. I want to try something…”

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I am on my two-hundredth plié—no lie. My thighs are burning and there is no relief in sight—at least I get no sense from Madame Torture that she is going to let up. I start focusing on my breathing—like in yoga—to distract myself from the growing pain. The more plies I do, the more I focus on my breathing and the closer I get to connecting to my center. When I hit three hundred plies—I connect…and the world goes…psychedelic!

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Christi says, “I don’t have the proper foundation for your complexion. As a blonde, yours is lighter than mine, so we will just do this the more natural way…” I give her a dubious look and ask, “Do what the natural way?” She giggles and says, “Your makeup, of course.” I put my hands up and say, “Wait a minute—isn’t that going a bit too far? I mean, you already have me dressed up like a Barbie doll—which is nice, by the way—but makeup?” I shake my head and say, “I don’t know…”

She lightly bats my hands away and says, “It will wash off, silly. It isn’t like I am tattooing onto you, or anything. I just want to see what it looks like…” I sigh and give in. There is no arguing with her when she has her mind set to something. I sit quietly while she explains that she is putting on eye shadow in blues and greens to complement my eyes and hair. Then she adds eyeliner and mascara. Finally, some lip stain, lip gloss, and a little blush on my cheeks. Then she has me turn to the mirror—the difference is amazing. My eyes ‘pop’, my lips are ‘there’, and my face is…pretty.

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I am completely disoriented by all of the wild colors undulating in front of my eyes. I guess I know what it is like to trip on LSD now. I grab onto the bar harder and lean up against it. I hear Madame Rose ask, “Joy, are you alright? I know that was a lot of plies, but…” All I see is a weird seething mass of bright colors where she should be standing… She says, “Stay right there, I will get Sister Gwen…”

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Christi says, “Terri, you are beautiful. You should wear makeup all of the time!” I shake my head in shock…just staring at myself in the mirror. Christi says, “Terri! Look at me! You are gorgeous—how do you feel?” I continue to stare at the mirror and say in a small, shocked voice, “Confused. I like how it looks, but…I can’t…”

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Ten terrifying minutes later, Eileen comes in and takes me by the hands. She slowly sits me on the floor and says in a calming voice, “Gwen is on her way over. She will be here in just a few more minutes. She told me that this might happen—although, I don’t think we were expecting it quite so soon. Close your eyes…is that any better?” I close my eyes and the colors are more muted, but still there.” I nod my head and say, “A little. It is still…hypnotic—almost nauseating. All of these swirling colors…”

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Christi is painting my nails—finger and toe—a bright peacock blue trying to convince me that it is OK to like myself this way. Her Mom comes in without us even hearing it. To say she is surprised is likely the understatement of the year. She comes in Christi’s room and says, “Christi, Terri. I have supper—I was able to finish a little earlier than I… Oh…my… What is this?” She sits down and looks at me—then at Christi who is putting the cap on the nail polish—having finished the third coat… I am sitting there, not really processing the fact that my nails are now blue—still shell-shocked as I am at my face in the mirror…and the fact that I like it.

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I sense M.S. coming in the studio…I don’t have a better word for it. I just know it is her… Her colors are more solid…steady…organized. I gravitate towards those and she comes over and says, “Joy, Child, you have connected to your inner energy stream. This allows you to visualize external energy streams. We will discuss all of that later. I was not expecting you to progress quite so quickly. I guess our practice had you further along than I thought and the yoga and ballet was enough to push over the edge. I know this is confusing for you, right now. I want you to look inward…find that inner glow and concentrate only on that. Breathe in and out…all that is there is that inner golden glow…nothing else… Breathe in…and…out…”

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Ms. M. is looking at me, obviously worried. She asks, Christi, “What in the world were you two doing? Did Terry…or Terri…I don’t know whether to think of him as a her now…want this?” Christi shakes her head and says, “I pushed a little…I just wanted to see what…she…would look like. I was going to wash it right off, honest!” I pull myself together as much as I can and focus on Ms. M. as I say, “I like how I look—how can that be? I am a guy…but…I like looking like this…”

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I breathe in…and out… I focus just on that…and calm down enough that I can focus more on myself… I find that I can now see my inner glow as much as I can feel it. I focus on that glow…on that and breathing… Slowly, the other colors fade…and all I see is that golden glow inside of me… M.S. says, “Open your eyes, Child.” I timidly open my eyes and see…M.S. smiling at me. I take a shaky breath and say, “Oh, M.S., that was terrifying! I never want to do that again!”

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Mom arrives twenty minutes later. Ms. M. had called her as soon as she knew that I was alright—well, as alright as I was going to be. She comes in and sort of gasps when she sees me. She says, “Terry, Sweetie, are you OK? What is going on?” Christi and I go through it all again and, while I have settled down enough to be coherent, my nerves are still rattled… I finish by saying, “I don’t know what is wrong with me, Mom. I like wearing these clothes…and I like the way I look with makeup on…”

Mom hugs me and says, “Well, I have to admit—you look very pretty. I think we are going to need to seek some professional help in this, though. Son, I love you no matter what—you know that, right?” I nod, and say, “I know, Mom… I just feel like some sort of freak…” Right at that moment, my stomach growls loudly and everyone laughs… the tension somewhat broken, Christi says, “Well, at the very least, you have a freak in your stomach!”

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M.S. says, “We will discuss that later…your defense is in two hours…are you OK to do it? I can get it postponed if you need me to.” I shake my head and say, “No, this was just supposed to be a distraction before I went—it turned out to be more of one than I expected…”

Two hours later, I am sitting in a small room with a panel of professors, led by Ms. Braun (actually a professor and a Doctor). I am scrubbed clean and polished up…and eerily calm after the incident earlier… The panel plies me with questions and I calmly and confidently answer them all. After an hour of grilling that would have done the Spanish Inquisition proud, the group puts their heads together and whispers for a few minutes, then Ms. Braun says, “Congratulations, Dr. Rousseau!

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Joy opens her new center and Terry finds help.

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I walk into the building with a smile that just won’t quit. Uncle Jeff and my Dad had been working non-stop over the past weeks to get it ready—only stopping long enough to attend my graduation last week. It has been a week since my defense and the place looks great—thanks to Mom and Dad, Uncle Jeff and Aunt Janet, and Grandma and Grandpa. I wasn’t much help this past week—between partying and trying to get a handle on intermittent bouts of seeing the world in psychedelic swirls.

Shauna is in her office, messing with a bunch of files—of what, I have no idea. She graduated last week, too—with a pre-law degree. She was accepted into Harvard, Yale, and a few other prestigious law schools, but decided to go to a small, upcoming one that is only about thirty minutes from here. In the meantime, she is going to be my office manager at the center. It is still strange for me to think that I am two years younger than her and my other friends from college—yet I am four years ahead of all of them academically….

Emily is in her office straightening her things. She had just hung her shiny new diploma on the wall—proclaiming her to be a licensed social worker and therapist. I smile as I walk by and into my office. The place is awesome…just minutes from the yoga and ballet studios. Ironically, it is also not far from Zoey’s tattoo parlor and hair salon where Joy first made an unwanted appearance.

I sit down in my pretty office chair and look around… I have made it! Now, all I need are some clients…

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Mom makes me get in the car. The past week has been pure hell for me. I continued to work at NYC…longing more to dress like a girl every day. Christi would sneak some light mascara on me—and I had left my toenails blue. But, I was getting more and more depressed—because I couldn’t dress like I wanted. Not because Mom or Ms. M. would not let me—I wouldn’t let myself… Finally, Ms. M. had come across a reference to a new therapist in town that supposedly specialized in problems like mine… That is where we are headed…

Mom parks and we get out. I look at the front door of the new center; it just opened today, it seems. “Joy of Life Center” is proudly painted in rainbow colors on the glass… Mom opens the door and we go in. A pretty young woman comes out of an office and says, “Hi, I am Shauna. Welcome to Joy of Life. Please excuse that we don’t have a receptionist yet, how may I help you?” Mom says, “Well, I received a recommendation to come to your center—even though you have just opened.” Shauna smiles and says, “Yes, it is our first day—but Joy, our primary therapist, is really good at what she does. Would you like to meet her?” Mom says, “Yes, that would be nice. My name is Grace. Grace Kinsley. This is my…child…Terry. I am afraid Terry needs some help that I don’t know how to give.”

A few minutes later, we are sitting in a conference room and a very pretty—and young strawberry blonde comes in. She introduces herself, “Hello, I am Joy. It is nice to meet both of you. How may I be of assistance to you?” Mom has a shocked look on her face when says, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look old enough to be a therapist…” Joy laughs and says, “I am sure I don’t, Ms. Kinsley. Actually, I am only eighteen, but I have a Ph.D. in psychology and a few other degrees, as well. I…well…I learn easily—let’s just leave it at that. Do you think it will be a problem for you?” Mom smiles and says, “No. I trust the person that recommended you implicitly. And, please, call me Grace…”

Another pretty girl that Joy introduces as ‘Emily’ brings in a pot of hot tea and says, “I thought you might could use some tea. Or would you rather have coffee?” Mom shakes her head and says, “No, tea is perfect. Terry and I both are tea drinkers.” Emily pours the tea and smiles at me as she leaves the room. I nervously pick up the cup and blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

Joy lets me settle a bit and then asks, “OK, Terry. Would you like to tell me what your problem is? If it is something that we can all agree we can help you with here at the center, then we will work out a plan of action and see if we can’t put whatever your demons are to rest…”

I nervously take a few more sips, then say in a small voice, “Well, I seem to prefer to dress as a girl even though I am a boy.” Joy is quiet, like she was waiting for me to get to the point. I sigh and say, “Don’t you get it? I want to wear girl’s clothes—I like the way they feel. I am learning to love the way they look. I want to be able to wear makeup and heels. I want to wear a dress and tights… I am a freak!” I start to tear up a bit.

Joy remains perfectly calm and still and asks, “OK, Terry. Why do you say you are a freak? Who is stopping you from wearing the things you want?” She looks at Mom, but is clearly still talking to me, “Your Mom?” I shake my head as the first tear trickles down my cheek. I say, “No, Mom and Ms. M. have been great. My girlfriend is actually encouraging me to dress that way… But I have to go back to school in a couple of weeks and there is no way I can go dressed as a girl…”

Joy takes a few sips of tea and gives me a chance to continue. When it is clear that I have said my piece, she says, “Yes, I see that thought clearly distresses you. I think I can help you, Terry, if you will let me. Grace, you will have to authorize the sessions, since Terry is a minor. I will keep you updated with our progress and get the appropriate permissions for anything that needs it, but our sessions will be private. It will be up to Terry to decide what he wants to share with you. There will however be a few things that I will ask Terry to keep confidential. If that is OK, we can get a few signatures and start tomorrow. Is that OK?”

Mom looks at me and asks, “Terry, are you willing to give it a try?” I nod and Mom looks back at Joy, “I don’t have a huge amount of money that I can spend—I have no idea what the insurance will cover…” Joy smiles and says, “Don’t worry about that. We don’t actually charge anything. Donations are welcome, of course, but this center operates off of some special…grants… It is likely, though, that some time in the future, I will ask Terry to help out on a case. It is not a binding condition, but it is always nice to pay things like this forward…”

After Mom signs several documents, we head home. I actually feel a little better already—but also really nervous about this whole thing. I will be at the center in the mornings and work my usual evening shifts at the mall…

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I say, “I will see you in the morning, Terry.” I smile as they leave and take a sip of tea. A few moments after they leave, Shauna, Emily, and to my surprise M.S. come in the conference room and take a seat. Emily has a fresh pot of tea and pours some for everyone…

M.S. smiles and says, “So, you have your first case. Care to tell us about it…and what we can do to help?” I smile and say, “It is so good to have a team like all of you. On the surface, it seems pretty straight forward… We may have a simple cross-dresser; maybe a transvestite… It could be deeper than that, though. I will need to do a few tests to be sure.” M.S. says, “Yes, you need to do your regular tests, but you also will need to explore the energy flows with your vision. We need to practice some more this afternoon…”

And so, an hour later, I am sitting in Eileen’s studio on a mat…next to M.S. who is serenely sitting there, cross-legged and looking as comfy as if she were in a million dollar lounge chair. I force myself into a lotus position and start my breathing routine. Over the past week, it has become increasingly easier to connect to my energy center. It has also become increasingly more difficult to disconnect from it. And, I have had bouts of…an auto-connect…for lack of a better word, where all of a sudden the world goes psychedelic on me. M.S. has patiently explained that I am visualizing different energy streams…different streams have different colors, which is how my brain processes them. The problem is, I seem to visualize the streams in different colors than M.S. does. The other thing is that M.S. has to physically touch someone to visualize their streams…where I just have to be close to them.

I connect and the world is once again a swirl of psychedelic colors. At least I don’t panic anymore…or get nauseous… I focus on the steady form that M.S. projects and describe what I see… That teaches me a couple of things… The neon pink color emanating from her is her feminine energy stream. It is so bright, because she is fully connected with her femininity. It is steady because she is so secure in it. She also has a strong golden stream, which is her power stream—like mine… There are other streams, but those are harder to tease out their meanings…

I look over at Eileen and am not surprised to see a similar pink stream—it is not as bright or steady, but it is a lot steadier than the streams I have picked up from most passers-by when I ‘auto-connect’. I am totally surprised to see a faint golden stream, as well. M.S. explains that everyone has a power stream—that most people cannot connect to it, though, so it won’t be readily visible—more of vapor. Since Eileen is such an accomplished yogi at her age, hers is becoming stronger…and is now clearly visible to those that can sense the streams. She explains that the really powerful yogi can have fairly strong power streams—not anywhere near as strong as mine or M.S.’s, but strong, none-the-less.

I work at disconnecting my consciousness from my center and M.S. sends me to ballet. She has explained that if I don’t build up the mental and physical discipline to separate my consciousness from my center—and keep it separated—I will eventually ‘auto-connect’ and lose myself in the streams. She says it is hard to explain, but I will understand with time. At any rate, the routines in ballet require dedication and discipline—both of which I will need. I sigh, knowing I will be in need of a healing session with M.S. tonight to ease the muscle aches…

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Mom brings me back to the center the next morning. She has an appointment with Joy…and I have to take a bunch of tests…oh, joy… (No pun intended…)

Emily leads me into a room with a computer and loads a program with a bunch of questions. She runs me through the basics…it seems pretty straightforward… She leaves me to it with a pot of hot tea and says she will check in on me in a bit…

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I bring Grace into my office and sit next to her at the table. I pour her some tea and settle in. Then, when we are comfortable, I ask, “OK, Grace. I just need to get your perspective on things. Terry is taking a few tests that will give me a better read, psychologically, with what we are dealing, but I never discount a mother’s intuition. Can you give me a little background on this? It seems like a fairly fresh issue?”

Grace sips the tea and grimaces. She adds a little more sugar and says, “Yes, a little over two weeks ago, this would have been a non-issue. At that point, I just wanted Terry to get a summer job. He is old enough to start learning those ethics… It is not about the money, at all. Anyway, he procrastinated. I think he thought I would give in and let him just bum away the summer like last year. I talked to Cheryl, a really good friend and the owner of the New York and Company franchise at the mall. She needed some help, so it seemed like a win-win-win. Terry would get a job, Cheryl would get help, and maybe Terry would learn not to procrastinate next time and wind up working in a women’s clothing store.”

She pauses and takes a sip of the tea. Seemingly satisfied with the sugar content, she continues, “That is where things start going south, so to say. I brought Terry in after school to get him signed up for the job. Cheryl needed help that day and so I agreed to let Terry start right away. Only, he wasn’t dressed for the part. I would have taken him to one of the stores in the mall, but one of the employees brought up that she could outfit him with some clothes at the store—at the employee discount—and no one would know, since they would really look like men’s clothing with the right accessories… That had in no way been a part of my plan, but when it came up, it seemed perfect—another nail in the coffin of procrastination. I know shaming someone is not always the best course of action—and I am ashamed of myself as a mother right now—but at the time it seemed like a good idea.”

Another sip of tea and she continues, “It gets worse from there. Terry had been badgering me to let his hair grow out. I don’t have any problems with that at all, to be honest, except I knew that he would not want to put in the work that long hair requires to look good—especially over the summer. But I had no real grounds to object once he showed that he could be responsible on the job. I decided to take a chance…I checked with his usual barber—he said that he did not do long hair. With no other place to turn, I asked my stylist and she agreed to do his hair—even though she really did not have any experience to speak of with guy’s hair. Well, you see the results… I think she did a really good job, considering… His nails were born that day, too. I blame myself for not paying attention to how neglected they had become. Anyway, my stylist told me that they really needed some protection to grow out healthy and look decent while some vitamins she recommended did their magic. She left them on the upper end of acceptable length for a guy because she said it would help with the strength. I have no idea about that, but I trust her…”

She is quiet—I don’t say anything…just waiting. Finally, she continues, “This next part is really embarrassing… Terry needed underwear to go with the new clothes he got from the store. You know how women’s pants are. They show any little thing through them. He needed something that would not show a panty line. Cheryl had told me the other girls were worried that Terry would be…well…a guy in the bathroom… So, I got him girl’s panties to kill two birds with one stone. No panty lines that would be doubly embarrassing for him…and no front opening to encourage him to sit in the bathroom. I have since found out that I could have gotten some nylon underwear for boys that would have served the same purpose, but I honestly had no idea about that at the time… I have no excuse for the camisoles over say generic undershirts—except I just wanted to shame him into buttoning up the shirt—and it seemed like a crime to put an itchy old boy’s undershirt under such a nice soft blouse…”

I pour some more tea as she continues, “Then he wanted his ears pierced… Again, I really had no big problem with it… I know that that is becoming more acceptable and probably a lot of guys in his class may have them. It is just that he has never been the popular guy at school… Our family history…on his dad’s side…has often resulted in delayed puberty. Terry is afflicted with this, like his dad was—he passed away three years ago.” I make my sincere regrets known and she continues, “Anyway, I agreed to let him get them done. He had hooked up with Christi, Cheryl’s daughter—and she was encouraging him to get it done. He had been pining after her for years…and this job made it happen…little did I know the real reason… Anyway, I agreed. We met up at the store and Christi convinced him to get a double-piercing. I tried to discourage it…but I figured that it was easier to let him do it and then just let the hole grow closed when he couldn’t handle the pressure than create a scene. It gave him another connection to Christi if that is what he wanted… When I saw the placement of the piercings later…” She breaks down and starts crying. I hand her a box of tissues and gently ask her to continue…

She takes a shaky breath and a sip of tea; then continues, “When I came over to Cheryl’s and saw him…her(?)…all made up and dressed really girly…I just did not know how to react… Is it all my fault…? Have I messed my boy up?” She breaks down even more.

I give her quiet support and wait for her to settle down, then say, “Let’s wait for the results of the tests. I don’t think you are to blame for this. I think you may have accelerated the outcome a bit. It is almost like an accidental conspiracy. Thank you for being so honest with me, Grace. This will be immensely helpful as I navigate the waters with Terry…or Terri—whichever the case may be… Are you OK to drive? We will make sure that Terry gets to the mall on time…and safely.”

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I groan… Question #300 flashes up on the screen… It is the last one…and it is free text… It is a simple question…or so it would seem… “What is your name?” I hesitate. I enter “Terry”…then hit backspace…and correct it to “Terri”…then hit backspace…and sit there… I am so confused…what do I put? Finally, I quickly hit “i” and and click “Submit” before I can change my mind…

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I look at Emily and ask, “So?” Emily says, “Well, I am still evaluating the results, but I can say that early polling says that Terri, with an ‘i’, is not a simple cross-dresser—there is more to it than that. He is also not a transvestite…there is no sexual thrill involved… The hesitation quotient in giving his/her name is meaningful…I need more time…” I sigh and smile at her frustration. I kiss her and say…work your magic—if anyone can tease this out—it is you—miss ‘top of her class’… I leave her frowning over her monitor…

I smile as Terri comes in. I simply ask, “I have tea…tell me if you would rather have something else…” He/she says, “No, tea is fine…really. I like it…” I nod and say, “OK, so…in your test, you responded that your name is Terri…with an ‘i’… That is how you want it?” A hesitant nod… “I smile and say, “OK, Terri. Now…I have not seen the results of your tests…Emily is looking over those right now… Can you tell me why you want to use that spelling?”

A couple of nervous blowings on hot tea…and a little nervous procrastination… Then, finally, an answer, “I don’t know…it just feels right?” I nod and say, “OK, we will leave it at that, for now. Is there anything else you would like to say before I try and map out where we go from here?”

There is dead silence for several minutes. Then, slowly, Terri opens up, “I don’t know where to begin. A few weeks ago, I was a normal guy…now, I don’t know what I am… I am terrified about these feelings…that I am some sort of pervert…” I sit there…quietly waiting…

Terri senses that I am not going to react and sighs, then says, “OK, that is maybe a bit overly dramatic…but…I really am worried. It is like I fell into some sort of feminization conspiracy…and went for it… What does that make me?” I smile and say, “OK, now we are getting somewhere. You feel like this was a conspiracy? To what end?”

Again, dead silence. I watch him…her(?)…sip some of the hot herbal tea… A shrug and a response, “I don’t know… It doesn’t make sense…that is one of my problems… One day, I am a happy guy… a few days later, I am addicted to girl’s clothes… What am I supposed to think…?” I carefully smile and ask, “OK, so, what is it about the girl’s clothing that you are ‘addicted’ to?”

More dead silence…and more… I am just as silent… Another sip of tea…and a response…, “I don’t know. It started out with me just liking the feel—girl’s clothes are…softer…nicer… you know?” I nod…I genuinely understand… Terri continues, “That was it, at first…then, I don’t know…Christi encouraged me to…let loose…and I found that I like how I look in them…and in…other feminine ways…”

I wait…nothing else comes. I wait a moment longer and ask, “Other things? Does all of this make you…tingle…?” He pales…then blushes…and says…in no particular hurry, sort of pensively, “No…I don’t get a…thrill…in the sense that I think you are asking… Just an awesome feeling that I look…great…and it is comfortable to boot…” Another sip of tea…and a question, “Why is it that girls can wear guy’s clothing and it is not a big deal… BUT, if a guy wears a girl’s clothing…or makeup…or has nice nails…he is a sissy…or…worse? That is so unfair…”

I don’t smile…I have no intention of demeaning his question. I simply say, “I don’t know, Terri. I guess girls have just done a better job over the past decades at social marketing. So, you think guys should have the same right? Let’s not debate fairness—or equality—between guys and gals…OK? But, if it is important to you to be able to wear girl’s stuff…as a guy, then are you willing to fight for that right? I think that is the question of the day… So? Hmmm?”

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All of these questions… What DO I want? The right to wear girl’s stuff… Yes!” I sigh… I answer, “Yes. I want to be able to wear things that girls do… I want to be able to wear a dress. I want to be able to wear makeup. I want to be able to show my feminine side—the same as a girl can show a masculine side…and not be ridiculed—or persecuted.”

I am surprised at Joy’s next question—I guess I shouldn’t have been…I just wasn’t prepared… She asks, “So…what are you prepared to do about it? It is in your hands what you do…what are you prepared to do? Become a girl?”

I sit there… How do I answer that? I shrug and turn it back on her… I ask, “Well, I don’t know I guess… Isn’t that why you are here? To help me figure that out?” She actually giggles and smiles as she says, “Yes. I guess I am… OK, Terri…hang out here a few minutes… I will be back.”

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M.S. says, “OK, Child, connect to your center and tell me what you see…” I take a deep breath and…the world goes psychedelic… I look in on Terri… I see…lots of flickery electric blue…and fringes of really unstable pink intertwined… I look at M.S. after I disconnect and say, “I don’t know. My instincts tell me Terri is a pretty solid on the male side…but with a strong overlay of femininity. I don’t get that he is overtly female…just that he wants to be like a girl… Although…it seems like he is unsure, too.” Emily comes in and says, “That is exactly what I get from his tests. He is not a transvestite…he is much more than just a cross-dresser, though. He…believes it is…right… I don’t think I have ever really seen this before. He is also really conflicted about it…” I nod and go back into the room.

I look at Terri and ask, “Terri, when I look at those pretty studs in your ears, I can’t help but notice that they are placed where a girl would have them that prefers pretty, dangly earrings over large studs like a boy would want. Was that on purpose?” He gives me a really strange look and says, “Well, no…not really. Christi showed Emily, the girl that pierced my ears, where to put them. I had no idea… But, why do you ask?” I smile and ask, “If I were to get you a nice pair of danglies, would you wear them to work today for me?”

He gets a shocked look on his face, but then smiles and says, “Well…I would if I could, but my holes have not healed yet, so I can’t. Too bad, huh?” I say, “What I am about to do needs to stay between you and me… Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.” I get up and gently take hold of his ears. He flinches a bit and I say, “Trust me…” I concentrate a little…but it does not take much effort…I feel the flow of the energy from my center go through my hands and into his ears… I say, “Now come with me…we need to pick out those danglies and surprise Christi with them. Remember…a promise is a promise…”

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Terri and Joy struggle together.

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Terri is standing in the jewelry store (the one down the street—not one of the ones in the mall)…speechless. He is looking in a mirror at some fairly dainty diamond drop earrings dangling from the front hole in each ear. The earrings are yellow gold to match the studs in the back hole, with a quarter carat diamond in the drop and diamond chips on the lever-back loop in his ear. To say she was surprised that her hole was healed is an understatement…and something I am going to have to talk to him/her about—as soon as I call M.S. and pay—in that order. Not to mention figure what gender to think of him/her as…

I quickly slip outside and pull out my cell phone. A few moments later, I have M.S. on the phone—she is still at the center; thankfully. I give her a quick update of what I had done and then say, “…but I must have done something wrong… His…her…well, Terri’s hair has grown about two inches and…her…fingernails must be half an inch longer, too. It all seems to still be growing at a very fast pace…” M.S. asks me what I did exactly. I say, “I just pushed a trickle of energy into…her…enough to heal the piercings. M.S. chuckles and then gets serious as she says, “Child, a ’trickle’ of energy from you in your state right now is like opening the flood gates of the hoover dam. I seem to remember something about Terri’s nails being in bad shape. I think his/her Mom said that she was giving him some special vitamins to help them. Your energy was too much for just the holes in his/her ears…it looked for something else to heal… There is a reason that some vitamins are marketed for skin, nails, and hair…they are all tied together… It will all likely grow a bit more, then slow to a more normal pace… I think Terri will not have to worry about bad hair, nails, or skin for….a while, though. Please be careful and let me know when you plan to use your energy in the future, OK?” I sigh and hang up.

I pay for the earrings—they are on sale and Terri is my first case, so it feels right… That matching necklace might be the perfect ‘graduation’ present—assuming I get him…her… that far… It is obvious that Terri has noticed the longer hair and nails. I sigh and take her to a park bench and say, “OK, Terri. I may have gotten a little carried away in my enthusiasm. First, I have to apologize to you. I was once forced into something against my will…and it was not my intention to do the same to you. Please do not tell anyone about what I did to your ears…I am not ready for people to know about…my abilities…just yet. Case in point, I just wanted to heal your holes and wound up ‘fixing’ a bit more than planned. I guess I healed your bad hair and nails, too. Your skin is more vibrant and clear, as well. Until I can control this…and achieve just what I am attempting, I don’t need this to get out, OK?” A tentative nod.

I continue, “Now, I hope that is ALL I ‘healed’. We will have M.S. scan you a little later. Who usually does your hair and nails…? Maybe they can fit you in before you have to go to work… Oh, and if you decide that you don’t want your ears pierced after all…just let me know. I did not mean to take that choice away from you. The holes are easily closed up… Although, we will likely let M.S. do that…”

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Thirty minutes later, I am sitting in Cindy’s chair and she is trimming up my hair. Unbelievably, it had grown three inches in as many hours. It seems to have slowed down; although, Joy says it may still grow much faster than normal… How she convinced Cindy that it was all due to the vitamins, I have no idea… And the story that girls will sometimes change out earrings even before the holes are healed… Cindy seemed to believe it. Although, she did give me a stern look and tell me to make sure and put my studs back in at night.

When she is done, I have face-framing layers with longer bangs that are parted and flipped back to wing out at the sides. The shortest layers start at my chin and then blend down to the lengths. Overall, I now have a shoulder-length very feminine haircut…and it looks…AWESOME!

My nails are next…it seems all of the unhealthy nail has grown out and I have strong, healthy nails—again growing faster than normally would be the case. Cindy clips them off…leaving them about a quarter-inch long. Considerably longer than a guy would ever consider having them, but at a length that a girl can still comfortably do things without them getting in the way. She shapes them into nice ovals and paints them a hot pink. She trims and files my toenails and paints them a bluish-green. Similar to the peacock blue from before—but more on the greenish side.

I look at myself in the mirror. Joy is doing my makeup. My eyelashes are now full and thick…and…loooooooong…. My skin is flawless and soft… It does not take much makeup to make me…well, beautiful. Well…I was totally freaked. I still have NO idea what just happened, but…I am not going to knock it… I will SO keep Joy’s secret…well, for now…at least until I know more…

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“Joy, you have to be careful…at least until you are more…grounded,” M.S. admonishes me. I had just dropped a freshly coiffed and made up Terri off at the mall and returned to the center. I roll my eyes and say, “Now you tell me. I thought it was a simple thing to heal Terri’s ears…I healed your finger. And to be fair…I DID heal the holes…” M.S. chuckles and says, “And so much more… We will scan Terri later and see what else you…healed…besides some hair and nails…” I blush and say, “Well…there is her skin, too. It is ravishingly beautiful right now…” It is M.S.’s turn to roll her eyes and say, “My point exactly…we need to see if there is anything else…”

I sigh and say, "I know. I have called Grace and let her know that I need Terri for a bit after work and that I will bring…her…I really need to figure out pronouns here…him/her home when we are done. I will pick Terri up at the mall at seven…it is luckily an early shift for…her/him today…”
And…as promised…I am waiting outside NY&C at seven when Terri comes out. I take a quick look and there does not seem to have been any more significant changes, so I ask, “So, how did it go, Terri. Did everyone like the changes?” He…she…grins and says, “Yes. Christi was ecstatic at my hair and the earrings. She liked my longer nails, too—and that I am wearing makeup. I had to tell her that these are extensions in my hair and I just longer tips on my nails… She didn’t have a hard time believing that I changed out my earrings—I guess she did the same thing when her holes were new, too…” I smile and ask as we walk down the street to the center, “So…how did it all feel to you?”

Terri pauses a moment, then starts walking again and says, “Well, it felt great actually. I love the hair, and the nails, and the makeup…and the earrings…thank you so much. But wearing these types of things at the store, where no one I know would typically ever come—at least none of the guys—well, that is different than wearing this stuff at school. And, I still don’t understand what you did to me…how did you…I mean my holes…my hair…? And I feel sort of…different…now…”

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A Nun looks at me with concern. Joy introduces her as ‘Mother Superior’, or M.S. for short. She says, “Explain to me exactly what you mean by you feel ‘different’ now.” I fiddle with a paper clip that is laying on the table and shrug. I sigh and say, “It is hard to explain… I feel better… More…whole… I don’t know… I still don’t know what happened…” M.S. smiles and says, “Well, Joy asked you to keep this quiet, since not many people outside of this room know her secret—yet. And she still has a lot to learn, it seems…” She gives her a pointed, but affectionate look. She looks back at me and continues, “Joy has some of the same abilities that I do. Healing is one of them. She had intended to just heal your piercings, but got a bit carried away it seems. She did, well let’s say…too good a job. We know you had some issues with your nails because of a vitamin deficiency? That same deficiency would have also affected your skin and hair. When Joy pushed extra healing energy into you, it healed those issues, as well. I need to do a scan on you and see if I can discern any additional…’healing’ that may have happened…”

They have me lay down and M.S. lays her hands on me. I shudder and she smiles and says, “Don’t worry, Terri, I am not pushing any energy—this is purely a scan. Unlike Joy, I have to touch you to do so.” She seems to concentrate for a few minutes with her eyes closed and asks Joy, “OK, Joy. You had said that earlier you had noticed a strong main masculine stream with fringes of a feminine one. What do you see now?”

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I quickly connect to my center and the fact that the world goes psychedelic doesn’t even fully register anymore. I scan Terri and notice some distinct changes. I sigh and say, “Well, the blue/male stream seems smaller. The pink/female stream is larger and…more fully intertwined with the male one…and there is now a third stream that was not there before…it is…sort of purple…like it is a mix of the two, but more on the pinkish side of purple. It is the largest stream now…and tightly entwined with the other two. I am not sure what that means, though.”

I disconnect from my center and look at M.S. who is folding her hands in her lap. Terri is sitting up with a questioning look on…her…face. M.S. looks at…her…I decide to go with ‘her’ for now…until I can talk more with her and fully decide… Anyway, M.S. looks at her and says, “Joy is right. Her energy surge seems to have tried to reconcile some of your subconscious issues… The ‘streams’ Joy was talking about are your ‘gender’ streams for lack of a better word…what gender you subconsciously consider yourself to be. You were very conflicted on that before the energy surge…you are now less conflicted…but also less polar. I think that further energy infusion could help fully rectify the misalignment…however, I also noted some subtle changes in your sex streams…you physical sex that is…it has become slightly more female… That is why your skin cleared up more like a girl’s…it could still cause additional effects; I am not sure. At this point, I highly advise against providing you with further energy until we study this some more…”

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Terri and Joy struggle together.

---

---

I look at M.S. I am…confused… I ask, “I don’t know why you can figure out what of all those colors is the ‘sex’ stream… But aside from that, I don’t understand how the energy I infused into Terri would have influenced that stream at all… Why did healing energy affect Terri’s sex? That IS the question, isn’t it? If Terri, or Terri’s subconscious, or Terri’s body thinks it needs to be more female to be ‘well’…” I blink in sudden clarity, hop up, and give M.S. a kiss on the cheek and say, “Thanks, M.S.! You have been a great help!” She gives me a confused look and waves limply as I rush out of the room.

About an hour later, Terri is in my office. I hand her a cup of tea and we settle in. I take a careful sip to give Terri a chance to get in the right frame of mind and then I ask, “OK, Terri. I have a question that I really need an answer on for my own purposes. It is OK if you are not fully settled on an answer, but I think you need to be clear on this for yourself, as well… How do you think of yourself? Do you think of yourself as boy…or as a girl?”

Terri sits there quietly for a few minutes, just cradling the cup of tea in front of her face and blowing the steam away from her. I just patiently wait. She finally takes a sip of the tea, puts the cup down, and puts her hands under her legs as she leans forward. She says, “I don’t know. That is the problem. I never really thought about it. I was a guy. I mean, you know…I had no reason to question that. Even up to the point where you injected your…energy…into me, well, I still considered myself a guy…just a confused one that suddenly liked girl’s clothes. Now…I don’t know. I don’t feel like neither…or maybe BOTH is the better word for it…and it feels…well, it feels OK. Does that make sense? It doesn’t to me…”

I sit and listen carefully. OMG, I have seriously made a mistake here…how do I fix this? This is going to take some major meditation and a group meeting with M.S. and the girls… At least the purple stream is clear now… I nod and say, “I believe it does, Terri. And I am afraid I may have unintentionally caused you some…confusion with my energy. I fully believe we will be able to correct anything I have done, but I have to tread carefully on that. What I believe happened is that over the past several days you have become comfortable in girl’s clothes. On top of that, you have a girlfriend that has been actively encouraging you to appear much more feminine; I think she actually may have even been encouraging you to go all the way and dress ‘en femme’ one hundred percent…?” Terri nods as I continue, “This created a sort of conflict in your subconscious streams… That is why I saw both masculine and feminine gender streams in my early scans… They were separate and distinct—but fully intertwined with one another. When I pushed the healing energy into you, it did exactly what your subconscious wanted at that moment…to feel OK with your conscious choice to please your girlfriend. The easiest way to accomplish that was to actually mix the streams…make you gender neutral if you will…but biased more towards the feminine side, since that is how you increasingly want to appear.”

I sit back and sip some tea to let that sink in a bit. I continue, “That is not all, though. There have been changes to your sex streams, as well. To be honest, I can’t see that. I mean I can, I just don’t know how to read it yet. M.S. is sure, though. Anyway, your desire to appear more feminine is driving changes in your body to accommodate that wish—thanks to my energy. That is the reason for the feminine skin, nails, and hair. Guys just don’t have the hormones for what you are exhibiting.” Terri pales and I continue, “I don’t think it has affected your…little guy…that much, but you likely have elevated female hormones at this point. We need to check that—again, M.S. can help me confirm it all. If so, and left like that, you will develop other female characteristics…likely at an accelerated rate…”

Terri blushes and asks, “Can I show you something?” I say, “Of course,” and Terri gets up and closes the door to my office. She unbuttons her blouse; I can’t help but notice that she is not showing any signs of difficulty with the left-hand buttons, or with the long nails. She takes off the blouse and then her camisole. She clearly has enlarged nipples, large areolae, and budding breasts. She says, “I thought I was going crazy. I couldn’t even tell Mom…” She starts to tear up a bit and I come over and hug her. I say, “It’s OK, Sweetie. We will work through this and fix things back to normal…whatever that turns out to be for you.” She dries her tears with a tissue I hand her and gets dressed as I ask, “So, given this…development… Do you agree that maybe going with the female pronoun for you at this point is best? You may not intend to be a girl…but I think you still intend to present as one?” Terri thinks a second and then nods.

---

I meet Mom at the mall on her lunch break. Joy insisted that I talk to her… I had gotten here first and grabbed a booth in one of the restaurants that is not too busy and is pretty private. We order and I quickly bring her up to speed; then say, “I guess I need to go and buy a bra…” Once Mom knows that I am really OK, she giggles and says, “We will go right after we eat…it won’t matter if I am a little late back from lunch. What good is it being the boss if you can’t be late once in a while for good reason?”

After we have finished eating, Mom takes me to Victoria’s Secret and gets me measured for a bra. I carefully watch how the girl does it. Joy made it quite clear that I would grow to whatever size I was going to at an accelerated rate and I will likely need to do the measuring myself for a while. What I had now had grown overnight…so, there is no need to get a lot of bras, since they likely soon won’t fit… The girl pronounces me an A-cup--barely…more like an A+-cup. Mom picks out several pairs of lacy panties and I get one matching bra that the girl recommends as a very popular style. It is very feminine-looking…and is a padded, push-up style. Mom insists that I put it on before we leave and I am looking at myself in the mirror in the little changing stall. I get a little tingle of excitement… I am wearing a BRA…because I NEED to… I put the blouse on without the camisole and…it fits much better, since it is actually cut for this type of figure. The bra makes me look like I have C-cups…and gives me real cleavage that I grin at as I button up the blouse so that it is not visible… Not that the bra is not slightly visible through the white blouse…

I come out and Mom gawks at me a second, then hugs me. I see us in one of the floor-length mirrors strategically placed throughout the store. It looks like two women hugging…even my girl jeans are fitting better…

Mom takes my VS bag and leaves to go back to work. Since it is just a little under an hour before my shift starts, I just hang out at the mall. Then, on a whim, I go up to the store early. Amanda is there greeting people and almost doesn’t recognize me. She exclaims, “TERRI?! Is that you?” I smile and hug her. I ask for a favor—to surprise Christi. Ten minutes later, I am trying several different skirts. I show Amanda each one and we both agree on one. I put on a new pair of tights and then put the pink pencil skirt back on. Luckily, I had worn my good booties. Overall, it looked great. I am actually getting a figure that can pull this off… I am beyond confused at me feelings of…contentment…

Amanda adds the cost of the tights and the skirt to my growing NYC bill, with Ms. M.’s approval—both on the transaction and the look… And then Christi comes in…

---

I am sitting in my conference room with M.S., Emily, and Shauna. I am fighting tears…hard… I look at them all one-by-one, then focus on M.S. and ask, “What have I done, M.S.?” M.S. uses a tool from my kit and just waits as I continue with a shaky breath, “Have I condemned that poor boy to something she doesn’t want? Is it my fault? Have I…forced her into something she doesn’t really want?” I bow my head in shame and feel the tears start to well up.

M.S. waits a minute and then says, “Look at me, Joy! Child, your energy just let Terri’s subconscious manifest itself. You can’t blame yourself for that. The difference between your transformation and hers is that I made sure you really had a chance to think things through and that your subconscious was in tune with your conscious choices. I did not have the energy to force that confluence. That is what you have done for Terri. It is very likely that Terri would have wound up pretty much where she is now subconsciously without your intervention—only it would have taken a lot longer… You have spared her a lot of grief on that front.” She grins lop-sided and continues, “That being said, I don’t necessarily advise that as a mainstream treatment option—although, you have the degree on that front…” She smiles and goes on, “Anyway, let’s just let Terri catch up with her changes. If her subconscious goes a different route, then we can adjust things to that—once. You can’t take responsibility for her choices forever. But, once she is sure of herself, then a single, final intervention, that I help you with, will settle this…right?” She looks at me, concerned, and asks, “Or—are you saying that you regret your choice…?”

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Joy learns more about her powers.

---

---

It takes Christi a full two minutes to realize that it is me talking to Amanda. We both play it cool and act like we haven’t noticed her come in; Ms. M. is across the room—quietly watching. Then…Christi notices it is me…and she (barely) stifles a scream…thankfully. Ms. M. smiles, happy that her daughter has found someone that can make her unusual preference happy… she goes in the back as Christi rushes over to me and gives me a big hug. Thankfully, the store is empty at the moment, since she pulls me to the back and gives me a big kiss on the lips.

We both clock in and I find that every time that I look over at Christi, she is staring at me. At one point, her Mom gets onto her to pay attention to the customers and not me! I smile at that…it feels good to be the center of her attention.

When we get off work, we both go to the food court for a drink…and I don’t even really think about the fact that I am in a skirt outside the ‘safety’ of the store… I get home a little later than usual because of that, but Mom is still up. To say that she is surprised at my outfit would be an understatement. But, she loves the skirt and asks about my mounting bill at the store. I tell her that I will work it off and that it is OK. She just smiles and writes me out a check for the whole amount—plus some to get a few more clothes. She just says, “A girl can’t have too many clothes…and with your discount, you have already gotten a lot for what you would have paid for about one nice outfit somewhere else. If this is really how you want to dress—take advantage of it.”

I hug her and get ready for bed…

---

I look at M.S. in shock and ask, “How can you even seriously ask that? You of all people should know that I am fully committed…and happy with my choice to become a girl. It is the repercussions of my unintended consequences that I am unhappy with. How can I live with this…gift…you have given me, if I can’t fully control it?”

M.S. sighs and asks Shauna to make a big pot of tea. She waits until we are all settled; tea in front of each us. Then she continues, “What I am about to say does not leave this room, understood?” She looks at each of us and gets our nod of agreement. Then she says, “Shauna’s family knows some of this; but I don’t believe even Shauna knows what I am about to say. If we are going to be working together, then you all have the right to know…especially of Joy continues down her path.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep sip of hot tea. She sighs and says, “As you all know, I am older than I appear. I am not going to say how old—it is irrelevant—but let’s just say that you will also have a much longer-than-usual life-span, Joy. I have had…decades…to grow into my power, learn to refine them, use them…and have them now ebbing. You, Child, are not even close to full tide yet. Don’t blame yourself for not understanding what you are capable of…not to mention what you will be capable of…”

She sits and lets that sink in. We all sit stunned and she continues, “You must understand that the powers that you and I share, Joy, are rare…but we are not unique. I am keeping you out of site from those that know of those powers for several reasons. First, while you passed my purity test, you are still vulnerable to being swayed to misusing your energy… Think of it like Star Wars—George Lucas didn’t have it too wrong. Sometimes I wonder whether he knows more than he lets on, but that is another story. Anyway, there really is something like the ‘Force’…that is where your energy flows from. There also is something like the ‘Dark Side’…there are some with control of the energy that choose to use it for darker purposes. In my youth, I fought those individuals in the name of the Church. Someday, I will tell you more about that, maybe… Anyway, Shauna’s family, while rarely with power themselves, has long worked with those of us on the good side…”

She takes some more tea as she continues, “I have told you bits and pieces of this, Joy. I was not planning on telling you this much—yet—but recent events make it necessary. The Church once made me ‘heal’ one individual over another. Both of the individuals were prime candidates as energy conduits—which is basically what we are… Some people are suited to channel the energy, once certain ‘switches’ are turned on in their bodies—for lack of a better explanation. That is what I did for you when you I ‘gave’ you your energy; I turned on your switches. Some people can channel more energy than others… Anyway, I wanted to switch on one of the individual’s channels and not the others. I was convinced that it was the right choice. The Church made me do it the other way around… It turns out that I was right…in a way. Had I switched on the person’s channels that I wanted, we would have gained a mediocrely powerful ally, at best. It also turns out the Church was right in a way—turning on the other person’s channels created a much more powerful conduit…but one that turned…well, evil. I created the most powerful monster this earth has ever seen… Of course, I couldn’t know at that point how bad it would turn out. The Church gambled and lost…two allies; the monster that I created…and me. I swore not to turn on any more channels…ever… Actually, I swore to not use my channeling powers ever again…”

We are sitting there wide-eyed… She continues, “The Church hid me away in cloisters and I have been in the guise of…several…nuns over the years… Then I came to Saint Paul’s. I knew my conduits were weakening and I decided that maybe it was my chance to make right what I had wronged…turn on one more person’s channels…for the good of humanity. I devised a special screening test—the one that you passed, Joy. An initial scan that I got of you early on, when you were unaware of me even doing it, confirmed what I hoped…I believed you to be a prime candidate… But…I had to be sure…so…well, I let the girls here…basically torture you… It was a hard choice for me…but, through it all, you remained pure. Sure, you had your doubts…even resentment…but you never acted on it… After things went even a bit further than even I had planned…I brought you in and did a deep scan…it confirmed my hopes… I pushed as much energy as my waning channels allowed and it healed you. It set your channels to a pre-open state. When you made the commitment to become ‘Joy’—to accept the change…they opened. But, here is the thing…your channels are expanding…just like…Vincent’s, the evil person I created, did… You have the potential to become a much greater conduit than even he became…but I have to protect you until you are ready… If the Church finds out what I have done, they will surely pressure you to join with them… If Vincent and his cronies find out…they will surely try and recruit you…or kill you before you grow too powerful…”

She sighs at my pale and blank stare. She says, “I am sorry for deceiving you, Joy. I am telling you all of this before you are really ready to hear it, because you need to understand that there are things that happen that you can’t control… You have to stay true to your course…you are grieving what you have done to Terri. That is good—remember that; it will be important for learning restraint from the lure of the more evil uses of your channels… BUT, remember that you have also helped this girl, too… Stay patient with me…I will teach you… When you are ready…we can look for others that are candidates…we can make a difference…but you have to grow first. Helping people like Terri through their struggles is one of the best lessons that you can begin with…along with the ballet and yoga…” She smiles wanly and sits back quietly awaiting my reaction…

---

I remove my makeup and moisturize like I had been shown. I slip on a silk nighty that Mom had given me and marvel at the growing breasts pertly bumping out…complete with ‘headlights’ in the cool air of my room. I smile and slip under the covers.

It doesn’t take my long to fall asleep, but I have strange dreams…of becoming…well, I don’t know… I am a woman, but not. I am guy, but not. I am beautiful…every woman’s dream…every guy’s wet dream… Somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong, though… Finally, the dreams fade and I fall into a deep dreamless sleep…

---

I look at M.S.—still in deep shock. Emily is holding my hand—as shocked as I am. Shauna is sitting there a bit pale, but not really shocked. I look at her and ask, not quite in an accusatory tone, “You knew about…this…; about me?” Shauna shakes her head and M.S. says, “No, Joy. Shauna’s family is the driving force behind a certain…order… But, not everyone in the family is fully indoctrinated—and those that are have to be of a certain age. I have broken one of their rules to bring her in on this. I will talk with her father later. Now I assume you have some questions. I will answer a few tonight, then I want you to sleep on what you have learned. The choice is yours what you do with your power…I certainly went for…years…without using mine.” She sits back again…quiet.

I look at Emily, still holding my hand, and smile. I give Shauna a comforting look—to let her know I am not mad at her. Then I look back at M.S. and say, “To say I have questions is likely the understatement of the past millennium! You have given me some answers to questions I didn’t even know I had…and raised a thousand more. Where do I start? So, you have ‘opened’ my…’channels’ and that is how this works… Does everyone have these channels…? I just thought that you had infused me with energy…did I open channels in Terri when I healed her?”

M.S. asks Shauna to order us something to eat… As she goes to order pizza, M.S. makes more tea and says as she tinkers with the pot, “No, you did not open any channels in Terri. Only certain people have that capability. In olden times, we were called witches…I guess people today would still call us that… I don’t like the term…especially because of where I came from, but for simplicity’s sake, let’s use that term for now… So the old myths about witches are basically true… Most witches have elemental powers; in other words, they can channel elemental energy: Earth, wind, fire, or water. Some special ones can channel more than one type of energy. A few really special ones can channel all four…those are the healers. I am one of those. And so…” “…am I,” I finish. M.S. nods and says, “It takes a lot of energy and quite some skill to open a person’s closed channels. Most people have channels. Some are even born with open ones, but they are usually not very good conduits…which is the term I prefer over witch… Anyway, Terri does not have the potential to be a good conduit. Neither does Shauna or Emily before you ask. Sorry, girls.”

I sit back and blow out my air in frustration. I ask, “OK, so this ‘Victor’ dude? You said he turned…evil…but you don’t think I will…at least without nurturing or something?” M.S. looks at me hard and says, “Just as the myths about the elemental powers are true, so are the ones about good and evil. The energy itself is neither good nor bad. The conduit’s intentions when using it are, however. Everyone has both good and evil in them. Anytime that you use your channels for good, that temporarily weakens your shields protecting you from your evil side…the ‘dark side’, if you will. That is why you feel tired when you are done. The difference between say me and Victor is that I…’ground’ my evil side before using my channels for good. I let the energy flow for good…the side of me that wants to use my channels for evil is drained of energy through that ‘ground’. For Victor, it is the opposite… By the way, it is easier to ground the good side than the evil one…that means that it is inherently easier to use your channels for evil than good. Also, the more you use your channels for bad, the more you burn out your capability to ground the bad side. At some point, you can’t anymore…you are for all intents and purposes stuck in ‘evil’ mode…”

She waits for Shauna to go pay for the pizza that was delivered. Then she continues as we help ourselves to the hot, gooey, goodness, “Victor was not inherently evil. He fell into the hands of some people that coaxed him into burning out his capability to ground his bad side…while brainwashing him into doing bad things… Now, I am not sure that there is much good left in him. If all of this sounds like I am talking about Darth Vader, or something, I assure you I am not. Make no mistake—Victor is not your Father and he is consumed with evil. You have very strong shields and inherently strong grounding capabilities…on either side…if you ever lost your ability to ground your bad side…it would leave you with immense channels that could only serve your evil side. That would either literally drive you insane—or turn you…”

M.S. refuses to answer any more questions for tonight. We finish our pizza and clean up. I go home and get ready for bed…lost in deep thought about what I had just heard. I fall into a restless sleep and dream about a ‘Yoda’ that looks suspiciously like M.S. She takes me to the same cave that Luke had gone into to fight Darth Vader… I wake up just before Vader’s mask disappears to reveal who it is… My heart is pounding and there is no way I am falling back to sleep. I sigh and get up to read up on ‘witches’ on the internet…

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Terri has some thinking to do.

---

---

I am sitting in Joy’s office. It is almost nine o’clock in the morning and Joy is bleary-eyed and drinking what looks like a really strong cup of coffee that Shauna had brought her. I am sipping on a cup of hot tea. Joy takes a sip of coffee, closes her eyes for a second, opens them and smiles weakly at me. She says, “Sorry, Terry, I didn’t sleep well last night. I had some bad dreams—but you look rested.” I smile back and say, “It didn’t start out that way for me either. I was having some…strange dreams when I first fell asleep, too.”

Joy gives me an interested look and takes another sip of coffee. Then she asks, “Do you remember them? Can you tell me about them?” I sigh and explain, “I don’t really know how to tell you. It was really weird. I think the dream was about how I feel about this whole thing.” Joy nods and says, “That is what dreams usually are—your subconscious working its way through difficult situations.” I nod and say, “In the dream I was a…nothing. I mean I was a guy, but not really—and I was a girl, but not really. Then it sort of transitioned and I was beautiful…as a girl. You know the type of drop-dead gorgeous that every girl would envy and every guy would fall all over themselves for… But I was still not really a girl...”

Joy excuses herself and gets some more coffee. When she comes back in, she asks, “So, does that bother you? You want to be a girl?” I shake my head and say, “No, not really. In the dream, I was this beautiful creature, but I was OK with not really being a girl… It is confusing to say the least.” Joy looks at me and asks, “So, is being that beautiful important to you?” I blush and say after a moment, “I guess I am as vain as anybody. Sure, I want to look good.” Joy asks, “As…or better said, like a girl?” I pause…and nod, slightly unsure. After another moment, I say with more conviction, “Yes, I think so. I can’t explain it.”

Joy takes a sip of her coffee, looking more alert now, and says, “Well, we have talked about some of the things that have stirred this desire in you. It is hard to say whether you would have come to this without the circumstances of the past couple of weeks—but, at this point, it is sort of irrelevant. You are there now. The question is, what do you want to do about it?” I sigh and take some sips of tea to cover my discomfort. Then, knowing she won’t give up, I say, “I don’t know. I don’t know that I have much choice. I went with Mom yesterday, like you ‘suggested’ and told her what we had discussed yesterday. She bought me a fairly expensive bra at VS. I didn’t get more than one because I figured it wouldn’t fit too long. Sure enough, I grew another cup size just last night—it already doesn’t fit. My girl’s clothes are fitting much better. The curves they are cut for are starting to match up with my curves… I am getting a feminine figure… My face is looking more feminine; I even think my nose is a little smaller…I don’t know what to do…”

Joy looks at me, unrelenting, and asks, “Yes, I can see all of that. Yet, you still have not said whether it bothers you. You said you were OK with it in your dream. Are you? I want you to think about that. Think about it really hard. I don’t want an answer right now. What I do want is for you to know that what has been done can be undone—if that is what you want. But this is sort of like in the fairy tales—you only get one shot at this. What my energies can do for you is allow your subconscious to manifest itself. That is why what is happening to you now is happening. When you are ready, I will infuse you with more energy to finish out what was unintentionally started—with M.S. guiding me this time. Whatever you have decided you want, to be your old self, to be a full girl, or where you are going now is what will manifest itself. And, yes, I did say a full girl…that can happen if it is really what you want…”

I sit there and blink. Is she kidding me? No—I don’t think so… Look at what is happening to me now… Finally, I nod and we end the session.

---

I groan as I look at the clock. Seven o’clock and I have a session with Terri in less than two hours. I put on a pot of coffee and take a long hot shower. My night’s ‘research’ on ‘witches’ was less than satisfactory. I will have to use some of the school’s resources, but carefully…

With strong coffee in hand, my eyes feeling like they have been sand-blasted, I have my session with Terri. I am taken aback by how much more…feminine she looks; just since yesterday. She is getting a figure that won’t quit…and her face…is becoming quite stunning.

I think we are making progress…I am learning as much from this as she is, though. I finally understand that I really didn’t change Terri. I just allowed Terri to change Terry. The problem is that it may have been premature to allow that change…the internal struggle between Terry and Terri had not been settled—it was still too influenced by Christi’s involvement. Well, and the unintentional chaos caused with the girl’s clothing. I now am confident that things will be put right, once Terri decides on what she wants…whatever that may be—although, I have my suspicions.

---

I leave Joy’s center and take the short bus ride to the mall. My first order of business is to get a new bra. I don’t go to VS this time, since it would just be a waste of money, I am sure. I go into Sears and find a B-cup bra that should fit according to my measurements. I pay for it and go up to NYC. I hug Amanda who has a surprised look on her face—I guess my changes are noticeable to more than just me. I go into one of the changing booths and exchange the sports bra that I had borrowed from Mom for the new ‘real’ bra. It is still the pushup kind that makes me look more like a C-cup; but it has less padding than my old one.

I go through the store and pick out a couple of skirts and some more tops…not worrying about them being able to pass a guy’s shirt, this time. When it is time to pay, I hand Ms. M. the check Mom had written out and only have to add ten dollars of my own money to cover the new purchases. Ms. M. gives me my check that she would have withheld to pay for my stuff before Mom paid and I go back into the mall to get some shoes to go with my new outfits.

An hour later, I am on the bus home…somewhat poorer, but three pair of shoes richer. I get off the bus and walk the short distance to the house. I wave to Mrs. Constance next door, who gives me a double-take. Even though I am in jeans and t-shirt, I guess I just present now as ‘feminine’…

I really need to think this through… What DO I want…? This feels good…right… But IS it right?

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Shortly after Terri leaves, Emily knocks and comes into my office. She comes over gives me a kiss and says, “Hey Lover, you look like crap!” I smile wanly and say, “Yeah. It is probably a good thing you couldn’t stay over last night… I got about thirty minutes of sleep. I am running on pure caffeine right now…and you know me; I am not the coffee type.” Emily rubs my shoulders and says, “I guess M.S. is the cause of that lack of sleep?” I smile and say, “Well, her story certainly was. At least it did help me work through some things as far as Terri goes. I have a better understanding of what is happening. I still have no idea how to control it, though.” Emily finds a knot in my shoulder and expertly kneads it out. She says, “Well, what I got from M.S. is that you are not supposed to be able to—yet. I think you just need to be patient with her on that front. Ask questions, certainly. But trust her to guide you through this… I mean, what other choice do you really have?”

She gives me another kiss and goes back to her office. A few moments later, M.S. comes in. Shauna comes in right behind her with a pot of hot tea. M.S. just raises an eyebrow when she sees my cup of coffee. She smiles and asks, “Rough night?” I come over and sit at the table with her and say, “You could say that.” She laughs good-naturedly when I tell her about my ‘Darth Vader’ dream. She just listens as I tell her about my fruitless research on witches. She shows a great deal of interest as I tell her about my insights into my latest session with Terri. When I am done, she smiles and says, “Well, it seems you have had quite a time the last several hours…”

She takes a sip of tea and smiles at the taste. Shauna is becoming quite adept at making it—although, I really need to get a receptionist to do this sort of thing… It is quite below Shauna’s pay grade—not that she is complaining… M.S. continues, “We’ll talk about your dream in a bit. As for your research on witches…well, it will be interesting to see what you come up with.” She smiles and says, “Be careful. Don’t let people realize what you are researching…there would be difficult questions. We can talk about what you find out…it should be an interesting discussion. As for Terri; I am glad that you have settled down on that. Your insight is absolutely correct.”

She sips some more tea and continues, “Now for your dream. I don’t think I have to explain that to you, right?” She smiles as I shake my head. She continues, “So, I assume you do have more questions, though, right?” I sigh and nod…

I switch to a cup of tea and gather my thoughts. M.S. quietly waits. Finally, I ask, “One thing I am trying to understand…you said my…treatment as Joey was a test? First, how could you know that I would put myself into that position? Second, what would have happened if I had failed?” M.S. smiles and says, “Good questions. I had no idea that you would put yourself in that particular situation; although, given your upbringing, that was not a stretch, hmmm? The thing is that you would have been put into a different set of circumstances to test you if you had not let that one arise. As for what would have happened had you failed…? Well, I was confident that you would not, but if you had, I would have removed your memories of what had happened and your scholarship at St. Paul’s would have been terminated—to be replaced with one at another institution; across the country, of course, where you would have started fresh as Joey.”

I nod slowly and let that settle in. Then I ask, “OK. You said that we need to ground our ‘evil’ side, but that it is easier to ground our good side…to act on the side of evil. I have no idea how to ground myself…yet, I have used my energy… How does that work?” M.S. smiles and says, “My, you were paying attention. Yes, you have not been taught how to ground yourself. The thing is, you instinctively ground yourself on your evil side and draining off that energy. We will work on consciously doing that later—on knowing the difference between grounds… It is important that you not use the energy with the intent of something bad, though…you would likely instinctively ground your good side and that would not be good…” I nod slowly and say, “Ok, I guess that makes sense. So, where to now? I mean there is still so much for me to learn…”

M.S. smiles and says, “Patience, Child. It took me decades to learn to fully control my energy channels. Yours are not even fully developed, yet. Keep working on your physical balance and mental self-control. Ballet and yoga will help you there. We will keep taking cases here at the center. Working together, you will learn to read the streams and see the channels for the different elements. After that, we can work on grounding the sides…”

This is the transitional piece to the new “Joy of Life” universe. While not imperative, if you have not read the “Joey’s Joy” series, some of the later chapters in this series may not fully make sense.

In this chapter, Terri makes a choice—sort of.

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The rest of the week goes by quickly and Christi and I hang out at the mall some on the weekend. We also spend some time at her house. It is all about trying on different things. My breasts have finally quit growing—I am a largish C-cup. I am also a perfect size two—with all the curves that go with it. I have grown a couple of inches, so I am now a ‘regular’, almost a ‘tall’, rather than a ‘short’.

I spend a lot of time talking to Christi about how her desires had influenced mine. I also talk to Mom a lot. Sessions with Joy have sort of stalled—until I am clearer about what I want. I also spend a lot of time just meditating and reflecting on my own. I even try going to yoga with Joy—how that is supposed to help you relax, I have no idea…

Finally, on Monday, I think I know what I want to tell Joy. I just am not sure that she will accept my decision…

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Terri comes in, right on time, and I can tell that she is both relieved and worried. I set out our pot of tea, pour us both a cup, and sit down to await what she has to say. She is quiet for quite some time, then begins, “Joy, I think I have come to a decision.” I look at her and smile—I don’t say anything and just wait. She continues, “I…I…I want to stay looking like a girl…but I don’t want to be a girl…at least not yet. I have come to like myself the way I am right now over the past several days, but…I don’t think I want to take that full step into womanhood… Is…is…is that OK?”

I smile and go give her a hug. I just hold her a bit and then say, “Of course it is OK. It is your body; your life. But—we are going to have to do another session to stabilize your streams. You are in sort of a limbo right now and M.S. is worried. Are you ready to go through with a session? She can be here in a few minutes? Are you really at peace with yourself—internally, I mean?” She nods and I ask Shauna to call M.S. and have her come over.

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About half an hour later, I am laying on the couch again. M.S. has her hands on—and so does Joy. M.S. is explaining something to Joy about my ‘streams’ and Joy is nodding. Then M.S. says, “OK, Joy. Just a small trickle—it won’t take much at this stage…”

I feel warmth-starting where Joy’s hands are, then radiating throughout my body. It tingles a bit—then…it is over. M.S. keeps her hands on me and Joy is giving me that far-away look that I have leaned means that she is ‘scanning’ me. M.S. says, “Oh my. That is interesting.” Joy asks, “What does it mean, though?”

M.S. and Joy go into the conference room and shut the door behind them—leaving me alone in the room on the couch. After a few minutes, they come back out and Joy says, “Well, Terri. You are stabilized. But not in the manner that neither M.S. or I would have guessed—nor in a way either of us has ever seen. It is remarkable that it happened so quickly; that is an indicator that you really are OK with this…development.”

She pauses, then continues, “Remember I told you that you had developed sort of a ‘mixed’ gender stream, but that there were still smaller female and male streams intertwined—like they didn’t know where to go? Well, that mixed stream, the purple one, is all that you have now… For all intents and purposes, from a gender standpoint, you are neither male nor female—although it is a really pinkish purple; so you lean heavily towards the feminine side. Your sex streams are what are really interesting, though. Yes, I said streams… You have both a male and female sex stream. Both are completely intertwined, like a strand of twisted rope… Like your gender, you are now both male and female, physically—in other words, you are a fully functioning hermaphrodite. I really can’t tell you how your…body…well, your…genitals…will change to reflect that. But it seems that this is all in harmony with how your psyche…”

I look at them…and grin. I say, “I am both male and female… That is so awesome! That is perfect! I mean it is weird and I don’t know how I will explain it…”

M.S. speaks up, “Terri, there is a doctor that I know that should become your doctor. She understands a thing or two about streams and channels…and what they can do… Most doctors would see this a problem that needs to be fixed… Now, you just have to sort out what you are going to do about school. From what my scans show, you will completely retain your feminine looks…maybe even develop them further…”

Joy speaks up and says, “You can always go to a different school. One where you are not known…” I shake my head and say, “No. Christi is at my school now. I will just have to tough it out. I don’t care what others say, now. I am comfortable with myself. Also, my school has a great fashion-feeder program. I think I want to get into fashion school and design ‘feminine’ clothing…for men. It is about time that someone takes that on!”

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A week later:
Case log – Terri Kinsley. Final Entry:
M.S. has put Terri in touch with Dr. Recht. She will closely monitor Terri’s development as a hermaphrodite and let us know if there is something that I will need to intervene on, health wise. She is fully aware that this is what Terri wants.

M.S. is also going to pull some strings to help Terri get into fashion school. I am sure we have not heard the last of this young lady.

Case 1 – Closed