Overall, I was a happy boy. Sure, it was a really sad time when my Dad died two years ago, when I was eleven, but Mom met a guy that turned out to be OK—or so I thought. This is my story—as best as I can piece together the entirety of the events…

Let me catch up to the important part really quickly:

Two weeks after my eleventh birthday, my Dad passed away. It was not unexpected; he had been sick with cancer for quite some time. Mom told me that it was actually a blessing for him—even though it was a curse for us. She assured me that he was better off; no longer in pain. Somehow her tears, the ones she tried to hide from me, made the story less believable.

My Dad was an important man—he owned a large company and up until the cancer wouldn’t allow him to work, he spent long hours at his office. When he couldn’t handle that pace anymore, he spent more time working from home and Mom took over some of the burden of running the business. My Dad taught her a lot in that last year.

After Dad died, Mom started spending more and more time at the office keeping the business running. While we never lacked for money, I felt like I had lost both parents after my Dad died, I saw Mom so little. She never really had time to take me to practice anymore.

I was really good in sports and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t try—the rougher and tougher, the better. The dirtier I got, the happier I would be. Luckily, I had a couple of best friends, George and Rupe, that I could always get a ride with—so, it still worked out and I was as happy as I could be.

Then, Mom met Allen. At first, I was bummed—I didn’t want anyone to replace my Dad. It was irrational, I know. I rarely saw him when he was alive, so how could this be any worse? I guess I have never really been good with change and I was finally settling into my new ‘normal’—and this disrupted things again.

Oh, and then there was Albert. Albert is Allen’s son. He is two years younger than me and a real pain—especially when Allen and he moved in with us a year to the day after my Dad died.

o~O~o

OK, consider yourself caught up, because then things started getting weird. This is the part of the story that will likely interest you most, so let’s slow down a bit:

I look at the clock and curse—then look around to make sure no one heard me. Mom would kill me. Assured that no one is around, I grab my stuff and hurry out since I am almost late. I nearly run into Albert who has a shit-eating grin on his face.

He rushes down the stairs yelling, “Aunt Dawn, Aunt Dawn! Vick was saying bad words.”

I try and stop him, of course, but there is no way. I hear my Mother’s voice calling to me as I come down the steps, “Vick! Come here, right now! You’re late and now I hear you’re being naughty, too?”

I come into the kitchen and Mom gives me a harsh look and I shrug as I take a Pop Tart. I say with a mouthful, “Sorry…it just slipped out.”

Mom shakes her head and says, “I swear those boys you run with are ruining you! I may have to rethink that sports camp this summer and send you somewhere to learn some manners. Maybe Allen is right—I mean look at Albert going off to math camp and being a little angel.”

I want to puke. And, of course, ‘Uncle’ Allen comes in right then and chimes in, “And if he does well, he gets a scholarship to attend the year-long onsite program!”

Mom just smiles and says, “Allen, you know money is not an issue.”

Allen just shakes his head and says, “No, Love. He needs to earn it to appreciate it! So, are you ready to let me start earning MY way at the office?”

Mom shakes her head and says, “We have talked about this, Hon. Until we get married, I can’t bring you in—even then, it will have to be slow. It is a close-knit group there, and even though you have being a man going for you, they will not accept you from the outside. Lord knows it was hard enough for ME—but then, I am a woman…”

He grumbles something unintelligible and ushers Albert and me to the car to drive us to school. He is quiet the whole ride—not even really talking to Albert who is his usual intolerable self.

We get out at school and I immediately hook up with my friends and quickly forget the two ‘A’s. I am already looking forward to football practice after school—I am turning into a pretty good wide-receiver.

The days progress slowly towards summer in much the same manner. Allen keeps needling Mom about going to work ‘at the office’ and even starts in on how he can help run the business—and eventually Albert, too. Mom stays resolute (there, I used my ‘word-of-the-day’ in a sentence!) and just keeps telling him that he will have to wait, and, that, of course, the business would be mine when I was old enough to run it—and thank goodness I am a boy, since that will make it so much easier.

I shrug all of this off—I am not interested in some moldy old business; especially not one that drove my Dad to death (of course it is stupid to blame the cancer on the business, but…). I just smile at Mom and nod my head. Neither of us see the dark looks that Allen is giving me behind our backs.

On the last day of school, he gives it another shot, “Look Dawn, the boys are going to be gone for the summer in a week and I will be completely free to help you out. You know I have the perfect resume for it. If it helps, we can get married this week!”

Mom gives him an exasperated look and says, “Allen! I am not going to hurry up my wedding for something like that—and, of course, the boys will need to be there. No, we will keep our plans for our September wedding! I don’t know what your problem is. You make plenty in your current job and it is perfect that your hours are so flexible!”

She has a sad look on her face when she continues, “It lets the boys grow up to be boys—they will both have to work hard soon enough; especially poor Vick when he takes over the business, which the board fully expects him to do as soon as possible. We just have to make it work until then…”

He grumbles again and herds Albert and me to the car and drives us to school in another huff. Little did I know that this would be the day that starts one of those epic ‘series of unfortunate events’…

“Ten-HUT,” Rupe, the quarterback for practice today, yells out confidently. He takes the snap for the last play of the day as I run the route we had been practicing. I jump and easily catch the ball that he had thrown spot-on.

At that very instant, Butch (yes, he really fits his name) trips as he comes in to ‘tackle’ me. The result is that he really DOES tackle me—hard. He comes down on me with his full force—and he weighs twice what I do, being a year older than me and already having started puberty several months ago.

I feel a really sharp pain in my shoulder and tears come to my eyes right before I black out…

I come to and my head hurts really bad. Allen is talking to a woman in a white coat. I am in some room that looks sort of like a hospital room, but not. The doctor looks over and sees my eyes open, she gets a relieved look on her face.

She comes over and says, “Hi, Hon. Can you tell me your name?”

I start to nod, but it hurts too much. I say, “Vick…Victor Fitzsimmons.”

She smiles and says, “And can you tell me what day it is?”

I groan and say, “The last of day school before summer… Friday. Why did Butch hit me so hard? My head hurts…”

She smiles again and says, “It is my understanding that ‘Butch’ tripped and hit you by mistake. It wasn’t his fault. I am sure that your head does hurt, there is little doubt that you have a concussion—we will work on that in a minute. Your shoulder is also injured; we will have to work on that, too. I am Dr. Angelica, by the way. You can call me Angi.”

When she mentions my shoulder, I realize that it hurts like hell, too. My head throbs. I look around and say, “Where am I? This doesn’t look like a real hospital.”

She giggles and says, “It is a private clinic. It is the closest medical facility to the school and with you being unconscious, they decided to bring you here. It is a good thing they did—you could have been in a coma for a long time. Don’t worry, we are fully accredited and functional.”

I look at Allen and ask, “Does Mom know?”

He nods and says, “Of course! I was already there to pick you up. She has to come from all the way across town and it is Friday rush hour. I can let her know not to kill herself getting here now that you are awake, though.”

He turns away to make a call on his cell.

The doctor looks back at me and says, “Now, let’s get you something for that pain—luckily you were only out for a couple of minutes. Still, I can’t give you anything really strong until I get you a cat scan. Then we will set your shoulder; it is separated.”

She gives me a shot of something and I feel better almost immediately. The harsh roar of the Niagara Falls in my head dulls to a more reasonable Class 5 rapid.

Allen comes back in and says, “There was a big accident on the freeway; it will take hours before your Mom can get here—she is stuck between the exits with no way off. She is alright, though, so don’t worry.”

Doctor Angelica, Angi, says, “Well, young Vick here is not going anywhere tonight anyway—I want to keep him for observation until I am sure there is no long-term, or permanent damage. Even assuming not, your sports days are over for the summer.”

I groan, “What about sports camp? It starts next week?”

She says, “I am afraid not! You are going to have to rest that shoulder for a couple of weeks and I don’t want to even think of you bumping that head again!”

I groan and they wheel me out to do my cat scan. Then they tape up my shoulder. After I get back to my room, the doctor says things look OK and gives me a stronger dose of pain meds. I feel funny as she injects in into my arm but really good—like I am on clouds or something.

I just lay there with a goofy grin on my face when Mom finally comes in. I don’t really get everything they’re saying, but it is something like ‘he has an extreme concussion and will need to stay for several days but as long as he is quiet there is no real danger’.

I am in a blissful stupor the rest of the day. I barely notice Mom sitting there, holding my hand.

She kisses me as she and Allen leave. She says, “Hon, you are going to have to stay here a while. I have to leave on a trip, but can be back at a moment’s notice. The doctor assures me that you will be fine with a lot of rest and there is nothing I can do if I am here. So, you will stay and rest as long as you need. Allen will be here to look after you if you need anything, OK?”

I nod sort of stupidly, not fully processing what she is saying. I am just too out of it to have any sort of emotional response—even though I sort of process that Mom seems worried. She kisses me again and they leave to get something to eat.

The night is literally a blur. I am not allowed to sleep, but the meds keep me in a stupor. Mom is there until sometime early in the morning, napping in a lounge-chair in my room.

Finally, she gives me a kiss and says, “Be good, Hon. The doctor says you can leave in a couple of days to a week—as soon as she is sure that you are OK. Listen to her and Allen, OK? He has the authority to do whatever needs to be done and I am only a plane ride away, OK? I love you!”

And she hurries off; a haunted look in her teary eyes.

The next couple of days are really boring—at least what I can remember of them, but at least I am allowed to sleep the second night.

On the third day, I am feeling better. Well, at least my head is—my shoulder is still really sore.

Allen comes in and sits down. He gives me a pitying look and says, “Well, sport, I just dropped Albert off at the bus station—he is on his way to camp. I am sorry you are missing out on your camp. I am also sorry you are going to have to stay here a couple of weeks…at least.”

I sit straight up and instantly regret it. I hold my head and ask, “What did you say? Why? I thought a couple more days—at most!”

Allen just gives me conspiratorial look and says, “Well, the doctor didn’t want me to say anything. She was afraid it would depress you. I think that you are old enough to handle the truth, though. She is thinking that you may have to stay in the hospital here most of the summer. She seems really worried that you somehow hurt your head again.”

I give him an imploring look and say, “Please! There has to be something we can do! You’re in charge of me while Mom is gone. Make Angi let me leave!”

He shakes his head and says, “Well, she did mention a camp that starts next week. She sponsors it and she thought it could be safe for you—but you would have to pass some tests…”

I look at him a glimmer of hope, but I didn’t quite like his tone—like he was embarrassed, or something. I ask, “What kind of camp? Tests?”

He nods and says, “Yes, they are a combination of medical tests to show you are ready and an entrance exam. I guess it is a pretty exclusive camp… It is…well…it is a ‘creative’ camp.” He raises his hands and says, “Look, I know it is not a sports camp—but it DOES get you out of here…”

I look at him incredulously, “Cre…at…ive camp…? What is that? It would get me out of here? Entrance EXAM?”

He just nods and gives me a wink, “I have the answers…”

I blink.

He says, “Look, this isn’t something you’ll pass unless I help you. I pulled some strings with my connections and got the questions—and more importantly, I have the answers. Angi can have no idea that I gave you these, though, OK? You have to be completely convincing.”

I swallow and nod.

He hands me a sheath of papers and I look through them. The questions are really weird. The answers even more so.

He says, “I am going to go get some coffee. I will test you in an hour. Can you have the answers memorized by then?”

I shake my head at the weird questions, but say, “Yeah…I think so…”

An hour later, I am answering the multiple choice questions as he grills me. I get a perfect score on the second and third try.

He says, “OK, nice. I am pretty sure you can ace the exam… Now…I have to tell you… Well, I don’t know how to put this… Umm… Like I said it is a creative camp… If she asks you anything about being OK with pretending to be a girl—or dressing like one… It would be best if you convinced her that you are totally OK with that…even better that it would be completely normal for you. The camp is all about flexibility. If she thinks that you aren’t willing to be flexible, then you won’t get in.”

I look at him like he is crazy. I am actually sure he is.

He just shrugs and says, “Or you COULD stay here…”

o~O~o

“Well these results are very illuminating. Is there anything that you want to tell me, Vick?” Angi gives me a piercing stare.

I look at her and shake my head.

She says, “I see. Well, can you tell me something? If you imagine yourself in a dress… How would you feel?”

I blush and remember what Allen had said. I say in a quiet voice, “It would feel…normal…”

She nods and says, “OK, Vick. Then tell me…if you were wearing that dress…feeling normal…what would you call yourself?”

I take a quick breath and wonder what to say… I say the first name that comes to mind…that of my arch-enemy from kindergarten, “Paige…”

She smiles and says, “OK, Paige. Would you like to go to my camp next week?”

I nod and smile shyly.

She says, “OK, Paige. I would love to have you there. I want you to experience being a girl—is that OK?”

My head is swimming. I want to say ‘hell no!’, but then I think about having to stay here all summer and say, “Sure! That sounds wonderful!” I feel like I am going to puke.

She comes over and gives me a hug. She says, “This is a big breakthrough, Hon. Don’t worry, Sweetie, you will have fun, I promise!”

I nod; no idea what she is talking about.

She says, “I am going to give you some medicine to help you feel that way, OK? Allen has said it is OK, if you want it.”

I simply nod—I have no idea what is going on…

She has me roll over onto my stomach and gives me two shots in the butt. The second one stings. She says, “OK, Hon. All done. I think you are well enough to take the bus to camp tomorrow. In case you have lost track, tomorrow is Sunday. Camp actually starts on Monday, but I want you to take it easy and this way you will have a little extra time to settle in.”

I rub my butt and nod. I still have no idea what just happened.

The next morning, Allen comes in early and says, “Well, Sport, you convinced her. Well done! I let your Mom know that you are going to camp and she is ecstatic. She was a bit surprised that you wanted to go to creative camp. I explained that you WANTED to—it is important that she think that. She doesn’t know that the doctor was going to keep you. We need to keep that a secret between us guys, OK? No one can know I told you. Let’s do a secret handshake on it!”

He makes me do the stupid ‘secret’ handshake that he does with Albert. I promise I won’t tell. He says, “Your Mom is held up at that offsite meeting and won’t make it back before you leave, but she promises to come see you on parent’s day at camp. OK?” I bite my lip nervously and he smiles and leaves.

Angi comes in and says, “Paige! Are you excited to go to camp? I want you to be the best girl you can be there. Do you promise?”

Afraid that she will make me stay here if I balk, I enthusiastically nod and bite my lip. I almost DO balk when she pulls out a dress and says, “Do you need help? Have you ever worn one?”

I nod and say, “Yes, I…need…help.” Then I shake my head and says, “No, I haven’t ever worn one.”

She smiles and says, “Well, that is an important first step—admitting you need help! I am proud of you. But I tell you what, since you have never worn one and don’t really know how to be out in one, why don’t we go with a nice pair of jeans and a top for now?”

I feel a wave of relief pour over me. It was some stupid test and I won’t have to wear it.

She takes a shopping bag and hands it to me. She says, “Allen got these for you to wear to camp. I will bring you some more things when I come down tomorrow, OK? Now, be a good girl and put these on. Your ride will be here soon.”

She leaves me alone in the room and I look in the bag and nearly faint. The ‘jeans’ are bright pink and REALLY girly with all kinds of embroidery and jewels. The shirt is at least from Star Wars, but it is a pale pink, as well, with a storm trooper on it. It has the word ‘Trooper’ written underneath it. I wonder if that is supposed to mean anything.

I take out the rest of the things, all girls, of course, including pink panties with hearts all over them, pink socks with lace, and you guessed it, glitzy pink shoes.

I groan and take off the hospital gown, which I really only now notice is a pale pink, as well, and step into the panties. I do have to admit that they feel much nicer than my normal undies, but not enough that I really want to wear them. I put on the shirt and notice that it too is much softer than my normal shirts. It is also cut funny—the sleeves fall on my arms differently and the waist is tighter.

Finally, I groan and put on the sock and shoes.

Angi comes in just as I am finishing tying the shoes and says, “You look adorable. You can wear heels later—once I am thoroughly convinced your head injury and balance are OK.”

She surprises me then by putting makeup on me and telling me what the stuff is she is using. Something about mascara and lip gloss.

I look at myself in the mirror…shocked, devastated, and confused… I look like one of the girls from my class…

She says, “You look really sweet, Paige. I expect you to be a real girl at camp…and beyond. OK? If it gets to be too much, though, be sure and tell me. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed. You will always be welcome and safe here, OK?”

Of course, I saw that as the threat it was: ‘Be good or come back here to rot’. I nod—terrified.

She hugs me and says, “OK, come on, Sweetie, the van should be here any second. I will be there tomorrow. I won’t be there the whole time, but I will be looking out for you—I promised Allen and your Mom. You’re going to be there for six weeks, after all…”

I nearly faint, but pretend to hug her back. I follow her out, feeling like a complete idiot dressed like this. I should be in a football uniform!

She leads me out to the van and I pretend to smile as I get in. I wave ‘enthusiastically’ as the van pulls off.

I look over at a boy sitting next to me and blush thinking of how I am dressed. He looks at me and smiles—he must be a year or so older than me and says, “Hi, I am Ian. What’s your name?”

I start to automatically say, ‘Vick’, but catch myself and say, “Paige.” There is no telling if it is another test to see how I answer. I don’t want to be stuck in that hospital room all summer; a week was enough. Although, I am beginning to wonder if THIS is really any better…

Ian just nods and says, “Hi, Paige. I’m sure I’ll see you around. I guess you’re in Camp Pink, then?”

I shrug and say, “Ummm…I have no idea. I just got signed up yesterday, really. It sort of happened really fast.”

He just nods and says, “Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around camp.” Before I can say anything else, he starts playing on his phone and doesn’t say another word.

I sit there and watch him for a bit—wishing I had a phone to play on. My thoughts drift to what Allen had said before I left and Angi had given me these clothes, “Remember, no one can know that I gave you the answers. You can’t let ANYONE know that those aren’t YOUR answers. You can’t let ANYONE know that you’re not comfortable being a girl. Remember, if anyone finds out, we will BOTH get in trouble—especially you, though. They will think that your head injury is worse than they thought and that you just made it all up. You know what THAT means, right? I did this for you, Sport, OK? Don’t let me down!”

I am not really sure what it WOULD mean if I said anything, but I’m sure that I really don’t want to find out. Allen was most emphatic about not letting Mom know. He said he didn’t want her to worry about me—so I couldn’t ever let her know. He said this is a win-win: I get out of the hospital and get to go to camp and Mom knows I am safe. I had just nodded. I am pretty sure he is right about that. Mom CAN’T know that I cheated to get out of there—no matter what.

I look around the van. It is full with a mix of boys and girls—ten in total. It seems like most of the kids know each other. The boys are mostly playing some game on their phones. The girls are mostly chatting and giggling. I watch the boys, envious of their ability to play games. I blush as some of the girls look my way and giggle. I figure they know…

Finally, after about an hour, the bus pulls through some gates that say “Imagine Nation Creativity Camp” and then up to a house that says, “Pink House”. The driver says, “OK, you girls know who gets off here. Paige, that includes you!”

I startle as three girls get their things as start getting out.

I look up and the driver smiles at me and then says, “Have fun, Hon!”

My heart is beating like a drum as I get up to step out of the van.

Ian smiles at me says, “See you later, Paige!”

I smile wanly at him and nervously step out of the van. The three girls that had gotten out ahead of me are waiting. One of them, in a short pink skirt and white t-shirt says, “Hi! I’m Brenda. This is Julia and this is Georgette.”

As she names the other two girls, the first, in a pink dress smiles at me; the second in pink jeans sort of like mine and a white tee raises her hand. They both say, “Hi!,” at the same time.

I nervously smile and say, “Hi! I’m…Paige.”

Brenda says, “Welcome to Pink House. I guess this is your first year here? I don’t remember seeing you last year… This is my—well, our—third year.”

I nod and say, “Yes, this is my first year. I was going to go to sports camp, but then…” I am not sure how to explain things, then decide to go with as close the truth as possible to make it easier. “…I got hurt and found out about this camp when I was in the hospital. I just finally signed up, like yesterday…”

Georgette looks at me and asks, “Sports camp? Are you a T-Girl, like me?”

I give her a confused look and Brenda says, “You know—transgendered. Are you in a boy’s body?”

I nod and say, “Ummm…yeah. This is all really new…”

Georgette says, “Well, the main thing is that you can be yourself! Did your parents have problems with you—or did you just keep it bottled up?”

I say, “I, ummm, never said anything…”

Brenda says, “And you’re already in Pink House? Wow! Nice—you must have been desperate if Angi let you in here that quickly. But after seeing how you were eying the boys on the bus, that isn’t really a surprise I guess—yes, we noticed.” They all giggle.

Julia says, “Just so you know, Brenda and I are both G-girls. You know genetic girls. Our parents are both big into the LGBT movement and so are we. There are actually more G-girls in Pink than T-girls, which is a shame, but don’t worry—we’re all on your side.”

Brenda says, “Yep! Come on, Paige! We’ll show you around.”

They take me into the cabin and I am immediately immersed in a PINK and GIRLY HELL! I groan internally and, once again, ask myself if I should just take my licks and go back to the hospital for the summer.

Georgette says, “There are a total of around twenty girls in the cabin. We don’t really make any distinction between ‘T’ and ‘G’—I was just curious. You know there is a high bar to get into Pink and you must have passed the exam if you are here.”

Julia nods and says, “Yes, you are just one of us girls—as is every other girl here. Since you are new to both the camp AND to your real gender, we’ll all be looking out for you and helping you adjust.”

They all surprise me and come over and give me a big group hug. I feel really awkward and wonder what they are talking about when they refer to my ‘real’ gender...

Brenda says, “Yes, it took us quite a while to get Georgette to loosen up last year when she finally made it to Pink. Being brought up as a boy can really mess with you, but I promise that no one will know you are not a girl by the time camp is over! And everyone knows that Pinks rule! We are the girliest of them all!”

I feel my heart drop to my feet as I think to myself, “I am officially in HELL! What am I going to do?”

At that moment a GORGEOUS girl, probably around eighteen, comes in and says, “OK, girls. Give them up!” She smiles and says, “Hi, Brenda! Hi, Julia! Hi, Georgette! And you must be Paige. Welcome to camp and to Pink House! I am your counselor, Francine. Don’t worry—I know EXACTLY how you feel, Hon! I was in your shoes not so long ago.”

The others go over and give her a big hug and hand over their cell phones. Francine comes over and gives me a hug and asks, “Do you have a cell?”

I say, “Well, I do—but not with me. I didn’t have it in the hospital when I left from there.”

Francine nods and says, “Yes, I heard you had a close call. I’m glad you’re doing better. We’ll take it easy on you until Angi says it’s OK to loosen the reins a bit. She’ll be checking up on you pretty regularly—especially since this is your first month…”

She waves as she heads out the door and says, “I’ll see you at dinner, girls. I’ve got some things to finish up.”

I look at the girls surrounding me and ask, “What’s with the cells?”

Brenda says, “It’s so that we are forced to be more ‘social’.” She makes air quotes with her fingers and continues, “Like social media isn’t! Anyway, it doesn’t usually bother us girls as much—but it KILLS the boys to lose their games!”

They all giggle and I suddenly understand why there was that air of desperation coming from them on the bus. I had already had a week in the hospital to get over the initial withdrawal of my favorite games, although, I really miss playing them—and now will have to get by another SIX WEEKS…

My hell just got worse: No sports AND no games PLUS this pink nightmare…

The girls show me around the camp. It is actually pretty big. There are a lot of different cabins—all designated by a color. There is also a large ‘Creativity Center’ which looks like a big auditorium with a lot of little rooms attached to it. There are rooms with costumes, rooms with art supplies, rooms with instruments… Anything that is anyhow related to the arts seems to be represented here.

I feel the loss of my sports camp as we walk through the center. That camp was very much like this—only dedicated to sports… I am not the artistic type—or, at least I have never had any interest in any of it. I honestly don’t know if I am any good at anything other than rough and tumble sports.

We walk around a while longer and wind up at the ‘swimming hole’, which is actually a well-maintained lake. There are mostly boys swingout out and jumping into the lake from a rope swing.

I sigh and Julia says, “Do you like to do things like that? It’s OK, you know.”

I shake my head and say, “I doubt they would let me, even if—not after my injury. Angi is afraid I’ll hit my head again and my shoulder would never be able to take that strain.”

Brenda says, “But you can swim, right? Surely that won’t hurt—if you’re not jumping in?”

I shrug my good shoulder and say, “I guess…I am not really sure, yet. Angi’ll be here tomorrow and I guess I’ll know more…”

After that we go to the camp cafeteria for supper. There are maybe thirty kids there. We get in line and get our food. I find that I am sort of nauseous, so I only take some chicken noodle soup and some crackers.

Georgette notices and just says, “Don’t worry, it’ll get better after a couple of weeks…”

I think to myself, “I HOPE my nerves settle down before then…” I say, “Yeah, I hope so—I might starve!”

The girls giggle and I eat while they chat away. I don’t think they have stopped chattering the whole time we have been together. They keep trying to pull me into the talk, but it is about clothes, or makeup, or boys…nothing I am remotely interested in—or could talk about even if I wanted.

After we finish eating, we go back to the pink hell and I notice a pink duffle bag on the bed that has my name on it. The cabin has five bedrooms, each with four beds. The four of us are in one room.

I go over and unzip it to find more panties, socks, a pink skirt, a blouse, a pair of pink flat girl’s shoes, and a nightgown.

Julia says, “I hope that isn’t supposed to last you all six weeks!” All three girls giggle.

I shrug and say, “Angi said something about bringing me more, tomorrow…”

Georgette nods at my pajamas and says, “I have an idea, girls! Let’s get into our PJs and do each other’s nails!”

Julia says, “Awesome idea! I have some totally awesome colors!”

Brenda nods enthusiastically and says, “Me too! Let’s!”

I don’t know what just happened, but all of a sudden the girls are running around like crazy pulling off their clothes and putting on their ‘PJs’, which turn out to be nightgowns, as well. I am blown away that they are just getting UNDRESSED out in the open like that.

It is apparent that Julia and Brenda have no bulge in their panties. I am surprised when I don’t see one in Georgette’s panties, either.

Brenda looks at me and asks, “Are you OK, Paige?”

I shake my head and say, “I…I…I’m used to the boy’s locker room. This is…overwhelming.” I start to cry and don’t know why.

Georgette comes over and hugs me. She says, “It’s OK, Paige. THAT will get better, too... Now, come here and put this on. It’s just us girls, OK. You’re not in the boy’s locker room. Girls don’t belong there, right?”

I wipe my eyes and shudder a little. Not knowing what else to do, I take off my shoes and socks, then my jeans and my shirt and stand there in my panties—my slight bulge very apparent. I pull the silky nightgown over my head. It barely covers my panties and it feels really weird to have my legs bare this way.

Georgette smiles and says, “OK, now I know why you were embarrassed. No one has shown you how to tuck?”

She comes over and gently pushes me down onto the bed. She surprises me when she pulls down my panties and matter-of-factly explains how to push my testicles up into my abdomen and how to pull my penis pack between my legs—all while demonstrating ON ME!

Since I haven’t entered puberty yet, there is no reaction from the little guy—luckily. That is not to say that I am not embarrassed! I blush and Brenda giggles.

She says, “Now that we have THAT taken care of—we need to take care of those raccoon-eyes!”

I give her a confused look and she pulls me to the vanity. It feels weird with my ‘junk’ tucked away, but it doesn’t hurt—thankfully. I look in the mirror and see that the mascara that Angi had put on my eyes had run down my face where I cried a bit ago. I can’t help but laugh at myself. I look ridiculous—and the absurdity finally breaks through my confusion.

It feels good to laugh, although the girls coach me on turning that into a giggle.

Brenda takes out some sort of wipe and shows me how to wipe the black streaks off of my face and then makes me turn right around and reapply mascara to my lashes. She shows me how and in no time, I look like I did before—only this time, the mascara is heavier and my lashes seem thicker and longer. More like all three of the girls in the room with me.

I stand up and notice my short gown ride up. I see my panties in the mirror and get a chill when I see that I am as flat as the girls in the room.

At that moment, Francine knocks on our door and comes in. She asks, “Hi, girls! What are you up to?”

Julia says, “Hi, Francine! We are getting ready to do each other’s nails. Wanna take part?”

She giggles and says, “You KNOW I do! Don’t you dare start without me!”

I am amazed. This is a beautiful girl; several years older than any of us in the room—although, I have a suspicion I am the youngest—and she is willing to take part in this nonsense.”

The girls all pull out bottles of nail polish. Most are PINK, although some are various other garish neon colors.

Francine giggles as the girls take off the polish that she has on her finger and toenails and quickly replace it with a bright metallic-blue.

Francine, in turn pulls me over and inspects my fingernails. She moans and says, “Well, there is NO doubt that you have been living in sin as a boy by the looks of these nails! I can’t wait until Jemma gets ahold of you, girl! We’ll do what we can, for now though. Right, girls?”

They all giggle and I watch in horror as they take turns filing my nails (fingers and toes) and then painting them a really bright bubble-gum PINK!

As they are mutilating my nails, Francine asks me, “So, Paige, I understand that you had a perfect score on the exam—that makes you a pretty special girl for Pink. I only know of one other girl that ever scored a seven-fifty on the exam…”

Georgette nearly screams and says, “You scored a seven-fifty, Paige? Really? No wonder you had a quick entrance into Pink. Most girls only score around five hundred to get in.”

Brenda looks at Francine and says, “And…we all know who the other girl is. Paige, meet your co-perfectionist, Francine…”

I am totally lost. I pretend to know what they are talking about, though, since obviously I am supposed to. I know they are talking about the test that Allen got me the answers for and that causes me to blush in shame.

I shake my head and say, “I don’t really know what the big deal is—it isn’t like you can study for it, right?”

Francine giggles and says, “Silly girl! I know you’re going to be an awesome young lady! And…I LOVE those bubble-gum nails. Now, you girls need to get to bed! Go on!”

Angi gives me hug and holds me out at arm’s length. She says, “You look CUTE in that skirt! And I see that the girls are already corrupting you with your makeup!”

I blush in embarrassment. The girls, Francine included, insisted that I wear the skirt, which is REALLY short—AFTER I ‘tucked’. Then they made me put on mascara and lip gloss. In addition, I had to use this pencil thingy—eyeliner, they called. I call it a torture instrument!

I don’t really know what to say… So, I just shrug and say, “Well…I DID have help…”

Angi giggles and says, “Indeed! Your clothes are over there.” She points at two large rolling suitcases (pink, of course). Then she says, “OK, Mondays are meds days for you, young lady. It is a good thing that skirt is so short! Bend over and take your vitamins…”

She gives me two shots in the butt, then she checks my shoulder. She says, “Well, the shoulder is healing very well. I think that we will be able to get you into some therapy by next week.”

She gives me a serious look and says, “Look, I know this is all going fast, Paige, but those scores tell me you can handle it. Trust Francie; she is the perfect role model for you.”

I rub my butt and ask, “So this medicine will really help?”

Angi winks and says, “Absolutely! It is a super-strong experimental version that Allen authorized. You’ll notice the difference soon—there is no doubt. Although puberty can be a bitch! Oops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to say a bad word—I meant ‘bear’! Now, go on! Have fun, Hon!”

My head swims a bit and I can’t help asking, “You really think I will start puberty soon?”

She just giggles and says, “I guarantee it, Sweetie! In fact, it has already begun.”

I leave her office with a silly grin on my face, thinking, “Muscles, hair on my chest, a BEARD! Yes!”

I am so caught up in my own thoughts that I nearly run straight into Francine. She catches me in the nick of time and giggles, “Paige! Hold up there, girl! What’s the hurry?”

I smile stupidly and say, “Angi says I am in puberty!”

Francine actually laughs and says, “But of course you are, Sweetie.” She gestures towards Angi’s office and asks, “Didn’t you forget your suitcases?”

I roll my eyes and she goes back in with me and we grab them. On our way out, Angi says, “Oh! Paige, make sure you let me know if you have any reactions to your meds, OK?”

I nod and Francine and I roll the suitcases out. On our way over to the cabin, Francine says, “Oh, I remember those shots. Butt sore?”

I gingerly rub my butt and nod as I ask, “You had shots, too?”

She nods and says, “Sure—a Pink House staple; although mine were different. Anyways, after we drop these off, we are going to go see Jemma!”

I look at her and ask, “Jemma?”

Francine says, “Yes, Jemma. She is the cosmetologist for the drama department. She just LOVES Pinks—especially NEW ones!”

We drop off the suitcases in my room and Francine leads me out; there is no sign of my three roommates. There are buses arriving with the other campers and I assume they are over there.

We enter the creativity center and Francine leads me upstairs and into a well-lit room with several swivel chairs in front of mirrors—much like you would see in a hair salon. There is a very pretty older (probably in her forties) woman straightening things out.

She hears us coming in and says, “Come back later—I am not ready yet.” She turns around and says, “Oh! Hi, Francineca! I am ALWAYS ready for a PINK! Who do we have here?”

Francine says, “Jemma, this is Paige—a BRAND NEW Pink. She could really use your help before the crowds descend on us.”

Jemma smiles and says, “Welcome to Imagine Nation, Sweetie. Especially welcome to Pink House. Now, let me see…”

She sits me down in one of the chairs and walks around me. I am nervous, not really knowing what she is going to do. She plays with my hair and says, “Well, at least we have some length to play with.”

I hadn’t had my hair cut in a couple of months—it was a football team thing; we had agreed to not cut our hair until after the season was over. Mom had had a fit, but finally gave in. My hair is now long enough to barely cover my ears.

Jemma says, “OK, I think I know what needs to be done. Come back in a couple of hours, Francie and she will be ready for prime time.”

I wince and think, “A couple of HOURS?”

Francine nods and says, “I am sure she will be lovely, as always, when you are done with her!”

Francine leaves and Jemma says, “OK, Hon. We have quite a bit to do. I take it this is the first time you have been to a salon? We are going to fix this mess of hair you have, then I am going to redo the nails that I can tell the girls in the room did for you last night. OK?”

I nod and she gets to work. First, she washes my hair and, without ever stopping talking and asking questions, starts snipping at my hair. I am at a loss at times on how to answer her questions, but stick to my game plan of staying as close to the truth as possible while weaving in what I knew I had answered on that infernal exam that got me here.

After a bit, she smears this nasty-smelling paste into my hair and puts little pieces of foil into it. She then puts me under a dryer and sets a timer…

I am really regretting not just staying in the hospital when she is done with my hair. She calls it a pixie cut. It is sort of spikey and asymmetrical with long bangs. It is also a light blond with pink highlights. It is VERY girly. I nearly spill the beans on the whole thing at that point, but know I am in too deep now.

I just stare at my hair with a dumbfounded look on my face. She mistakes it for a look of admiration and shock and says, “It’s OK, Hon. You’ll get used to it in a couple of days. I know that your first REAL hairstyle can be a shock. Now, let’s get to work on those nails.”

She uses remover to take off the polish on all of my nails, then does my toes first. The difference between her and the girls is that she removes my cuticles (or so she tells me), then uses some sort of UV light to ‘set’ the polish between coats.

After she is done with my toes (in hot pink), she starts on my fingers. She removes the cuticles and then starts gluing these extensions on them. I am shocked; they’re like a mile long. I start to protest, “I don’t think I want nails that long…”

She giggles and says, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. I’ll trim them back; this is just how they come.”

I nervously watch as she uses some sort of paste to blend in the extensions and sets that with the light. Then, to my relief, she does cut a lot of the length off, but they are still out beyond my fingertips.

She says, “This is still a little long for a girl your age, but I hear you aren’t going to be doing anything rough and tumble for a while, so it will help you get that girly-girl feeling that your score is screaming for.”

I have no idea what she is talking about, but am starting to curse that I got a perfect score on that exam—that seems to mean a lot around here. Based on what the others are saying, I could have probably gotten in here with a less-than-perfect one. I still don’t know what that means, though.

She polishes the nails with an instrument and when she is done, you can’t tell the extension from my real nail. Then, she puts a glittery pink polish on them and sets the coats with the light. When she is done, my hands look really girly. I reach up to move some of the hair out of my face and poke myself with my nails.

She giggles and says, “You’ll quickly get used to them. What do you think?”

I know I am supposed to be OK with all of this. I also know Francine seems to think that Jemma does awesome work, so I say, “I like it. I really do. I…just have to get used to it.”

She smiles and gives me a hug. She says, “There is just one more thing. Hang on.”

She goes and gets something, then comes and messes with my ears a minute. She stands back, does something else, then I hear more than feel a pop, pop, pop, pop; two on each side of my head. She messes with my ears again. I feel a cold wipe on them, then a little squeeze.

She turns the chair around so I can see in the mirror and I nearly faint. The haircut she had given leaves the bottom of my ears exposed—and there in all their glory are two really sparkly pink studs in each ear.

She says, “Don’t you just LOVE them. You look so ADORABLE, Sweetie! Welcome to Pink!”

I stutter, “Yes, they are…lovely. But, I am not sure my Mom…”

She says, “Oh, don’t you worry, Sweetie. It’s all in the contract for the camp—she has already given her permission!”

Stunned and at a loss for words, I timidly hug her back as she gives me a big hug.

Francine comes in a minute later and lets out a little scream, “Paige! You look ADORABLE! Don’t you just LOVE what Jemma can do? Look at you!”

Feeling like I have pushed myself down the rabbit hole, I know I have nowhere to go but forward at this point. I pull myself together and nod. I have to get through the next six weeks, then I can get on with my life. I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, “I never knew I could look like this. I DO look like a girl!”

Jemma says, “Of course you do, Sweetie!”

Francine says, “Not only that, you look like a PINK girl! Come on, Hon! We have to introduce you to the camp. Angi wants to see you, first, though.” She giggles.

We walk back to Angi’s office and she smile broadly when she sees me. She says, “Well, you do clean up nicely! Jemma does such wonderful work. How are you feeling? Still OK?”

I am not sure if she means in the clothes, the shots, or what. I just nod and say, “I feel great!” There is no way in hell I am going to let them know how I really feel at this point! I am still dreading trying to explain all of this to Mom when I get back home.

Angi says, “Wonderful! Then you better go have fun.”

Francine takes me back to the Pink House from there. When we enter it is mild chaos. Girls are running all over the place—anywhere from my age, or so, to maybe sixteen. Francine claps her hands and says, “Girls! I want you all to meet Paige. She’s the newbie this year, so take her under your wings and be kind to her. She is still a very fragile Pinklette!”

Before I know it I am surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls (to steal a phrase). The rest of the day is a waste as I am introduced to every girl in the house and answer a million and one questions about myself. By the end of the day, though, I pretty well have my life story straight. I did keep it simple and, again, as close to the real me as I can—but with what I suppose a girl would think or want sprinkled in.

Brenda, Julia, and Georgette, are all amazed at Jemma’s work. When they finally get me back to our room, I am completely surprised that they have put away all of the clothes from my suitcases. I look through my drawers and find a bunch of underwear (panties and socks), similar to what I have on. There are also tights and several nightgowns. In the closet, I find a few pairs of jeans, but mostly skirts and dresses, along with several girly-looking tops. There are also five pairs of shoes…

The girls are all abuzz about my clothes and start wanting me to model everything. I try and resist, but they are insistent—it seems this is a girl thing and I am going to have to get used to it for the next six weeks.

After showing off like a hundred (not really) different combinations of ‘outfits’, I fall into bed—exhausted. Well, after I am forced to clean my piercings, thoroughly wash my face, and have ‘moisturized’ my whole body. As I am rubbing the lotion into my legs, I can’t help but check for any hair growth, but am disappointed not to find any.

o~O~o

The first week actually goes by pretty quickly. The houses mostly stick to themselves during the first week I am told to bond as a group—the second week is when there is more cross-camp interaction.

By the beginning of the second week, I am sort of in a routine of being Paige. I am more confident in my ‘story’. It doesn’t feel totally weird to be in girl’s clothes, but nowhere near natural either. I still do double-takes when I glimpse myself in the mirror, but it happening less and less. I am finally getting to where I can pick up things with these long nails, too.

I know all 19 girls in the Pink House—I make the twentieth person in the cabin. I am told there are four other ‘T’s in the house, but I honestly couldn’t even begin to guess who they are. I am getting a little better at following the chatter and even interjecting talk now and then. THAT part is still freaky to me…they say boys are noisy. HAH!

So, when Angi asks me how I am doing on my second Monday, I say, “I am more comfortable, now. Thanks for asking, Angi. I still am adjusting, though.”

She nods and says, “That is to be expected, Hon. You rocketed into being a girl! Still no regrets, right?”

I am FULL of regrets, but I shake my head and say with practiced emphatic enthusiasm, “Not on your life!”

She smiles and says, “OK, then. Bend over!”

She gives me my shots and asks, “No problems here, either, right?”

I slowly shake my head, but say, “Well…I don’t know. I seem to sort of always be a little sick to my stomach. Sometimes, especially in the mornings, I feel like I am going to throw up. And I think I may be having a reaction to something…my…my…my boobs are sort of sore.”

Angi has me lift my blouse and feels them. I flinch a bit and she smiles and says, “I told you puberty is a bear. It is nothing to worry about, Hon.” She goes to a cabinet and grabs a tube of something and a bra and hands them to me. She says, “Here this is a special soothing cream and a training bra—the cream will ease the discomfort and the soft material will keep your clothes from irritating your nipples. It will get better in a couple of weeks, I promise.”

I almost balk, but know that won’t go over well. It is not unusual for girls to wear bras. I do ask, though, “So, this is normal for…ME…”

She nods and says, “Yep! A normal part of a healthy puberty!” She giggles then she adds, “As for the nausea, does it get better during the day; after you eat?”

I nod and say, “Some, but it is always sort of always there. You know, like in the background.”

She says, “Well, at this point, I don’t think it is anything to worry about. Let me know if it gets any worse, OK?”

I nod and she insists that I rub in some of the cream on each side and then on helping me put on the bra. In spite of my misgivings, it DOES feel better and I tell her so, “Thanks, that does feel much better.”

She says, “Allen gave me some funds in case you need them. I will get you some more for your stay here.”

She then does a checkup on my concussion and tests out my shoulder. She smiles and says, “It looks like your concussion is healing nicely. I still don’t want you doing anything that will aggravate it, but I am going to loosen your restrictions some. I will let Francie know. Also, your shoulder is ready for some strengthening and therapy. Swimming will be good, as well as some other exercises to loosen it up.”

She looks at me and says, “I don’t normally get involved in participants’ activities for the summer, but in your case, I think I’ll have to make an exception—at least until I see how things are going. I’ll have Francie sign you up for the swim team for shoulder strength—no diving, for now; beginning cheerleading for range of motion—no pyramids; and ballet for balance. And you thought we didn’t do sports here!” She winks.

I groan internally—I thought my hell here couldn’t get any worse. She finishes typing into her tablet and says, “There, all sent to Francie. That’s all for today unless you need anything else?”

I decide to get out before she decides to add something else to my list, “No, thanks! I’ll see you next Monday!”

She says, “Yes, and we will have an extended exam and visit then. We need to have a talk every couple of weeks, so I can make sure everything is still OK with you, OK? For now, just go find Francie. She is waiting for you.”

I nod—already dreading it—and hurry out before she changes her mind.

Francie is waiting for me when I get back to the Pink House. She is looking at her tablet and smiles as she looks up at me and says, “Congrats, Paige! You can finally start getting active again. It’s too late for the swim team this morning, since they start really early. We’ll get you there in the morning. Cheerleading’s later this afternoon—every day. Ballet starts in about an hour—we have just enough time to get you outfitted. It’s also every day.”

I sigh and say, “I don’t know, Francie. I have never done ANY of this…”

She giggles and says, “No worries, Hon. You will be well-advanced by the time camp is over! Now, come on. We need to get you tights, a leotard, and ballet flats.” She takes my hand and pulls me to the Creativity Center, up the stairs, and to the ‘wardrobe’. She says, “You can borrow some for now. Angi said she would get you some from the funds your…what is he exactly?...gave her.”

I shrug and say, “I guess he’ll eventually be my step-dad. For now, he is ‘Uncle’ Allen…” I make air-quotes around ‘uncle’—my long, glittery-pink fingernails adding extra emphasis.

She nods and pulls out pink tights, a black leotard, and pink ballet flats in my size. I look at them in horror, but mask my emotions. I take them and Francie then leads me to the dressing rooms next to the dance studio. She looks at a roster and then assigns me a locker.

She asks, “Do you think you can get ready by yourself? I need to get ready myself.”

I give her an inquisitive look and ask, “You dance ballet, too?”

She nods and says, “Yep! I will be in the advanced section, but we will be in there together. Now, you just put the tights on first—no panties! Then the leotard—normally, I would say no bra, but… *SHRIEK* Girl! You’re wearing a bra!” She hugs me tightly, “Congrats, Hon! That is an important milestone for any girl! Anyway, no bra under the leotard. These are standard colors for beginners—no skirts or other colors allowed at that stage. You will see that I am dressed a bit differently.”

I rub my ears, still ringing from her shriek and then rub my breasts, wondering what the leotard will feel like without it. Then wonder why I am even wondering that. Francie gives me another hug and hurries off to her locker on the other side of the dressing room.

I slowly undress. I struggle to get the bra off, then I step out of my panties and stand there naked. There is a mirror and I shudder as I see the girl standing there; my ‘junk’ still tucked between my legs. I pull on the tights that look like they are way too small. I quickly find that they are elasticized and fit well enough with some adjusting. I adjust my ‘tuck’ and pick up the leotard. It takes me a bit to figure out how to get into it, but I finally stand there and look in the mirror, again. This time I really shudder—there is no doubt that there is a girl looking back at me.

Francie comes over just as other girls start filtering in to get ready. She smiles at me and says, “Wonderful! Now, the first week will be tough. Madame Pratt is tough—just do as she says and don’t question or complain.”

I put on my flats and follow Francie in to be introduced. She takes me over to a stern-looking woman, who looks to be probably in her fifties. Her hair is in a tight bun high on the back of her head. I shudder.

Francie says, “Madame Pratt, this is Paige. She is complete beginner—maybe Angi talked to you about her?”

Madame Pratt looks me up down with a calculating stare and nods. She says, “Yes, we will get her balance tested—and her posture corrected by the end of the week. Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but I am going to assign you as her partner for the first week. I have too many beginners to give her the attention she needs and you have indicated that you want some teaching experience? In payment, I will give you a private hour later?”

Francie nods excitedly and says, “Oh, yes! Thank you, Madame!”

An hour later, my calves are screaming from getting up and down on my toes. My thighs are rubber from doing ‘plies’. I can do a million squats, but these are at the completely wrong angle… I nearly fall over as I have to stand in the five different positions, especially ‘fifth’—I feel like my knees are going to break. The warm-up stretches killed me; the cool-down ones are no better.

Francie smiles and says, “Not a bad first day, Paige.”

Madame Pratt comes over and says, “Well, Paige. I watched you closely and you did very well for your first day—you have potential. Francine, you did very well, as well. I will make sure you are challenged in our session. Come prepared.”

Francie ushers me out and giggles, “Girl! That was high praise! Madame doesn’t usually compliment—you did perform exceptionally well, though. Don’t worry about showering. Lunch is in a little over an hour and then your cheerleading session starts and you will just get all sweaty again. If you want, you can come swim a round with me to stay limber.”

I nod and say, “That would be nice, I think. I can feel my legs tightening up already.”

Francie says, “Go get your swimsuit and meet me at the lake in fifteen minutes. I quickly strip out of the leotard and tights and neatly put them in my locker—like I see the others in the room do. I get dressed and hurry to my room. I open the drawer and pull out my ‘swimsuit’—the one I know I will be expected to wear for ‘leisure’ swimming. It is a hot-pink two-piece bikini—the one-piece suit is for ‘competition’ swimming.

I put it on, like I had when I had to model it for my roomies. I put on a pair of shorts and t-shirt over it. The shorts are typical “girl’s” short-shorts and still feel weird to me. The t-shirt is short and so my belly-button is showing; which I am told is a GOOD thing… I put on my flip-flops and hurry to the lake. Francie is just arriving, as well.

She pulls waterproof suntan lotion out of her bag and slathers it all over my body and I return the favor and we jump into the water to cool off. After about fifteen minutes of swimming, she coaxes me to some loungers and we lay down on a towel. After about fifteen minutes of chit-chatting she rolls over on her stomach and gestures for me to do the same.

The time goes by quickly; I find that she is really easy to talk to. Before I know it, she is getting her things together and we have to go back for lunch. She says, “You can just leave your bikini on under your clothes like that, for now. They will give you a cheerleading outfit to change into, anyway. Just take some panties with you—there will be a sports bra with the outfit, since you don’t have one yet.”

I eat lunch, for the first time in two weeks without a whole lot of nausea, and think about the morning. I find myself REALLY liking Francie. Several girls sit down at my table and I find myself pulled into a girlie conversation—I am getting better at following along; I am nowhere really ready to add to it, though!

When the hour is up, I trepidatiously go to my room to get some panties. My other three roomies are all lounging on their beds with mischievous looks on their faces. I give them an inquisitive look but hurry to my underwear drawer, since I have to be on the green for practice in forty minutes. I open the drawer and feel my face turn beet-red as I pull out a pair of really lacy THONG panties. The girls all start giggling.

Brenda says, “We have been saving those for when you got your first bra. We noticed a bit ago. Way to go, girl! Now you have REAL panties—like us!”

I sigh and say, “I don’t know… Where are my others?”

Julia says, “We sent them with Angi to be donated to Goodwill. She was a little worried that you’re not ready for thongs, but we convinced her otherwise!”

I groan and say, “I have to go to cheerleading, but we will talk about this when I get back!”

Georgette says, “Cheerleading? Really? Come on then, I’m going there myself!

o~O~o

Georgette takes me to the cheerleading locker room after taking me by wardrobe to get a practice outfit and sports bra. I look at the outfit as we walk to my newly assigned locker and shudder. It is the typical cheerleading outfit: Short-cropped top, ultra-short skirt, shiny nylon stockings, short socks with little pom-poms on the back… Of course, mine is all in pink…

I sigh and take off my shorts and t-shirt and stand in front of my locker, which happens to be right next to Georgette’s, in my bikini. I untie the string at the back of my neck and the skimpy top drops into my hand.

Georgette giggles and says, “Nice start on that tan! We will have to work more on it later, though. I’m sure you can do better!”

I look down and see the distinct beginnings of a tan—evidenced by the white outline of the little triangles and strings against my now darker skin. I groan inwardly—I hadn’t even considered the consequences of a tan line when out swimming. And knowing the three musketeers—plus Francie—it will only get worse now, since I am sure I will be drug out to the lake more and more now that I am cleared to swim.

I untie the bottom and see the same outline of the small triangle and strings. Georgette says, “We’ll get you a thonged-bottom for a nicer tan. Now that you are wearing them anyways, you’ll be used to the feel.”

I groan and pick up the lacy thong panties that I had brought with me and slip them up my legs. The string disappears into my butt-crack and I instinctively reach to pull it out. Georgette play-slaps at my hand and says, “Bad Paige! It BELONGS in there. See?” She turns and I see hers disappearing into her crack just the same as mine. She says, “Soon, you won’t want to wear anything else. You’ll see! Now, hurry up! We need to get out on the green!”

She helps me put on the nylons, since I have never done anything like that before. Then I put on the sports bra and relish the soft feel of the material. I know that Angi says this is normal, but I am worried—I have never really heard of guys having issues like this; but then maybe they are just embarrassed to talk about it? I have heard of man-boobs and think they are supposed to go away if it is not just because you are fat…

I pull on the top and feel my bare midriff. I see Georgette’s is the same—showing off the shiny pink jewel in her belly button. I pull on the short skirt and tie my shoes. I stand up and nearly lose my balance. I say, “Georgette, what’s with these shoes?”

She giggles and says, “They actually have two-inch heels, but are built so you can’t really see it. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it in no time—it gives us killer-calves.”

I groan, “My calves are already killed from ballet!”

We run out onto the green where about fifteen girls are already gathered. Each is in a practice outfit the same color as their house. Other than that, in reality, they are all the same. I notice that I am the only one without a pierced belly button, though—everyone else has a jewel in theirs to match the color of their house.

Georgette is right, it doesn’t take me too long to forget all about the heels on my shoes. I am too worried about doing splits and kicks…and keeping up with the routine. Like with ballet, I find that I have more of a musical bone than I ever knew. The rhythm and moves come fairly easily to me—it is the flexibility that is the biggest problem.

After two hours of practice, I am officially dead. We all go to the locker room to shower. The showers at the Pink House are communal, too, so that is not really that big a deal to me—anymore. At first, I was really shy about it. I quickly find that showering with the cheerleaders is different, though.

Georgette says, “Here, scrub my back, OK? Then I will scrub yours.”

I quickly scrub her back, then she takes the scrubby and does mine. She surprises me, though, when her arms snake around under my arms and she starts massaging my tender nipples. They jump to life and I feel little electric shocks shoot down to my groin. I moan, in spite of myself—it is a moan of pleasure. I want to pull away, but find I can’t. She turns me around and starts nibbling and sucking on them. Within a couple of minutes, I feel this sunburst inside of me. It spreads throughout my body and I think I am going to faint from pleasure.

I look at Georgette and ask, “Wh…wh…what was that?”

Georgette and the other girls giggle. She says, “Welcome to the cheerleaders, Hon. And THAT was an orgasm. By your reaction, I take it, it was your first?” She giggles again.

I nod, still out of breath.

She smiles and says, “Well, you’re one of us now—almost. We will fix the rest later. Right now, we’re all going to lake to swim and work on our tans. But first, we need to get you a better bikini!”

o~O~o

I groan as my alarm goes off at four o’clock in the morning. For whatever reason, the swim team meets really early in the morning.

I get out of bed and pad towards my dresser. I nearly fall, though, when the pain in my calves kicks in—they are REALLY sore! I pull the ‘competition’ swimsuit out of my drawer and limp to the communal shower area to get dressed, since the others are still asleep.

I look at myself in the mirror and grimace at the now darker tan lines—this time with no line on my butt, except up top where the string comes out of my crack. I was surprised that my ‘junk’ would even fit in the tiny scrap of material that it was. I look at it now, hanging down freely and shiver—it looks somehow…tiny…

I also look for signs of body hair. Other than some very light fuzz, there is nothing in site. The same holds true for my face. I haven’t noticed any crack in my voice—or any other sign of puberty, for that matter. I know SOMETHING must be happening, though—that orgasm yesterday is clear proof of that…

I get into the swimsuit and see my nipples standing erect in the chilled air—they look HUGE to me. I shake my head and hurry to get my pre-swim smoothie that Francie told me would be waiting for me at the cafeteria.

The girl handing the smoothies out is miserably cheerful at this early hour. She smiles and wishes me a great day as I go to find a table, still limping. There are several girls sitting at a table—obviously on the swim team gauging by their swimsuits. I sit at another table and sip my smoothie.

A girl comes over and says, “Hi! You must be Paige. We haven’t met, yet. I’m Jenny—I’ll be your partner today. Welcome to the team! Do you have any swimming experience?”

I look at her, mesmerized by the glitzy lavender stud in her nose. It matches the color of her swimsuit, so I know she is from Lavender House—the one for the ‘L’ part of LGBT. I shake my head and say, “No, I’ve never been much of a swimmer—I have always been more into things like football.”

She giggles and says, “Well, we’ll test you out today. I noticed the limp…is that normal?”

I laugh—and it actually turns out to be more of a giggle—and say, “No. The consequence of too much ballet and cheerleading on my first day!”

She giggles again and nods. She says, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the other girls. Of course, the guys are all still in bed, probably—they are ALWAYS late!”

After being introduced to the eight other girls on the team, we start walking to the indoor Olympic-sized pool. As I am introduced to each girl by Jenny, I notice that each of them has a nose stud the color of their swimsuit—which of course corresponds to their house.

As we are walking, I can’t help but ask, “So…swimming…what does that have to do with being ‘creative’?”

Larissa, a girl in a yellow (the female ‘B’ house) swimsuit, giggles profusely and says, “Well, it started out as synchronized swimming, but that never really took off—it just sort of evolved into plain-Jane swimming. We actually compete against other camps at the end of summer…and we usually get beat…”

Clarissa, the girls’ coach is waiting for us at the pool and quickly gets us started by swimming laps. I am dead after only two—it is going to be a long day…

It is blissful to actually sleep in until eight o’clock. The week has actually gone by fairly fast and it is my third Monday here—and time for my session with Angi. By Saturday, I was getting into a groove and doing better at swimming, I can actually swim ten laps now and my shoulder feels pretty good. Ballet is surprisingly the easiest for me—Madame Pratt says I am a natural and is pushing me really hard; I started private sessions with her and Francie on Wednesday which will advance me much faster—or so I am told (Yay me…just what I always wanted). Cheerleading continues to kick my butt—but the shower sessions afterwards are… WONDERFUL!

I stretch and get out of bed. I barely notice my pink nails anymore when I stretch. I go to the shower room and notice the deep tan lines that I am developing—my skin is evenly tanned and at least ten shades darker than the white left where my bikini covers it. That is going to be hard to remedy when this camp is finally over…I hope some sort of spray tanning solution will help cover it up. I turn on the shower and get in. I am surprised when Georgette gets in with me…and my shower takes a bit longer than normal—especially when Julia joins us, too.

I dry off and notice my nipples are swollen from the stimulation they just had. They now seem to stay swollen longer and longer after such shower sessions. I shake my head and step into my thong panties. I barely notice the string in my crack anymore—the girls were right. Although, I wouldn’t say that these are the only kind of panties I would ever want to wear.

One thing is for sure, my ‘junk’ is getting much easier to tuck for whatever reason. My willy stays all shriveled up and tiny-looking, which worries me. My balls also seem to be happy to stay up in me—they still come down, when coaxed. But they actually FEEL better up in me. It is weird. I tuck the little guy and sigh.

I pick up my bra and put it on—I am getting better at that, too, I am sad to say. Like ballet, makeup and everything else here, putting on a bra is not a skill I ever would have dreamed of acquiring. I notice the flesh is starting to bulge out the top a bit; the bra must have shrunk some in the laundry…

I walk back to my room in only my panties and bra—something everyone in Pink does, so it is nothing unusual; even though, I still feel weird doing it. I go to my dresser and take out a pair of shorts and pull them up my legs. I have to struggle a little to get them over my hips but they seem to fit fine once I get them buttoned and zipped. I guess the different muscles I am using are starting to grow—maybe that means that I will finally start getting a manly figure! Excited at the prospect, I pull a thin (really soft) t-shirt over my head and put on some sandals.

Thirty minutes later, I am in Angi’s office—without breakfast, since it seems I am due some sort of blood test. I smile back at Angi as I enter and she says, “Well, Paige, you are looking WONDERFUL! How are you feeling?”

I sit on the exam table and she takes my arm to pull some blood. I say, “I am feeling better now—the first couple of days of your ‘regiment’ nearly killed me, though! I could barely walk on Tuesday.”

She giggles and finishes drawing the blood, then goes over to some sort of analyzer and puts the tube in it. She asks, “And your shoulder? How is it feeling?”

I swivel it to show her that it is nearly back to full range of motion and there is little-to-no pain. I say, “It feels fine, almost like new!”

She nods and says, “Yes, another week or two of your current activities and it should be back to normal range-of-motion. After that, if you keep it up, you will likely exceed ‘normal’, which is normal for the girls in those activities. Any headaches?”

I shake my head.

“Dizzy spells or problems with balance,” she continues her inquisition.

I shake my head again and say, “No, none. Madam Pratt is actually impressed with my sense of balance.

She nods and asks, “How about the nausea? Better? Don’t try and put one over on me—I will be able to tell if you are eating right from the bloodwork.”

I smile and say, “Well, I haven’t really noticed it in a couple of days—so, yes, I would say it is better.”

She looks back at her computer and asks, “OK. How about your nipples? Shirt and bra off, young lady. Let me see!”

I comply and say, “Well, the tenderness is nearly gone and they have stopped itching as much—but they are, like, really sensitive…they want to poke out all of the time.”

She is giving me a close look as I take off my shirt. Once my bra is off, she comes over and carefully inspects my nipples, then palpates my breast area. She nods and says, “Everything looks perfectly fine. What you are describing is perfectly normal for your stage of puberty. Let me get some quick measurements. Take off your shorts, please.”

She gives me a raised eyebrow ‘look’ at my thongs and I say, “They weren’t MY idea! Trust me!”

She takes out a tape measure and starts taking all sorts of body measurements as she asks with a straight face, “And how do you feel wearing them?”

I shrug and say, “Well, at first, they drove me crazy—now I hardly notice them.”

She smiles and asks, “Yes, but how do they make you FEEL? Maybe a bit sexy?”

I blush. I want to say, ‘Hell no’, but I get that is not the answer she is expecting. I just have to get through four more weeks… I put on a timid look and nod my head slightly.

She smiles and says, “OK, our secret—for now. Allen doesn’t have to know everything and I’ll have a talk with your mother when she gets back from Europe in a few weeks.”

I blink and ask, “She’s in Europe? She won’t be here this weekend for Parents’ Day?”

Angi looks at me and shakes her head, “No, I meant to tell you. Allen let me know that he’ll be here alone this weekend. Your Mom had to go take care of some corporate emergency and won’t be back until the day before camp ends. I’m sorry, Hon.”

I shake my head, fighting back tears—something that seems to come really easily, anymore. I say, “No, I…I…I am sort of used to it…”

At that moment the analyzer dings and she finishes entering the measurements into her computer. She goes over to the machine and presses a couple of buttons. While she is waiting for…whatever it does…she says, “Your measurements are coming along nicely. I have the baseline from when you were in the clinic. You probably don’t even remember me taking them. Anyway, you are developing nicely. Which reminds me—you haven’t had any issues with the shots, right?”

I carefully wipe the tears from my eyes so that I don’t smear the mascara that the girls insist I wear. Since they make me do my own, I quickly learned to not smear it. I shake my head as I do and say, “No, none that I am aware of. How long do I have to keep taking them, though?”

She looks at the readout on the machine and says, “Well, that is what I want to talk to you about. Your blood values are perfect, which means we have some options. I will talk about those in a bit. Right now, I want to talk about how you are feeling, in general. How’s camp? Is it what you expected?”

I decide to be honest—there is no point in pretending on this one. I say, “Well, I honestly didn’t know WHAT to expect, so I can’t really answer that. As for how it is. It is certainly challenging. I’m doing things I never expected I would—and find I am surprisingly good at them.”

I think to myself, ‘Not that I will ever continue with ballet or cheerleading once I am out of here and back to being Vick.’

She nods and says, “Fair enough. How is Pink House?”

I shrug and say, “Pink”. I giggle at her sour look and continue, “It’s fine. The girls treat me great and just like one of them.” I think of the shower sessions and get a smile on my face; I will certainly miss those…

She smiles brightly and asks, “So, you have no regrets about coming? You’re happy and content with the way things are?”

I nod emphatically and say, “Yes, I couldn’t ask for it to be any better.”

I think to myself, ‘Of course, it would certainly be better if I was in sports camp like I was SUPPOSED to be.’

She nods, still smiling broadly, and asks, “And this is what you want, right?”

NOW it is time to fall back to the ‘story’. I am feeling really good, right now, but I still don’t trust what will happen if I come clean. I say, “Of course. It’s perfect!”

Angi comes over and gives me a hug and says, “Great! Well then, Paige, we have a couple of options, like I said. I can continue to give you the shots on a weekly basis—this particular experimental serum needs to be given weekly, over a three-month period. The experiment is going fine and you are certainly right where I would expect you after two shots, but I have another option I can offer you. Allen has authorized it, but he has left the choice up to you.”

She looks at me to make sure I am paying attention and continues, “I can give you a small one-time implant. It uses the same experimental serum—only even more potent, which is possible because of the very small constant dosage that is disseminated from the implant. The overall effects are accelerated to about twice the speed. The shots have an already slightly accelerated effect over normal development. The implant makes it possible to cut normal puberty roughly in half. You will be slightly ahead of the curve for a child your age when it is all said and done if you choose this option.”

My head snaps up at that. Faster puberty? NOW she is talking!

She smiles and continues, “I can only offer this to you because of your very special situation—being in Pink House. We know that you don’t have any reactions to the serum, those show up in the first two weeks of use, but being able to keep an eye on you is a bonus.”

I think to myself, ‘Finally! Something good is coming of this pink hell!’

I ask, “So, once I am on this, I am cured and can just be…normal. No restrictions?”

She smiles and says, “Cured? I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess that is an apt way to put it. Yes. And, yes, you can be as ‘normal’ as you have dreamt of. I will still keep a close eye on that shoulder and your concussion for a couple more weeks, but you have made amazing progress.”

I smile and ask, “So, what’s the catch? Why is it even a ‘choice’?”

She laughs—not giggles—laughs and says, “You ARE a smart one! I think you have Allen completely fooled. Anyway, well, once the implant is in…it can’t be removed. The serum will run its course with no way to stop it.”

I nod and decide the risk of some unknown reaction is worth it to me. Besides Allen is OK with it and I don’t think Angi would do anything dangerous to me. I can already taste the big biceps from an accelerated puberty—the girls will STILL want to shower with me after that!

I say, “OK, let’s do it. I trust you and Allen—I just wish Mom was here.”

She pats my hand and says, “I know, Hon. It will be fine, I promise. She has given her consent through Allen. Just think how proud she will be to see you developing nicely when she sees you in a month.”

I smile at her and think about muscles, a deep voice, a developing beard…

She has me take off my panties, lay back on the table, and put my legs into these stirrup things—they are spread really widely apart. She uses a little Q-tip-like applicator to put something cold on a spot on my left inner thigh—near my ‘junk’. She says, “I’m sorry, I know that was cold, but it will numb the area while I do this… You may still feel a pinch…”

I feel a little pressure and then a pinch—it doesn’t really hurt, but it is unpleasant. In a matter of seconds, she says, “OK. That’s in. Congratulations, Paige! I am so excited for you, Hon! Now, I have a surprise for you. Allen requested it to make your experience here even better. Just stay still for a couple more minutes…”

I feel her messing around with my ‘junk’ then I smell some sort of strong chemical odor. She pushes on my ‘junk’ and holds it a bit, then lets go. She inspects whatever she has just done and says, “There! Perfect! You can sit up now.”

I sit up and look between my legs. I gasp. I am completely FLAT! There is nothing there. I stutter, “Wha…how…what…?”

She giggles and says, “Awesome, right? Francie had one, too. It is a latex vagina. It is just glued on…but, better than tucking, right? It will stay on until you leave, then we can see about other options. It is completely safe to swim or shower with it, so don’t worry!”

My face is beat-red—of course, she mistakes it for excitement. My heart is barely back to a normal rhythm and pace after the unexpected shock, but I still feel a little woozy. I feel myself swaying a bit.

Angi lays me back down and says, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. That is just the implant. You’ll have to take it easy the rest of the day, until you get used to the stronger serum, but I know your various teammates have plans for you with Jemma. Lay here for a few minutes, then you are cleared to go over there.”

I lay there—my heart still pounding somewhat. ‘I just have to put up with this Hell for another four weeks…then I can be Vick; fully developed Vick,’ I keep telling myself over and over…

o~O~o

A little under an hour later, I am back in Jemma’s little haven. I sit there in her chair still thinking about my glued up ‘junk’. It doesn’t hurt at all; at least not physically.

Jemma is prattling on about Madame Pratt (haha…no pun intended) wanting me to have ‘ballet-length’ hair. She then shows me the extensions that she is going to permanently attach to my hair.

My eyes bug out. They are like two-feet long. I ask, “I don’t know…that is REALLY long!”

Jemma says, “Oh…you KNOW you want it, girl! Don’t try and kid a kidder. You will love the things you can do with it! Now sit back and let Jemma do her work.”

She starts working immediately, adding in the blond extensions with pink highlights that perfectly match my shorter hair. She continues on about how I will need to care for them—just like my real hair. She giggles and says, “Of course that is because they ARE real hair!”

An hour later, I feel my head getting heavier and heavier—and the hair tickling my bare neck. After about ninety minutes, she is finally done. She lets me look in the mirror and I am in shock. I thought I looked like a girl before—there is NO sign of a boy, right now. The hair is well below shoulder-length and feathered into my face.

Jemma shows me how to braid it and turn it into a high bun for ballet; which is a lot of work! She says, “I will just leave it braided for now, OK?”

I numbly nod.

Then she inspects my legs and says, “Nothing to worry about here… Raise your arms high, Sweetie.”

I have no idea what she is going on about, but do as she says.

She looks closely at my underarms and says, “Well, it looks like we need to do start working on these, right away!”

She gets this gun-looking thing and runs it up and down under both arms for a bit. It buzzes and sort of tickles. She says, “There, we will do that once a week while you’re here and I think you won’t have to worry about staying clean under there anymore after that. I think you may be one of the lucky girls on your arms and legs…of course, being blond helps there! And your little device down below comes with several added benefits—as you know!” She winks and giggles.

I smile—completely oblivious to what she is prattling on about, now.

After that, I have to suffer through an hour of makeup lessons…when we are done, I look at myself in the mirror and now not only see ONLY a girl—I see only a HOT girl. And I had done it all to myself.

Jemma says, “Every day after cheerleading for an hour’s practice from now on. You’ll be an expert before you leave or my name isn’t Jemma!”

I groan internally…really? Makeup lessons EVERY day?

She continues on without pause, “Which reminds me. Now, the swim team has formally adopted you; that means you get their signature feature. Of course, you DO have to have special parental consent for this—but your ‘Uncle’ has provided that, so don’t worry.”

My eyes go wide as she approaches me with a pink stud and some medieval torture device and gently but firmly pushes my head to the left. I want to protest, but she is quick. Before I really know what has happened, I have the stud in my right nostril—just like all of the girls on the swim team.

Jemma smiles and says, “That is so lovely. You are quite the beautiful young lady. Well, this one is a little more painful, but the cheerleaders are all so proud of them…”

I suddenly picture all of the cheerleaders with their belly-button jewels and blanch. I know where this is going, now, and say, “I don’t know…maybe this is plenty…I…I…I don’t really like needles and holes…”

Jemma says, “Nonsense, Paige. It is an honor that the cheerleaders have adopted you. It won’t hurt that bad. But, if you want to disappoint them…and Francie…that is up to you…”

I think back and remember that Francie has a pink jewel, too. I had noticed it when we were swimming at the lake. I ask, “Francie was a cheerleader?”

Jemma nods and winks at me, “She thinks they are hot…”

I tell myself this is totally idiotic, but I know that I can take it out when this Hell is over with and it will heal up—and if Francie really likes it... I say, “Well, in that case…”

Jemma giggles and says, “I knew it! Have you told her that you have the hots for her? Here, lay back here on this table…”

o~O~o

I am going to be on travel for the next week, starting tomorrow, and likely will not be able to post any chapters until I return. I promise there is more, though. It is already written and ready for posting (well, after I proof-read it!). I am sorry for the delay.

HUGS!

I approach the beach at the lake. I am in my skimpy pink bikini—my new matching belly jewel glittering in the sunlight. I feel foolish with it in. I feel even more foolish knowing that my nose is glittering along with it under my blinged-out, girly sunglasses. On top of that, I know that I am COMPLETELY flat, thanks to the glued-on ‘vagina’ that I fully know I sport—all thanks to Allen…

I know that I agreed to this whole farce to get out of the clinic. But, Allen didn’t need to give special permission for the extra piercings. And what is the deal with him REQUESTING the ‘vagina’? I am starting to question his judgement… I hope the implant wasn’t a mistake, seeing as how I can’t have it removed now. But, surely Angi is trustworthy, right? I mean, she just wants me to get well… This side-circus at camp is just, well…THAT… A side-circus…

I see Francie laying out in the sun on a lounger. I smile to myself and think she is really HOT—and not just from the sun. I know I could never have a chance with her…she is seventeen, but a girl…ummm, crap, GUY can dream, right?

She sees me and waves me over. As I approach her she smiles and says, “NICE JEWEL! Officially a cheerleader now? Congrats, Paige!”

I blush and say, “Yeah…I wasn’t sure about it… It didn’t hurt too bad, I guess… And I can still swim even with the new piercing because of some antibiotics that I guess are a part of my new implant—I don’t have to worry about infection…”

Francie lets off a little scream and asks, “You got an IMPLANT?!?! WOW! You are serious, then? That is so AWESOME! Come over here and I will rub in your sunscreen.”

I lay down on the lounger next to hers and she rubs in the sunscreen all over my body. As she does, she notices the fake vagina. She starts softly rubbing my inner thigh and I start feeling all funny inside. She says, “Paige, I know you are only fourteen—almost fifteen, right? You birthday is next month?”

I nod, breathing heavily from what she is doing.

She continues, “And I am seventeen, but barely, so we are, in reality only a couple of years apart. Well, I am a counselor and that complicates things…but…I think you’re totally hot…”

I swallow and say, “I…I…I think you are hot, too, Francie! I have thought so, since I first saw you… But you can have your pick of any guy…”

She giggles and says, “Silly, I am bi…and lean more towards lesbian. If I wasn’t a pink, I would be a yellow, leaning towards lavender… But, it seems you are in the same boat—I don’t know about yellow, but for sure lavender.”

My head is swimming—I don’t care about colors of houses right now. Francie thinks I am hot!

She leans over me and softly kisses me on the lips. While I am catching my breath, she says, “That is the great thing about being pink, we can be any other color—and the most girly-girl of them all! Since I haven’t been assigned a protégé yet, this year, I will talk to Angi… I will make sure that it is OK to be one with benefits… She is good about that…assuming your parents won’t care. Do you think they will?”

I am in some sort of seventh heaven times infinity. I sort of come back to reality and ask, “Mind? Mind what?”

She giggles and says, “Me being your girlfriend, silly! Do you think it would be a big deal to them? We can only really officially do it, if they are OK with it.”

I shake my head and say, “I have no idea what Allen will say—but, I think I can convince him if he gives me any trouble…”

She leans over and kisses me again…I feel my nipples get REALLY hard…

Several hours later, I dreamily float into my bedroom and find a package on my bed. There is a note from Angi that says, “These are the matching bras to your panties. Again, our secret—Allen doesn’t need to know. I hope they make you feel as sexy as your panties and they should fit better than your others…”

I take one out of the bag and recoil at the lacy contraption that is indeed a match to one of my thongs. I look at the tag and it is total Greek to me…’32-A; Gel Underwire Push-Up Bra that adds two full cup sizes’…

At that moment, Brenda walks in and sees me. She whistles and says, “Girl, you made SERIOUS progress today! AWESOME jewels…and, now matching push-ups! Wait, A-cup?” She lets out a scream and says, “GO GIRL!”

I smile like I know what she is going on about, but have no idea.

She says, “Here, let me help you get it adjusted. Put it on and let’s go get supper. I’m starving—not everyone had the day off like you!”

When she is done, it feels strangely…good. I look in the mirror after I put my shirt back on and am surprised at the fact that it looks like I actually have BOOBS…small, but definitely there.

Brenda giggles and says, “You’ve got to love the power of gel push-ups, right? Now, come on!”

I follow her, confused…

o~O~o

The next day, Francie meets me as I exit the locker room after swim training. She has a big smile on her face and says, “I talked to Angi and she is fine with you being my protégé—she was actually really excited about it. She also talked to your ‘uncle’ and he was, well, in her words, ecstatic that you found a girlfriend and were comfortable being a lesbian, or bi…”

I am more than a little confused by Allen’s response, but push it aside, since it clears the way for me to be Francie’s girlfriend.

Francie grins and says, “OK, I know you still have a busy day…and I also know what goes on in the showers after cheer practice—I was one, remember. Just so you know, I am OK with that. Keep having your fun there, you’ve earned it after a hard practice—just save a little for me. OK?”

I feel faint. She has just told me it is OK to mess around with the girls in the shower and then come to her for more… I grin and say, “Yeah…ummm…sure… I mean…TOTALLY!”

She laughs and says, “Now go get ready for our session with Madam Pratt—you are SO in for it, now!”

Four hours later, after a torturous ballet session and an even more torturous cheerleading practice, I am in the shower with the other cheerleaders. Of course, my new ‘vagina’ is a huge topic of discussion…and leads to me having multiple orgasms in a row… I don’t know enough to know that is not a normal thing for a guy; I just know that I REALLY like it.

A couple hours later, I am breathing really heavily in Francie’s bed. I had had another several orgasms, one after the other—just from her sucking on my nipples. She giggles and says, “Angi told me that your implant would work fast wonders, but this is really awesome! Now, how much have you learned in the showers?”

Another couple hours of learning how to please her later, and her continuing to make me melt in ecstasy, I lay there and ask her, “So you were really born a guy?”

She says, “Yes, just like you. Getting into Pink House really helped me become who I am today… Angi has been awesome…I was able to get my special ‘vagina’ last year. It is ‘permanent’ until I can get surgery and much more realistic and advanced than yours that can only stay for a few weeks at a time. You’ll be able to do the same later, Sweetie. After our surgery, then I can REALLY pleasure you!”

Everything we have been doing is completely oral and Francie was clear that it would stay that way until I am old enough for more. But, I am thrown for a loop with what she just said…and am completely confused. She is expecting me to become a girl, like her…I am fast falling in love with her…but at what price? For now, I continue my ‘role’ and say, “Oh! I can’t wait to be able to be complete with you!”

I don’t know why, but I am really horny…and willing to do almost anything to satisfy that need. And I really do find myself completely in love with Francie. I know what you are thinking…he is only fourteen, well—almost fifteen, what does he know about love? I guess the implant has really fueled my hormonal fire…and I AM on a fast track to finishing puberty…

o~O~o

The week goes by quickly. I am making HUGE strides in ballet and cheerleading. I am able to easily swim twenty laps. I am becoming more and more an expert in putting on my own makeup. None of which I really have any true interest in.

What is more important is that I am making more and more strides with pleasing Francie. The flip side of that is that she is pulling me more and more into playing the ‘girly-girl’—along with the other girls in Pink… I am now learning to walk in four-inch heels (for starters—soon to be five, then six before the end of camp). I find myself more easily conversing with the girls in ‘girl-talk’. I find myself, with their encouragement, using the makeup skills I am gaining with Jemma. I find myself talking about the boys in camp differently…
Sunday, of course, is Parents’ Day. It is finally here and I wipe off the makeup that I had just perfectly applied, since my tears had completely ruined it. I find myself much more emotional lately—although, I seem to be getting more control over it. Anyway, I think about Mom not being here and the water-works start. I get control of myself and reapply my makeup. It is not TOO heavy—at least by Pink standards and get dressed.

I put on a pink sundress with spaghetti straps that matches the color of my pink highlights perfectly. It is really short and shows off my tanned legs. It is also cut to show cleavage—something that my new bras seem to be able to help me with. They really are wonders—making absolutely nothing look like something. I still have no idea what an ‘A-cup’ is—or what two cups above that is, except that it looks like I really DO have boobs. Not that I want that—no, REALLY…I don’t… Even if Francie thinks it is hot…

I put on my four-inch glitzy-pink stiletto heels and spritz myself with the flowery perfume that Francie had given me and insists that I wear every day. I purse my lips and add another coat of gloss, check that my now signature braid is straight, grab my purse, and click-clack my way to the gathering area to await dear old ‘Uncle’ Allen’s arrival…

I see him come through the door twenty minutes later. I sit quietly to see his reaction. He scans the now half empty room and looks right over me. He scans again and starts to turn to leave.

I wave and say loudly, “Hi, Allen. I’m over here!”

He does a double-take and comes over to me. He has a dazed look on his face and says, “Vi…Paige? Wow! I obviously didn’t even recognize you. They certainly can do wonders around here, huh, sport? How are you liking it?”

I take him outside where we can’t be overheard and say, “Well, I guess it beats being stuck in the clinic all summer, although, I don’t think that would have happened—Angi has released me from all restrictions. I’m in Hell, though. LOOK at me!”

He shakes his head and says, “Well, Angi said that the supervised therapy activities you have been doing have really helped—you wouldn’t have had the same thing at the clinic, so who knows? Anyway, you’re back to full shape now and can do whatever you want after the summer is over…”

I nod and say, “I can’t wait to get out of here, I think they are actually turning me INTO a girl!”

He blanches a little and asks, “What do you mean?”

I say, “Well, they have me dressing, walking, giggling and talking like one—I have to sit to pee with this thing you had Angi put on me; what was that all about anyway? They have me perfecting my makeup skills and ability to walk in heals… I don’t know, I even…FEEL like a girl now…”

He slowly nods his with a strange look of relief on his face. He says, “Angi offered up the prosthetic device and it seemed like a good thing to keep your cover—you ARE still going to keep it up, right? We could BOTH get into a lot of trouble if it comes out…”

I sigh and say, “Yeah, it’s only another three weeks—I think I can manage. My story is set here and I don’t get questions, anymore—except from Angi always asking how I am doing and if I am still OK with the thing. Of course, I tell her I am.”

He nods grimly and says, “OK, sport. Hang in there! I have to head back—Albert’s camp is in the opposite direction from home and I have to be there this afternoon for his Parents’ Day. I’ll see you in a few weeks, OK?”

I nod my head and he quickly leaves—like he is afraid something will happen at any moment. I watch him get nervously into his car and wonder what the heck is going on. Albert must have done something at math camp, I guess…

I run into Francie about an hour later. She asks, “Where is your ‘Uncle’?”

I shrug my shoulders and say, “He had to leave to go to the little monster’s PD at math camp. He was acting all weird, though. I don’t know—maybe the little monster is in trouble at camp, or something…”

She giggles and says, “Well, that is too bad. I would have liked to have met him. I guess I can at the end of camp, huh. Anyway, it’s time to graduate you into those five-inch heels—come on, Hon!”

I groan as I follow her back to her room…

By the end of the week, I am swimming faster and farther than ever before. I am even winning a bunch of the races at practice in several swim styles—but that is against girls, so I know it is not a fair race. While I still can’t see the muscles that I am expecting any moment, I know that my puberty is kicking in because of the implant, so I must be getting stronger than the girls—the problem is, I still don’t FEEL stronger. And with having to be girlied-up all of the time, I can’t really SEE that I am developing either. If anything, I feel and look even girlier than ever.

Jemma is satisfied with my makeup skills and is moving on to showing me how to do different things with my hair. I can easily put it into a bun now, since Madame Pratt always insists on it being in a perfect one for practice. Speaking of, I am now officially at a ‘level 3’ and she is confident that I can make it to a ‘level 5’ before I leave, since I am practicing nearly four hours a day now. I am getting really flexible and can do things I would never have dreamed of doing.

As for cheerleading, I can do really high kicks and jumps and I know all of the routines in my sleep—for all intents and purposes, I am just one of the girls on the team. This week, I ‘get’ to start doing some of the more acrobatic things—even be in the pyramid. Angi has fully cleared me…

Francie and I are getting along great. We spend a lot of our free time at the lake with the other girls and my tan is getting really dark, now. My clothes are starting to fit differently now, too—like they are fitting BETTER. So, I must be developing, right? Angi said the implant would take about a week to really kick in, then things would take off from there—I really hope I do a lot of catching up over the next weeks before school starts back up…

o~O~o

I sit in Angi’s office—it is my last Monday at camp and my last session with her. I can’t believe it, but I am actually going to miss it, I think. Then I look down at my short skirt and five-inch heels and decide that being good ole Vick is going to feel great.

Angi has me undress, as usual, and takes my measurements. She smiles and says, “Well, Hon, you’re progressing as expected. Your body should be saturated with hormones now, so you should see an acceleration in development. You are now a full A-cup—I expect you will likely develop at least a C—maybe more. Your hips…”

I let out a strange sound—something between a gasp and gurgle. I feel like I am going to suffocate—I can’t breathe. I start hyperventilating.

Angi quickly comes over and works to calm me. After several minutes of breathing into a paper sack, I am breathing semi-normally again. She asks me, “Paige, Hon. What was THAT all about?”

I can’t take it anymore. I ask, “You mean I am really turning into a girl—a REAL girl?”

Angi shakes her head and says, “No, that isn’t possible—at least not yet. But, as we discussed, the serum is working to make you as much a girl as is possible. You’re going through puberty—just like any other girl; only at an accelerated pace, since you’re behind the curve at your age…”

I fight hard to keep my composure and can barely keep myself from breaking down into sobs again. I tell her the whole story about faking the test to get in so that I wouldn’t have to stay in the clinic all summer.

She gives me a really concerned look and asks, “Who told you anything about having to stay at the clinic all summer…?”

I whisper, “Allen.”

“And how did you get the ‘answers’ to the ‘test’,” she asks with a shocked look.

I whisper again, “Allen.”

She blanches and asks, “And do you even know what that ‘test’ was about?”

I sigh and say, “He just said it was an entrance exam into your camp—and that was my only alternative to having to stay in clinic all summer…” I really do start to cry, now.

She pulls me in and hugs me tightly. She says, “Shh…shh…shhh. It will be alright, Hon. We need to get your Mom on the phone right away, though. Do you know how to get in touch with her? I know she is in Europe.”

I nod and say with a sniffle, “I can send a 911-email—it…it…it’s our secret for emergencies.”

Forty minutes later, Mom is on a speakerphone with Angi and me. She is NOT happy, “I’ll KILL him. Angi, what can we do? Obviously, I’m going to have to get a lawyer to deal with Allen. But what about Vick? You said the implant is permanent?”

Angi sighs and says, “Well, yes; I can’t remove it. The way it all works is in a sense pretty simple. Everyone produces a certain enzyme called aromatase, even males. Aromatase does many things within the estrogen cycle, including converting testosterone into estrogen. The serum ramps up the body’s aromatase production and ensures that ALL testosterone in the body is converted to estrogen. Normally, the male body is programmed to ‘expect’ certain levels of testosterone after puberty—if it is low, it produces more—in this case, THAT is in turn converted causing more to be produced to make up for the lack…and so on. The implant simply forces the body to permanently create enhanced aromatase production centers. After a while, the body’s ‘expectations’ actually shift to maintaining healthy levels of estrogen by regulating testosterone production and converting it…”

I hear Mom’s heavy breathing on the phone… I am able to follow the conversation, I think. In other words, I am screwed.

Mom asks, “So, can this cycle be turned off? How do we get Vick back?”

Angi sighs again, “It is really tricky—and we can’t really get Vick completely back at this stage. Giving testosterone will only increase estrogen. There are aromatase inhibitors, but Pai…Vick’s body is now programmed to just increase aromatase to maintain the proper levels which mean giving higher and higher doses—it would be unhealthy to try and stop that cycle; likely impossible, anyway. In addition, for reasons I don’t fully understand yet, the effects of the implant are to actually increase the cells’ sensitivity to estrogen and decrease any residual sensitivity to testosterone—that is why FEMALE puberty is accelerated with the implant. The only real option is to block testosterone production…leaving Vick as he is now. An effeminate boy that will never complete puberty…”

Mom and I both gasp at the same time. I quietly cry.

Angi says, “And short of surgical removal of the testicles, Vick will have to stay on the blockers the rest of his life. The only other viable option…is to let Paige’s female puberty continue on…”

Mom growls, “Angi, how could this happen? How could you let it get so far?”

Angi cringes and says, “Obviously, Allen is very good. He was able to push the right buttons with Vick/Paige. He was completely able to keep me on the wrong track with his half-truths and seeming confirmations from Paige. Plus, for all my part in this, he also had your authorization to do it all. But why? What’s in it for him?”

I whisper, “Albert…”

Mom gasps and Angi gives me a funny look. Mom explains, “Vick is the heir to his father’s company. The current board is very traditional and very male-centric—true male chauvinists. That’s something that I am working REALLY hard on. Allen must think that with Vick out of the way, and after we marry, that it will put Albert in the perfect position…”

Angi shakes her head and says, “Well, it’s all very criminal what he has done, but it will be tricky to prove in court I’m afraid—at least enough so to actually hold him fully accountable…”

Mom says, “Let me talk with lawyer friends of mine—please don’t let on to him that we know anything about his scheme until I do, though. That goes for both of you, OK, Vick? Which means, for now, I’m going to have to keep calling you Paige. But what do YOU want to do about your future after I do? It won’t take me long to confer with them.”

My head is spinning… It is a total no-win situation… A true real-life ‘Kobayashi Maru’. Live out life as a girl…or as some sexless freak… I don’t want to be a girl; not that I have anything against girls, quite the contrary; the last weeks have shown it is not a BAD thing at all…I was just happy being a boy. I CERTAINLY don’t want to be a sexless freak, though…

I finally say, “I…I…I guess my only REAL option is to continue the course as Paige…”

Angi says, “Not so fast! I want to have some serious talks with you—honest ones this time. I want to make sure that, this time, you FULLY understand the consequences, OK? A week, or two, is not going to make a huge difference in terms of development at this point. So we will not do anything for the moment, and let things progress—it will help you fully decide. But before I let you commit to being Paige, we need to have some serious talks—and that includes you, too, Dawn. OK?”

Without thinking, I carefully wipe a tear to keep from smearing my mascara and nod—not that it matters at this point, since it has completely run down my face. Mom says, “I will be there tomorrow. I already booked my flight while we were talking and I am packing, as we speak… Allen can’t know that I am coming, though…he is SO going to pay for this.”

o~O~o

I finish out the rest of the day as if nothing had changed after I clean up my makeup. Oh, the girls know something is bothering me, but finally give up asking after I continuously just brush it off. I just need some time to process all of this.

Madame Pratt scolds me twice—and THAT gets my mind back on task. Trust me. You DON’T want that woman scolding you in that low, cold as sharpened steel voice that she uses. I immerse myself in ballet and cheerleading—fully concentrating only on the moves and tasks at hand. Drowning out every other thought.

That night, though, I have dreams. Most boys would call them nightmares—dreams of me turning into a girl. Me, though—I call them just…confusing…

The next morning, I get ready to go back to Angi’s office to wait for Mom to arrive. I do so like any other morning since coming—it is almost second-nature at this point. I am in a short sundress and perfectly made up as is usual for me now—the Pinks in my life would have it no other way. I am in four-inch stilettos and am walking down the path completely sure-footed in them—I don’t even notice the click-clack of the heels on the concrete anymore...it is just ‘normal’ now after all of the practice in them. My hair is pulled back into a tight braid—ready to be put into a bun for ballet later…

Angi gives me a tight girly hug as I come in and asks, “How did you sleep, Hon? You look great, by the way—I know this is hard for you.”

I sigh, sweep my dress and sit down, crossing my legs like it has been drilled into me over the past five weeks. I say, “I slept OK, I guess. I had…confusing dreams. Dreams about me turning into a girl…”

Angi nods and asks, “And how did they make you feel? I know you already said confused—anything else?”

I slowly nod and say, “Mad, I think is a good word. I never asked for this Angi—not really… How could it happen? How could Allen DO this?”

She shakes her head and says, “Let’s wait on your Mom and we’ll talk more about that. Tell me about being mad…you realize that yesterday you said you wanted to proceed with being Paige? Being mad about that is not a good start on the rest of your life.”

I shake my head and say, “I don’t have any option, now do I Angi? I mean, in reality? If I don’t go through with the full transition, I will be this…this…freak…for the rest of my life. A perpetual boy that looks like he should be a girl… I think I’m not so mad about becoming a girl; not really. I mean, ultimately it’s no better or worse than being a boy… I am mad at the situation…at being deceived…violated…”

Angi nods and says, “Well, I will continue to work on a way to reverse the effects of the serum if you want to wait—but I can’t promise that I will be successful. It has taken YEARS and a lot of money to get the serum to work as well as it does. And, like I said, I don’t fully understand some of the effects, yet.”

At that moment, Francie brings Mom into the office.

Mom takes a look at me and gasps. She asks, “Vick…Paige…Vick?”

I get up and go give her a girly hug, like I am now so used to doing to other girls. I feel…tall in my heels compared to what I am used to with her. I take a tissue and carefully wipe the tears from my eyes. I say, “Hi Mom. I am SO glad to see you.” I fight more tears REALLY hard.

Angi comes over and limply shakes Mom hand. She says, “I’m glad you made it, Dawn. We have a lot to discuss…”

She squeezes me in a tighter hug and says, “Yes, we do. I need some real explanations—I still don’t understand how all of this could have happened… And I can’t believe how you look—if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I would never have believed you could look like such a beautiful girl.”

We sit and Angi pours Mom a cup of coffee. She takes a deep breath and says, “Well, as you know, it actually started when Vick was brought into the clinic after his accident. Of course, my clinic specializes in transgender issues, but we are fully accredited for basic medical treatments—like any other medical clinic in the state. Vick was brought in because it was an emergency and we are the closest clinic of any kind to the school. It is not uncommon for students to be brought to us…”

Mom nods. She knows that part.

Angi takes a sip of coffee and continues, “Allen came in right behind Vick and seemed a little surprised to find out about our true mission… You were held up in traffic and he started telling me that Vick had earlier confided in him that he was transgendered—but was afraid to tell you. He told me that he was afraid that Vick would wind up hurting himself—that the reason that he took so many chances in rough sports was because he WANTED to get hurt.”

Mom gasps and sort of growls. My head is spinning…

Angi continues, “I told him that I had a test that we could administer to get a better gauge of Vick’s status after we got him through the worst of the concussion. I told him it was a modified version of a common transgender test that is fully validated and very accurate in its assessment. He was very adamant that I not say anything to you, since Vick had confided in him alone. That isn’t uncommon and so I didn’t really think anything of it.”

She pauses and takes another sip, “Of course, my plan was to talk with you after the I got the results of the test, but you weren’t available—and Allen had a full medical power of attorney. He also was very convincing that he was keeping you informed and that you were fine with all of this. I had no reason to doubt to him.”

Mom looks at her, pale-faced, and asks, “So, how did Vick…Paige—oh, HELL, I don’t even know what to call my own child, anymore!”

I squeeze Mom’s hand and say, “Just stick with Paige, for now. I am totally used it to it after the last few weeks.”

Mom grimly nods but gives me a weak smile and looks back at Angi, “So, how did PAIGE pass this supposedly fool-proof test of yours?”

Angi says, “Now, that I don’t know. There is not really a pass/fail, in that sense. It gives a score based on the answers provided and shows where the individual is on the transgender spectrum. What the girls at camp commonly call a ‘perfect score’ actually is 750 points out of 750 possible. It rarely ever happens. That score is certainly not perfect, though. It signals grave danger on the part of the participant if immediate action isn’t taken—that score is only possible if the participant is so distraught over their need to transition that they are suicidal.”

I shake my head emphatically, ‘no’. I say, “I certainly have not wished to transition—ever. I have also never been suicidal or distraught over not being able to do so. Allen gave me the answers to your test and quizzed me on them until I had them down cold. Of course, I thought they were really weird questions for an entrance exam, but he had me so paranoid about having to stay at the clinic if I didn’t pass the test into your ‘creative’ camp that I wasn’t thinking straight at all—plus, I was still affected by my concussion at the time, I think.”

Angi nods, “You certainly were. And I was so concerned over your score—and the accounts that Allen gave me about you that I was likely not thinking the best either. I was WORRIED about you. The only other time I have seen that score—or one even close for that matter—was with Francie. We barely were able to save her before it was too late…”

Mom says, “But that still doesn’t explain how Allen got the answers…”

Angi says, “I suppose he could have somehow gotten them off of the server. It isn’t like they are hugely safe-guarded behind the firewall—and he was at the clinic enough to get to them if he is fairly computer savvy.”

Mom nods and says, “He’s more than ‘fairly’ computer-savvy… So, let me get this straight. Because of a freak accident, Vick is brought in to a transgender clinic with a concussion that has muddled his mind. Allen figures this out and hatches a scheme to get him accepted as a transgendered patient, steals the answers to a specialized psychological profile questionnaire, convinces Vick to use them to get accepted and dupes all of us?”

Angi says, “That is close—he also found out about the experimental treatment program and insisted on using that because of the severity of the score. He promised to help continue to fund the experiment through the family corporation and that you were both fully on board with that course. That about sums it up.”

Mom looks at me and asks, “Do you still have the answer sheet that Allen gave you?”

I shake my head and say, “No, he took it to ‘quiz’ me and I never got it back after the test.”

Mom says, “He is too good to have left any evidence behind in your system—it isn’t like he would have had to do any major hacking from what you’re saying anyway… We could take this to court, but it would be our word against his. I will take it up with Sheila, my head lawyer, but I think we’ll need more to effectively go after him. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if neither of you let on to him that we know about his scheme. V….PAIGE, I know that will be hard. Trust me – it will be really hard on me, too.”

I feel a steely resolve settle over me and say, “No, Mom—it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Angi says, “Of course I won’t let on. I want to get the bastard as much as you do—he has used me and made us all into utter fools! But, more importantly, he has hurt Paige and that isn’t acceptable!”

Mom nods, “So…what do we do about ‘Paige’?”

We finish up our lunch and settle back into Angi’s office. We talk for hours and Angi mentally and psychologically pokes and prods me.

She looks at me seriously and says, “Paige, we have gone through the three main options. But, let’s do it one more time, OK?”

I sigh and she continues, “First, we stop any sort of testosterone production or uptake. This completely halts your development as you are RIGHT now. Pros? We may come up with a solution that will ultimately allow you to become the man you were born to be. Cons? Well, you will be as you are right for who knows how long and there are no guarantees we will EVER be able to reverse the effects of the implant.”

She pauses and I am vehemently shaking my head no. She sighs and continues, “Second, we attempt to inhibit the aromatase in your system and allow your testosterone to run its natural course. Pros? IF we could, it would allow for you to go through puberty and finish out as a male—MOST of the effects you have experienced so far would be reversed and the rest could be dealt with in other manners. Cons? I don’t see how it can be safely done. The implant and its intended effects are too well designed to counter any inhibitors we throw at you. It is basically a completely futile effort—but I am will to try TO A POINT.”

I slow down my head shaking and start to really think about this one…

Angi notices and slows down too. She waits a bit and then continues, “Or, three, we do nothing. In that case the implant will do what IT is designed to do and you will continue down the path to the beautiful young woman that you have started to become. While I would morn you NOT going down this road, because you ARE becoming a beautiful young woman—both inside and out, I have to MOST discourage this path. Why? Pros? At the moment, it is the safest and most assured outcome—to become a WOMAN. Cons? Well, you would become a WOMAN—not something you want or ever intended. You would be labeled a ‘transgender’, which IS becoming more acceptable—but make no mistake, there are still stigmas ON TOP of being a woman. I mean look at the issues your mother’s having with your father’s board…”

I sit and think hard for quite some time. Mom and Angi are completely silent and patiently wait. I then become more resolute than ever in my commitment to continue the transition; it is the only thing that makes any sort of sense to me given my options.

I let them know, “I’m going for door number three…”

Both Mom and Angi continue to do their best to talk me out of it for a while—but I think more to test my resolve than anything.

Finally, I say, “Look, I appreciate that you’re worried about me. I’m worried about me, too; but more from the perspective that I don’t know THAT much about being a girl. The past few weeks have taught me a lot—even though I honestly was just doing what I had to do to ‘pass’ and get by for the six weeks of camp and not to experience being a girl.”

I pause and reflect a minute, “I did find out that being a girl isn’t a bad thing—it’s just a different thing. Most girls have no choice in being a girl—and, the way I see it, neither do I. Yes, being transgendered AND a woman will put me at a societal disadvantage. Is it fair? No… No more fair than it is for ANY transgendered woman that has no choice in who she is--so, let’s just make this work the best we can. OK?”

Mom comes over and gives me a big hug and wipes tears from her eyes. She says, “OK, Hon. If you’re sure. I know this is hard on you, but I am proud of you. You’re showing a maturity that I wouldn’t have expected, to be honest. I’m not sure how *I* would handle this; let alone at your age. We WILL make this work the best it possibly can, right Angi?”

Angi looks over at Mom and nods, “Of course. I will have to say that I agree with your mother. I still stand by my word that this has a great potential for disaster for you, but you’re as best informed as I can make you and you’re approaching it from the proper attitude—so I won’t stand in the way.”

She looks at Mom and asks, “I still don’t get it, though. What do you think his end-game was, well IS, I guess? I mean, how is he going to explain all of this? He HAS to know that it would come out eventually.”

Mom says, “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that same thing.”

I say, “Well, he made me promise not to tell anyone that he helped me cheat my way into camp. It was supposed to be some sort of ‘guy-bonding’ thing—but, he said that we would BOTH get into trouble if it came out.”

Angi says, “But that still doesn’t explain how he was going to explain you actually transitioning when you found out. You’re taking this MUCH better than you should be…”

Mom says, “I’m sure he had some sort of blackmail ready to shut hi…err, her up. It should be very interesting to see how it all unfolds…”

Angi says, “Well, we may have to wait another two weeks to find out, if Paige is willing.”

Mom and I both give her a curious stare.

She looks at me and continues, “Well, you have qualified for all three of the teams you are on: ballet, swimming, and cheerleading. As such you’re invited to participate in the post-camp competitions with other camps. If you accept, then you will be with staying on another two weeks, with your team mates—not necessarily your house—to compete.”

I’m excited, in spite of myself and give a little scream—it is the competitive side of me. Mom giggles.

Angi says, “It will give you a little extra time to REALLY put yourself in the mindset of a girl and to change your mind before you leave—if you ultimately decide to do so and I DO encourage you to keep considering it. Dawn, can you ‘extend your stay’ in Europe for another two weeks? You’re welcome to stay at my house—I have plenty of room.”

Mom thinks for a couple of seconds and says, “Yes, I can make that work—if you don’t mind Sheila my lawyer stopping by for some ‘chats’.”

Angi shakes her head and says, “Not all—I would to chat with her myself. Good! It’s settled then! So, Paige, I think I know, but which team do you want to room with? Just so you know—even though Francie isn’t a camper anymore, she IS part of the ballet team as a counselor, former participant, and now student ballet teacher…”

I blush and say, “Well, yes, I think ballet is where I prefer to be.”

Mom gives me a blank look and asks, “Is there something I’m missing…?”

I giggle and blush some more as Angi explains about me being Francie’s protégé for the summer. I then sort of stutter out that she is also my girlfriend—even though she is a couple of years older than me.

Angi adds in that she is transgendered and has fully transitioned—even though she is still pre-op; she has an experimental advanced prosthesis that is semi-permanent—until she is eighteen and can have her surgery.

Mom looks stunned. She asks me dumfounded, “You have a girlfriend?”

I timidly nod and ask, “Is that OK?”

Mom hugs me and asks, “When can I meet her?”

Angi says, “Actually, you already have. She brought you in here this morning.”

Mom looks at me and giggles. She says, “Wow—she’s HOT! At the moment, I don’t have a problem with it, but we WILL talk more about it later, OK?”

I know better than to push HER—Allen had not given me any flack. Somehow, I doubt that is the thing to bring up, right now, though…

Mom looks at Angi and says, “Is it OK if I take my…daughter…into town for a quick meal and maybe a bit of shopping? We have some catching up to do.”

Angi nods and says, “Under the circumstances, actually, I INSIST! Please have her back by ten p.m., though—that is house curfew.”

Mom nods and says, “She’ll be back by nine. I have to take care of some things and find a place to stay for tonight.”

Angi says, “I’m headed back to my house around eleven. If that isn’t too late, the offer stands—effective tonight.” She smiles a genuinely sincere smile.

Mom nods and says, “I really do appreciate the offer and am more than happy to take you up on it if you’re sure it isn’t an imposition.”

They chat a few more minutes, then Angi says, “Oh, before I forget…” She grabs her purse and digs in it. She hands Mom around $500.00. Mom gives her a curious look as Angi says, “This is the rest of the money that Allen gave me to ‘take care of Paige’s needs’. It was originally $2000.00. She now has the basics any girl needs…” She giggles, “…although, her wardrobe MAY be a bit influenced by her Pink housemates. I hope you’re not TOO mad at me for indulging those…”

Mom gives me a curious look and I shrug. I say, “I assume she means the thong panties…”

Angi nods.

Mom laughs and asks, “Is there any other kind?”

We all laugh and Mom says, “OK, Paige. Come on…we have some talking to do…and what is that HEAVENLY perfume you’re wearing?”

o~O~o

“I think you can walk better in those heels than *I* can,” Mom giggles. We are walking down the main drag of the mall closest to camp—about 45 minutes away. We are both clicking our heels on the marble floors…almost in unison.

I roll my eyes and say, “You have NO idea what it means to be in PINK… I’m just getting used to 5” heels…they still KILL my toes, though.” I look at her as she giggles and ask, “Do I look ridiculous?”

Mom suddenly stops dead in her tracks and pulls me to her with a serious look. She looks me straight in the eye—and we are dead even with her in two-inch heels and me in four. She actually almost glares at me, she is so intent.

She says, “Hon, you’re more beautiful than I would EVER have imagined ANY daughter of mine being. Don’t for a MINUTE think you look ridiculous! I’m just SO sorry that I have so utterly FAILED you!”

I fight the tears and carefully wipe one away. Mom giggles and says, “And you have THAT down PERFECTLY!”

I smile lop-sidedly, shrug, and say, “Pink… Mom—I…don’t blame YOU in any way. Yes, I wish you were around more often; but only because I MISS you. And…now it seems that I will need your advice even MORE than before.”

I giggle a little…unsure of myself.

Mom smiles at me and says, “And I WILL be around more… I have been working on some solutions. Your Dad was a business wiz… BUT, that doesn’t mean that things at the office couldn’t be structured a bit differently. Now…tell me about this Francie of yours… I take it that she is into girls, then…?”

We walk into the main restaurant in the mall and are quickly seated as I gush about Francie.

After we get our food, Mom asks, “So…assuming you DO stay as Paige…you DON’T have to stay in this ‘Pink’ mode, you know?”

I slowly nod. I think about it a bit and say, “I know what you’re saying, Mom…that I could be a tom-boy. Do some of the things that I did before…”

She nods.

I sigh and say, “No…I don’t think so. You know me—I have Dad’s genes there. IF I am going to do this—I am going to do it ALL the way… I’m getting more and more used to the ‘Pink’ way… The question is, I guess, can you handle a girly-girl daughter?” I giggle.

She laughs and says, “Hon—you haven’t SEEN girly-girl! When we get home, I will show you pictures of me in high-school—from before meeting your Dad. Paige…I don’t know how to say this and it not come out wrong… But, I’m going to say it anyway and hope you take it the right way.”

She pauses, takes a shaky breath and continues, “I will ABSOLUTELY miss my son, Vick. I love him DEARLY… But, I think you will find out that our relationship will be different as mother-daughter… I will be able to talk to you at a COMPLETELY different level. I think it will be good for BOTH of us as we deal with the ‘Allen’ situation…”

I look at her and take that in. I nod after a bit and say, “Yeah…I can see that…Momma…”

She takes my hand and silently smiles at me. Our food arrives and we change the subject to…underwear. “So, I hear you’re a 30-A—going on a B,” she asks. She smiles at the look on my face and says, “I saw a VS here in the mall…”

I shrug, “I guess…I WAS a 32-A…Angi thinks I will ultimately be a 28-C; or so…maybe a D, based on my current activities…and YOU… I still don’t get all of this…”

o~O~o

I stretch as the alarm goes silent. I get up and get ready for swim practice. It is the first morning that I do so with the thought that I am actually going to practice and compete against actual PEERS… At that moment it starts to sink in… This whole time, I actually HAVE been competing them…I just didn’t know it.

I sit down and weep a few minutes. After a bit, I shake my head and compose myself before I wake the other girls… After all, at this point, for better or worse, it is MY choice to go down this road… It may be the ‘lesser of all evils choice’…but is still my choice and I AM going to make the best of it. THAT I DID learn from my Dad—and, now, my Mom, as well. The talk last night was…illuminating…

I smile as I think of what we talked about concerning Allen…and even hum a bit of ‘I feel like a dangerous woman’ as I get into my swimsuit…

I am sitting with Francie at lunch and she grins at me. I ask, “What?”

She shakes her head and says, “I don’t know. You’re different today… Like…you’re at peace, or something. I don’t know what it is…but…WHATEVER it is—I LIKE what it has done to you!”

I smile and shake my head. I say, “I’ll tell you about it, Francie. Later. Right now, I have to concentrate on kicking some ‘other’ camp ass! Speaking of…Is Madame Pratt serious about that lift with Michael? I mean, I know HE can handle it…but…am *I* really ready?”

Francie grabs my hand and says, “Paige, Love, you’re SO ready! Just trust yourself, OK? If you want to kick ‘other’ camp ass, then DO IT! GO WITH THE FLOW! You’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish!”

o~O~o

I watch the buses leave. I laugh to myself as I see all of the boys with their heads down playing on their phones. The girls aren’t any better, though…texting away with who knows what girlfriends…

All that is left in camp are those that qualified for ‘after-camp’ competitions. I look around and smile. There are actually still a LOT of us—about a quarter of the camp.

Those that are on my teams include: Eleven for swimming—six girls (including me) and five boys; five for ballet—four girls (including Francie and me) and one boy (Michael); and the full cheer squad of ten girls—no boys…

There are, of course, more…but in disciplines that I am not involved in… At least Georgette, Brenda and Julia are still here—and, of course Francie!

I look at Francie, who is holding my hand, and say, “I don’t know whether to be excited—or run to the woods to puke from being so nervous! It is all riding on the few of us left to defend our honor!”

She laughs and says, “Well…whatever happens, the fact that your Mom is allowing you to sleep in my room in our cabin is a WIN!”

I smile at her and feel a lump in my throat… I say, “Yeah…I’m still shocked at that one… Let’s enjoy it while we can—before my REAL mom shows up and changes her mind!” I giggle.

o~O~o

I clean up after cheerleading practice – and, yes, the showers are still as invigorating as before—and go back to my room to study my lines. One of the consequences of the camp being shrunken down to post-camp participant size is that those that ARE left have to take up some of the slack of those that are now gone. As such, I now have a very small part in the play the drama team is putting on; as do all the non-drama team participants left.

It takes me all of ten minutes to memorize the ten lines that I have. Brenda, who is on the drama team and has a main part, gives me a thumbs up and I put down the script to grab my towel and go over to the lake. Francie is waiting there for me. I insisted she leave me alone while I studied my lines…

When we get to the lake, Francie is laying on a lounger and I see Georgette out in the water. I also see Julia coming our way. Her art project—a REALLY cool oil painting—was accepted for the post-camp art show. She will be doing ‘set-work’ for the play, too… She waves and we all converge on Francie’s lounger, Georgette too—dripping wet and slinging water from her long hair.

Julia gives her a playful shove and Francie screams a little, since she is really hot from the sun and the water comparatively cold. I see Terri come up behind Georgette, also dripping wet. She is a Lavender and ALMOST made it into Pink; or so I’m told. She looks at us a little shyly and Georgette pulls her into a loose one-armed hug and gives her a kiss.

We all, of course, go, “Ooooooooooooooooo….!”

Terri turns bright red and Georgette says, “That’s right and don’t you girls forget it—she’s MINE!”

Francie smiles and says, “Congrats girls! As you know, things are a bit looser in after-camp. I already have permission to take my Pinks into town and to the mall… If you give me your mother’s number, Terri, I’ll see if she is OK with you joining us? Assuming you want to…?”

Terri lets out a little scream and says, “Really? Shopping? Of course I’m in!”

Francie shakes her head and says, “You really SHOULD have been a Pink!” She takes the number and quickly gets confirmation that it is OK—as a counselor, Francie is allowed HER phone…

o~O~o

An hour and a half later, we are all at the same mall I had spent time with my mother at the day before. This time is completely different, though. I am with a horde of giggling girls—shopping-crazed girls… I soon find out, though, that ‘shopping’ means something COMPLETELY different to girls than to boys.

For us boys…well you know what I mean…it is about looking around, sure—but, ultimately, it is about GETTING something. You know that super-cool thing…

Two hours after getting here, I have found out that for girls, it is about the experience of just looking…and, well trying things on. It is kind of like when they…we…look at the fashion magazines back at camp (no internet for campers, remember?)—it is all about, ‘what do you like?’ or ‘what do you think?’.

I think I have tried on thirty different ‘outfits’—as has every other girl here. By now, I am actually even able to give a coherent ‘opinion’ on how it looks—especially after some of that ‘training’ I had looking at all of those fashion magazines.

After all of that—no one has bought even a single thing. And the stores aren’t even MAD about that! We do, however make one more round and some of the girls DO buy a thing or two after thinking about it.

Francie even buys me a pair of earrings. I nervously change them out, never having done so yet; my holes are barely healed up. The large hoops feel funny as they dangle from the front holes in my ears. Of course, all of the girls ‘LOVE’ them!

I give Francie a kiss to thank her—not because I necessarily LOVE the look, but she won’t ever know that. I’m sure I will get used to all of this over time—but I AM glad when it comes time to head back to camp for supper… My first TRUE outing as a girl was also TRULY draining!

After supper, all I really want to do is go back to my room and relax a bit—recharge my mental batteries. What I really crave is being able to talk to Francie about all of this. I really wish I could get all of this out…

I look in the mirror at the hoops in my ears—then focus on my face as a whole. All I see is a really CUTE girl—the hoops look really good on that girl with her long French Braid showing them off… Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by all of this. I fight back tears…HARD.

At that moment, there is a knock on the door. Francie wouldn’t knock…and she is back at the lake with the other girls anyways… I open the door and fall into my Mom’s arms, shamelessly crying.

After several minutes of her just quietly hugging me and stroking my hair, I clean up my makeup and she silently takes me to Angi’s office.

Angi notices my red eyes first thing and shoots Mom a questioning look. Mom says, “I think it’s finally sinking in…”

Angi comes over and takes my hands into hers and Mom hugs me from behind. We stay like that for several minutes…completely silent. I just soak in the supportive energy from them and realize that I would NEVER have been able to as Vick. First, I wouldn’t have allowed them to hold me this way—and, second, they would have never likely offered; not like this, anyway.

Finally, I say, “Thanks, Mom…ma. Thanks, Angi. I’m OK—for now. It was just so…overwhelming…at the mall. It’s SO different. Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t dislike it. I actually kind of enjoyed it. It’s just that the bonds girls have are at such a deeper EMOTIONAL level than boys could ever dream of…”

Angi giggles and says, “And you’re a true introvert, which doesn’t help. I can promise that you will learn to cope with the introvert part as you develop those deeper bonds. That is…assuming you’re not starting to change your mind?”

Mom squeezes me from behind and says, “It’s OK if you do, you know?”

I take a deep breath and ALMOST give in. I shake my head, though, and say, “No—like you said; I will adjust. It’s just different…and while talking to the both of you helps…”

Angi says, “It would help to be able to talk to someone your own age…someone who’s gone through this themselves—at least at some level? I know you HAVE talked to girls that have transitioned—Francie, Georgette, Alecia…to name a few. But they don’t know your TRUE story and you haven’t likely REALLY listened up to now, right?”

I nod and take a shaky breath. Mom hugs me tighter from behind and I relish the comfort it actually brings me. I can feel our bonds evolving—almost in real-time…

“I think it’s maybe time that we let Francie in on this…,” Angi asks—looking at BOTH of us.

My heart pounds harder. I say, “I would LOVE to be able to talk to her about this; but what will she think…?”

Mom squeezes me and says, “If she’s only your girlfriend because you’re a Pink—or because of some score, then that isn’t a great foundation to begin with, Love. Besides, from what Angi tells me, she’s a very special girl, so I think it would be good for you—and only fair to her, don’t you think? Hmmm? Sheila is OK with her knowing—but we need to keep it to just this small group for now, OK?”

I nod and Angi sends Francie a text…

o~O~o

Francie and I are sitting on the couch across from Mom and Angi. Francie is still in her bikini, covered in a beach wrap. She is holding my hand, her long legs demurely crossed, and she has a concerned look on her face, “Is everything OK,” she asks, her foot bouncing nervously.

Angi nods and says, “Yes… and no… We need to let you in on something, Francie—but, before we do; we need to know that you will keep this COMPLETELY to yourself.”

She looks at me and I bite my lip and say, “Please?”

She nods and says, “Of course! What’s going on? What’s this all about?”

And we tell her the whole story. She actually grips my hand really tight as the story develops and is freely crying when we finish. She hugs me and says, “Oh, you poor Sweetie! I can’t imagine… How are we going to get this fu…err…bast…err…CRIMINAL?”

I look at her and ask, “You aren’t mad at me? Y…y…you still want to be my girlfriend?”

She gives me a furious look and asks, “Questions like THAT could make me reconsider! Do you really think that I’m that shallow? That I only love you because you’re a Pink…or TG?”

Mom takes in a deep breath at the word ‘LOVE’…as do I.

I blink and say, “I…I…I HOPED not…”

Francie says, “Well…I’m not!”

She smiles to let me know that she is really not mad at me and says, “I can understand your worry, but there is nothing to worry about, OK?”

I nod and take in a shaky breath.

Francie looks back at Mom and Angi and asks, “So…now that THAT is settled, what DO we do about Allen?”

Mom sighs and says, “That’s still being worked out and I’m happy to have you on as part of the team—especially since there seems to be more to your relationship with my…daughter…than I knew…”

Francie blushes and says, “Well, yes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons. I DO love your daughter…or son…or in-between. Wherever this ultimately winds up taking her or him. That isn’t why I wanted Paige as my girlfriend at all. I GENUINELY LIKE her as a person—not as a status…”

She holds up her hand and says, “I know… I’m a couple of years older than her and you think she isn’t old enough to commit to a relationship like that… I promise that I won’t hurt her and if she decides to move on, I won’t stand in her way…”

Mom says, “I’m more worried that YOU might move on. I assume you’re going to college?”

I take in a deep breath and say, “Momma!”

Francie squeezes my hand and says, “Yes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons. I’ve been accepted into Julliard where I will be studying dance. I will totally be in a fairly close commuting distance…”

Angi has a concerned look on her face, but it softens as Mom says, “OK, then. Well, just so you know, I met Vi…Paige’s Dad when I was about h..er age. Frank…her Dad—ironic isn’t it?—was three years older than me. I was the girly-girliest girl in school…a cheerleader and he was on the football team. I assume that is where Paige’s aptitude for her current—and previous—activities all comes from. Anyway, my parents gave me flack and tried to keep us apart—it didn’t work then and it won’t work now…”

I take in a deep breath.

Mom continues, “But, Francie, YOU are the older one in this relationship and I expect you to be the mature one! Don’t disappoint me…and, PLEASE call me Dawn. I hear ‘Mrs. Fitzsimmons’ WAY too much at work…”

Francie is actually slightly pale up until then. Angi giggles. And I go and give my mother a HUGE hug.

Frankly, I hadn’t considered my TRUE feelings for Francie until this moment because I knew our relationship was based on a sham. Now, I felt my heart flooding with strange emotions…genuine ones that I knew I could now allow to grow. I think I am genuinely falling in love, too!

o~O~o

I have a steely calm in my voice—I have no idea where it is coming from. It is early Sunday morning and the first time I have talked to Allen since this all broke. Angi had let him know that I would be staying on for post-camp and she had said he seemed REALLY relieved—especially when Mom also told him that she was ‘staying in Europe’ a couple of extra weeks.

I hear his slimy voice over the phone, “How’s post-camp going, Sport? You still liking everything?”

I say, “It’s fine…there just wasn’t a good way for me to say, no. I still am looking forward to going back to my normal life, though. It’s just…”

I pause and wait for him to speak.

Finally, with a really worried voice, he asks, “What? It’s just…’what’? You haven’t spoken to anyone about our deal to get you in there, right?”

I grin and say, “It’s just that…I seem to be changing… I think all of this girly stuff is starting to affect me…” I intentionally don’t answer his MAIN question.

He says, “I’m sure it will all be OK once you get home…it’s just well…somehow your Mom now thinks that you’re there because you’re transgendered. Angi must have said something to her.”

I gasp—it is a genuine gasp. I can’t believe the balls this guy has… I regather my composure and ask, “What? What do I do now? I’m not TG! I know that there are a lot of T-girls at camp, but…”

Allen seems pleased all of a sudden. He says, “Let me handle it, Sport. Under no circumstances talk to anyone about this, OK? Especially to Angi. That will really mess things up if you want me to get it straightened out. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding. For now, it may actually also be better to play along if you talk to your Mother. I promise, it will all work out IF you just do as I say, OK?”

I feel like throwing up as I say, “OK, Uncle Allen. I guess pretending I fit in here a while longer won’t hurt…I just want to get back to playing football.”

Allen says, “Oh…I’m sorry, Sport. Your mother has nixed any more heavy contact sports after your concussion. I wouldn’t say anything right now…but, *I* think you should know… But, you’re getting into other things now, obviously…you made all of those post-camp teams! So, that’s good, right?”

I make a gurgling sound. How had I fallen for this crap before? I MUST have still been affected by the concussion—this is ALL so transparent now…

I play along, “No more football? Really? But…”

He says, “I know… Again, let me work on her… Just play along with things for now? OK? Like I said, it’ll all work out… If she asks, just agree with her on this transgender stuff—for now… And don’t talk to Angi about it.”

I say, “OK, Uncle Allen, I know you’re looking out for me. I mean, Mom is off in Europe and left you in charge—so, I know she TRUSTS you. That means you MUST be looking out for my BEST interests! Bye!”

I hang up and my hand is shaking as Francie takes it and gives it a comforting squeeze. Mom is visibly pale. Angi is furious. Sheila is shaking her head.

We are all in Angi’s office and I go pour some more coffee from the pot. I’m still furious.

Sheila looks at Momma and says, “I think it’s about time you check in with Allen from ‘Germany’, right? It’s three in the afternoon there…”

Still furious herself, Mom says, “Yes… THIS should be enlightening. At least we have an idea of what his game plan is. Continue to play us… I’m still not sure what his endgame is, though. You did a REALLY good job, Love. I hope I can do as well…”

Sheila says, “Yes, Paige. That was perfect—and we have it all recorded.”

Momma takes her phone and presses the little icon with his number.

He answers after three rings, “Hi, Hon! How’s Germany today?”

Mom says, “It’s wonderful!” She looks at her computer and checks the weather for Munich, “It’s sunny and beautiful and I’m sitting in a nice little sidewalk café having cake and coffee. I only wish you were here with me.”

I pretend to stick my finger in my mouth and vomit. Angi play slaps my hand.

After some more ‘mushy’ talk, Allen says, “Hon…I have some news… I was going to wait until you got back, but… Well, you know that creativity camp that Vick INSISTED on going to instead of sports camp. The one that his Doctor, Angi, runs? Well, it’s actually for transgendered kids… Vick…or rather PAIGE even volunteered to stay an additional two weeks for special events. She…well…she told me a while back that she thought she was a girl…and this seems to have cemented it for her. I know she may still be questioning herself…but I’ve been talking with Angi and she’s convinced that Paige is truly a girl. She even had Paige take some test that totally confirms it…”

Mom gasps.

I know how she feels—the GALL…

Angi’s face is BEET RED.

Mom continues, “And you felt like you had to tell me this over the phone? How long have you known?”

Allen says, “Well, I can’t help it that you won’t let me help at the office so that you could be HOME for your child and for me to be ABLE to talk to you in person. Vick talked to me a few months ago—said he was afraid to talk to you because of what you might think… I guess he wasn’t worried about what *I* think…”

He pauses, I guess for dramatic effect, then continues, “Anyway, I was going to tell you when you got home—before your stay got extended…again. Angi was pretty insistent that you need to know. We had hoped to do it in person, though.”

Angi is shaking her head and trembling in anger.

Momma says, “We’ll talk about THAT later… How is…Paige doing, then? I’ll make plans to come home STRAIGHT AWAY!”

Allen says, “Don’t take this out on ME, Dawn! I didn’t have anything to do with it. I’ve been trying to support your daughter! And she’s doing fine, from what I understand. I’m in daily contact with Angi. I’m going to call her right after we’re done here. From what Angi tells me, Paige is still somewhat conflicted about being transgendered, but is fitting in with the girls at camp so well that there is NO doubt. She says, we just need to be supportive and encouraging her that this is the best course for her.”

He pauses and says, “Don’t make any hasty decisions, Dawn. She’s in camp for another two weeks and there isn’t anything you can do. Angi has it under control—the important thing is WHEN you DO come home is that you support HER and encourage HER to become the girls she IS inside. Just do me a favor and don’t let her know that I violated her trust and told you… Besides, it will probably mean more to her if it seems like it is natural for you to think she’s a girl and support her—like you knew it all along or something…”

Momma is fuming as he continues, “For now, look after the company which has to be your priority…you know for Paige. Maybe this does show that you need my help there, after all?”

She says, “OK, Allen. If you’re sure that she’s OK—I AM needed for an important series of meetings that will further cement things for the company. We’re making REAL progress here. And, no, I won’t let Vick know that you told me anything… I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If you talk to Vi…Paige… Tell hi…her I love her!”

She hangs up and has tears of rage in her eyes. She says, “Oh…I’ll let you help in the company alright… Sheila, any news on the merger?”

Sheila nods and says, “Yes, Ma’am. Gloria just texted that all went as planned—you picked a good one in her. I think the board will soon find it is a brave new world when this is over…”

Momma starts to say something, but Angi’s phone rings.

She says, “It’s Allen…” She answers, “Hello, Allen? How are you today?”

Allen’s voice comes through the speaker, “Fine. I hope it isn’t too early on a Sunday?”

Angi says, “Not at all. What can I do for you? Is something wrong?”

Allen says, “No. I just talked to Dawn. She’s caught in Europe for another couple of weeks. I gave her a status update on Paige. She’s really thankful that you’re helping her…our…daughter out. She’s still a little confused about all of this, but I keep reinforcing to her that this is who Paige IS…inside… At some point, she’s going to need to hear it from you…that this is real, I mean. That Paige really IS transgendered and wants this—and that this is the best thing for HER… No matter what Dawn may think.”

Angi grimaces and says, “Of course, Allen. Of course it’s the best thing for PAIGE… When’s she coming back? I’ll be happy to confirm all of this to her. Or maybe I should give her a call?”

Allen quickly says, “NO… No, she’s really caught up in some important meetings or something. I don’t want to distract her too much from those. She should be coming back around the time that post-camp is over…”

Angi says, “OK, Allen. I look forward to meeting with her when she’s back in the country, then.”

She hangs up and closes her eyes.

Sheila says, “Well, his strategy is clear now—if Paige hadn’t spoken up, he COULD have gotten away with it. By dividing and conquering and disseminating half-truths. I almost admire how he’s spinning all of this—he could have been a great lawyer if he had decided to use his skills for good.”

I say, “I still can’t believe it took me SO long for it to click… I mean it is SO clear, NOW…”

Angi says, “Don’t beat yourself up about that, Paige. It is pretty clear to me, actually. It was a perfect storm for you… You were still affected by your concussion by the time the hormones started kicking in. Trust me, estrogen is tough to handle under the BEST of circumstances—and you were nowhere near those. With Allen constantly confusing you on top of the concussion and hormonal effects, you were destined to be misled… Plus, I looked into other recipients of the serum and it’s becoming apparent that there is some cognitive affect for the first few weeks. It’s a side effect that I need to look into more… If anything, it looks like it’s a miracle that you came around when you did!”

Momma says, “Well, we have the beginnings of supporting material to go after the bastard.”

Sheila says, “We’re still a long way off from being able to go after him in court, though. This would all not be admissible…even if he flat out admitted to doing it—which he didn’t…”

Angi says, “I’m beginning to come up with a few ideas. I want to discuss them with Dawn, though.”

Sheila says, “I don’t think I want to know about those… But, PLEASE, carry on!” She giggles when she says, “I’m sure I don’t the two of you plotting against ME!”

The next two weeks fly by.

It is a HUGE relief for it all to be out in the open with Francie—and our relationship is growing by leaps and bounds (and Francie IS being the mature one—DANG IT!). I fall more in love every day, I think. I know what you are thinking…what does an (almost) fifteen-year-old know about love? All I can say is that there is NO doubt in my heart that Francie is THE one for me…

I’m also getting more and more TRULY immersed in the life of a teenage girl—and that is how I am engaging in the ‘after-hour’ activities now (as a girl). Angi was right, I am adjusting to the emotional depth of my now blossoming friendships with ‘the Pink posse’ (and one lavender). I am even beginning to enjoy ‘shopping’—it is still draining on my mental reserves, though…mostly because it is still mostly a foreign concept to me. I still have a LONG way to go to be a ‘girl’…

As for the post-camp events… We take the gold in ballet—no contest! We take away three medals in swimming—I even get the silver in ten-thousand-meter relay. We also take away bronze in cheerleading. All in all, the camp comes away with twelve medals—tying the previous record!

I haven’t seen Momma the whole time—and I barely see Angi. Francie is now my support group and tells me that they are just giving me room to grow and decide on my own how I want to proceed.

I look at Francie after the last medal ceremony (cheerleading) and say, “I wish Momma could have been here.”

Francie says, “She and Angi are working on something that’s really important I think. And she WAS here to see you get gold!”

I say, “I know—at least YOU’re here!” I giggle and I continue, “And Allen ISN’T. I’m sure it wasn’t hard to convince him he didn’t need to show up.”

Francie giggles and says, “Angi just told him you needed space. Your Mom couldn’t have come if he WERE here…”

I nod and say, “I wonder what they’re up to, right now. Have you noticed they seem…weird around us lately?”

Francie says, “Yeah…I just assumed it had something to do with their planning on what to do about Allen—but, you’re right. Something else is different…awkward almost…”

I shrug and say, “Well, at least it’s not just me… I’m sure there’s a good reason for it… And it does give me the chance for you to stay with me at the house tomorrow night, since no one else is going to be there. I still have NO idea what THAT is all about… Albert at his grandparents. Allen off doing…whatever… And Momma still in ‘Europe’.”

Francie says, “I think we don’t really WANT to know… Angi and your Momma both had a really dangerous gleam in their eye when they mentioned that Allen wouldn’t be there.” She sighs and says, “Paige, just be glad that your Momma is so supportive of you… I wish mine was…”

I squeeze her hand and say, “I know, Francie…”

Her parents had disowned her when she had had the ‘event’ that had started her down the path to ‘Pinkhood’. Angi had basically taken her in, at that point. I had just recently found out that Angi had sponsored her at a prestigious boarding school. Francie will be staying at Angi’s until she goes away to Julliard.

I say, “But you have Angi. And now, me…and MY mother, too.”

Francie kisses me and says, “Come on. We need to start packing and then get to the party!”

o~O~o

Angi looks at Dawn and says, “I’m really sorry to miss out on the last of the awards ceremony—but, if we hurry, we can make the last of the party.”

Dawn nods and looks at her watch. One o’clock in the afternoon. She says, “Are you ready? Are you sure you want to do this?”

Angi simply nods and says, “Let’s get that prick once and for all…” She picks up her phone and dials the number. She waits until she hears THAT voice on the other end of the phone, “Hello? Angi, is that you?”

She says, “Yes, Allen… I’ve been thinking about your offer. If it still stands, do you want to come over—like right now?”

Allen is taken by surprise and says, “Well, sure! Albert is at his mother’s parents. But, aren’t you doing something at camp?”

Angi says, “Not until later…but I could really use some company, right now…”

Allen says, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”

Angi hangs up and Dawn giggles, “OK, I guess we better get ready.” She goes to her room and puts on a latex cat suit—complete with mask and ears. She looks really HOT in it and she knows it—she thinks about the last time she had worn it and turns a little pink under the mask…

Angi puts on a seductive dress—it shows her ample cleavage off to its full effect. She goes back down to wait.

Allen rings the doorbell a little over twenty minutes after hanging up. He is still surprised that Angi had called him. He actually drools a little when she opens the door. He had only really seen her in her white coat and scrubs.

He hands her a bottle of wine and says, “Wow! You look…nice!”

Angi says, “Come in, Allen. I’m glad you like wine—let me pour us a glass!” She shows Allen to the couch and goes to the bar where she has a bottle of ‘special’ wine waiting. She asks, “Since you brought red, I assume you like it?” He nods and she says, “Great! I happen to have a nice bottle open. I’m more a white girl, myself—but I have both.”

Before he can say anything, Angi pours a glass of red for him. Of course, she already knew from Dawn that he preferred red. She pours a glass of the safe white for herself and goes and sits down on the couch, letting her dress slide up her leg as she does so. She hands the glass of red to him and says, “Cheers!”

She watches him take a gulp of the wine, clearly nervous, and she takes a small sip if hers. She says, “I’m SO glad you could come over, Allen! I’ve been fighting the temptation to have you over ever since we met back in the clinic… I finally couldn’t take it anymore!” She wiggles on the couch and her panties show slightly as her short dress rides up even further on her long, tanned, ultra-smooth legs.

Allen takes another huge gulp of wine and says, “I’m so glad you did, Babe! I mean, I think we could be great together!”

Angi smiles and asks, “But, what about Dawn? Aren’t you two still an item?”

Allen takes another gulp, his glass is now more than half empty, and says, “Well, yes, but if YOU don’t mind…what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her…”

His eyes suddenly glaze over and he almost drops his glass of wine.

Angi says, “I’m sure I DO mind, pervert… Now, listen to me carefully. You won’t resist—is that clear? You will do EXACTLY as I say. Answer me, do you understand?”

Allen panics inside. He can’t control himself. He fights it, but he says, “Yes. I understand.”

Angi says, “Not that I owe you an explanation, but it makes it more delicious if you know what is going on. This is the newest in a line of designer date-rape drugs. You can’t help but do as I say—it has you in a deep hypnotic state that will last several hours. YOU still know what is happening to you, but you have NO control over your actions--*I* do. Now, your name is Misty and I am one of your mistresses. You will call me mistress. You will only speak when allowed or answering a direct question. Come with me… What’s your name?”

Allen struggles, she is right—he still FULLY knows what is going on, but he HAS to do what she says. He fights it—HARD, but he ultimately says, “My name is Misty.”

Angi stops in her tracks and says, “My name is Misty…WHAT?”

Allen/Misty says, “My name is Misty,…Mistress?”

Angi continues on up the stairs and says, “Better. Now…meet your OTHER mistress…”

They enter the special bedroom—it is all decked out with sex toys and equipment.

Allen/Misty sees a tall woman in a latex cat suit facing away from him. He immediately recognizes the stance and the long, strawberry blond hair cascading out from under the mask. He thinks to himself, ‘Oh NO! I am FUCKED! They KNOW!’ Of course, he can’t SAY anything. His eyes go wide as she turns and he sees the huge strap-on dildo hanging down.

Angi takes him into another room and says, “OK, Misty. You’re going to get dressed now… First, take off ALL of your clothes.”

Allen/Misty does as told—fighting it the whole time.

While he is undressing, Angi runs a hot, very girly-smelling bubble bath. She comes in just as ‘Misty’ is removing ‘her’ underwear. Angi says, “Now, Misty, go take a nice bath and remove all of that UGLY hair on your body! I want you nice and smooth, understand—there is not to be a hair on your body from your neck down and you’ll also get your face nice and smooth, too.”

Allen/Misty is sweating, but has to do as told—using the depilatory on the side of the tub. Thirty minutes later ‘she’ is patting ‘herself’ dry, as instructed.

Angi inspects ‘her’ and is satisfied. She says, “OK, Misty. Sit down here.” She takes wax strips and quickly waxes ‘her’ eyebrows into nice thin, high arches. She then puts fairly heavy makeup on ‘her’. Heavy, only to hide the leftover beard—it is more of an evening look, not gaudy or clownish. She places the short, platinum blonde wig on ‘her’ head and teases it into a pixyish style. Then she adds extra lip gloss for good measure.

Angi leads ‘Misty’ back into the bedroom where there is a maroon corset lying on the bed. Angi instructs ‘Misty’ to stand still while she puts it on ‘her’ and cinches it down very tightly—giving ‘her’ a nice thin waist and pushes her slight flab up into a realistic pseudo-cleavage, which is enhanced by the padded, push-up cups built into the corset.

Angi gives ‘Misty’ the glass of wine and instructs her to drain it.

Allen/Misty fights the order, but…does as ‘she’ is told—ensuring that Angi and Dawn have plenty of time to exact the first stage of their revenge.

Angi then helps ‘Misty’ roll the black fishnet stockings up ‘her’ legs and fasten them to the garters built into the corset.

‘Misty’ straps the six-inch stilettos onto her feet, as ordered, and nearly falls as she stands up.

Angi says, “Pay attention, Misty! You’re a horny little slut that is going to beg her mistress for release. Am I clear? What are you?”

Allen/Misty wants to cry. He fights it…but the effects of the drug are putting him completely in her control. He says, “I’m a horny little slut and I will beg my mistress for release.”

Angi says, “I’m not convinced. You don’t SOUND like a horny little slut named Misty. You don’t sound horny. You don’t sound like you want your release. Convince me that you’re horny. You ARE horny. Convince me that you’re a slut. You ARE a slut. Convince me that you’re Misty. You ARE Misty!”

Allen feels tears run down his face, but he HAS to comply. He suddenly IS horny. He suddenly IS a desperate slut. He suddenly IS Misty. She says in a sultry, husky voice—as feminine as she can manage, “Forgive me, Mistress. I’m SO horny, I can’t take it. PLEASE, PLEASE give me the release I need!”

Angi says, “Much better, Misty. Now, convince your OTHER mistress. You may go to her and beg her… I suggest that you get her in the mood first, though… You DO know how to pleasure a Mistress, right, Misty?”

Misty says in her best sultry voice, “Yes, Mistress.”

Angi follows behind and films the whole affair. There are never any names captured during the next three-hour affair—except Misty, who readily admits that she is a horny little slut that just wants to please her Mistress and begs her for release—and wiggles her pantyless ass at her to emphasize her need.

When they are done, Dawn whispers something into Misty’s ear and giggles. Angi then orders her to get changed back into the pile of Allen’s clothes. She removes the wig and then very carefully removes ALL traces of the makeup.

Angi says, “OK, Misty. You will get into your car and drive straight north for two hours without stopping—then to the nearest emergency room. You will be Allen when you get out of your car and tell them that you have been having terrible diarrhea and that your ass is VERY sore. You will STICK to that story—even when they notice that it is full of lube… You will NOT remember any of this, including me asking you over, do you understand? By then, all traces of the drug will be out of your system anyway—you will still have to follow our orders, though. Confirm all of what I just said.”

He repeats it all and Angi sends him on his way with one final order, “You won’t go back to your house, or contact anyone that you know for three days, understood?”

He confirms the final order and drives off in a cloud of dust.

When he is gone, Angi and Dawn laugh merrily as Angi carefully backs up all of the footage and secures it in several online locations. Then they both hurry to get ready for the after-party at camp.

o~O~o

I go over and give Momma a hug when she arrives with Angi. The party is in full swing by the time she does. She looks like the proverbial cat that ate the canary—Angi, too. Neither one will say anything other than we need to celebrate, though…

Angi shuts everything down at one and Francie and I help clean up for an hour before we go to our room.

I wake up at ten and stretch. Francie is nowhere to be seen, so I get up and traipse over to take a shower and wake up. Francie is already there and…the shower MAY take a little longer than anticipated…

We finish packing after breakfast; my large new suitcase full of girly clothes that I didn’t have before coming here. I look around as we get ready to get into Francie’s car and leave camp for the last time this year. I suddenly feel really sad. Sure, this place changed my life in ways that I never wanted or dreamed of. But I also have a lot of good times associated with it, too.

Francie hugs me and says, “I know how you feel—sort of torn, right? But, you can absolutely come back next year…and after that as a counselor.”

I nod, afraid to say anything or start crying and we get in and Francie quickly drives off.

An hour and a half later, we pull into our driveway. It seems like a lifetime ago that I left the house for football practice that fateful day. It also seems really strange that NO one is home. I still have no idea what Momma is up to—OR where Allen is. I shrug and dig the garage door opener out of my purse (something I am still getting used to having) and push the button to open the door.

Francie drives into an empty bay in the four-car garage. The only other car there is Momma’s BMW. Allen’s Mercedes is gone. Francie giggles as she turns off the ignition of her beat-up Ford and says, “Well, no competition to THAT—is that an 8-Series?”

I nod and say, “Yeah—I still wish she had gone with an Audi, though… Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Francie giggles and asks, “Do you have an app with a map?”

An hour later, I’ve shown her the main stuff, including the guest house, the pool and pool house, and…my area.

We order some pizza and play some pool (as in billiards). Then we lay out by the pool (as in swimming) a while and go to bed early.

The next day is a repeat of our laziness. We watch a couple of girly movies on TV and I find myself actually identifying more with the girls—and seeing things differently than I would have before. I’m not saying that I see things AS a girl—but, I am starting to understand better HOW they see things…

Francie and I go to the high-end mall that is not far from the house and we have a good time. I see some kids from school and just keep quiet. None of them recognize me—even though, a couple of the guys sort of follow us around. Francie says they are simply ‘checking us out’. I want to barf…

We go home after we lead them around the mall a couple of times. We swim for a while before going to bed at a more normal hour.

The next afternoon, Momma, Angi, and Sheila all show up at the house at the same time—Momma and Angi in the same car.

I put on some coffee for us and we all sit down in the study at the conference table that is normally used for ‘business’ meetings.

Momma looks at me and says, “Paige, Angi and I have some news for you. We have some ‘evidence’ that will take care of the Allen situation.”

I scream and ask, “He’s going to prison?”

Sheila shakes her head and says, “You know I still can’t formally condone this, but you girls ROCK!”

Momma continues, “No, Hon. I’m afraid we would never get a fair sentence for what he has done under the current criminal legal system. So, we’re going to make use of the civil system—something I have learned a lot about since your Father…left us… We’re going to offer Allen a business deal with the company.”

I must look as confused as I feel. I also must look as crestfallen as I feel. I say, “I don’t understand. We’re giving him what he wants?”

Momma say, “Well, no… Not really—you’ll see. Now, I have to warn you that you’re going to witness some things that neither Angi nor I are proud of. BUT, it will get us where we need to be, so be the mature young lady that I have to know you to be and bear with us, OK?”

I nod, still confused.

Angi looks at Francie and says, “Allen will be here in a bit. When I give you the signal, I want you to take Paige into the other room until Sheila calls for you again, OK? There is one part that I don’t want EITHER of you to be a party to.”

Francie nods, as confused as I am.

And the door opens as Allen comes in…

o~O~o

Dawn looks up and sees Allen come in. He has a confused look on his face when he sees everyone sitting there—then gets a frightened look on top of that.

He says, “Hi…what’s going on? When did you get home, Dawn?”

Dawn smiles a dangerous smile and says, “Actually, a couple of weeks ago. Sit down, Allen. I think you know everyone here? Well, maybe not Francine, Paige’s girlfriend? And, of course, this is Sheila my lead lawyer…”

Allen gingerly sits down and Angi and Dawn smirk. He says, “Yes, I know everyone. Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

Dawn says, “Because then I wouldn’t be in charge of this little meeting like I am now.”

Allen says, “I don’t like this at all, Dawn. Can’t we talk alone. I don’t get…”

Dawn says, “Shut up, Allen. Let’s get one thing clear, you have NOTHING to say in this—unless one of us here allows it. I think you should look at this…”

Angi signals Francie and Paige to leave as Dawn hands Allen a tablet with a video cued up to play.

Dawn says, “Go ahead. Play it now that the girls are gone.”

Allen is confused, but presses the little triangle to start the video and gasps as he sees himself, dressed up like a tart, go into a room with Dawn dressed up as a cat-woman…

Dawn makes sure that Allen watches all of thirty minutes of the edited version of the video—even though he tries to turn it off several times. When he is done, she says, “There are actually a total of three hours of raw video. It is, of course, backed-up and safe-guarded in multiple locations.”

Allen turns even paler, if that is possible. He asks, “Why? What…”

Dawn says, “You tried to ruin my child’s life so that you could become CEO of his company—and then leave it to your son. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t DO something? Now, it’s too late for Vick—but, I’m going to make sure that Paige has the life she deserves—and I’m going to make sure that YOU have the life that YOU deserve.”

Allen breaks down and weeps. He begs, “Please have mercy on me! Don’t release those…it will RUIN me!”

Angi speaks up for the first time and says, “Look at the little pervert—not worried about his son, at all. It’s ALL about HIM!”

Sheila nods and says, “I have a contract here that you can sign and ensure that the video never gets released. It’s a lifetime contract with the firm that you have been trying to forcefully take over. If you sign and follow it to the t, then your secret is safe. If you slip up one iota, I will ensure that the video goes viral. Of course the same holds true it you DON’T sign. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

Allen looks at Dawn and says, “Blackmail? I didn’t think you had it in you, Dawn. I seriously underestimated you.”

Sheila says, “Twenty seconds.”

The veins in Allen’s forehead pop out. He asks, “I don’t even get to read it?”

Sheila says, “After you sign it. Ten seconds…”

Allen turns green. Finally, at the last second, he says, “Oh…alright! Give it to me!” He takes the contract and signs it, as well as several other documents. Sheila notarizes them and Angi witnesses them all.

Angi says, “Come here—I have a little present for you. It’s just a small implant…”

Allen turns even greener and says, “NO! You can’t give me estrogen!”

Angi says, “Sheila, I think that we need to release those videos. Allen, let’s be perfectly clear—if we say jump; the only thing that comes out of your mouth is ‘how high?’, are we clear. Now GET OVER HERE!”

Allen is sweating bullets as Angi puts a tourniquet on his arm and stick a large-bore needle viciously into a bulging vein. She releases the tourniquet and injects the device straight into the vein. She waits a few minutes and then takes a small device and holds it to his head. It beeps in a series of sounds.

Angi says, “Stupid man…you don’t DESERVE estrogen—you’ll have to BEG me for that if you want it. That was a tracking device. It has migrated to your brain where it can’t be removed and allows me to track you remotely wherever you are—ANYWHERE in the world. So don’t get any ideas of disappearing…”

He blanches and Sheila giggles, “Gotcha! I KNEW that is what you were planning. OK to get the girls now?”

Angi nods and Sheila gets up.

o~O~o

Francie and I sit in the kitchen for nearly an hour before Sheila comes to get us. Of course, we have NO idea what is going on—and speculate on all kinds of things. I don’t think either of us could ever have really dreamed the truth—not that we’ll likely ever find out the WHOLE truth any time soon, anyways…

We follow Sheila back into the study and Allen looks like he’s seen a ghost and eaten something rotten all at the same time. He is reading something and groaning loudly…

Momma says brightly, “Oh, hi girls! You’re just in time. Allen has just signed a contract with our firm to be my personal assistant for LIFE. There are several other things, as well, but that is the important part. He will never be able to rise into the management of ANY company, let alone ours. We couldn’t put him in prison, Sweetie, but trust me—this is a MUCH worse hell for the likes of…him… Right, Misty?”

He growls, “Why are you calling me Misty?”

Momma grins and says, “Because, as soon as Sheila files those papers you just signed, your name will officially become Misty Eve Simpson. I suggest you get used to it, she will ensure that all of your credentials are appropriately changed.”

I’m stunned at all of this… I really am not sure what I think of it, but…I guess, at least Allen won’t be able to prey on any other innocent children. Whether I agree with the method, or not.

Momma continues on, “Of course, you just signed over all of your current assets and you’ll be working for minimum wage, but we’ll give you a small apartment to live in, as well as a small clothing allowance—you’ll have to abide by the company policy on proper clothing, anyways.”

Allen growls, “You can’t turn me into a woman against my wishes, no matter what leverage you have. I may go down, but at that point, I’ll take you down with me!”

Angi says, “I already told you that we have NO intent on giving you hormones, Misty—you’ll have to beg us to that. And I promise that will take a LOT of begging!”

Allen says, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I beg for the likes of that…”

Momma says, “Really? If you have no interest in being a woman then why do you wear women’s panties? You’ve always had a fetish for them…”

Allen pales and says, “I…I…I don’t know why. Wait! YOU! You did something to me, didn’t you? You WITCH!”

Momma says, “Misty! That’s enough! You’ll not talk to ANY of us in this room—or any of our guests—that way! Do you understand? Professional behavior is a KEY aspect of your contract. Have I made myself clear?”

He pales and seethes, “Yes…”

Angi says, “Yes…what?”

He pales further and forces out, “Yes…Mistress…”

Momma nods and says, “Sheila, you may show Misty to the guest house. He’ll be staying there for the time being…”

Sheila takes a stunned ‘Misty’ out and I look at Momma. I am somewhere between being confused and angry.

I ask, “Momma, how does this make us any better than him? This isn’t what we had discussed at all…”

Momma says, “I know you don’t like this, Paige. Neither Angi nor I are proud of what we’ve done here. But think about it. We didn’t actually FORCE him into signing the contract. We’re also NOT forcing…Misty…into to taking hormones of any kind. Will we slowly feminize him? Yes…but, it’s still a better sentence than he actually deserves, which is in a maximum security prison for life where he would become the little bitch for a bunch of prison inmates.”

I’m still not totally convinced.

Angi says, “Hon, I’m honestly GLAD this bothers you. You’re very kind-hearted and have a true sense of justice. I know the system let you down and we’re not advocating vigilante justice at all. Trust us, though—we have to keep the likes of Allen away from others that he could do the same thing to as he did to you. Did we force his hand a little to sign the contract? Well, yes—but it isn’t like he didn’t have options…sort of like you had or have…”

I sigh and finally giggle, “So…where did ‘Misty’ come from?”

Momma giggles and says, “Well…I don’t really know—it just sort of came to us. But…I DO have some more news for you…” She looks at Angi and takes her hand, “Umm…would you mind if Angi moves in with us…? We’ve sort of, well, become an item over the last couple of weeks…”

Francie lets out a whoop and I grin. I say, “I KNEW something was up. I honestly had NO idea it was this! Momma, I didn’t even know you were into women…”

Momma laughs and says, “Neither did I—but Angi can be VERY convincing!”

I go and hug them both and say, “Of course I don’t mind!”

Angi smiles and says, “Well, of course, that also means that Francie will be staying HERE until she leaves for Juilliard—and after her surgery when she turns eighteen...and, I guess whenever else you would like her to…”

This time, *I* whoop. Then I ask, “Wait…what about Albert?”

Sheila comes back in at that moment and says, “When Allen signed the papers that I will file to legally change his name, he also signed the papers to relinquish custody of Albert over to his former in-laws as well as to sign over all of his current assets to him. Albert will be living with his deceased mother’s parents who are VERY decent people and will raise him right.”

Sheila smiles and looks at Angi as she says, “When I was asking them if they were willing—after Allen suddenly and irresponsibly disappeared for three days without a trace—they told me that Albert had confided to them that he is sure she is a girl but was afraid to tell her dad and wondered if I had any idea what they should do. No—REALLY! Ironic, isn’t it?”

I shake my head in wonder—and wonder what will come next in this bizarre new life of mine.

This is the end of the first book. Vick’s journey to becoming Paige is far from over, though… I REALLY appreciate the support and kudos I received—I know this isn’t everyone’s taste in a story. So—if there is still interest, then stay tuned for the next book that takes Paige from her trials of being a ‘Pink’ at camp to being a transgendered girl at school…