A Soft Safe Place
By Tyrone Slothrop

Shock:
a. A violent collision or impact; a heavy blow.
b. Something that jars the mind or emotions as if with a violent unexpected blow.
c. The disturbance of function, equilibrium, or mental faculties caused by such a blow; violent agitation.

d. A severe offense to one's sense of propriety or decency; an outrage.
e. A potentially fatal physiological reaction to a variety of conditions, including illness, injury, hemorrhage, and dehydration, usually characterized by marked loss of blood pressure, diminished blood circulation, and inadequate blood flow to the tissues.
:

Opening Scene: Doctors Waiting Room

I sat with Carolyn in the waiting room. The panorama of the other patient’s faces ran the gamut of hope to despair. We knew some of them, which made it harder.

She gripped my hand tightly as we waited for her turn.

We did not know what to expect, but knew the very act of being there was not good. We did know what we feared.

She looked at me in a way I remembered, from long ago.

“We had some good times, hon.” She said, clearly using her own memories to help her handle the reality facing her.

I’m not sure how I answered that without losing all emotional control, but I did. I remembered when she had that look in her eyes, long ago. In the last soft safe place.

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SCENE 1
University Days Apartment

I always loved the act of rolling my hair. Carolyn had teased me mercilessly the whole time she taught me the basics, and threatened me with fanciful tortures if I ever even mentioned the thought of cutting it.

Unconstrained by the rollers, it would flow to the bottom of my shoulder blades. As I sat at the vanity I imagined the mass of curls I would comb out the next day, and felt a pleasant peace descend on me.

It was Thursday night, the blessed beginning of my usual four day weekend. Four days to wear what I wanted, to visit the soft safe place I had invented.

I shivered as some random sequence of thought brought me back to an earlier life.

****Flash**** Childhood

It was just after the two significant losses that I began to search for the place to escape. Dad was gone, his heart giving out at last. Mom retreated into herself, her best friend, her companion for over twenty years had let go the tenuous grasp on life.

At twelve , I could not cry, for I did not yet know what I had lost. As the youngest, I was excluded from the family discussions.

All I knew was the world was darker.

And I could not tell anyone what Father Mulligan had done to me.

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SCENE 2
University Days Apartment

The little apartment was right off campus, an easy walking distance. I wanted to be done before Carolyn got off work, so I could make her dinner while she relaxed.

She loved the image of me greeting her after her day of running a cash register at the supermarket, getting her a drink and making her dinner in my satin robe and hair in rollers. It had become our Thursday night ritual, a delightful role reversal that we both enjoyed.

Thursday nights were usually the best sex of the week.

As my hands sectioned, rolled and pinned my freshly washed brown hair I mused over the incident which had triggered those early memories.

****Flash****That Afternoon

Walking from my last class, the Cadillac had stopped, the gentle elderly face had edged out of the drivers window and asked directions to the University Theatre. A complete stranger, lost in the maze of parking lots and roadways.

In the middle of my answer, as I leaned to let an errant strand of hair, suddenly free from my rubber banded pony tail, come free of my face, I saw the clerical collar.

Unbidden but powerful, a feeling of fear and rage swept my body.

Burying the anger and humiliation, I managed to answer his question. He drove off while I stood there, shaking.

After what felt like an hour but was less than a minute, I touched my hair, releasing it from the band. Some comfort returned, and I slowly walked home, enjoying the fall breezes blowing my tresses gently about me.

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SCENE 3
University Days Apartment

My head full of the one inch sponge covered plastic rods, I tightened a few that had come a little too loose. The image in the mirror brought a smile to my lips.

As I cautiously lifted the net over my head to secure it in place, I noticed the softness of my arms. I had lost a lot of muscle mass during my recovery, and with classes and the whole atmosphere of college consuming me, I had little incentive to bulk back up. Those days were behind me. There were others to do that stuff, I was done being a tough guy.
Dying and coming back does that to you.

****Flash****Childhood

Twelve years old and alone.

Dad never talked much , but he was Dad. An anchor, one of the things a young boy counts on. Father Mulligan came to the funeral, offering his condolences, despite Dad being Baptist. Mom was Catholic and we somehow managed to migrate up and down between churches on Sundays.

Mom, not prone to saying much any more, agreed that I should go to the priest for some counseling. At least once a week. The church was her comfort those days, she had nothing else to cling to for strength.

So I went to see the good priest, friend to the neighborhood, pillar of the community, the direct representative of Jesus.
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SCENE 4
University Days Apartment

Electric blue hairnet securing my head full of rollers, I stared into the mirror. A youthful face, sideburns and light beard shaved into non-existence, looked back. The weight gained during the long recovery had actually softened it considerably, the gaunt hollow look now banished.

Carolyn had a love-hate relationship with my eyelashes, which she felt were unfairly granted to me. They were long and very full, even without mascara. Makeup was her department if she decided to get playful later that weekend.

My sweatshirt and jeans were now thrown into the hamper, laundry chores for later in the weekend. I grabbed the pastel blue robe, a gift from Carolyn and pulled it slowly over me, the satin fabric smoothly touching my skin. I winced from the never-quite fully healed ribs and favored my partially functional right arm.

****Flash****Young Adulthood

The smell of the smoldering fire stung my nostrils. I could see the splintered bone sticking out of my skin, the humerus I was to learn later. There was no pain, the body has shock mechanisms to protect it when the trauma is massive.

The warm blood soaking my side, draining into my eyes, felt cold. Color vision was replaced by shades of gray.

I could hear the noises, far off explosions of sound as dull thuds while the crew on the scene began to pry open the metal doors of the wreck. Murmured words of “Hang in there buddy” and “You’re doing fine”, comfort and lies I had used myself.

My eyes closed and imagined the soft safe place. It had been years since I wanted to go there.

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SCENE 5
University Days Apartment

The wooden floors were always cold and we had decided slippers were cheaper than buying rugs. Pulling on the blue fleece lined booties, I smiled. They always looked like something a cartoon character would wear.

Assembling the ingredients, I began chopping, peeling and slicing without thought. Somehow, plates of salad appeared while the chicken sizzled in the frying pan. The luxury was the baguette from the little bakery down the street, a long loaf of unbelievable richness, poised to be heated in the toaster oven.

As I sipped the glass of wine, I felt the comfort and contentment suffuse me. Carolyn would be here soon. She had Fridays and Saturdays off, and my classes ran Tuesdays to Thursdays. Two days together, alone. Then the study and jobs would return. We knew this would end, but that was next year. Right now, grants, scholarships, and government programs were a good supplement to living on love.

I felt a chill from somewhere in time.

****Flash****Childhood

Father Mulligan handed me a cassock and surplice. My pants were soaked from the rain and he demanded I get out of the damp things. Our sessions had been quiet affairs, a few questions, a few statements. Lauding my Mother’s family as good folk, quiet disdain for the faith of my Father’s.

He watched in commanding silence as I removed my school pants.

I had taken a minimalist approach to verbal communication since Dad died, if only to fit into the silence of my home. Kids at school were initially nice, but drifted away as I withdrew.

The cassock was a rough woolen fabric, and was too small. It clung to me, and I had to leave the snaps open up to my thighs, or I would not be able to sit. The surplice was the lace one, usually only used for High Mass, or the funeral of a Bishop.

We sat together as he discussed my future. A future of loving God. And God’s messengers.

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SCENE 6
University Days Apartment

Dinner was simmering nicely, and I poured another glass of wine. I could no longer feel the tightness of the curlers tugging at my scalp. I absentmindedly patted my head, letting my hand settle gently on the netting. My eyes closed for a moment.

I reached inside my robe and adjusted my panties, fixing the twist that had worked into the elastic. They were large enough for me, not very constraining at all, but a little loose in the rear.

****Flash****Childhood

With Mom working now I was frequently alone after school.

The silences were eating me alive by inches, so I wandered about the house, looking for something, someplace. I was not sure what.

My sister reacted to the silence at home by being absent. I rarely saw her. We were never close and were now immensely distant.

So alone, silently shaking, that day I decided to explore my sister’s closet. There were several unwanted boxes of hand me down clothes from our cousins. She hated them and had thrown them in the corner.

The cigarette burn on my arm was still oozing, even after three days. I made sure I kept it from ruining the clothes.

The first thing to try was a skirt, just to see what it felt like. An elastic waist made it easy to put on.

I felt a pleasant sensation as it swirled about my legs while I walked.

My hair was just over my ears at that point, and there were lots of barrettes and hair bands in the unwanted boxes.

My eyes closed. It was a soft safe place. I felt a calmness descend, enveloping me like a blanket.

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SCENE 7
University Days Apartment

Carolyn grabbed me from behind and pulled me into her. I felt her lips nuzzling my neck as I came back to awareness of where I was.
I turned slowly and my heart melted. Just a little plumper than a few years ago, a little rounder, fuller but the same sparkling eyes and devilish smile, the same overwhelmingly genuine happiness to just see me.

“You did these nicely, hon. Is your arm feeling better?” she said, patting my head.

“It’s fine, and it’s your turn after I feed you. The forecast is for rain all day tomorrow so I thought we’d stay in.”

“Good, I need the exercise.” Carolyn added, reaching inside my robe and grabbing a handful of lace and tricot.

****Flash****Childhood

Father Mulligan had me kneeling in his office as he approached me. The cassock and surplice were now a regular part of the session. Other boys had made some cryptic remarks to me about the priest, but I was puzzled by their meaning.

The touch of his hands on my back became a regular event.

I was there because Mom thought it was the right thing. And she worked so hard, cleaning houses now that Dad’s income was gone.

I was destined to be part of the church, I was told.

Events began to blur at that point, the priest pushing his body against my face, his hands on my hair, stroking it gently.

Questions, always the questions, Did I Love God? Doesn’t God love me?

He unzipped his fly and thrust it at me.

In my struggling pulling away, the Camel in his fingers pressed into my arm, searing the flesh with it’s hot ash.

Eyes winced closed but emitting no sound, I got up to leave.

Father Mulligan’s eyes followed me. He knew I would say nothing.

He was a messenger. He had faith.

Only the damned rejected communion.

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SCENE 8
University Days Apartment

The warm bath water was intensely pleasurable, the feel of two bodies intertwined, soaking the week’s demands away. Dinner over, and kitchen cleaned, I was kneading Carolyn’s right foot while she giggled.

Ticklish but wanting the massage, like a moth to a flame.

Her hairnet was purple, covering her tightly set red hair.

She tenderly touched my right arm at the elbow. The cigarette burn scar had been removed by the broken shards of bones penetrating my skin, replaced by a complex pattern of new scars.

I looked at her and knew this particular soft safe place was coming to a close. A few more months at best, and then we would have to move on.

Maybe I would need it again.

****Flash Forward**** Another Doctors Office

I held Carolyn as we walked to the car. She was trembling in my arms and it was contagious. The world around us seemed to recede, time and consciousness became fluid.
The sight of tearful couples clinging to each other was commonplace at the clinic. No one disturbed us. We looked in each other’s eyes and saw memories.

The last two years had shredded our emotional life, each of us individually reaching an accommodation with the surrounding darkness while together blowing at the embers of the desire to survive.

The first year of this arduous journey had sapped my balance. I had created soft, safe places before. My sister’s closet, those apartment weekends.

I found another place.

Stories began to flow to the screen. Young boys with amazing adventures, Heroes who saved the innocent. Victims who fought back. Loving couples who endured.

The new soft, safe place was extensive yet somehow intimate, with new friends, friends with amazing courage and compassion. People who followed their heart despite the pain of change.

She’s asleep now. I have to go now and tell them the news.

She’s still with me. I didn’t lose her.

END

Accidental Momma

By Tyrone Slothrop- A High Sierras story, part of the Angelverse

A young teen is betrayed by those who should look out for him, and learns the meaning of responsibility and family

Accidental Momma

Chapter 1: Sweet Home

Toby was crying again. Bobby knew he sounded hungry and he knew Momma was passed out again. He had heard the clinking of glass during the night which indicated she had been drinking again.

Bobby got up from his cot, pulled on his last clean T shirt, tied his hair back and went to get Toby. It was five am and the little guy smiled as soon as he got into his sight. At six months old, Toby knew his brother and always gave him a big grin, his dark eyes sparkling with delight.

Bobby shuddered. Toby had been put to bed without being changed and probably little to eat. Momma had been getting worse since Dad had gone missing last month.

After patting Toby’s tummy and smiling back, Bobby changed the diaper, noticing the rash developing. Cleaning up at the kitchen sink he noticed they were just about out of formula. And Momma had said they were out of money until the next check came from Dad’s company. She had enough for bourbon and beer though, Bobby thought grimly.

Toby looked at Bobby while he was feeding him in that unique way that babies have, the one that rivets your attention until they look away. Bobby rocked him on his shoulder until Toby burped, and then held him until he was asleep.

Bobby looked at Momma in the chair, her eyes shut, her mouth open and her makeup smeared all over her face. Momma had never been a good drunk. Bobby remembered the beatings he got whenever she was loaded, which was whenever Dad was away on the oil rigs. He could take the beatings, but the erratic behavior drove him crazy.

She would act fine, and tell him she was sorry, and he would then have a few days where he could almost stop watching his back at home. Then she would begin again, usually when he got home from school. One time, when he was eleven, he remembered opening the door to their house to see Momma there with another man, her blouse all undone. The man saw him and pushed Momma away, pulled up his pants and left, shoving Bobby aside.

Momma was furious. “You little pest! You see what you’ve done! What are you doing, coming in on me like that! Why aren’t you in school?”

“School’s over now, Momma. Who was that?” Bobby had said.

Momma staggered up on her feet and hit Bobby on the side of the head with her hand holding a cocktail glass. The glass shattered, cutting into his skull and upper neck, along with Momma’s hand.

Bobby fell over and somehow stayed conscious. Momma loomed over him. He knew she was drunk but still alert, the most dangerous time.

“You little shit, I wish I’d never had you. You’ve done nothing but tie me down since you were born. Now look at you, with that long hair and all, you look like a little fag.”

“Dad’s got long hair, he said I could have it how ever I wanted!” Bobby spat back, knowing enough not to get up.

“Your Daddy has a beard and big muscles and looks like a man, at least when he bothers to stay home. If you tell him about this, I’m gonna tell him you were trying to give blowjobs for money. In fact I’ll turn you in myself. Sheriff Turner will back me up.”

Bobby knew Momma spent time with the Sheriff. He also knew the Sheriff was working for the Disciples, his Dad’s old gang. Dad had left the gang on not exactly friendly terms after he did some time in prison.

Momma left to go lie down. Bobby got up and cleaned his cuts, trying to make sure he got all the glass out. When Momma was asleep, he washed her cut hand and bandaged it.

Chapter 2: When Things Can’t Get Any Worse, They Find A Way

Bobby was thirteen now, and Momma had made him pay dearly for catching her that time. When your own mother spreads rumors about you having a “problem liking boys”, you end up being branded at school by the other kids. Adults assume you are in denial if you tell them you are not gay. Girls won’t go near you, or if they do it’s out of weird curiosity.

Even Dad, when he got home for his six months off, was not sure. Bobby could tell Dad loved him and told him whatever he was was fine with him. Bobby idolized his father, who had turned his life around when Bobby was born. He used to be a biker, running drugs and bashing heads. Momma was his woman and they had Bobby when they were just twenty one. Dad had been in prison shortly afterward, doing a two year sentence for narcotics smuggling. When he got out he went straight and started working the offshore rigs. He was away a lot, but came back for extended stays. Those were the good times for Bobby. Momma never drank, and they were like a real family.

Meanwhile Momma took out some marriage insurance by getting pregnant with Toby. Just to make sure she kept her man in case Bobby somehow convinced his father what she was doing while he was gone.
Toby was a joy to the family. Dad and Bobby did all they could to help Momma and Bobby got to spend a lot of time with his new brother. Since his life outside the home was questionable at best, Bobby spent a lot of his spare time playing with and caring for the baby.

Dad had to go on another job, this time to the Philippines, when Toby was just three months old. Bobby saw his father actually crying as he said goodbye to little Toby.

“Bobby, I wouldn’t be going if there was any other way to pay the bills. This is the best I can do for the family and I need you to be the one I can count on here. Take care of your Momma and Toby. I should be back in about six months. Go to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins if you have a real problem, I’ve talked to them and they will help you. Goodbye, son.” Steve Dunbar was not a demonstrative man, and he frankly looked terrifying to most people at six four and two hundred sixty pounds, all muscle. To Bobby, he was Dad, and gave his son all the love he knew how. After they hugged, Momma drove Dad to the airport. Bobby could hear the screaming match in the car as they drove away.

After two weeks Momma started drinking again. At first, Bobby thought she was under control. Then he kept hearing about her mumbling “Post Partum Depression” and the drinking got worse.

The day the man from the company came and told them that Steve Dunbar was missing after an explosion on the oil platform in the South China Sea, Momma broke down. Bobby took Toby to Mrs. Jenkins while the medics took Momma to the hospital.

The Jenkins were an old couple that lived next door to the Dunbars. Mr. Jenkins was a retired cop, still in good shape for seventy one and Mrs. Jenkins had been a nurse. Mrs. Jenkins was devastated to hear the news. She looked at Bobby.

“Bobby, you look like a skeleton? Aren’t you eating anything?” She asked.

Bobby was about five foot nine inches, having just had a growth spurt, but was skinny in his arms and legs. His brown hair hung just past his shoulders and hung limply. It was true, Momma had not left him much money for food and he had to make sure Toby got fed first. When Steve was gone, Momma stopped making any meals, preferring to be taken out by her many gentleman friends. Bobby spent his summer cleaning the house and caring for Toby.

“Not much. Mrs. Jenkins. I don’t get hungry much.”

“Toby will be fine. You sit down and I’ll feed you. Then we’ll go to the hospital to see your Momma.”

Bobby spent more time with Mrs. Jenkins over the next two months as the summer progressed. She gave him some relief in the care of Toby.

Chapter 3: When Things Look Their Darkest, You Can Go Blind

Momma came home, with a pile of pills to keep her calm. They did not mix well with bourbon.

Bobby knew never to enter the house when men were there, and he knew the cars and motorcycles of the Disciple members who were Momma’s new friends.

One day, as he was approaching the house with some formula for Toby he spotted a pickup he knew in the yard. He overheard Momma complaining to Sean Cottrell, one of the new Disciple leaders.

“They won’t pay his insurance, dammit! He’s not declared dead yet, they say. How am I supposed to get on with my life without that money and two kids hanging around my neck?” Momma was just starting up the bourbon, and probably was on some of the meth that Sean manufactured and distributed.

“Just give me the word, babe. You’ll have no problems anymore. Hell, abortions legal up till age sixteen, right?” Sean grinned.

“I’ve got a better way. I’ve been planning it for a while. Bobby’s going to drown the baby, and you stop him after it’s too late. He’s such a weird kid anyway. Sheriff Turner will be right here to lock him up. “ Momma said, taking a pull off the Jim Beam fifth.

Bobby knew he had to get Toby out of the house. He was furious with himself for leaving him with Momma for the hour it took to walk to the store. He approached the back door as quietly as possible. Fortunately for him, Sean was driving off as loudly as the pickup truck could make it.

He heard the water running in the bathtub. Through the window, Momma was putting on the dishwashing gloves, something she never did unless Dad was home. Bobby waited until she left the kitchen and then slowly opened the back door. He heard Toby begin to cry.

“I’m sorry baby, but I need to start clean. This is the best for you.” Momma said softly as she began to immerse Toby into the tub.

Bobby swung the baseball bat as hard as he could, catching Momma on the shoulder. She screamed, but fell to the side, gripping her wounded limb. Bobby dropped the bat and pulled Toby out of the water. The infant sputtered and struggled to breathe.

“You leave him alone! You’re not gonna kill my brother!” Bobby ran out of the house, carrying Toby, water streaming off the baby.

Chapter 4: Showdown

Both of the Jenkins were home. Bobby ran inside their house, and looked for a towel for Toby. He got out the story in between gasps for breath, while he and Mrs. Jenkins wrapped Toby up.

They heard Sean’s pickup truck pull up next door, with a couple of Harleys trailing behind. Mr. Jenkins opened a drawer and pulled out his handgun. He dialed the phone and began talking to someone at the state police station.

“I know it’s local jurisdiction, but the sheriff is in on this. I’ll hold these children until you can get someone out here. Now hurry, goddammit!” Al Jenkins was still steady in a crisis. He grabbed a pump shotgun and gave the pistol to his wife.

Bobby’s mother was screaming and flailing around outside their house, attempting to relay what had happened to Sean and the two with him. Bobby saw Cottrell pull an automatic from behind his back and start marching over to the Jenkins’ house. Momma was hanging on his arm. Sean pushed her off.

“Bitch, you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Since Steve is gone, I guess I can clean up some loose ends.” Sean said, firing two bullets into Momma’s head. He only stopped firing because of a misfeed, jamming the action of the 9mm.

The two other Disciples stormed the front and back doors of the Jenkins house. The first one was almost cut in half by the shotgun blast from Al, but the one at the back stitched Al Jenkins up with a burst from a MAC 10. Bobby hid under the coffee table with Toby in his arms while Mrs Jenkins shot her husband’s killer right in the ten ring.

Bobby heard more Harleys in the distance. Mrs. Jenkins scribbled a note and thrust it into Bobby’s hand.

“Try to get away, Bobby. I know you can drive, so get a car and go here with Toby. It’s a good friend. Tell them I sent you, tell them what happened. You need to hide there. Now go! I’ll keep them occupied. Be careful, these gangs are everywhere. And they will want you dead.”

Mrs. Jenkins fired three times at Sean, who had picked up another handgun. Bobby went out the back door with Toby, who chose this time to start crying. He heard another shot and then Mrs. Jenkins screamed. As he circled around the house he was grabbed from behind.

Sean Cottrell looked at him.

“You little faggot. I only wish old Steve knew I was doing you in. But I need some more bullets. So wait here, kid.”

Cottrell threw Bobby down, the boy still clutching at the screaming Toby. He stomped on Bobby’s groin with his boots, and then kicked Bobby in the ribs.

“That ought’a keep you here.” Sean said as he walked away.

Bobby was in a haze of pain, but still holding Toby. He crawled to his feet, just as he heard another shot. He saw Sean swivel and fall to the ground, and Mrs. Jenkins, standing on her porch, holding the automatic. Her housedress had a blood splotch spreading on her stomach. She fell over.

Bobby got to his feet and carried Toby over to Sean. He was still alive and would probably live so Bobby grabbed a rock and swung on Sean’s jaw. He heard teeth crack and saw blood pour from his mouth. Bobby grabbed the truck keys in Sean’s hand and got into the F 150 as fast as his pain would allow. He settled Toby in, binding him with a seatbelt and started the engine.

He could see the parked Harleys and saw two more coming down the road. He put it into drive and first drove into the front wheels of the two parked choppers. Satisfied they were out of commission, he began driving up the road as fast as he could, swerving into one of the oncoming bikes. The biker flew into the roadside ditch, with his machine landing on top of him. The other bike stopped to help. Bobby sped away and got onto the interstate.

Chapter 5: Crime Scene

Sheriff Turner was very upset. He was supposed to have been on the scene first, like Cottrell had said. When he arrived, there was no Cottrell, five dead bodies and State Police investigators all over the place.

“Sheriff, we have a court order placing this crime scene under our jurisdiction. You have been implicated as being compromised in this investigation and you are to render only the assistance requested of you. Consider this a formal notice.” Max Atherton, a senior officer with the Investigative Unit said, stuffing the paper in Turner’s face.

Turner was still livid about that. When he ascertained that the bodies were two Disciples, the Jenkins and the Dunbar whore, and Cottrell was gone, he left.

He passed the ambulance as it was pulling away with the biker who ended up in the ditch. The other biker had not been forthcoming about what happened.

Turner assumed he was under surveillance and picked up his throw away cell phone. After dialing a number, he left a message.

“This is T, I am being watched. Contact with care.” He left the message on the coded voicemail system.

Turner called in off shift and went straight to the Indian Casino. He figured he was due for some time off.

Miles away, in a nondescript warehouse complex, Reed Cottrell, Sean’s younger brother was screaming into the phone.

“I need a doctor and a dentist, you asshole, ones who we control. Sean’s been shot and had his jaw all smashed up and we need to keep this strictly off the books. Use the Nevada organization. He’ll be there in four hours.”

Reed was the smarter and colder of the two, working the business end of the Disciples while Sean was out front for show. While people feared Sean’s unpredictability, Reed terrified them in pure cold bloodedness.

He turned to the group around him in the warehouse offices. “I want the Dunbar kid found and I want him dead. He saw too much and we lost control of the evidence. The State is going to be on this one hot and heavy and the two idiots who let a bunch of old farts take them down are known members. Good for us the kid is running and we think he’ll be afraid to go to the cops. He knows Turner is ours and word has it he’s a smart kid.

“Find Sean’s pickup, kill that kid and get back the cash that was in it. Any cash missing better be made up however you can. Use all our contacts and get someone in the State Police near this investigation.

“Do this one slow and quiet, people, we’re gonna have a ton of heat on our ass for at least a month. Now how hard will it be to find a thirteen year old boy with a baby?”

The group looked down at the floor to avoid Reed’s stare.

“Get fuckin’ going, you assholes!, Now!” Reed said in his normal motivational; style.

Chapter 6: Runaway Into The Night

Bobby was drained. His groin was throbbing with intense pain, his ribs were on fire whenever he took a breath and he knew Toby had wet the towel. He couldn’t stop, he had to follow Carol Jenkins last instructions. He stayed in the right lane and drove five miles under the speed limit, trying to get to his destination without getting stopped by the cops. He assumed they could all be like Sheriff Turner. He knew how hard it was to go up against the Disciples, and all the people he trusted were dead. So he clung to the last guidance Mrs. Jenkins had given him.

He finally gave up and pulled into an empty rest area, about sixty miles from where he started. Toby was soaked, so he took him into the men’s room and was happy they had warm water. He washed the baby as best he could, and then realized he needed some kind of blanket, since the towel was soaked beyond hope.

A search of the truck provided a clean fleece blanket rolled into the emergency kit. Toby thought this was fine after he was wrapped up. Bobby had Toby drink some water fountain water out of a cupped hand, getting a big smile from the little guy.

“Toby, we’re in deep crap now. I hope the people Mrs. Jenkins told me about will help us.” Bobby said. Toby gurgled.

Searching the truck revealed a large duffel bag. Bobby was stunned when he opened it, revealing a 9mm handgun sitting on top of a pile of money. Stacks of twenties. Old but banded into stacks of fifty bills. Bobby counted up to $55000.

“Toby, we may just have some help in this mess. Sean’s already going to try and kill us just like Momma and the Jenkins, so we can at least use his money. But we gotta be careful.”

Bobby stuffed the bag under the seat and drove back onto the northbound interstate. He had another ninety miles to go. He started looking for a convenience store off an exit.

Rolling up to the Circle K next to the gas pumps, Bobby grabbed a twenty from the stack he had kept out, picked up Toby and went inside.

Toby kept pulling at his hair while he was looking for diapers, formula and bottles, so Bobby undid the clip and let it fall freely. Toby loved that, occasionally pulling when his little hand got a grip.

At the checkout, the girl fussed over Toby, cooing at him. She began asking Bobby if Toby had been breast fed, and Bobby said no, Toby had been on formula since he was born.

“Well I have my little girl at home and she just didn’t want to give it up. I guess it’s all in whether you want to or not.” The girl was looking at Bobby’s loose sweatshirt, thinking that Bobby was not very well endowed for a mother. Oh well, he looked young too.

“Those bruises on your face don’t look good, honey. Do you need some help?” The cashier asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Bobby caught on that the girl thought Toby was his baby which meant she thought Bobby was a girl. He decided that he’d rather this checkout girl remembered a girl and baby rather than a boy and a baby. He held Toby in such a way to cover his chest, smiled when she gave him change for the twenty and left, carrying Toby on his hip like he had seen Momma do. “No thanks, I’m fine. I need to get my little one home now.”

Bobby made a bottle for Toby on the front seat of the pickup, hoping the room temperature bottled water was ok for him mixed with the formula. He put a diaper on Toby and proceeded to feed him, scanning the parking lot for anything suspicious.

Finishing up, Bobby took some aspirin and despite the wracking pain, secured Toby with the seatbelt and drove off.

“We can buy you a real car seat now, buddy. It’s much safer. “ He said. Toby looked at him and smiled.

While sipping on his coffee, he saw the big “Sunny Serve” sign coming up in the distance. He hoped Mrs. Jenkins’ friends were able to help.

Chapter 7: Temporary Refuge

Bobby pulled into pumps of the truckstop. Mrs. Jenkins note had told him to go to the Filler exit and ask for a man named Bobby Filler. He would help him if he explained he was sent by the Jenkins. He was to tell him everything.

A pretty young woman approached the pickup. Her nametag said ‘Joelle’.

“Can I help you, honey? Do you need some gas?” Joelle asked, sweetly.

“Is there a Bobby Filler here? I need to see him.” Bobby said, the pain showing in his voice.

“Are you alright, Miss? You look like someone’s been going over you. Is that your baby?”

Bobby picked up Toby and got out of the truck. He staggered over to the Sunny Serve office, tears running down his cheeks from the pain in his groin. The swelling made it hard to walk.

Joelle chased after him, steering him to the chair at the desk.

“Bobby Filler. Hide the truck, can’t let them find us. Get to Bobby Filler.”
Bobby said as he was passing out. Joelle grabbed Toby before Bobby collapsed.

She called the café and a minute later saw a pink waitress uniform run over to the Sunny Serve office.

“Terri, this poor girl drove up, asked for Bobby and collapsed. It looks like someone beat the crap out of her.

The waitress grabbed Toby, who seemed fascinated by the very large breasts the waitress uniform displayed.

“We need to get this baby some clothes and you need to get Doc Schlange. He and mom are at her house. Bobby’s due back in an hour. Maybe he knows who this kid is. It’s slow over at the café and Thelma can handle my shift for now. I’ll get this little fella handled while you stay with her until the Doc comes.”

Joelle watched Terri walk away towards the town store, holding the baby and calling on a cell phone, probably to warn Joelle’s uncle to open the front door. She always loved watching Terri walk away, with those big hips moving back and forth. She was completely in love with Terri, and had been since they were kids.

Bobby Dunbar was sleeping on a bed in Betty Springer’s home, the one she usually shared with Doc Schlange. Doc was talking to Betty, Terri, Joelle and Bobby Filler, who had just arrived. Toby was sleeping in a playpen Terri had set up, clothed in his new sleeper. Joelle had given him a good bath, and with more food, he had fallen sound asleep.

“Well, someone beat our visitor up real bad. The baby seems fine, but the young girl you called me here to look at has some surprises. First of all, I doubt that they are mother and daughter.” Doc spoke in his normal deep tones.

“How do you know that, Doc?” Joelle asked.

“Well, because I’m a good doctor, and while I’ve handled some strange cases before “ He looked at Terri, who giggled, “ I doubt that boy gave birth. “

The crowd gasped. A thin, long haired smooth skinned kid carrying a baby led them to a lot of assumptions. Doc continued.

“He’s had some ribs broken, but his biggest problem other than borderline malnutrition is his testicles have been smashed pretty good. It looked like he got stomped by a boot heel. The strange thing is the baby is healthy and well fed, but this boy has not been eating well. You say he came here asking for Bobby?”

Joelle nodded. “He also said to hide the truck. When I drove it into the bays, I found a duffel bag with a pistol and over $50000 in twenties. Do you think he’s a robber?”

Bobby Filler, stood up, his wrinkled face and lanky body uncoiling from the chair, and he limped over to the resting boy.

“I think he is on the run from someone who was trying to hurt him. We’ll know more when he wakes up. Call me, I’ll have my phone on.” With that, he spun around and left.

“Doc, can you help him? How bad are the injuries?” Betty asked.

“We need to let the swelling go down for now, and then I need to bring him in for an ultrasound to inspect the damage. The ribs will heal, but will hurt like hell for a while. I fear he may be permanently affected. I’ll have to wait and see. Right now, let him sleep. I’m going to call some friends for a consultation.”

Chapter 8: Underground Railroad

Bobby Dunbar felt better than he had in months. He’d eaten food, showered and was given clean jeans, a T shirt and new sneakers. He’s tried to pay but nobody would take his money.

Toby was having the time of his life, with at least five or six women mothering him every second. He seemed to really like Terri, the waitress with the really big boobs.

He and Bobby Filler were sitting together with Doc Schlange, in Bobby’s home. Charlene, Bobby’s wife was running the businesses while Bobby figured out what to do.

“Are you sure you’ve told us everything, Bobby? Every detail could be important.” Bobby Filler said. Bobby Dunbar sensed he was a man of few words.

“All I can remember. I need to take care of Toby. He’s all the family I’ve got and he deserves better than what we had. And the Disciples will never stop until they find us.” Bobby said, stoically. For some reason these two men reminded him of his Dad. Big, steady and caring.

“Al Jenkins was a Marine with me and Terri’s dad. Then he was the best cop this state every saw. And Carol Jenkins was one of the best women I knew. I’m not surprised they went out like they did, they were tough as nails and really good people.” Bobby Filler said.

He continued. “Carol asked me to help out a friend of hers, someone she knew as a Navy nurse. The woman has a big mountain lodge way the heck up in the Sierras and helps people. Usually not like you, but given your situation, I think she’d do it for Carol’s memory. They are sent to me and I kind of filter them out and act as a go between to get them to her. I’ve already called her and she wants you to bring Toby up there and stay.”

“What kind of people?” Bobby Dunbar asked.

“Usually women beaten up by their men, a lot with babies and nowhere to go. It’s gotten a little better, with some new laws, but the ones we see now are a lot of migrants and others, who are afraid to go to the law. If you go there, you follow her rules and do not do anything to put those people at risk. Understand?”

Bobby shook his head.

“Bobby, I need to monitor his condition, and I’m going to need to take him for some tests.” Doc chimed in.

“I know Doc. That’s why I’m bringing you into this. Plus I know you can keep your mouth shut. Now Bobby, I’ve got a duffel bag of money which is yours free and clear, and given your situation, I’m letting you keep the 9mm. Can you use it?” Bobby Filler said.

“Yes, I can. My Dad taught me how to shoot when I was ten.”

“Okay. The truck has been repainted and driven three hundred miles to Arizona, Phoenix actually. The paint washed off in a car wash and we hope it will be found abandoned. The Disciples probably have people in every police station and we hope they think you are down south and east of here. Now gather your things, both of you. You’re going to meet Lady Jean Thomas. “

Chapter 9: Sanctuary

Bobby Filler drove the 6X6 up the logging road, taking care to avoid the most jarring holes and rocks. Bobby Dunbar and Doc Schlange were with him, and Toby seemed fine in his car seat.

After about an hour of twists and turns, Bobby drove off the road on what looked like pure brush undergrowth. He stopped the truck, told the two to get everything they were bringing.

A set of steps went up about twenty feet, cut into the rockface. Bobby banged the stair rail with a rock and Doc saw a stair elevator platform begin to descend. They boarded, Bobby banged the rock again and the platform slowly lifted them up.

Bobby Dunbar saw the most beautiful house he had ever seen. Huge, it must have twenty rooms or more. The wood finish blended in with the surrounding pines, which towered overhead. Several decks ran along the outside, at least three levels he could see. What was strange is that it had been totally invisible from the road.

“Somebody was worried about defensive perimeters here.” Doc muttered.

“When you meet Jean, you’ll see.” Bobby Filler said, chuckling.

They approached the house and two young women dressed in jeans and workshirts met them. Bobby waved and it was clear they knew him.

“Is this our new arrival, Mr Filler? “ the tall one asked.

“Yes, Tracey. This is Bobby Dunbar and Toby. The other big guy is Doc Schlange. He’s a friend.”

“Doctor, Lady Jean wants to meet you right away. Bobby, please bring Toby and we’ll get you two settled into your room. Mr. Filler, can you take him to the library?”

Bobby nodded to Bobby Dunbar, who followed the two women to the left, while he led Doc to the right. The interior was magnificent and Bobby had to keep pulling Doc away from the paintings and artifacts strewn through the lodge.

They entered the library which looked like something transplanted from an English manor house. Dark wainscoting and books shelved to the ceiling, with rolling ladders on the walls. A tall woman with long brown hair strewn with gray rose from a stuffed chair. She was dressed in a prim and proper sleeveless high neck dress which came to her knees. She had a remarkable figure and moved with grace.

“Bobby I’m glad to see you. How is Charlene?” The woman said.

“She’s going crazy, Lady Jean. She says she will quit smoking for sure this time. I just stay out of her way, like everybody else.” Bobby said.

“I really doubt you can stay away from her that long, Bobby.”

She turned to Doc. Doc Schlange stared at her, knowing she looked very familiar, but could not place her.

“I’m Jean Thomas. The ‘Lady’ means I married lucky. Lucky until he passed on. Haven’t you placed me yet, Walter?” Lady Jean stood in front of Doc, smiling.

Doc’s face exploded. “Jean Koslowski? You were at FireBase Mary? I haven’t seen you in almost forty years! Goddamit, Bobby, why didn’t you tell me?” He hugged Lady Jean enough to pick her up off the floor.

“Didn’t know until I gave Jean your name to see if she would allow you up here. Then she told me to keep it a surprise.” Bobby said, grinning enough so his worn wrinkles moved around.

Doc, or Walter as Bobby now learned was his name, had served as Doctor with Jean as chief nurse in a field hospital where a detachment of Marines was reinforcing an Army position. Firebase Mary got nicknamed “Bloody Mary” after it almost was overrun at least six times.

They sat down and Jean told her story. She knew Doc’s history and had been totally surprised when Bobby had told her he had been a frequent visitor to Filler, just fifty miles away, and had married into the Filler ‘family’.

After falling in love with an Aussie officer she helped patch up, she accepted his offer to return to Australia with him. It turned out he was a British Lord, Knight of the Empire and all that, but also heir to a reasonable fortune. They lived a wonderful, happy life until he his heart gave out fifteen years ago. Lady Jean decided to return home to the Sierras, and built the lodge on some property they owned. She became involved in various causes, but settled on funding shelters for battered women and children. As she got more involved, she found there were cases in which the danger level was so high, she did not want them in a regular shelter.

The ‘Extreme Cases’ as she called them she tended to personally, with a small staff at her lodge. She knew Bobby Filler, Al and Carol Jenkins from the war and enlisted them in being her go betweens. She also made sure that her lodge would not be overrun like Firebase Mary.

“Walter, Bobby, right now I have only five girls in residence, two with babies. I have the room for Bobby but we are not really set up for young boys. How long will he have to stay here? “ Lady Jean asked.

“Given the Disciples reputation, he and the baby have to disappear forever. With Al gone, I have no way of knowing who to trust in the police. I’m afraid to even try the one guy who was close to Al until this thing cools off. We need Bobby to become someone else. Can you trust your girls?” Bobby said.

“I hope so. I don’t think any will be leaving in the next year, anyway.”

Doc spoke. “There is another complication. Bobby’s injuries to his groin are severe and probably permanent. He will almost certainly not be producing enough testosterone to even trigger the rest of his puberty. After he heals, I may need to begin supplements if he wants to retain any normal function. I will need to take him for an ultrasound exam soon.”

“No need to remove him, Walter. I have two ultrasound machines here. We have a very well equipped lab and a part time resident OB GYN. You may want to confer with her, however, given she may be a bit out of her specialty. Lord Harry left me more money than I can possibly spend.”

Chapter 10: New Friends

Bobby Dunbar was walking Toby around on the deck, looking at the valley below. Toby loved the sunlight and shadows through the trees.

Bobby felt a little better. His face was still bruised but not as swollen. His ribs still ached but he felt it was lessening. His groin was encased in a diaper like padded garment, with cold packs to try to reduce the swelling. It still throbbed, despite the pain pills Doc and the other Doc, Karen had given him. He felt a bit silly wearing the loose fitting shift which came to his knees, but had to admit it was the only thing he could wear outside over the diaper. Besides, he had come to the conclusion he needed to look like someone else other than Bobby, for his and Toby’s sake.

The girls there had been great. They loved little Toby and made him feel welcome. They all were here escaping from a brutal situation and regarded Bobby as one of them.

He was the youngest. Dawn and Tracey were nineteen and Tracey’s baby was Toby’s age.

Melinda was seventeen and her little boy was just nine months. Barbara was sixteen and Madeline was fourteen.

Bobby found his room next to Madeline’s, and she visited a lot when she was not doing her studies or chores. Bobby had no chores while he healed, which annoyed him since he had been running a household since he was ten.

Lady Jean spent hours listening to Bobby talk. She was amazed at the combination of adult maturity and responsibility and the child like vulnerability in the young boy. His attachment to Toby was more than a brother, Bobby admitted he felt more like Toby’s Momma now that Momma was gone.

“Bobby, your Momma had problems. You know that, don’t you?” Jean asked gently.

“Momma fell apart when Dad wasn’t there. But even when he was, she was mean and only really cared about herself. Mrs. Jenkins used to tell me to be strong for her and Toby, ‘cause Momma lost her way. So I did my best, but I had to stop her from killing Toby. I didn’t want to hurt her.” Bobby broke down and Lady Jean held him.

Jean could not believe what this child had been through. An abusive mother. A father who seemed to care but was gone a lot. Being viewed as gay by the whole town. Beaten up and humiliated. The people who were supposed to help were either hurting him actively or absent. And then watching his mother neglect his brother, and then try to kill him and blame him for it. The most violent criminal gang in the country after him and wanting him dead.

And now he would have to be told he might never be a normal man. This was not a problem child, this was a child that had problems dumped on his head. And still, a core of incredible strength and character shown through. He would not abandon his helpless brother at any cost to himself. This child would be saved, cherished and protected, if she did nothing else before she died. Lady Jean Thomas, the aloof, powerful woman wept openly , holding the boy in a gentle embrace.

Chapter 11: New Identity

Jean was sitting in her office with Doc Schlange, Doctor Karen Peters, her staff doctor and George Romany, a psychiatrist who specialized in transgendered boys. George was part of a very shadowy group that Jean could never seem to trace, but their purposes often coincided with hers and she liked George. He was a bit of a fanatic if you wound him up, but he really cared for the kids he treated.

“Jean, you are right not to trust the police. My contacts have told me the Disciples have penetrated almost every force around. Not enough to change things but enough so they know everything the cops know. You tell the cops where Bobby is and he will be dead in two days. Along with everyone near him. The group makes so much money from
their meth labs and other things they can afford to pay off or threaten their way into anywhere.” George said, glancing at the group’s reaction.

“I read from your statement that Bobby needs to be prepared to assume another identity for the foreseeable future, maybe permanently, George. I have discussed this with him, as well as Walter’s diagnosis. He has expressed the desire to masquerade as a girl.. He is quite a mature boy and he understands his injury. He also identifies as filling in for Toby mother as a worthy life choice. I have never seen such a selfless person, anywhere. Walter, Karen, what do you think?” Jean asked.

“I think appearing as a girl will be relatively harmless for now, if the other girls never engage in humiliation of any kind. It should be done lovingly and with his full consent. I assume Walter can address the effect of holding off testosterone therapy, but we need to keep his options open as long as possible.” Karen said, nodding to Doc.

“Delaying Bobby’s puberty will be helpful to the masquerade, and as long as we monitor him, we can hold off a decision for a year. At that time we either point him one way or another. If he wants to continue the masquerade, then he needs to decide if it should become real.” Doc said, nodding to George.

“If we follow the normal process, which this does not, we would have Bobby live as a woman for quite a while before we push this that way. What’s a problem here is the involuntary nature of the injury. Bobby needs to come to grips with the decision, but the sooner he decides, the better he will be growing up as his selected gender. I recommend we wait no more than that year and then push for a choice. In the meantime, I can provide some help with his appearance.” George said, tears welling up in his eyes. This case was personally difficult since George believed in letting the person come to grips with their gender gently and slowly, but Bobby’s choice was thrust upon him.

“So be it. Bobby becomes Carol, the name he chose to honor Carol Jenkins, who saved his life as her last act. It was his, or rather her idea.” Jean said, sharing George’s tears.

Carol was beginning to get comfortable in his new role. Lady Jean had explained the situation to all the household and they embraced Carol’s identity change as a group challenge. It had been a month and he was finally getting the hang of hair styling, with coaching from Tracey and Melinda. His hair was now jet black and his complexion was darker by a combination of sun and makeup. He really wondered if sleeping in rollers was necessary, but they assured him it was a necessary part of his training.

Although they had only trimmed his hair, it was unrecognizable in the curly style they had him practice. It floated off his shoulders, just brushing them as he swung his head.

He had adapted to earrings and dresses, but found high heels really uncomfortable. He made sure he did at least two hours a day practicing, under Lady Jean’s watchful eye, which included walking with a book on his head in the library. Lady Jean and some of the staff who were also teachers were patient but firm with Carol. If he lapsed on his behavior, they were quick to settle him down and discuss why he was doing it. There was a calm inevitability communicated to Carol that he would become a feminine girl with help and support, and that he was perfectly capable of doing it well.

Carol was treated like a special little sister by all of the girls. They made sure he had help when he needed it, but including him into their group as a full member was crucial to making Carol comfortable. Gossip, jokes and general girl talk became easy for Carol, and seemed normal after a short while. Carol had found a family again.

Mr. Romany was very helpful and seemed to know everything about dressing like a girl. He confided in Carol that he often did it himself, and one day showed up in a skirted suit and wig. Carol thought he looked beautiful. Lady Jean just treated him as another woman. It was amazing. Carol studied how George changed his hand gestures, and body language when he dressed up. George had explained that attitude and the silent forms of communication were the key to appearing believably female.

George had fitted Carol for breast prostheses, showing him how to use the adhesive and the remover. Carol’s ribs were still sore but found applying the breasts less painful as time went by.

It was strange having boobs, but Carol soon adapted, especially since the girls fawned all over him, letting him know how good he looked. He became familiar with brassieres and never went without one during the day.

The girls showed Carol no mercy in appearing and acting girlish, and he was always the most feminine appearing of the entire group. Of course, his injury and padding almost made wearing dresses the easiest choice for him.

The only person he could not fool was Toby, who took it all in stride. He had cried when Carol’s hair went dark, but quickly adapted. The rest of the changes he was oblivious too, except he seemed to love to grab at Carol’s breasts and pinch them.

Chapter 12: School Days

Lady Jean had to admit, Carol was the hardest working student she had ever seen. He just burned through the material, seemingly driven to make up for lousy schools, apathetic teachers and no motivation all in one year. At fourteen he was already caught up to his grade level, and all this while being a full time mother.

Toby was a handful, still smiling and good natured but curious and crawling into everything. He was a handful by any stretch of the imagination. Carol played with him while studying material, never ignoring him or even showing any temper.

Madeline became Carol’s closest friend. Jean, Karen and George observed a continual adaptation to the role of young mother and teenage girl with little or no difficulty. It was like Bobby just became Carol over the space of a few months.

Jean was proud of her girls, and a leaving ceremony was always a tearful occasion. Dawn and Tracey had been at the lodge for three years and were quite different from the scared and beaten girls who had shown up at her door. Jean had determined the danger for them had passed and was starting them off in a new life. The girls were starting a catering business in Denver, a place far from their past.

Carol had used some of his stash of money to buy dresses for everybody for the ceremony, including George. Jean thought it over and then approved. It was the first time Carol had even thought about the money in the whole year he had been there.

The formal gowns were very pretty, each one tailored to the measurements sent in by Carol who had done it as his gift to the departing girls.

Jean led the ceremony with some traditional words and all of them lit the candles they held. Tracey and Dawn were in tears and it was contagious. They said a few words indicating their love, their appreciation for Lady Jean, and the unique rescue that had happened. George was sobbing openly, his mascara running. It was short and poignant.

Chapter 13: Direction and Discovery

Carol sat with Lady Jean. He was dressed up since he viewed this as important, and his hair was a mass of permed curls. He smoothed his skirt as he sat across the desk from her.

“Carol, you know the decision you need to make. Three doctors who love you are all saying you should grow up one way or the other. I wish there was another way. But Dr.Schlange is a leading expert on this and says if you delay any longer you may end up halfway between man and woman. We gave you a year to try living as a girl and frankly you are better at it than most natural born girls.

“You may be just short of fifteen, but you are old enough to make this decision. Just please do me one favor. Do this for you, not for Toby. He’s a wonderful child, but he would not want this on his head when he’s old enough to know what you gave up.” Jean said, looking directly into Carol’s eyes.

Carol/Bobby went quiet.

After the longest ten minutes Jean could remember, he spoke.”I don’t think I would be as good a man as the woman I could be. I can’t be sure, but I think I want to be Carol. Can I do that? “

Jean hugged her newest girl.

Max Atherton had never given up on nailing Al and Carol Jenkins’ killers. He had to let the sheriff go, with the only evidence being Al’s call to the police. He knew the key was the Dunbar boy.

No one had found him, or the baby. It was like the earth had swallowed them up. He knew the Disciples were still looking also, so he took comfort in believing they were still alive. If the gang stopped looking, they were dead.

Max called in the lone investigator who was still working the case. Fred Washington was a massive man who was like a bulldog with a bone. When he got a case, he never let go.

“Fred, did we check out everybody who went to the Jenkins funeral? I mean everybody?”

“Yes, Max. We did. Three times. So did the Disciples through the PI’s they’ve hired. But I have an idea I’ve been working on and I need your help.” Fred said in his slow but penetrating voice.

“Ok, shoot.”

“My latest theory is who didn’t go to the funeral who should have. The murder got nationwide attention, so most people would have found out. I’ve gone through Carol Jenkins address book and I have a list of cop and marine buddies for Al and old friends of Carol. I’m going to start tracing them down. If any of them are sheltering the boy, they would not have been at the service to avoid the Disciples’ attention. Now do any names strike you?”

Max scanned the list. Two popped out, both Vietnam buddies of Al’s. Bill Ferny and Bobby Filler. Both were in state and both would have come for the funeral if they could.

“Okay, Max, I’ll check them out. I have three names to track from Carol Jenkins’ friends. Barbara Holman, Jean Koslowski and Bebe Newhart. The rest are dead or in very bad health.” Fred continued.

“Fred, do this yourself. I really don’t want that damn gang using your work to find them and kill them. If that happens, I’d rather we just drop the whole thing.” Max said.

They found the listening device in Max’s office the next day.

Chapter 14: Return

Sheriff Turner was basking in his new hot tub. The income from his role in the Disciples allowed him to make his lifestyle a bit more comfortable. He was about half asleep, sitting over the water jets with a beer in his hand.

Suddenly he was yanked out of the water and thrown into a bag, tied shut and heaved up on a shoulder.

“Make a noise and I’ll break your skull wide open, scumbag.” This was all Turner heard. He decided to be quiet.

After being thrown into a car trunk, Turner remembered driving for what seemed like hours. The bag was impervious to his efforts to break free.

He felt the car stop and the trunk open. He was hoisted out and carried somewhere. A few minutes later, he is strapped up and hung on a hook, suspended a foot off the ground. He heard two men.

“Turner, we need to go over what happened at the Dunbar place. We need more clues to find the boy. Now start from the top and don’t leave anything out.”

“What? Are you crazy? I work right for Reed and Sean. They already know everything I know. This is a mistake!” Turner said, a whimper in his voice. He heard some dogs, big snarly ones.

“Look asshole, Reed and Sean have fucked this up. We are looking over their shoulder, so to speak. Now, do you answer or should I pour beef gravy on your crotch and let the dogs loose? They haven’t eaten for a day and a half.” The voice was cold and frightening.

Turner felt his bathing suit being cut away and felt something warm and thick being poured onto his genitals. The dogs got louder.

Turner talked. He covered everything.

When he was done, he was punched in the face and gut, taken off the hook and told “Don’t breathe a word about this to anyone, asshole, or next time we won’t be so nice.”

Turner was told to not remove his mask for ten minutes or he would be dead. He knew the gang actually did that to guys, leaving behind a gunman with a stopwatch. They unstrapped him and he then heard a car drive away.

Maybe a half an hour alter, he unmasked and found himself naked, in the desert, miles from anywhere.

Chapter 15: Good Police Work

Max Atherton was in a rush. He knew the Disciples were driving against the leads Fred had developed and blamed himself They had not killed anyone yet, but the people they could find had been visited. And threats were implied.

Bobby Filler had captured two PI’s who had gotten a little rough. The State Police retrieved them and charged assault against an officer of the law, Bobby being the Filler town sheriff. He told the troopers that his favorite song was ‘I Fought The Law And The Law Won’ when they drove away. Bobby started carrying his revolver again.

Max Atherton paid a call on Bobby.

“Bobby, I worked with Al Jenkins for twenty years. He was the best damn cop this state ever had. And I let him down. If I can find that kid I know I can put away Sean Cottrell for a long time.” Max said.

“Mr. Atherton, even you get Sean Cottrell, from what I understand he’s just the top punk. The damn gang will go on and kill that kid just like stomping on a bug.” Bobby said, shuffling papers on his desk.

“We could protect him. Oh, that’s bullshit., I know. But what else can I do? I’ve got to get the guys that took down Al.” Max said, exasperated.

“Sounds like you need to go a bit outside the law, Max. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.”

Fred had just connected Jean Koslowski to Lady Jean Thomas. He was not going to tell anyone except Max, but was not aware there was spyware in his computer, sending out his activity to a hidden location on the local network. Someone was going to pick that up that evening.

The State Police Sysadmin was running maintenance routines, trying to track down some anomalous behavior on the servers. He found the hidden files just as they were leaving the system. He was able to trap the files before they deleted themselves and tried to trace where they went. Failing that, he picked up the phone to call the Duty Officer.

Max Atherton was called a half an hour later.

Chapter 16: Firebase Jean

Lady Jean got the call from Bobby, who got the call from Max Atherton. She immediately started shutting down the lodge. When she decided to handle the ‘Extreme Cases’ here , she knew she might attract some very bad people. Fortunately there were only four girls and two toddlers, plus three adult staff. Plus Jean. She hoped Bobby could get here soon with some reinforcements. She opened the armory and issued weapons to the staff, grabbing a Colt 1911 ACP for herself, along with an M-16 with full auto. She was running through the defenses in her head. Claymores, motion sensors, video cameras and other booby traps.

She debated collapsing the staircase, but decided it made a better kill zone if they tried to use it. Her staff cook was an expert with a SAW (light machine gun) and was assembling it as she watched.

Lady Jean had almost been killed several times defending a position almost forty years ago and was going to be damned if she would let them through hers now. She remembered when the nurses had been offered rifles and asked to help hold the line. It was never supposed to happen, and never had, officially.
Sean Cottrell was angry every time he closed his jaw. The reconstruction was never quite right, and the source of constant pain. That kid had caught him just right and smashed the hinge joint beyond recognition. He had spent the better part of the year going to oral surgeons, who he found, were much more professional at giving pain than he could ever aspire to. His brother had told him he wasn’t allowed to kill the doctors when he was finished, and that really pissed him off.

Sean was going in from the air. There were two helos, each carrying two Disciples to climb down a rope and enter the lodge. Reed had about twenty guys working their way up the hill, ready to go in and lay waste on Sean’s signal. The money paid to the cops IT people was worth it, it kept them one step ahead.

Carol and Toby were in a central room. Carol held the 9mm Bobby Filler had let her keep. She always thought of herself in the feminine these days, since she had committed to the hormone therapy. After just a few months, her body was already taking shape. She knew it would take some time, but she wanted her own breasts so she could ditch the prostheses. So far, her nipples were changing and she showed some growth. Despite the mood swings, she was happier than she had ever been. Until today.

Madeline, Melinda and Barbara, along with Melinda’s toddler were also there, and Melinda had a pump shotgun aimed at the only door.

Reed Cottrell was cursing the underbrush. At first this little hit seemed like fun, like all those war movies he had seen. He had his guys working up the hill, and they were cursing and shouting and making a hell of a lot of noise. Reed knew that was wrong, but who could get in their way out here? He hefted the H&K submachine gun and kept moving upward. He hoped they were on the right hill.

Chapter 17: Confrontation

Jean heard the helicopters and saw the men rappelling down the lines, four of them. She cursed herself. She had never planned on an air assault. She ran up the stairs. She heard the crash of glass and knew at least one had entered the house.

Sean Cottrell sent his companion down the hall. They both began kicking in doors. He heard someone running up stairs. His partner kicked in a door and was taken down by a shotgun blast. Sean crept up and looked inside and saw a bunch of girls and little kids. One was rubbing a sore shoulder from the shotgun blast.

Sean ran in and shouted “Bobby Dunbar! Give it up and nobody else gets hurt!”

The girls all looked at each other, some grasping the babies. Carol hid the 9mm under her skirt. She heard gunfire in the hallway.

“Bobby Dunbar! Come out!” Sean said. Nobody moved.

Carol knew Sean could cut them to pieces if he squeezed off a burst with his weapon. Including Toby.

Jean saw two men coming down the hall, and sent a burst into the first one. He staggered, but didn’t go down. Damn armor she thought. She was then surprised to see the second man snap her target’s neck. He turned, a large man with short hair and a beard, tattoos all over his huge upper arms. He held up his hand and put a finger in front of his mouth, indicating silence. Jean nodded. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, at least this moment.

Both of them heard Sean’s challenge in the room off the hallway. The large man crept inside.

Carol, grasping her skirt, stood up. She gave Toby to Melinda.

“I’m Bobby Dunbar. Leave them alone.” She said.

Sean looked and laughed.

“You are a little faggot. I’ll bet you’ve enjoyed this, girl. Now I owe you some payback.” Sean menaced, his jaw clicking.

Carol drew up the pistol but stopped as Sean was suddenly in a choke hold. Carol stood there stunned.

“You forgot the other Dunbar, Sean. Drop the gun or I’ll snap your neck. I may anyway.” Steve Dunbar stood there. Smiling.

Sean dropped the gun. Steve smashed him right in his reconstructed jaw, sending Sean in paroxysms of screaming pain. Steve tied him up with some plastic handcuffs he had in his assault suit.

Carol was absolutely shaken. Steve came up and picked her up.

“I’ve been looking for you for almost a year, Bobby. I’ll never leave you again. Is that Toby?”

Carol nodded.

“I see you took real good care of him. I’m real proud of you, kid. I got some of the story, but I want to hear it all from you.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” Carol screamed. “I thought you were dead! Daddy!” Tears were streaming down most cheeks in the room. Madeline handed Toby to Steve.

After a few minutes, Lady Jean interrupted.

“Mr. Dunbar, I thank you for your help, but there are at least fifteen men coming up the mountain, all heavily armed. I think we better attend to the defenses.”

Steve set his family down.

“Bobby, please take that pistol and blow that guy away if he tries to get loose. I’ll be back. Take care of the group here.”

Steve kissed his sons and left with Lady Jean.

As they approached the first floor, Jean heard the SAW ripping bursts right at the staircase, and saw her cook take out at least four of the attackers. These morons were plain stupid, Jean thought, we may survive this yet.

Steve took his H&K and worked a gunport under a window. Jean saw a group of five men on the video monitor at the base of the stairs and triggered the claymores. Remote controlled explosives loaded with steel bearings. She watched the shrapnel rip the Disciples to complete shreds. The odds were evening up.

The house was stinking of cordite and sweat. Her staff was now only firing when they saw a target.

Chapter 18: Wrap

Jean saw her attackers start dying on the video monitors, but she could not see how. Suddenly the survivors had their hands in the air.

Jean’s phone rang. She answered it, put the receiver down and shouted “It’s over! Put your weapons down!. Bobby Filler got here with some help.”

Bobby had enlisted the nearby Mountain Resort security team to help out. Most were reservists, former Recon Marines or Army Special Forces. They had no casualties; their only limitation was getting there fast enough.

One of the dead was Reed Cottrell, his face barely recognizable from Jean’s claymores.

Jean looked up and saw another helicopter. Just as everyone was raising weapons, she heard a shout “Friendly! State Police”

Chapter 19: Sweet Home Again

Max Atherton was debating between arresting everyone in sight or just ignoring the whole thing and taking in Sean Cottrell and his remaining Disciples, and squeezing them for what he would need to put a real dent in the organization.

Lady Jean Thomas, her lodge restored to order, all windows airing out the smell of battle, recounted the story as she knew it. Max went wide eyed at what Bobby Dunbar had to go through. Max decided to ignore the several hundred weapons violations in evidence.

Steve Dunbar related his story, which consisted of being found barely alive by ‘freelance salvage crews’ or pirates, working the small islands off the Philippines, graduating from slave to crew, escaping and working his way back to the US. Once he arrived, he contacted an old friend who clued him in to what had happened. He glossed over some of his methods tracking the Disciples, but told Max that he had boatloads of data on their operations which he would be happy to let them ‘find’ them on Reed Cottrell’s body.

A medevac helicopter came for the wounded, especially Sean Cottrell, who, in addition to a re-fractured jaw, somehow had his testicles hammered flat, possibly with a pistol butt.

Jean knew she would never ask Carol about that.

Jean decided that Steve Dunbar was an exceptional man, capable of violence but also caring. He had accepted Carol’s life decision, understanding the logic and knew he had been a part of the circumstance which brought it about. He had a lot of guilt to work out. Jean knew she was capable of violence herself, if it meant defending her ‘family’.

Lady Jean’s mission sometimes required force to extract and protect the women and children while they made it to her sanctuary, and Al Jenkins was gone and had been too old for quite a while, and she knew Bobby Filler , while tough as they come, was getting on in years. She needed someone new to keep things going.

Steve Dunbar spent a lot of time talking to Lady Jean, about his life and his choices. She came to see him as a man who looked for redemption and was struggling to achieve it. He also was driven to protect the innocent. Even in his worst days as a gang member, he applied violence only against those who could defend themselves, and today his smuggling of pot would just make him a minor glaucoma medicine distributor.

So Lady Jean Thomas gave Carol, her newest girl, the best gift she could.

Steve accepted her offer to stay on as a ‘security specialist’ .. He agreed, knowing the Disciples could still lash out while the justice system began to dismantle them. He also knew Carol (he called her that now almost every time) liked it here. He had promised not to leave his family again, and this was keeping that promise.

Later that week, Carol put on her favorite dress, did her hair just the way she liked it, put on some light makeup and scent and even wore heels. She and Toby were going to dinner with Dad.

She realized she was happy, and had been happy for a longer time than ever before.

END

I wanted to try a role reversal without magic, domination, unwilling participants, too willing participants, hypnosis, or technology not based in current capability. Guys are guys but the rules change around them. It took more words than planned.

Chapter 1: Welcome to Fantasy Island

We got off the plane and were greeted by a bright sunny day. The island was lush but not tropical. A few of the guys argued about where we were. My guess was the South Atlantic, but I have been known to be wrong. A plane full of strangers, fifty guys in their late twenties climbed down the steps from the 757 and walked towards the two women who were holding one of those greeting signs emblazoned with “Group D”.

Amazing, I thought, how people move like a herd of sheep. Tell them a name, once , maybe twice and a year later, when they are in a strange place and a little disoriented, show them the name and they follow.

As we approached the women with the signs, a murmuring started among the group. I could clearly see they were older women, maybe late thirties, early forties but their bodies were outstanding. They were wearing light blue leotards or body stockings or whatever you call them, from neck to ankle and every asset they had was on display. Their ponytails were blonde and their faces were good too, but most of us scanned those details way down on the priority list. I doubt half of the group even got to their faces. The usual mumbled , half under-the breath comments and noises were made, enough guts were sucked in to create a localized tropical depression and we all felt reinforced in our group’s acumen in spying appropriate prey. I’m sure guys did the same thing on the plains of east Africa a long time ago, before language, civilization or cable television was readily available, and felt the same way.

After one of the women did a roll call, it was determined we were indeed, all here, or more precisely that someone had shouted “Yo” when each name was called. Group D’s first achievement as a team, the utterance of fifty “yo”s now completed, the roll call gods were obviously pleased with our offering and we were allowed to proceed. We also accomplished our next difficult assigned task, boarding three open air electric jitney busses without someone telling us how to distribute the group and sit. Group D Rules! We were on our way.

Greed is good, said Gordon Gekko in the movie “Wall Street’. Well, we all bought into that one. Greed was why we were there.. It all started a year prior to our arrival on the island, in a session where a hundred strangers, all male, all roughly the same age and all good but not very famous software development professionals had met Bob Franzone, the front man for one of the richest billionaires in the media business, Blaine Winston. We had all been offered $10,000 dollars for a half day’s consulting on a Sunday afternoon, paid out the end of the session. Some of us came just to see if a consulting client would actually pay for work that fast, it being considered a sign of the Apocalypse by our select group. No one knew each other well, although we all had had some contact at trade shows and various projects in the past.

We had all signed a non-disclosure form, which had become a ritual in the industry. We knew all clients could not have a family picnic without having their kids sign one of these. Some of us had signed so many we assumed the only way to stay fully in compliance was to become a Trappist monk and take a vow of silence. It was rumored that violating a nondisclosure agreement was punishable by being taken and locked in a room with the lawyer who wrote it and being forced to listen to him read it to you. Frightening. We also signed a standard consulting agreement, which we actually read and seemed fine. A flunky logged us all into a database as contract workers for Winston Enterprises, LLC, Chartered in the Republic of Branji, which we assumed was a captive corporate haven consisting of a formerly poor family, six palm trees, a fax machine, with a very palatial office in some financial capital, like Zurich, or New York.

The first thirty minutes was a format we all were used to. Mill around, drink coffee, bottled water and those pastries you can only get at hotel or convention catered large group meetings which look good but after the first bite have no taste whatsoever. I always assumed they were clever recycling of packing material with just a drop of artificial sweetener. Then get called in to sit on chairs which are specifically designed for maximum back distress after ten minutes to see a guy in a suit on stage with a big screen behind him. The walking in music was the usual “This Corporation Is Cool, Groovy, Bad, Down, or whatever clueless outdated word you want” which this time was some watered down Hip Hop as done by white guys from a Pennsylvania barbershop quartet.
Bob Franzone was slick but good. He held the stage and had us laugh at his jokes. Thanks us for coming, blah blah blah. Then he stood back and had us watch the big screen to learn about Winston Enterprises. We saw the usual incredibly well done video that held your attention for five minutes despite the soundtrack of Booker T. and the MG’s “Green Onions” being sacrificed at the altar of a mixer board driven by a deaf techno fan trying to go commercial by using synthesized garbage can lids and plastic toy bats.

The video met its objective, filling time while impressing you with the fact that the organization you were talking to had at least enough money to make it. Information content, a perfect zero except that someone at Winston could hire some very fine looking women.

Bob told us there was a set of projects for which we were being considered.
He also told us we were not to mention what happened here today, knowing full and well that it would be in every blog and chat we participated in within minutes. His secret was safe for a while though. Nobody’s wireless was working. It seemed this particular auditorium was the world’s deadest dead spot. I could see some of the Blackberry junkies start the shakes, not having email for nearly an hour.

Next we were all handed out a two page document, which was individually serial numbered. We had to sign for it. We were then told to answer the questions at the end and email our responses to the address listed. Again, do not share the document. They told us if they got any email at those addresses (each of us got a different one) other than from us (and we had to use their own net based email to send), we would be disqualified from further work. Do not share, do not disclose, do not pass Go and pray that some spammer doesn’t ask them if they want to enlarge their sexual experience. We each got ten thousand dollars in cash along with a 1099 IRS form, telling the feds we had received it.

I read the document back at my condo which was obvious to the handful of women who had graced it with their presence that a single guy lived here. Alone. I travel a lot and I am basically a good person, so I have not bonded with a dog or cat or even a girlfriend for any length of time, not wanting to inflict the pain of my long absences on a loved one. At least that was my story. I did not date well, like a lot of guys in my business, but I did date. I mean it about the dog and cat, though. They do need you to be there more than I am.

It seemed to be written by a marketing professional, which mean it was what I call “post-literate”. Words without communication. Grunts and gestures were better. The project was to build the finest office complex security system for protection against any kind of attack, disaster or plague of locusts. That much I got, but it went on to say the same thing in as many creative ways as you could imagine, complete with bullet lists and illustrations to give the appearance of detail. The questions were straightforward, mostly my recommendations in fifty words or less for each on things like design process, quality choke points, and so forth. I banged it out and sent it in.

Within twenty four hours I was contacted, offered $20000 for a full day of interviews and a detailed medical exam. Assuming I passed, I was on the short list. I got to keep the $20000 if I just showed up and acted in good faith.

Chapter 2: Too Good to Pass Up

The interviews were typical, more oriented to a security clearance. A lot about my personal life history. I had done similar things before and had had clearances on previous projects. Nothing to hide here.

The medicals gave new meaning to the word thorough. I doubted there was a part of me that was accessible that had not been touched, including some parts I did not realize were accessible. MRI, PET, every scanner there was recorded my body still and in motion.

Two parts I considered weird, or maybe not so weird. The psychiatric stuff. One tracked my eye movement as images were projected on my retina by a freaky technology from military aviation display research. A lot of the images were provocative women and men and a few children. I did not notice any barnyard animals and I hope I’m not hiding anything from myself.

The second weird thing was asking to place myself on several gay-straight scales, and then aggressively questioning my choices. I came across as either straight or really, really in denial, I’m not sure which. Apparently I passed because they handed me $20000 in cash, another 1099 and I was told to report to an office suite downtown the next day.

So far, I thought this was some kind of weird joke, but I had just made $30000 for doing almost nothing, and I knew the money was not counterfeit, the bank had welcomed the bills with open arms like long lost children. The serial numbers on the bills weren’t even on any list of stolen currency.

Now it started to get really weird.

We were down to sixty people as an anonymous corporate official talked to us in a small lecture hall. The office was newly rented and the name on the door was nothing any of us had ever heard of before.
Here was the deal:

One year minimum commitment out of the country and incommunicado, renewable at the consent of both parties for another year and then one more.
You could cancel at any time and would be returned at their expense within seven days, collecting only 50% of annual contract

If you returned early you were sworn to silence for $200000 per year for the next ten years. If you talked you lost all rights to the cash and agreed to pay the other party fifty percent of your declared taxable income for the next ten years. Oh, and by the way, subject to Federal prosecution for revealing classified information.

Required to follow all reasonable requests and regulations by project and location personnel (if you don’t like it, leave).

You agreed to monitoring, all times, everywhere.

Discussion of your work other than through established channels could be grounds for immediate dismissal. Typical government security.

No access to outside information sources, hacking of systems was subject to dismissal. This one drew some gasps and snorts.

Limited communication with pre-specified family members through censored and monitored channels. Monthly email, with someone reading and filtering both sides.

Those same pre-selected family members would be financially and medically taken care of in the event of any problem in their current health or financial condition.

No drugs, alcohol; or tobacco unless offered by project personnel.

Willing participation in long term product and health lifestyle testing. We all had questions about this one.

Agreement to one year preparing for starting work, during which time we would study material, adhere to specific health requirements and meet individual weight and other body targets. If we met these, we were eligible to begin.

We would get $200000 for doing this and keeping our mouths shut for a year. We could even work on jobs for other clients as long as we had no commitments at the end of the year.

The company guaranteed that we would have access to excellent medical care, all meals, clothing and living quarters would be provided. All medical procedures would be under our control except in case of life threatening emergency.

All meals and supplements would be of undoctored healthy components (A long list of what was in and not was detailed in an appendix. Basically an organic, hormone and chemical free free range ecologically sound and so many other health food store buzzwords I just wanted to see “Greasy Cheeseburger” on the list as a glaring exception. Was not there, but beef was , cheese was, bread was, just very trendy and Birkenstock crowd acceptable.

Nothing would be introduced into us unless we agreed. Failure to do this and the company agreed to pay us $100,000,000 amount on deposit in such and such bank, account number so and so.. No contest. We were stunned.

We were required to do specific project work no more than 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, less if instructed. No more. More crowd noise.

We were subject to immediate dismissal if we did not adhere to the exercise regimen, the diet regimen, the health programs and product testing. Oh yes, we had to keep our appearance, living and work areas neat, clean and presentable.

Now for the payoff.

First year contract. $1,000,000 on contract end.
Second year contract. $5,000,000.
Third year contract. $20,000,000

We were trading one, three or five years of our lives for the ability to be financially comfortable, very well off or independently wealthy, respectively. There were also chances at increasing our payout with bonuses.

Believe it or not, we lost five guys.

Chapter 3: Beware of Geeks Baring Midriffs

Back to that jitney bus. Group D was down to fifty guys. I guess five did not make their weight , body fat and other goals. All of the rest of us were at our target weights and looked pretty pudgy. I had been 175 and was now 203. My weight range was to stay between 200 and 225.

None of us had had a haircut. I know from my research that some of the vitamin supplements in our required plan would help hair growth,(but there barely anything I wasn’t already taking in one form or another. No weird voodoo roots or odd Chinese herbs, just basic B vitamins and a few minerals) and I had added 12 inches in a year.

Some of the guys had had to lose quite a bit of weight just to look only overweight instead of obese, and some had started with shoulder length hair, now somewhat longer. Some of them smelled better than used to. We had no facial hair and we had been told not to bulk up. They wanted our muscles just the way they were.

It was late summer and basically shirtsleeve weather. We drove through the village, which looked quaint but interesting. There were little shops and stores, open air restaurants and lots of condos. No McDonalds, No Pep Boys, No Sears, No Circuit City. Most incredibly no Starbucks or 7-11s. Unheard of. We truly had left civilization as we knew it.

Some guy leaned over to me and said “I hope they don’t call me Number Six.” Almost everyone got the joke.

Through a security fence. We pulled up to a series of buildings about three stories tall, connected by enclosed corridors. There were a lot of them along with some bigger special purpose structures. It looked like once inside, you could stay inside and get to anywhere in the complex.

The women ushered us into a medical facility. The guys were still in awe of the contents outlined by the pink bodystockings. One of the nice things was traveling with no luggage. All of our needs were to be taken care of by the company. That made me very nervous, but I had suspended disbelief.

$130,000 sitting in my account back home suspends a lot of disbelief and the promised payout was veritable anti-gravity.

We were again stripped measured, poked, prodded and generally annoyed in that truly annoying medical profession way. They also made sure we weren’t smuggling in anything in any possible orifice. The people that do that always seem to really enjoy their job, way too much. We had no poison gas capsules in our teeth, no monofilament wire in our hair and no secret radio transmitters hidden in our large intestine.
Just when I thought they were about to perform a precautionary frontal lobotomy, we were sent naked into the next room and did what all naked, powerless individuals do at the mercy of an overbearing , crushing bureaucracy. Resist!

Actually, no, we stood in a line, trying not to bump into the guy in front of us, hoping the guy behind was being just as concerned about it as we were. Don’t want any new best friends right now! Fifty naked fat guys all in a row.

Our anxiety was not helped by the fact that everybody, the med techs, the doctors, the orderlies, the orifice examiners were all women. Good looking women. Some great looking women. All in those really great bodystockings. With ponytails in every natural shade.

When it was my turn, I went into the room where all of the others ahead of me in line had vanished from sight. No one had come out.

Waiting for me was a pleasant woman, about forty to forty five who had kept in very good shape. She was in a light purple bodystocking.

”Greetings Robert. “ (Actually my name) “I see you have met your contract requirements. I will answer what I can but let’s get you into your clothes and into your room. One thing I need you to do which constitutes a ‘reasonable request’ under your contract. I need for you to use a tested and safe commercially available cream to remove your body hair, except on your scalp. The sensors on your suit require it. I hope this won’t be a problem.”

She was so nice I did not want to disappoint her. She was also clever. If you want a guy to do something unnatural, surround it in technobabble and he will likely go “Of course, everybody knows that!”.

Into a shower stall, the cream took it all off, from the top of my sideburns to the top of my feet. She handed me some shampoo and I washed my hair, which took a lot more work than had a year ago, and then my newly smooth body was installed into a black, full bodystocking. It was unbelievably comfortable, sheer for the arms and legs and solid from crotch to neck. I strapped on a thick soled pair of sandals and the woman ran a finger over the side seam. It sealed like a fully healed wound, not a trace.

The woman wrapped my wet hair in a towel, grabbed my hand and led me down several corridors to a room.

Chapter 4: Meet The New Mom, Same As The Old Mom
The room was actually a large two level condo. Dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms, one with huge bed, two bathrooms, one of which was immense with shower, hot tub and bath, table with mirror, chairs, sofa and every fixture I had every fixture I had ever seen except a urinal. Sinks, bidets, shampoo station.

A closet of small appliances - dryers, foot saunas, magnifying mirrors, as if the whole men’s and women’s personal care section of the Sharper Image catalogue were there, and more.

A similar closet of lotions, potions and stuff, a whole health and beauty care segment, with only slightly less selection than your average chain drugstore.

A large and empty walk in closet with about thirty bodystockings on hangars, sealed in plastic, all black, in about three variations I could detect. No other clothes.

A large kitchen. A living room with a view of the Ocean. Large screen TV and smaller ones in the other rooms.

The woman spoke to me. “I have a half an hour to get you ready for the first briefing. Please sit and let me dry your hair. Then we head over to the ballroom.”

“That’s ok, I think I can do that. You know my name. What’s yours?” I asked.

“I’ll do it now, if you don’t mind. I want you to look just right for your first day. And call me Mom, or Mother. That’s what we call our jobs.”

According to her, each of the Group D boys was assigned a “Mom” to get us oriented, help us with getting set up to work and in general telling us the rules, and basically keeping us from getting fired over trivial stuff. She was compensated by how well I did, especially in the bonus system which had not yet been revealed.

I actually liked her and wanted her to do well. She would get no grief from me. Plus, I had not seen my real Mom for a while.

A half and hour later, we were all sitting in the ballroom, drinking coffee and eating those damn pastries. Our new Moms were all in the back, watching us. We were all there, in the same bodystockings, which are not flattering to guys with spare tires. The hair was much improved, clean, combed and blown dry with a fuller look.

Chapter 5: More Is Revealed

A woman in a blue bodystocking and a kind of cross between a lab coat and a cheerleader dress is up front. She shows us the reason we were served coffee. A PowerPoint presentation. My God is there no escape? The Horror!

Surprisingly, information is actually transferred. Despite the presentation on the screen, the woman, Dr. Michaels is very warm and knows how to talk to an audience.

Highlights:

-Our work starts in a week, and will be done from our rooms between 10 am and 1pm , local time over the secured network. All project direction will come over the net, no one here knows anything about it except Security who will be monitoring for us breaking secrecy rules. Don’t ask her anymore, that’s all she knows about that.

-The island is a pharmaceutical/biometric subsidiary of Winston Enterprises and is unrelated to our project other than providing living quarters for us. They are our hosts, somewhat reluctantly.

-Blaine Winston never misses a trick and part of our project is getting funding by taking advantage of our isolation. Because we are cut off from the world and have nothing else to do, we are going to participate in three long term studies, which are related to Dr. Michaels work.

-First one is easy. A straight product test. A new blend of shampoos and conditioners , all of which have been in use separately. We are to follow the regimen and appear in the local lab/salon about twice a week for examination and more treatment. The target is to study the effect on hair growth, body, shine, luster and all of the typical marketing words you see in a hair care ad.

-Second. An exercise/ diet regimen. We are one of several groups testing weight loss/gain or maintenance based on a specific balance of protein, carbs and fats, combined with a regular and specific exercise program. We are not to perform or freelance on any other workout routine or engage in strenuous activity outside the morning sessions (7am. I hate early mornings. But again, the payout overwhelms any issues I can generate). The sessions were beginning in a week.

-Third. The bodystockings. We are now told that they are laced with OREDs, organic radio emitting diodes, coupled with wafer thin nanosensors. They read everything going on in our bodies and we are to wear them at all times except to get clean. Our personal greatest hits, recorded for science. Every burp, grunt and stomach rumble, heartbeat and sweat droplet. They also allow us access to our rooms and parts of the facility; allowing us to operate stuff as we are cleared for it. They are unique to us. We cannot swap as they will not function for anyone else. Our Moms will help us.

Dr. Michaels grinned and said. “A small apology is in order. The suits you are wearing now are our calibration units, which you must wear almost constantly for the first week, so we can get a baseline on all of your readings. In order to control the process, you cannot get the suits off without help. So ask your Mom. After a week, we hope you will be able to get dressed and undressed by yourselves. See you around, boys.”

Every eye among Group D watched as she walked away from us. Our Moms came up and hustled us back to our rooms.

The coffee I had was asking to leave. I realized I had an issue.

“Mom, this is embarrassing, but I have to go. Can you show me how to open this suit?” I said, bordering on pleading.

“Sorry, Robert, but your suit is keyed to my touch. I have to open the seams and then secure the sensors in place while part of you is out of the suit. So let Mom help.”

My bladder told me I did not have time to get into a lengthy discussion, so Mom and I went into the bathroom, where she ran her pink polished finger down my crotch, from top to bottom. A seam opened up. She said to wait just one minute and placed a small patch on my penis. Then I could relieve myself.

When all of the coffee was freed from the oppression of my urinary tract, she removed the patch, adjusted me and closed the seam. I felt like I was about three years old. Mom smiled sweetly.

I wondered about the other process. Later I found out it was even less dignified.

That night Mom stayed in the spare bedroom. For the first week, all of us were accompanied everywhere by the Moms and actually adjusted to asking for permission to use the bathroom.

It had ceased being embarrassing. Calibration, Sensors. Data Integrity. Of course, it has to be like this!
Food was delivered to my place, and Mom and I ate together. The meals were fine, but not all that interesting.

One rule variation we were taught. We cannot have our hair loose from when we go to sleep until mid to late afternoon. At nights we were given a sleep cap, a satiny thing which actually kept your hair looking decent.

In the morning, Mom instructed us on how to either make a decent ponytail which kept it off our neck or to pin it up on our heads. By the end of the week, we had that down. For science. Sensors, Signal Interference. Of Course, It Has To Be That Way!

Mom somehow cleaned my suit when I took it off to shower, now wearing a shower cap every other day. I could not access the computer yet but Mom was slowly clearing me for the other condo appliances, making sure I knew how to use them. With no internet, Group D wandered the place, talked, making sure we discussed nothing we had read or done on the project to each other.

We played cards at one table while the Moms were at another, in case a bathroom emergency arose.

We watched TV, which was weird. More on that later.

We all were beginning to repeat our favorite stories. We made lots of jokes about how we looked. We were a bit embarrassed to talk about the great looking women with each other as our Moms were right there.

We were all going crazy by the end of the week. Fifty fat guys in bodystockings and ponytails, with their Moms. All bored as hell. We were all ready for any change in the routine.

Chapter 6: Farmer’s Daughter Joke Number 115, Mother Variation.

The last day of the week, I was having breakfast with Mom. She was in the same outfit as she was every morning, nightgown , rollers and bunny slippers. I was in the sleep cap and bodystocking, as usual. She loved to gossip and shared some with me she got from the other Moms. I knew more about the living habits of Group D than I ever wanted to know. One tidbit was that two of us were gone. They just could not deal with the bathroom stuff and had been pretty obnoxious with their Mom and other company personnel. So their Moms had pulled the trigger After some banter back and forth, she said.

”Robert, you have done very well. I didn’t doubt for a minute that you would have it all figured out, but it hasn’t been easy for you. You put up with some embarrassment and took it like a trouper.

“So I want you to have some fun. Every one of us Moms has a Daughter, and she will be here to spend some time with you. Please wash up and I’ll have your new suit keyed to you. And look nice. Fix your hair like I showed you. Wait. Better idea. Wash it and let me help you. I’ll be in my room while she’s here, catching up on some paperwork.”

Later, when the suit was off, and I was showered, shampooed and conditioned, I was sitting naked at the table in the master bathroom. Mom is there, fussing with a blow dryer and then saying to hold still.

“Robert, I want to give it a little more body, so I’m going to put just a few rollers in it, Do you mind?” Mom asked.

“I’m not crazy about it. How long will it take? I thought you wanted me to impress your “Daughter”, not look like a drag queen.” I said.

“Oh Robert. I know her and she will like it. Go with me on this one, please?”

Damn, I really liked her and she had put up with the bathroom routine. I had no secrets from this woman, or much resistance.

“Oh go ahead. Why not. It’s not like the rest of the look is normal, anyway.” I said.

So, before I knew it , a couple of rollers , more like ten or so, filled my head and I was under a large dryer, still naked. I was assured they were very large rollers and it would just look full.

I think I understood what my old girlfriends used to say about the sinking feeling they got when their hairdresser said something like that.

Why, do you wonder, did I take this assault on my manhood without at least a complaint?

Because I was bored. Because she was very nice about how she asked. Because it was no big deal. And mostly, because two guys from Group D could not deal with the situation here and their Moms had had them discharged. No chance at really big bucks. Over some minor and temporary bathroom indignities. Stupid and Obviously Not With The Program.

Mom didn’t lie to me. It did look full. And wavy. But she kept it subdued. I still felt silly, but I got used to it.

My new bodystocking was keyed to my touch. I could open the seams, once Mom showed me where they were. I still had to wear the thing as often as possible. My other option was to lounge around naked. And get chills.

I also had a new bodystocking for sleeping. Same fabric, no arms or legs and looser fitting instead of skin tight. No high neck, just a regular tee shirt type opening. And a full suit for workouts. Heavier material, reinforcements on all joints, and it came with sneakers and leggings. We would be outside for the workouts and it was getting too cold for the regular suits.

Here I was, in a black bodystocking from neck to toe, hair fluffed out, teeth brushed, and my new love handles ready for grabbing.

I felt distinctly exposed. We all had mentioned feeling exposed, especially when the women walked by us. It was not a comfortable feeling.

Then Daughter shows up and I go from exposed to worried she’ll look down and see how happy I am to see her. Mom introduced her as Daughter, but I could call her Sis. Mom was going into her room to work, so why don’t we get to know each other.

Sis should have been named Bambi, or something like that. She was right out of a centerfold. I know she had on a minidress but my mind filled in the missing data.

Before we get back to the action with Bambi, or rather Sis, a few words about erections. The bodystocking actually made them look worse if that was possible. And a lot of us had embarrassing incidents when one of the staff walked by. None of the women mentioned them , but you just knew we were the source of some amusement. And there is no way to look cool when you are frantically trying to cover your crotch. The staff was very polite, which actually made it worse, especially since they were so good looking. The combination of body self consciousness and concern about controlling our lower selves coming to attention at a passing pink or blue bodystocking made us keep to ourselves the first week, that and having to ask Mom to go to the bathroom.

Now back to the action. Sis was just pleased to meet me. Pleased. She mentioned it had been so long since there were any real men on the island. Did I tell you she was pleased? She loved my hair! Did I do it myself? I gave Mom some of the credit. She tickled my pudgy belly.

Then she noticed the part that was not soft (not since she had entered the room) and giggled. By this time she had maneuvered me onto the sofa and had her dress off. She asked for help with her bra and said her titties needed a man’s touch. I obliged.

Somehow, she opened the crotch seam on my bodystocking and the next thing I knew I was in the presence of greatness. Olympic Gold Medal Blowjob Greatness. Cue the Sports Film Music, alert the Replay Crew. Let’s see that again. John Madden, map it out on the telestrator.

After that, I was drained, but she assumed that I had had my fun, now it was her turn. So, panties dispatched across the room, I began to use my tongue where it seemed to get the best reaction. She clearly was a fan of flavored douches.

What came next was a bit different for me. As I had just gotten worked up again, and she seemed to be ready to receive me, she hands me a large vibrator.

“Use this, Bobby, it’s the way I like it.”

How could I say no?

So some time later, I had passed my apprentice test in vibrator operation. Sis was pleased. So pleased she lay me down, put a condom on me and brought me to climax using her hands.

From the way she moved then, I got the clue we were done. I could hear Mom call out from her room upstairs.

“Sissy, come up here for a minute when you are done talking to Bobby.” Mom said from inside her room.

There was no way she could not have known something was going on. Schools of plankton in the Antarctic knew what we were doing.

Sissy went upstairs after retrieving her panties from the lamp. As she walked upstairs, carrying her dress and shoes (yes, high heels) she was busily attaching her bra, which was a major civil engineering project. Things of that stature needed to be supported just right or God knows what will happen.

After conferring with Mom, she came back a few minutes later, dressed, kissed me on the cheek and said I was a great Brother and left.

I was stunned.

Mom came down next.

Chapter 7: All News Is Gossip

“Robert dear, please zip that seam. It’s not considered polite in mixed company. And you might want to fix your hair, too. Are you going to play cards tonight with the other boys?” Mom was either a great actress or she really radiated unconditional love, just like a real Mom.

Of course I was going to play cards. Did I mention I was bored? Aside from Sis, clearly the highlight of my week, I had eaten bland food, played every kind of card game, chess, checkers with the guys, and heard their stories until they were tired of telling them.

And snacked. And watched TV. And snacked. We played videogames but they seemed to have nothing but Sims. Sim City, Sim Family, Sim Convenience Store. All about building and keeping things running smoothly.

Nights with the boys were all I had. We could go outside as long as we stayed on the complex grounds, but nobody lasted that long. The bodystockings were just not enough for the fifty degree Fahrenheit weather.

I told Mom I was going to the game room after dinner. New freedom. I could go out all by myself without a bathroom helper. No sensors needed while removing bodily waste after the first four days.

Mom beamed at her charge going out on his own. She had a surprise for dinner and wanted me to get cleaned up. She was going to cover next week’s activities.

She also recommended since I was just going down to see the boys that I should change out of the bodystocking (which was very sticky inside) and use the clean one set up for tonight. So I went upstairs to my bathroom, took off the suit myself (that felt really empowering), remembered to put on a shower cap and showered again.
Mom had laid out the clean bodystocking which was the evening or sleep model. I put on the sleeveless, legless shiny black garment and noticed it was comfortable yet loose, and for the first time my extra flab was not completely noticeable. I didn’t look slim like I used to but it did not display every roll and jiggle.

Some of the guys were starting to get little breasts from the weight gain, which the regular suits emphasized, like the pink, lavender and blue ones did for the women. Apparently they would serve as a brassiere if you needed it .

Mom had also laid out a pair of black woolen knee socks with a note- “So your legs and feet stay warm in that drafty game room” . I had not realized how used I had gotten to having my legs covered by hosiery. They felt strange, and I felt chilly. Knee socks were great, Thanks Mom.

My eyes went wide when Mom covered the coming weeks activities, and the mysterious bonus plan. We were going to work! But the news was somewhat submerged by the meal Mom had prepared in my kitchen, which had not been used other than to make coffee or to put snacks in bowls. Sautéed shrimp, roasted squash, rice pilaf. My taste buds had reacted to the delivered food I had been eating by going on strike. They returned to work with renewed enthusiasm.

At the poker game the conversation was lively. We had new stuff to build wild theories about. You have never seen a more satisfied and smug group of guys. All of us, sitting in our sleepstockings as we called them.

I had on a large sleep cap to cover the style Mom had created (and Sis just loved). At first I started to object , but I remembered the “reasonable request” clause and decided arguing with Mom and losing ten million dollars had better be over something a bit more important, so she handed me the cap, labeled “Bouffant Curl Keeper” with a Classic 1950’s red lipped Woman on the label. I put it on.

I was not the only one wearing one. Some of the guys wore the usual ponytails and a few were in rollers covered with a net. Apparently the Moms all worked to the same script, as did everyone’s “Sister”.

We had all had roughly the same experience and decided Group D was a bunch of studs! Lots of high fives. Studs! I tell you. Plus, we had all had the same Mom briefing. We had sex, sort of, and then there was money.

Let me recount the news- PowerPoint , please!

Basic stuff-Monday to Friday

-Exercise every day at 7am- in the courtyard- exercise bodystocking, leggings, sneakers and hair securely up. Over by 8am. No independent programs

-8-10am —Personal- remove exercise bodystocking, eat in room, any café in the complex or at a friends place. Shower, follow hair routine. Put hair up again if necessary. Bodystocking must be worn, style your choice except exercise suits.

-10am-1pm log onto room computer, follow instructions. Work.

1pm-3pm Personal- lunch.

3pm —rest of day- Personal time except requested appointments. Must visit Personal Products lab once or twice a week on their schedule, perform all reasonable requests, Medical and bodystocking biometrics once a week, you will be notified, again, perform all reasonable requests. Body Image Consultant, you will be notified, again, perform all reasonable requests.

Other meetings as necessary. Hair option- open.

-Saturday/Sunday- Personal time. Nothing required except body hair removal must be done once during this time.

-Iron rule- we cannot leave the grounds of the complex.

-Iron rule — Stay in our weight parameters

-Unspoken rule-do whatever Mom says or you are gone

-Good news. If we did well, our ‘Sister’ or one of her good friends would drop by at least once a week.

Now for the money part. Given we needed a diversion when we were off our project work, we were all entered in a competition. In partnership with our Mom, we had to meet and successfully date the women on the island. There were restrictions. No one from the complex would count towards our ‘score’. (lots of jokes on that phrase). The women would come here to meet us since we weren’t allowed to go to them.

There were three achievement levels.

Level One- receive oral genital stimulation sufficient to climax. First to achieve this- $1,000, 000 to the lucky Group D guy and the same amount to his Mom. Second gets $975,000. Third $950,000. And so on to the last, You can do the math.

Level Two- $5,000,000 for the first to have actual coitus, no artificial devices except a condom. Same award to the Mom. And then reduce it by $100,000 for each successive winner.

Level Three- $20,000,000 for the first to be invited to live off complex with her, and do so for thirty days. $10,000,000 for the Mom. She also had to publicly ask you to stay for at least another thirty days. There were no descending prizes, it was winner take all.

Last catch. The woman had to stay on the island for a year after you left for a payout at any level.

The clever ones among us noticed that nowhere did it say you had to achieve Levels 1 or 2 to win Level 3. There was also no payout until you returned, so it would be hard to bribe any of the women unless they really trusted you.
A minor incentive, you would get Complex credits each week just for playing, from a minimum guaranteed amount to triple that. Amount determined by a committee of Moms, and usable at most Complex shops, including the grocery. We could make our own food! (as long at we stayed on the food plan we were given).

Now, can you imagine the conversation over poker? Forty eight fat guys in bodystockings who had already shown they would do something extreme for money?

Chapter 8: Half-Vast Wasteland

Lets talk about TV. You know, the box with the moving pictures selling things with an occasional break for some lame attempt at entertainment as filler? Well we had it, at least thirty channels, which wasn’t bad for an isolated small private island.

After several days of occasional watching the tube, some of the more perceptive among us had noticed something. All women. All the time. 24x7.
Also, this was a company town, or fiefdom or island refuge or whatever you want. Everybody worked for Winston Enterprises. All of the channels were devoted to company news, or news on research areas interesting to the folks in the lab. All of the announcers were women. All were good looking in that TV reporter or host kind of way. If a research paper was discussed and a man wrote it, they used his name but never showed his picture. Men existed but not here. All other news was about Department X or Task Force Z. A lot was social, after work activities.

There were extensive intramural sports coverage- volleyball, softball, basketball and also a lot of gymnastics, skating, ballroom dancing. A rare boxing match or martial arts exhibition. All women.

There did not seem to be any children, except for some daughters over the age of twelve or thereabouts.

There were talk shows. Like Oprah but a little more woman focused , which I did not think possible.

Soap operas, with women talking to other women, about other women, and once in a while talking about some man in the past, but no men in the present or in the future.

There were game shows. There were the education channels. Sports (one for each sport listed above), Cooking. Sewing, Decorating. Hair. Makeup. Nails, Skin Care, Medical Advice, Entertaining.

Relationship advice (all girl on girl- those were great.) There were work related channels, like biomed, genetics, and so forth, but they required clearance we didn’t have.

The fiction shows were all done with women, with some clever rewrites on some classics, like Casablanca, some original material.

There was one porn channel. We found the men on TV. I was corrected by one of the guys who seemed to be a porn expert, that it was really soft porn or erotica. Whatever.

What it was was guys, naked except their crotch was only glimpsed and artfully made obscure by good camera work. They weren’t slim, except compared to us. Slightly chubby, smooth hairless skin and long hair, very expertly done. They spent their entire time on screen stimulating one or sometimes two or three women, who were usually beautiful, wearing expensive lingerie and clearly enjoying his work. They were all masters with the vibrator.

The local intranet was the same, with sites covering interest areas. We were not given access to the online chat rooms or message boards. We found we had our own site, and it became popular with Group D. Those of us who wanted to send emails to their families did, which were screened. They got replies, with all of the outside news filtered out.

One note: After two weeks, we were on the TV. A documentary had been put together, explaining our presence, and actually showing us walking around, from a distance. The product testing was explained with no mention of our real work. None of us was interviewed.

It was innocuous but we took exception to two points. One, was a cheap shot at our weight, commenting on how we were cute and pudgy, not explaining that we were required to be fat, by contract. The second zoomed in on one of us with an erection, really close up, and commented on how we obviously appreciated our hostesses, and then tried to calm everybody that we would be confined to the Complex.

Chapter 9: When They Begin The Routine

Group D settled in. Exercise was very light, a combination of yoga and tai chi, with basic stretching exercises. A month later we jogged or power walked over increasing distances, but at first we focused on flexibility. Our leader was one of the Moms, and she was the opposite of a drill sergeant. We were coaxed, hugged and kissed into submission. She was such a sweetheart, no one could bear to disappoint her.

The hair stuff became second nature. Hell, ponytails are not that challenging. Your average guy can figure them out in fifty, maybe sixty tries. Your average five year old girl does it from genetic imprint.

Several of us became breakfast regulars in a nearby café.

Work was work. Get sent a spec, review and improve. Send back with questions. Review overall documents, integrate changes. I know my work was good but there was no feedback, just more specs.

Mom had moved out after the first week. She told me she was proud and we were going to win the competition. She expected the place neat and clean and me to be presentable. Also, she would stop by after my work each day for coffee, gossip and strategy to win the bonuses.

She kissed me full on the lips and gave my tongue a workout. She smiled, squeezed my butt and left.

Sister showed up at random intervals but averaged once a week. She must have known my appointments because she never interfered. Each time was a repeat of the first.

Two guys were gone because they tried to demonstrate sex without batteries to their Sisters, a little too enthusiastically. I hope their bones heal correctly. We all had tried, but No means I’ll Really Hurt You If You Try That. We could ask, just don’t try force.

My Body Image Consultant, Debbie, was cute, a real girl next door type, if you lived next to a Vegas casino. She explained that they were establishing a baseline over the next four weeks. We were all supposed to gain to the top of our allowed ranges. At that point, they would take a control point and we would begin to slim down. How fast? She smiled and said we’ll see.

The diet was controlled protein and carb intake with snacks as the variable. If we cooked our own food, which she encouraged me to do, we had to record the ingredients. Our kitchen counters would do that from the id tags on the food. Our suits measured what we took in. If we got too far off the guidelines, we would hear from Mom, or them.

Our exercise suits were mostly sensors with some occasional suit material holding them together and she already had terabytes of data on me trying to raise my leg up straight in the air while I was sitting on the ground. She looked at that, giggled and proceeded to demonstrate just how limber she was and I wasn’t.

With her blue bodystockinged leg going straight up, effortlessly, I found something very arousing. She took pity on me and sent me on my way.

My Personal Product Technician had one of those jobs which required a hard to find blend of skills, like a quantum physicist who is also a prize fighter.
She had two doctorates and her duties ran from lab analysis to hairdresser to shampoo girl.

Nancy was good at all of them. It was explained to me that I was part of the first thorough testing on known ingredients in a new mix to test their effect on hair growth rate and health. It was targeted to cancer patients and others but the commercial potential was enormous. So far they had managed to double the average growth rate and in some cases triple it.

The test was how it stood up to everyday conditions both on men and women. Somewhere there was a group of women who were doing their normal everyday hair stuff and we were the group to determine difference in response and effect. So we would have to duplicate everyday usage.

Normally, a group of men would be hard to find who would even do it, and those who wanted to would probably skew the results. So we were custom made for this study. Alone, isolated, well compensated outside the study and surrounded by women. No men other than ourselves to worry about.

Also, monitored in a way which was hard to duplicate. I had to hand it to whoever thought this one up, every part of our total effort synergized with every other part.

All this while she did my hair which by now hung about fourteen inches to the middle of my back. Just washing and drying it was a significant undertaking. When one of the guys excused himself from a card game saying he had to wash his hair, no one laughed, we just all nodded in sympathy.

After samples, measurement and so forth, she washed my hair, did some minor trimming and showed me a stylebook. I had to pick one of about thirty styles which she would then inflict on my hair.. She gave me a weblink which had instructions if I wanted to do it myself. I laughed at this one. Debbie laughed with me and said I might learn to enjoy it.

Rollers, dryer, comb out later and my hair matched the style picture, combed back from the face and wavy , with a curl on the ends. It was the least complicated choice. A lot of advice on conditioning and general care.

Nancy then closed the door and kissed me. I was invited to her condo in the complex for some ‘special help and practice with keeping the style”.
Practice was good.

Chapter 10: Team Robert in the Pre Season

Mom loved my hair. I got some kidding from the rest of the guys, the ones that had not had their salon appointment yet. The ones that had commented that for the money at stake they would have tested breast implants. We agreed. Somebody said to shut up, they don’t need any more ideas.

So Mom and I were at my kitchen table, and I was trying to make weight so I can get this over and start losing it. Typical project conundrum. At 215 I feel really fat but Mom tells me I look fine, slow down on the snacking.

Mom as usual has all the info. She gives me the background on the island , which turns out to be critical and then informs me our first opportunity to perform will be in three days, Friday night. There will be a mixer. Us and the Townies.

Mom wants the big prize, the others are fine but we’re going for the twenty mil, ten for her. It turns out she is not only smart, but really devious and calculating, like all real mothers. We got along fine and came up with a strategy.

First, let’s recap the background. A group of brilliant women biotech scientists meet up with some very smart women MBAs and lawyers. They form a company called EstroTech, small, with all women. They get out some products and just as they are about to get fabulously rich by an IPO, they get stopped by a patent infringement case.

Blaine Winston rides in, sees them as a gold mine and is smart enough to leave them alone. He sets them up with some highly classified contract work, helps them find potential commercial product lines which utilize similar facilities and they have a cash flow tsunami.

However they have to be so secure for the classified stuff that they need to move to an island Winston owns. He sets them up and lets them run it. They decide they will keep their all women staffing policy and define a utopia, probably over way too many cosmopolitans, where they could have men when they wanted them but they would not distract from day to day life. They liked men but men could be annoying.

Plus, they were still pissed by the infringement suit which a rival had brought just to hose them, as it had little basis. So, men would be imported for sex when needed and not to be allowed to muck up the operation.

When a island participant gets really craving the whole masculine experience, she goes off island and gets it, usually returning with a smile and vowing to never do it again, until the next time. Very few don’t return.

If she just wants sex at home and another girl won’t do, she can hire one from the male escort service, a company regulated monopoly, whose men are trained just for her pleasure, at reasonable rates, payroll deduction available.

Group D presented a real challenge to the EstroTech society. They were men, they weren’t hookers and they were on the island. They fit into no known social niche.

The EstroTech Project Scientists, seeing the rare and low cost opportunity to do long term testing on several products had jammed the decision through the Island Community Board, which was chartered by EstroTech to be the local government. Like most company towns, the decision was easy to foresee.

Acceptance, however, was not easily decided by a committee. As if anything was ever decided by committee. I was once told the only thing a committee every made was another committee. I have never seen it refuted.

Contrary to popular belief among most guys, estrogen is not a necessary ingredient to cooking. Living alone, I’d had my fill of eating out, which is easy to do if you travel a lot. So, I already knew how to cook for myself. I turned out to like it and I found I preferred knowing what I was eating.

I had gone to the Complex grocery, stocked up and was serving a dinner to Mom in my place. Chicken Cordon Bleu. She was there to give me some last minute pointers for the Friday mixer, but had shifted her priority when she tasted the food. She loved it when someone else cooked really good food and I passed her test.

“Bobby, if you can do this every time, we have a real edge. We just need to use it properly. Many of the women are just lousy cooks, but they all love to eat.” Mom said, slowly chewing, savoring the taste. A chef always likes to see people enjoy the food.

As Mom left, she said. “Just remember, meet me here just before you leave on Friday.”

Chapter 11: Lions- 46, Group D- 0

They came, we mixed and we all struck out. Some guys tried too hard, and Mom had warned me this was a cattle buyers walk through, just to check the merchandise. It would be unlikely any of the women from town was going to get horny and go out of control. I was treating this as reconnaissance and target identification.

There they were, about sixty or so really fine looking women, dressed for a cocktail party. They were elegant, sophisticated and worldly.

We were wearing skintight bodystockings which showed off just how overweight we were.

Some of us had relied on the salon for the hairstyles, thinking an effeminate hairstyle done well was better than an effeminate hairstyle done by an amateur. Nancy and her friends had put in extra hours to pull it off.

When you are trying to talk to a woman who is comfortably dressed for the hunt and you are dressed like we were, you feel like a clay pigeon.

You can see her load and just wait for her to say “Pull!” The conversation is effectively over. She has made her point and you are shattered remains.

Mom had helped me immensely. She wanted me calm, and projecting a ‘don’t need to be here but glad to meet you attitude.’

When she came to my place just as I was ready to go, she told me to go upstairs. Once there, I stood still, she opened my crotch seam and showed me where “Daughter” had learned her skills.

After my initial shock I let it go. We had money on the line. Plus she was very, very good.

Afterwards, she put me together, patted my hair and kissed me on the cheek. “Just go and stay in character. See you tomorrow, you’re making dinner.” Mom pushed me out the door.

After Mom’s ministry, it was easy to be relaxed and easier to control my natural exuberance of the erectile persuasion. In this case, not standing out was what you wanted to be.

I met most of the women from EstroTech. They were curious, mostly and they weren’t stupid. The question in their minds was what were we? Most of them knew we could not talk about our work and being in a business based on intellectual property, respected that.

I decided to be funny and self deprecating and get them to talk about themselves, which used to always work. It still did.

The art of sales is knowing when to close the deal. Some of the guys had my foolproof formula of making the conversation about the girls, by the girls, but went for the close. Machine gun fire, mayday ,mayday, sound of plane auguring into the ground. Crash and burn.

Mom’s instincts were right. I made some friends and did not appear needy. They did not need that, they were on this island in part because they found that behavior annoying in males. Women act needy too, but the islanders had cut their having to deal with it by 50%.

Chapter 12: Be Careful What You Ask For

Another two weeks and most of us were maxed on our weight. I was grateful when Debbie told me I could start thinning down. Just stop all snacks. Make sure I tell the exercise leader.

I looked down and saw the suit pushing up the flab on my chest into something that was disturbing. I could not see my feet except for my toes.

The funny thing was, in regular casual male clothes I would not look that bad, overweight but most of my major flaws would be disguised. Like this, I felt really conscious of how I looked. I was not used to showing this much of me off to everyone. Another revelation on why women were the way they were.

After the disastrous mixer I got asked to be part of a delegation to see Dr. Michaels. Group D would respectfully like to see if there was some flexibility in our program. Somehow I got elected spokesman.

“Dr. Michaels, we appreciate you seeing us and taking the time out of your busy schedule. “ I opened.

Nancy had talked me into a new hairstyle and I had just come from the salon. Many more curls, a little teasing.

”I’m happy to, Robert. I was wondering when you would be coming to see me Love your hair.” She was good. I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing or really had us figured out.

Then it hit me. We were under constant surveillance and I would bet she had been briefed on exactly what we had discussed. So I would pretend she did not know what I was going to say, and she would pretend I didn’t know she knew.

Dr, Michaels listened to our request for additional clothing. We wanted something more than bodystockings. We understood we were in the middle of a test, but respectfully wondered if there was something that could be done. Plus we wanted to go outside, even if it was cold. It had been chilly in the corridors and the suits were not keeping us warm enough.

She told us she thought that might be our concern and brought in Debbie and two others who were introduced as a volunteer group.

They were trying to solve the problem for us, on their own time. Could we meet with them in two days? Of course. End of meeting. Thank you so much.

Chapter 13: Why Thank You Madam , May I Have Another

Based on my meeting with Dr. Michaels I had the distinct impression that asking for something to wear was part of their plan. They had been waiting for us to ask. I decided to keep my suspicions to myself and play it straight. Besides I was freezing my ass off in the corridors.

Debbie and her team were assembled in a conference room. No PowerPoint. An excellent start.

Debbie went on, as earnest as all get out. They needed to come up with something for us that :

1. Kept the experiment of the bodystockings intact- that is adding no untested variables
2. Use what they already had here. Running up new costs was a corporate crime unless you had a budget to put them in, or divine intervention, which meant a Corporate Officer Who Wanted To Take A Risk For Which She Had No Personal Gain. Basically, you were wishing for a unicorn, because they were more common.
3. Find a valid business reason for the change in plan so an auditor would have a check box. Auditors got very angry without check boxes.

They told us they found a solution, all off the books on their own time. We were being set up. How could you say no?

They told us they had surplus standard uniforms which had already been tested with the bodystockings , had been proven to generate no interference , and contained their own sensor and security circuits which had an established interface with the suits. Plus to justify the change, we would agree to test an additional new product line, which would allow us to use the surplus uniforms.

It felt ok, the women were eager and trying to please us, so we all fell for it. We told them it sounded great. Then they brought it out. They showed us a uniform tunic, long sleeve and about knee length. With pleats. The neckline was low cut.
“These are the largest we had , and we have taken out the waist in this one with all available material. “ Debbie told us, beaming.

They were in lavender, blue and pink. “Even with that you would need our new product to get into them.”

She showed us a line of bodyshapers, one she called an ‘All-In-One’ which ran from the upper thighs to the top of the chest with shoulder straps, the other a pair of toe to waist tights. It was made from a variation on the material used in the bodystockings.

“They go on and can variably tighten and reduce their shape under the control of the tunic system. And they were developed and tested with the bodystocking themselves so they are already approved. With these, you can easily fit into the tunics. “

She smiled at me and continued “When you get to your new target weights, you will probably not need them very much.”

What could we say? We seemed to have limited options. We questioned Debbie. Were there any male clothes which were available? Debbie looked like she was going to cry, we felt awful. She told us that Estrotech had only gotten funded for research that was oriented towards women and some other firm was working on pants and things like that, she guessed. But due to security, she really did not know.

This was the best her team could come up with. We all did our best to tell them how much we appreciated their work, it was fine, we were just asking.

Next, Debbie explained the bottom line. Corporations do things which benefit corporations. They could fund shipping additional tunics if we became part of the BodyShape project.

A two phase process. Totally voluntary if we signed up, but we were committed to finish if we did. Dr. Michaels was willing to go to bat and determine a male test group was needed to help us out.

One of the guys looked at me and laughed. He said “Bobby, you’re gonna have some ‘splaining to do.”

‘I’ll just have to tell them it was the best choice which matched our hair, Ethel.” I said in my near flawless Lucy Ricardo imitation. At least I think it’s near flawless. This would be interesting.

We went and explained it to the group, armed with the contract riders which covered testing of the bodyshapers.

Debbie agreed to do a demonstration.

Her psychology was brilliant .If you want to get guys to do stuff, add a potential of risk to it and then get them to agree in a group. Alone, most guys make sane decisions on life threatening risk. In front of their buddies, they face death willingly, without a care.

This is actually a race survival trait, as we used to hunt in groups and somebody had to go attract the mastodon.

Second, show them a reason to risk death. Debbie showed up with a dressmaker’s dummy and was wearing a pink tunic with tights. She looked great but she would have looked great wearing a cardboard box.

She explained the proposal to forty four guys who were paying rapt attention. The she had us focus on the dressmaker’s dummy which had been dressed in an All-In-One. It was white with some embossed pattern, flowers I think, and hung loosely on the frame, over a sleeveless, legless scallop neck bodystocking, just like our sleepstockings.

“Now watch me activate the unit to improve the figure.” Debbie lectured. She tapped her tunic in a specific sequence, then tapped various points on her torso, some a multiple times, and then she kept slowly tapping her waist.

She had obviously set the dummy to simulate the current Group D profile, which was the opposite of an hourglass. Fat guy.

Being technolophiles we watched and were fascinated as the chest area became snug but not too snug and the waist went from bulge to that tapered shape we all wanted but few of us had ever achieved. A lot of approving nods.

She then compressed the waist a small amount more., maybe a half an inch. Barely noticeable.

“At this level of compression and with us taking out the tunic waistlines as far as we can go, you should be able to fit the uniforms easily. As you lose weight over the next few months, you will need less and less compression. Oh and some of the girls have noticed you guys appreciate the way we look, somewhat enthusiastically”

She gestured to her crotch, we knew what she meant “and we thought you might want to have some help with that. Not that we aren’t flattered, but it can be distracting for us and even dangerous to you, you might bump into something.”

We laughed.

. “This All-In-One will help you keep your intentions a little more discrete.”

Now for the danger. Debbie told us that this stuff was powerful technology and we needed to make sure we assembled the garment correctly. They all had safety systems.

We assumed this was just typical consumer safety babble, and then she told us to watch the dummy. She said told us the safeties were disabled, and began tapping at her waist rapidly. We watched the dummy get compressed at the waist to the point that all lower ribs would be fractured in a real person. Then the dummy was crushed and broke in two.

We had our danger, in a group of guys, in front of beautiful women. No problem. We’re not worried. Not us, Danger Guys. Group D, license to squeeze.

Now the reward. Debbie expertly took off her tunic, in a way that would have made a stripper nod in professional admiration. She was wearing an All-In-One and the tights. She had our total and complete attention.

All we had to do was test the capabilities of the bodyshapers for two hours a day to participate in the program. The duration was hitting our target weight plus two months or six months, whichever was longer. Testing protocols coordinated with our Body Image Technicians.

One guy asked Debbie why she was wearing the shaper, she sure didn’t need it. Debbie smiled a 1000watt smile and showed off another little trick.

“I’ve never been happy with my ass. “ Shouts of “No way!” Debbie goes to 1500watts on the smile and continues. “So I now get to add a little where I want it.”

We watched Debbie tapping her buttcheeks with a red fingernail. Talk about erotic. The shaper started to swell and added an inch to her rear. She did the same for her hips which did not need any help, just for show and she got another inch there. I could watch this all day.
“The fabric combines with air and makes a foam like effect. I suppose I could tap these but I never saw the need.” She was indicating her boobs, firmly swelling in the cups of the All-In-One.

I swear some guy moaned and probably came in his bodystocking. We were not going to disappoint this woman.

If you wanted clothes, you signed. Forty four fat guys with fabulous hair signed. Two held out for a week.

Chapter 14: Contestants, Come On Down!

There is a tipping point, a shift in mental state, when you have moved to someplace new and you accept it as your home. You are no longer a visitor, or a new arrival. You are part of the community.

I knew most of us had made that transition when we adopted the women’s sports teams as fans and began to follow their seasons. And bet and argue about which player was better.

It was about five months and we were figuring out the local variations on the dating game. Some guys claimed all you needed to know was on the porn channel. . One of us had won the Level 1 competition and we were acting much smoother. The mixers had transitioned to regular parties and we were on a first name basis with many of the EstroTech women. I knew a lot of them and had actually achieved fifteenth place in Level 1, but I was focused on Level 3.

I cooked for a handful of women, got to know them and entertained in my condo. I was on plan for Level 3, but I could see it would take a while.

Mom had a good perspective, which I did not share with the rest of the guys. We were having coffee after my work session and were ostensibly going to plan our next steps to riches. She kept getting distracted so the first item of business became helping her decide if she should get spiral curls at the salon.

I had learned another difference between girls and guys. If a guy is trying to decide on something, like a car, or a new PDA, the other guys will give him definitive opinions, what they think he should do. Most women I had encountered really want someone to validate their decision process, which means listening and agreeing with everything they say as they argue all possible opinions.

This of course is only my observation, and try it at your own risk.
Mom went on, and I was supportive of all the possibilities. If I really gave a damn I would have taken a style option I did not like and made a joke about how it wasn’t good on someone else of questionable fashion judgment but I was ill equipped to play the game at that level.

“Ok Bobby, I’ll do it. Since Nancy told me how good it came out on you, I’ve been dying to try it.” Mom said. Which of course we both knew was not the final decision as that is never made so you can always blame the hairdresser.

I fingered my long curls. I could wear it down now as that rule had been relaxed, as long I followed the Nancy’s program. Still had to use the sleep cap, which actually resulted in less time in the morning and was supposed to cause less damage. Most of us still used ponytails, plaits or just pinned it up for exercise.

I had learned that living with hair this long required greater attentiveness to keeping it out of desk drawers, doorjambs and other stuff that caught it painfully. And wind outside was a pain in the ass. We all had a styling session at least once a week, and tried to keep the result intact as long as we could with minimal effort. (Hey, we were still guys!)

We bonded with our Personal Product Technician/hairdresser and when you do that you feel the need not to disappoint them. We conditioned, brushed carefully with only the right kind of brush, were told to avoid rubber bands and metal clips, minimized hot air drying, anything that would damage hair and prevent hair growth. Some guys had followed the online instructions to redo the hairstyle, or try a new one, at the request of their current girlfriends.

Level 2 rewards were a great incentive and the EstroTech women knew it. Quite a few of us became familiar with the home styling stuff in our closets, all salon approved. Plus, it was something to do. More on our reaction to boredom later.

I had lost all but the last ten pounds. It was stubborn, even with the increased exercise. Most of us bitched to each other about getting to the weight goal. We all looked a lot better but were determined to hit our weight target. So I poured Mom some more coffee and held my tunic so it would drape correctly when I sat down. I had stayed with the original knee length, although we had a couple of more options now. And it was black, thank God, not pink. I had to remember not to cross my legs as it looked really stupid the way guys did it, like exposing your crotch for inspection. It was strange that I was comfortable alone with Mom in just my bodystocking, but with the All-In-One on I felt like I should wear the tunic. I still could not fit into the tunic without the All-In-One. Maybe it was the white fabric with the embossed flower pattern., Group D had decided that was not all that manly. No debate.

The tights were great. No more chills up my ass in the hallways. As a gift from Debbie we all had the new shoes, actually the same sandals with the thick flat soles but in colors matching our tunics.

Mom continued, important stuff like hair now temporarily tabled, and proceeded to the mundane details of getting our hands on a large bucket of cash.

“Bobby , I know you’ve seen the “Ladies Night” channel. “ she meant the porn channel, erotica, whatever. “Most of the guys going for a real sexual conquest are going to have a very tough time. If the women need that, they have come to think that’s what you do on the mainland, away from their sisters here.”

I vagued out at the word ‘sister’. Sister, or Bambi or Daughter or whoever had come less frequently as I started dating. I had not seen her for a month. I hoped she was training with the Olympic Team in her specialty. Mom tickled my thigh and I startled back to the lecture.

“Damn it Bobby, pay attention. I’d give you a blowjob myself but I just put on this lip gloss.” How did she know what I was thinking? Momhood is universal.

I nodded and she went on.

“Now I’ve compared notes with the Moms “ The all powerful Mom network. “and there are only five of you boys who have a prayer. Women talk you know.” Women talk about their relationships like the ocean is salty, like bears like bacon, like men look at cleavage instead of the face, pick any tautology you want. I nodded.

Mom covered each of my current relationships with the EstroTech townspeople. Sister and Nancy were nice but did not count, being Complex personnel.

We jointly built the personality profile of them to answer the age old question of ‘What Do Women Really Want’ which is of course much different from what they say they want , and also different from what they usually pursue. This from Mom, no argument here.

We agreed to narrow it down to two. Mom thought it would take almost to the end of the first year contract, if not beyond. I now learned there was not a chance of us leaving the Complex until year two, barring intercession of A Good Corporate Reason and those had been all used up this year. So I had time and could relax.

Forget placing in Level 2, that might actually be counterproductive. Besides, I was seeing Nancy and if I really need a good roll in the hay, Mom would pitch in if Nancy threw me out. I began to suspect that Nancy was partnering with Mom in the competition and had a piece of the action. I also found that when you are sleeping with your hairdresser, the lover/friend relationship is good, but always trumped by the hairdresser/victim relationship (I mean client, sorry Nancy, just kidding. Please don’t take it seriously. Never get your hairdresser pissed. Some guys had seen the results. The rest of us giggled and learned, assuring them they looked fine.).

I had a plan to get a woman to commit. It was part common sense, part clever deduction and a lot of deviousness. Mom was pleased and sent me into the world, knowing I had a good chance at catching a good woman. A Doctor no less. She would love to tell that to the other Moms but secrecy was required. I had sympathy for Mom. She air kissed me (lip gloss, remember?) and went to do her other Mom duties.

Chapter 15: An Excellent Observation Doctor, But Sometimes A Cigar is Really a Cigar

I’d love to talk about work. I can say it was challenging but not consuming. Maybe because we only had to burn for three hours, sometimes less, we were really on during that time. Other than that, I can’t tell you. Otherwise you’d have to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement. And then be killed. After we read it to you. Twice. And again after you are dead.

So I’ll talk about Group D.

Our blog, or group diary/mosh pit/soap box if you don’t know what a blog is, was critical to our sanity. We all contributed and were more open at a keyboard than face to face. Plus we used aliases. We had developed one of those guy rules, unspoken , like public urinal behavior, of never revealing our aliases. It would ruin the blog. We all published and linked to others, dropping comments and flames as required.

We all had suspicions of who was who, but we also changed aliases frequently. Security! Anonymity! Desperation! Vive La Group D!

One post was embraced as our manifesto. I’ll try to get it right from memory.

Samwise Says (his alias, you moron)
“ A while ago I took some crap because of my hairstyle. Since this pretty much describes us all at one time or another, and I know it was not serious, I did not think much of it. Let me dispense with the insult first, just for fun. My Personal Product girl really wanted to try it, and she’s screwing me really good, and the insulter isn’t. So, eat your heart out, asshole! (I wasn’t the only one with a hairdresser/girlfriend)
Manly stuff taken care of , let me dispense some observations.

I do not have all the answers, just some questions.”

We all pounded the keyboards. Samwise changed his alias after it went up but the discussion was enlightening. We had all been thinking this stuff.

Chapter 16: Not Yet Voted Off The Island

We are halfway into year two. Janet, my girlfriend the doctor, is asking me to stay for a while. It’s almost been a month. I have made sure we are in a public place, and everyone in the restaurant is waiting for my answer.
My head feels light, but some of that is due to Nancy letting me finally cut my waist length hair last week. She had finally ruled it had stopped growing.

My contribution to her product line mostly over, but I still have to see her once a week. Janet’s hairdresser is pissed about that. Janet wanted it as long as I could stand so we settled for mid back length. Nancy is creative with that length.

I still had five pounds I could not get off, but I felt great. The bodystocking test was over. However I was still wearing control top tights and a really well tailored dress. We had stopped calling them tunics a while ago. What the hell.

I was wearing a dress because that was the price to leave the Complex. Janet and Dr. Michaels had gone to the Island Community Board with the proposal to let Group D have access to the rest of the island. After bureaucratic horror, they said ok if the Fashion Committee would approve what we wore. Also any behavior reported as a problem would send us back to the Complex forever.

The Fashion Committee was their firewall. We would never get by them, they thought. Janet and Dr. Michaels pulled in some favors and threatened to reveal some stuff they knew. We were allowed out as long as we dressed ‘consistent with the community prevailing style’ and also did not have public erections. They actually wrote that in.

Now the five of us out in the village have decided not to push what ‘community prevailing style’ was and settled for unquestionable attire. We also decided being flat chested was not a problem, but we asked and got a ruling in our favor.

The price of freedom had been negotiated for Group D, and the guys still in the Complex were weighing the cost, trying to decide if they would pay it. Five of us were pioneers.

My project goes on. I still can’t tell you. Have to kill you. Blah Blah Blah.

Now I was about to win the Level 3 contest. Almost. I actually placed fifth on Level 2, , with Janet. The virtues of not trying too hard.

Janet asked me to help her with her research , since I worked at home anyway. I had agreed and I hope that’s not why she is asking me to stay now.
She has a product line of synthetic flesh for women who have had radical mastectomies. Full breast removal. Look this stuff up, will you?

The product actually merges with the flesh and connects to the nerves. It is removable but is designed to last a lifetime. Not missing a bet, the big market to pay for the good work is cheap and easy breast enhancement. It should make millions. She is working on skin tone matching, all of the rest works. So I can look forward to that next week. She seems to think it will increase her fun. And she was intent on it increasing mine. How could I say no? It’s only for a year, trying different sizes.

I say yes and the crowd rushed up to Janet and me, hugs and kisses.
Especially the other four guys.

I looked out at the horizon. Damn big aquarium.

I had to call Mother, she would be so happy.

End

Not the End

This is Samwise. My good friend Bobby is too happy so I will tell him later. He’ll laugh then. There was one more clever twist which makes this whole package a monument to integration of goals.

Remember Blaine Winston was a media billionaire? He had a daughter, his probable heir, who dreamed this up. She had an idea for a reality show based on regular guys adapting to a girl’s role in life. He let her run with it.

She set it in motion and we have all been her private cable channel for almost two years. She now will develop the show. All of the other stuff, our project, the technology, the product tests, EstroTech were already there, she just blended them together. That’s why it was so perfectly devious.

She was boiling the aquarium. Got to go now- Bobby is going to need help with the ceremony. I want some say in the attendant’s dresses.

END (really)

Convergence

By Tyrone Slothrop

With respect to Twilight Zone, Groundhog Day and Memento

Chapter 1: Zero Point

Gene knew he was going to lose it all. No amount of cramming or prayer would get him past the Math Final. He thought that Finals were aptly named. It would be the end of him.

Boxwood Academy had withstood the anxiety of sixteen year olds for over one hundred years. Situated on a hill overlooking a river town, it catered to the education of both the heirs of fortune and the academically gifted, as long as they were male. If you had the opportunity to be a young woman who was academically gifted or heir to fortune, you could go to Boxwood School, the next valley over.

Libertarian in approach, conservative in philosophy, Boxwood emphasized self reliance and individuality. Young men were not told what to do, just the outcomes which were expected. If they were inconsiderate of others, they were asked to leave by their peers. If they were dangerous to themselves, they were removed, but only as a last resort. The selection process tended to find students who were capable of excellence without being sociopaths, or at least not overt sociopaths.

Gene was both academically gifted and an heir to a wealthy family. However, he had a mental block about trigonometry which was eating him alive. He had fallen into the trap of those with quick intelligence and had never developed the ability to master a topic which did not come naturally. As a result, he had avoided study all this session until he was faced with 80% of his grade on the final after failing the preliminary exams. He now had one more hour in his sleepless night before breakfast. The test was scheduled for ten am.

He looked over at his sleeping roommates. Roman was snoring softly, his bedsprings squeaking as he stirred. Norman was out cold. He pushed himself so hard in his sports he always slept like someone had just switched him off. This was their third year together, one of the few triple rooms who had stayed together since they were freshman. Somehow, they complemented each other without competing.

Gene finally nodded off in his chair.

In that peculiar way the sixteen year old brain works, grand cosmic significance, life and death issues and the fate of the rest of your life all bounced inside Gene’s head. He could not conceive of what blowing this test would do to him, he would not conceive of it.

Now it is theorized that the universe may just be a switching center of human consciousness, with you being plugged into one reality for a while, then turned off, then plugged into another. All your memories go away and are rebuilt each time. You may be only there for a second, but it will seem like a continuous life to you. Of course, it has also been theorized that unicorns walk down the street in broad daylight but nobody ever looks at them, so they are never seen. The first one sounds better if it is said by someone with a degree, wearing a jacket with leather sleeve patches, the second one usually is uttered by someone adjusting their tinfoil hat. Both are probably lunatics, but for the sake of this narrative, go with the first one. Imagine the sleeve patches, maybe a vaguely Eastern European accent.

So Gene, being of powerful yet undisciplined mind was stoking the fires of his own stress, at the time of night when humans are most vulnerable. Check the death incidence between 3 and 5 am versus any other two hour period. Go ahead, look it up.

So something happened which occurs more frequently than most would assume. He slipped over into a close reality. By slipping over, he did not reset his memories which would have normally occurred had the universe worked as theorized by that Eastern European fellow. Those Europeans, all accent and they say nothing useful. Or maybe they do.

Chapter 2: Just A Little Outside

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman assumed everyone would react to the concept of breakfast like he did, which was to get up from any amount of sleep to get some food. Gene hated breakfast unless it was lunch. Except he had grown fond of coffee lately.

Norman was doing stretching exercises in the common area. His six foot three inch frame was well muscled but not excessively so. Norman was probably heading for an Olympic Gold if he could just settle on a sport. He loved them all. Norman was the anomaly of being the Jock who was not a jock. He played sports benchmarked against himself and while he was a team member when necessary, he was not one socially. He preferred his few old friends and stuck by them.

One thing about Boxwood, the rooms were first rate. A separate room for each boy, with their own bath and a large common area. There was a television, but it only worked after eight pm, and then only got two channels. Of course they had a DVD player and they could get almost any entertainment through the various computers they had between them, but the Boxwood curriculum demanded a lot of their time. Only the flunk outs watched much TV during session. Boxwood offset the rigorous schedule by only running six week sessions followed by three weeks off. During the session time, the students did two things, study and exercise, with sleep and food as a secondary luxury.

Roman dragged Gene out of the chair and into something approximating an upright position. Roman was pudgy. Actually , Roman was fat. But not too fat. Fat enough to have everybody know he was fat but not fat enough to repel most people. He had a belly and a round face and was anything but jolly. But he was a stalwart friend, a stand up guy who would cover your back, lie to your parents and all of the other things you needed when you were sixteen. He was also a scholarship kid, here solely on the merits of his aptitude and grades.

Gene fell into the shower and stood under the running water, attempting to use the flow as a substitute for rest. It worked for about twenty seconds.

He was the regular looking one of the three, five eleven and 170 pounds, short brown hair, no scars, no tattoos no body piercing, no glass eye, in full possession of arms, 2, standard issue, legs, 2 standard issue, fingers and toes per regulation. He was not handsome, not pretty, not ugly. His mother called him cute, once, when he was four, and Gene did not remember a lot of people agreeing with her. He liked sports but was not exceptionally gifted, he liked girls but was not really frequently lucky, he liked school and had always done well enough without much effort. Until now.

Boxwood did not believe in uniforms, just an unspoken dress code which had varied little over the last ten years. It seemed to mutate on seven to ten year cycles. The current one consisted of casual pants and dress shirts coupled with sneakers, not very different from lawyers or bankers off duty.

Gene put on his clothes while still suffering from sleep deprivation. For some reason, he kept fumbling his shirt buttons. It was like his reflexes were all screwed up.

“For Christ’s sake, Gene, wake up. Let me help you with that.” Norman said as he fixed the buttons on Gene’s shirt.

The three wandered down to breakfast in the dining hall, a central area which connected the four dormitories at the center. Mrs. Fredricks, the Boys Headmistress was there to greet them as they filed past on line. Gene always wondered about her background. Current theory was that she was a retired hired assassin/professional stripper, or maybe a librarian. No one had ever seen Mr. Fredricks but it was rumored that it had been overheard that he was overseas or killed, since she occasionally mentioned him as the Colonel. She was still really great looking even for someone so old. Gene thought she might even be like forty or something.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” She asked. She was wearing her standard headmistress uniform, a skirted suit with a white blouse. Her hair however, was stunningly red and flowed down over her shoulders. Gene knew that freshman at Boxwood had the experience of a shared sexual fantasy about her, and assumed that she was the reason the school recommended new boys bring a significant number of underwear changes.

“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered. Mrs. Fredricks always sounded sincere and deserved a sincere answer.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food.

“Gene, let me help. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“God, Roman, I know you’re smart but thirty minutes? I need thirty hours!”

“Gene, look at it this way. I bet I can make sure you get at least one more question right than you would if we didn’t do it.” Roman said.

“Thanks Roman, but I’m just going to nap until the test.”

Chapter 3: It’s In The Details

Gene skipped his first class and went back to the room. He had about an hour to rest before the test and kept debating whether to study or sleep. Sleep won but was derailed when he realized what was wrong. As Gene tried to unbutton his shirt, the buttons were on the wrong side, the women’s side.

“What the hell is going on?” he said aloud.

He inspected his other shirts in his closet. All were buttoned left to right. So were Norman’s. And Roman’s.

Gene was familiar with women’s blouses. He had borrowed his mother’s clothes on several occasions when he was alone back home. Dressing in women’s clothing had become part of his sexual fantasy, often thought about but rarely done for real. His fear of getting caught was overpowering and he had been very careful. No one knew his secret and he never felt the need to indulge while at school, at least so far.

So now Gene had anomaly number one. It was not to be the last.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was gibberish to him. Nothing came to mind. The next was no better. It was the longest ninety minutes of Gene’s life.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Utter defeat surrounded him like a magnetic field. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 4: A Brand New Day, Strangely Familiar

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman said.

Gene shot upright. “What do you mean, the final was yesterday, or this morning or “

“Calm down, Gene. The final is today. You must have fallen asleep cramming last night.” Roman backed up. Norman entered the room.

Gene looked at them and blinked. They looked just like Roman and Norman, dress shirts and casual slacks, ready for breakfast. It was just that they were each wearing long dangling jeweled earrings. He then noticed the bracelets, rings and necklaces. He also saw that the shirt buttons were left to right.

“What’s with the earrings?” Gene asked, addressing both of them.

“They were my Dad’s. He gave them to me for Christmas this year. You knew that, Gene, you even borrowed them twice.” Norman said.

“Like you need ours Gene. You’ve got a branch of Tiffany’s in your case.” Roman grinned.

Gene got up and showered. His watch, now a thin gold case with diamonds instead of his bulky chronometer had indicated it was the day of the exam. And he did have an extensive jewelry case set on a vanity in his bathroom. In the mirror he noticed gold posts in his ears.

Gene started to tremble. He stood there in a towel, still wet, droplets falling with the shaking of his body.

“Gene, hurry up. Don’t forget your lucky bracelets!” Roman called out.

Gene got himself under control. He selected a shirt and pants and got dressed. Sitting at his vanity, working out of instinct or habit, he combed his hair and selected his jewelry. After removing his posts, he put in some emerald bangles and a matching necklace. He grabbed a handlful of bracelets, well worn and nicked in several places. His lucky bracelets. He noticed his dress shirts were three quarter sleeved.

While this was underway, Gene’s mind was racing. He knew this was not right, not normal. He had also seen enough science fiction shows, especially that old series from the fifties to know that he was going to keep his mouth shut and play along. The people who were suddenly someplace else always got in trouble by not playing along.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He felt ridiculous and normal. It was very disconcerting. The three went to breakfast.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” Mrs. Fredricks asked, dressed as Gene always remembered her.
“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food. All of the boys in the room were wearing a lot of jewelry.

“Gene, let me help with the math. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“God, Roman, I know you’re smart but thirty minutes? I need thirty hours!”

“Gene, look at it this way. I bet I can make sure you get at least one more question right than you would if we didn’t do it.” Roman said.

“Thanks Roman, but I’m just going to nap until the test.”

Gene went back to the room. He examined Roman’s and Norman’s rooms and the only difference was their jewelry cases. He also noted Norman’s swimsuit calendar was unchanged, the girls were just like they should be.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was gibberish to him. Nothing came to mind. The next was no better. It was the longest ninety minutes of Gene’s life.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Utter defeat surrounded him like a magnetic field. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 5: Got The Tee Shirt

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman said.

Roman was standing there in a waist high girdle gartered to sheer black stockings. The crotch was clearly cut for a man and even had snaps for a fly. His earrings were large hoops today or yesterday or whatever day this was. Other than that, everything seemed normal.

“Gene, you asked me to shave your back today, I’ve been waiting and you haven’t even showered or done your legs and pits. Norm and I have already done each other and we’re waiting.

Norman walked in wearing fishnet hose attached to a garter belt over his satin briefs. He had stayed with the dangling rubies. Gene noticed that he was almost hairless which made him look very different from the Norman he knew. That Norman had looked like he was part bear or sheep with the curly black hair on his chest and back.

“Gene, get a move on, we only have twenty minutes or they won’t let us eat.” Norman said.

Gene jumped in the shower and raced through the shampoo and soap process. He noticed the odd brand of shaving cream and contoured handled razor. When he picked it up his body took over the process of shaving his legs. Gene noticed that his crotch hair was neatly trimmed back and realized that body shaving was an old habit for this version of him. The fog free mirror let him shave his face and underarms.

“Are you ready for me now, Gene?” called in Roman.

Gene decided to go with the flow. “Sure Roman, come on in.”

Roman opened the shower door and lathered Gene’s back, keeping himself out of the shower spray. He then took the razor and carefully shaved the lathered area.

“Ok, you’re smooth and manly now, buddy. You owe me a few of these. Now get dressed for Chrissakes!” Roman said as he went back to his room.

Gene studied his clothing selection. His underwear drawer contents had changed. First of all he now had three drawers. An assortment of satiny briefs, garter belts and hosiery met his frantic hands as he looked for something to wear. One drawer had an assortment of what he knew his mother called “foundation garments”, girdles like Roman’s, waist cinchers, and some things that looked like an old fashioned corset but with modern materials. At least no bras he thought to himself, and checked his chest to make sure it was still two dimensional. It was.

Gene decided he would do without figure support today since he did not think he was fat. Not lean and sculpted like Norm, but far from Roman. He grabbed a shirt and found that a lot of them were sleeveless tops with necklines that plunged almost to his nipples. There was almost no back to them at all. Well, at least he wouldn’t be too hot outside, he thought.

After struggling with the garter belt over the briefs he was fumbling with a pair of sheer black stockings. He decided that if Roman was wearing them, he could probably get away with how they looked. The briefs brought him back to his few actual crossdressing ventures. They felt so much like the panties he wore then, and they fit perfectly. It took him a few minutes to control his erection.

So Gene ventured out, necklaces and hoop earrings, bracelets jangling with a sleeveless top over casual pants. The pants seemed little changed, maybe a bit softer fabric. He had found a selection of shoes and chose a pair of black loafers which seemed to go with the stockings better than his usual sneakers.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” Mrs. Fredricks asked, dressed as Gene always remembered her.
“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food. Gene’s attire fit right in with the crowd. Roman looked a lot better with his belly constrained, and Gene saw that Roman was not the only one to have a more svelte appearance.

“Gene, let me help with the math. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“God, Roman, I know you’re smart but thirty minutes? I need thirty hours!”

“Gene, look at it this way. I bet I can make sure you get at least one more question right than you would if we didn’t do it.” Roman said.

“Thanks Roman, but I’m just going to nap until the test.”

Gene went back to the room. He examined Roman’s and Norman’s rooms and their wardrobes were changed just like his The swimsuit calendar was unchanged, the girls were just like they should be. Gene touched the calendar with an outstretched hand, as if to anchor himself to something he could count on.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was gibberish to him. Nothing came to mind. The next was no better. It was the longest ninety minutes of Gene’s life.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Utter defeat surrounded him like a magnetic field. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 6; No Setback For Freedom Hard Won

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman said.

Roman was standing there in a waist high girdle gartered to sheer brown stockings. His earrings were large jeweled studs today or yesterday or whatever day this was. His formerly short hair was now long and pinned up on the back of his head. Gene could not determine how long it was. Other than that, everything seemed normal.

“Gene, you asked me to shave your back today, I’ve been waiting and you haven’t even showered or done your legs and pits. Norm and I have already done each other and we’re waiting.

Norman walked in wearing black hose attached to a garter belt over his satin briefs. He had gone with hoops today. Gene noticed that he his torso was still hairless but most of his attention was focused on the blonde pageboy wig on his head.

“Gene, get a move on, we only have twenty minutes or they won’t let us eat.” Norman said.

Gene jumped in the shower and raced through the shampoo and soap process. He removed the scrunchie and now had to deal with shoulder length hair. He let himself go on autopilot and used the shampoos and conditioners which seemed natural to him. The selection he had was extensive. He picked up the razor and his body took over the process of shaving his legs. The fog free mirror let him shave his face and underarms.
“Are you ready for me now, Gene?” called in Roman.

Gene decided to go with the flow. “Sure Roman, come on in.”

Roman opened the shower door and lathered Gene’s back, keeping himself out of the shower spray. He then took the razor and carefully shaved the lathered area. Roman was wearing a redhead version of Norman’s pageboy over his pinned up hair.

“Ok, you’re smooth and manly now, buddy. You owe me a few of these. Now dry your hair and get dressed for Chrissakes!” Roman said as he went back to his room.

Gene had no choice but to let his body handle the brush, comb and blow drying process. After what seemed like an eternity, he then just let his hands do the job of putting his hair up and then turned to his selection of twenty wigs all arranged on forms. His whole bathroom/ dressing area seemed to have tripled in size. He noticed that some of the wigs were in a clear wrap with a ticket attached labeled “Fred’s Wig Service, we pickup and deliver”.

Gene studied his clothing selection. Not much change, except the pants. They had no pockets and were tighter around his rear and his thighs. They also rode lower on his waist, which meant if he bent over his middle would be exposed. The legs were belled out with slits from the knee down. Gene noticed a selection of purses, one of which seemed to be loaded with his wallet, comb, keys and what he guessed was a cologne atomizer. He smelled it and it was similar to his aftershave, a little stronger. He decided on emeralds again.

He finally got the garter belt placement right and picked a pair of hose, sheer with a diamond pattern. Somehow a lot of his shoes were now open toe sandals so he went with the simplest pair he found.

So Gene went into the common area and Roman laughed at him.

“Wake up, idiot. After finally getting those old stuffy guys to change the dress code two years ago so we could wear our wigs, here you go starting a counter revolution. Do you want to have to style your own hair? That was our only alternative, you know.” Roman went on, continuing to laugh. Norman grinned.

“Sorry, not awake yet fellas.” Gene retired back to his room.

Gene selected a black version of the pageboy and pulled in onto his head. He found his hands reaching for bobby pins out of reflex and let them do what they wanted. He was learning to relax and let the body and reflexes do their work.

The crew of three went to breakfast.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” Mrs. Fredricks asked, dressed as Gene always remembered her.
“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food. Gene’s attire fit right in with the crowd. The riot of colors from the wigs made the room much more vivid. Some of the younger boys were opting for blues and purples.

“Gene, let me help with the math. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“God, Roman, I know you’re smart but thirty minutes? I need thirty hours!”

“Gene, look at it this way. I bet I can make sure you get at least one more question right than you would if we didn’t do it.” Roman said.

“Thanks Roman, But I need to ask you to listen to something.”

Gene tried to explain what was happening to him, how the world changed everyday but the same things happened over and over. Roman was not just smart, he was unconventional in the way he thought. He also knew when Gene was telling the truth. Norman also showed concern, but kept silent.

“So Gene you want us to believe you keep waking up and repeating the same day and the only thing that changes is everybody’s clothes? And you go and screw up your final and then collapse just to start it over? Now I would say that you are just waking from an anxiety attack of some sort and this will all blow over tomorrow, but you are obviously worried so here is what I can do. I’m going to write down a few words which only means something to me. Memorize them and then hand me back the paper. If the next time you wake up and Norman over there has short hair or I am suddenly thinner or you have a pair of hooters like Mrs Fredricks, then explain this to me again and tell me the phrase. But only say it so I’m the only one who can hear you. Now forget this, calm down and go do your best on the final. I told you I would help you on the math.”

After Gene left, Roman and Norman looked at each other.

“I’m worried about him, Roman. I think he’s losing it.” Norman said, quietly.

“So am I, Norm. He was always so tightly wound and it all came too easy for him. I only gave him that stuff to get him off this silly fixation he’s got.” Roman said, his voice showing unusual concern. He checked his wig in the mirror on the wall and patted it into place. The boys grabbed their purses and left for class.

Gene went back to the room. He examined Roman’s and Norman’s rooms and their wardrobes were changed just like his The swimsuit calendar was unchanged, the girls were just like they should be. Gene touched the calendar with an outstretched hand, as if to anchor himself to something he could count on.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was gibberish to him. Nothing came to mind. The next was no better. It was the longest ninety minutes of Gene’s life.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Utter defeat surrounded him like a magnetic field. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 7: Crossing the Hemline

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman said.

Roman was standing there in a waist high girdle gartered to fishnet stockings. His earrings were pearls today or yesterday or whatever day this was. His long hair was pinned up on the back of his head. Other than that, everything seemed normal.

“Gene, you asked me to shave your back today, I’ve been waiting and you haven’t even showered or done your legs and pits. Norm and I have already done each other and we’re waiting.”

Norman walked in wearing brown hose attached to a garter belt over his satin briefs. He had gone with hoops again today. Gene noticed that he his torso was still hairless but and he was wearing a blonde beehive wig on his head.

“Gene, get a move on, we only have twenty minutes or they won’t let us eat.” Norman said.

Gene jumped in the shower and raced through the shampoo and soap process. He removed the scrunchie and now had to deal with shoulder length hair. He let himself go on autopilot and used the shampoos and conditioners which seemed natural to him. The selection he had was extensive. He picked up the razor and his body took over the process of shaving his legs. The fog free mirror let him shave his face and underarms.
“Are you ready for me now, Gene?” called in Roman.

Gene decided to go with the flow. “Sure Roman, come on in.”

Roman opened the shower door and lathered Gene’s back, keeping himself out of the shower spray. He then took the razor and carefully shaved the lathered area. Roman was wearing a brown pageboy over his pinned up hair.

“Ok, you’re smooth and manly now, buddy. You owe me a few of these. Now dry your hair and get dressed for Chrissakes!” Roman said as he went back to his room.

Gene let his body handle the brush, comb and blow drying process. After what seemed like an eternity, he then just let his hands do the job of putting his hair up and then turned to his selection of twenty wigs all arranged on forms.

Gene selected a long blonde model which fell to his midback and pulled it onto his head. He found his hands reaching for bobby pins out of reflex and let them do what they wanted. He was relaxed and let the body and reflexes do their work.

Gene studied his clothing selection. Not much change, except the pants. They were skirts. He had a few pairs of pants way in the back, but they looked like something for sports or outdoor work The skirts seemed to vary from knee length to floor length. He selected one about in the middle.

He got the garter belt and picked a pair of hose, black sheer. He grabbed another pair of open toe sandals, welcoming the lack of heels. He had tried walking in Mom’s heels and nearly wiped out his ankle.

So Gene went into the common area and Roman laughed at him.

“I thought we were all going to be daring today and show some knee. Here you are, Mr. Prim and Proper.” Roman and Norman were both in knee length skirts.

“Just couldn’t handle it today, guys.” Gene said.

The crew of three went to breakfast.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” Mrs. Fredricks asked, dressed as Gene always remembered her.
“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food. Gene’s attire fit right in with the crowd. The riot of colors from the wigs made the room much more vivid. Some of the younger boys were opting for blues and purples.

“Gene, let me help with the math. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“God, Roman, I know you’re smart but thirty minutes? I need thirty hours!”

“Gene, look at it this way. I bet I can make sure you get at least one more question right than you would if we didn’t do it.” Roman said.

“Thanks Roman, But I need to ask you to listen to something.”

Gene tried to explain what was happening to him, how the world changed everyday but the same things happened over and over. Roman was not just smart, he was unconventional in the way he thought. He also knew when Gene was telling the truth. Norman also showed concern, but kept silent.

“So Gene you want us to believe you keep waking up and repeating the same day and the only thing that changes is everybody’s clothes? And you go and screw up your final and then collapse just to start it over? Now I would say that you are just waking from an anxiety attack of some sort and this will all blow over tomorrow, but you are obviously worried… “ Roman said.

Gene interrupted. “Roman, the last time you said the same damn thing, but you also gave me a phrase. Let me show you and then talk.”

Gene ripped some notepaper and wrote a few words, carefully masking the writing. He handed the note to Roman.

Roman went white, as if the blood had all drained from his head, and then started breathing in short spurts. Norman got up to help but Roman waved him off. He started ripping the note to small shreds.

“You say I gave this to you the last time? You don’t know what it means?”

“I don’t have a clue, it’s just three words, one of which could be a town or city. The only thing different about you is you were wearing pants and a different wig. So was Norm and so was I.” Gene said.

“I haven’t worn pants indoors since I was six. That must be a weird place.” Roman said.

“Not really. After a while , it’s just clothes. People are the same.”

Roman thought and finally pronounced. ”Gene, based on your sad tale I can only recommend you do one thing. Pass the test. All this started with you panicked about the test and keeps repeating every time you blow it. So let’s start now and I get you past at least one question. Just make sure you get me to work on a different topic every time. “

“You think that will get me back? “ Gene asked.

“I have no idea. I just know that you need to change a variable and your anxiety seems to be part of this. So listen up. We now begin ‘An explanation of the Pythagorean theorem’ for your enjoyment.”

Gene focused on the fifteen minute lesson.

After Gene left, Roman and Norman looked at each other.

“I’m worried about him, Roman. I think he’s losing it.” Norman said, quietly.

“So am I, Norm. He was always so tightly wound and it all came too easy for him. I only gave him that stuff to get him off this silly fixation he’s got.” Roman said, his voice showing unusual concern. He checked his wig in the mirror on the wall and patted it into place. The boys grabbed their purses and left for class.

Gene went back to the room. He examined Roman’s and Norman’s rooms and their wardrobes were changed just like his The swimsuit calendar was unchanged, the girls were just like they should be. Gene touched the calendar with an outstretched hand, as if to anchor himself to something he could count on.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was easy. Then he drew a blank. The next was no better. It was the longest ninety minutes of Gene’s life.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Utter defeat surrounded him, but he had a glimmer of hope. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 8: School Daze

Gene knew he was being shaken awake, and he knew it was Roman doing it. He just wanted to refuse Roman the satisfaction of an easy victory.

“Dammit, Gene, get up! Trig final today! Come on, we have to get ready for breakfast.” Roman said.

Roman was standing there in a waist high girdle gartered to black stockings. His earrings were crystal and dangled in the lights. His long hair was set in rollers. Other than that, everything seemed normal.

“Gene, you asked me to shave your back today, I’ve been waiting and you haven’t even showered or done your legs and pits. Norm and I have already done each other and we’re waiting.”

Norman walked in wearing brown hose attached to a garter belt over his satin briefs. He had gone with hoops again today. Gene noticed that his hair was past his shoulders and in a classic 1960’s flip. He did not think it was a wig.

“Gene, get a move on, we only have twenty minutes or they won’t let us eat.” Norman said.

Gene jumped in the shower making sure to cover his own rollers with a large shower bonnet. He picked up the razor and his body took over the process of shaving his legs. The fog free mirror let him shave his face and underarms.
“Are you ready for me now, Gene?” called in Roman.

Gene decided to go with the flow. “Sure Roman, come on in.”

Roman opened the shower door and lathered Gene’s back, keeping himself out of the shower spray. He then took the razor and carefully shaved the lathered area. Roman had not taken his hair down yet.

“Ok, you’re smooth and manly now, buddy. You owe me a few of these. Now fix your hair and get dressed for Chrissakes!” Roman said as he went back to his room.

Gene let his body handle the brush, comb and styling process. After what seemed like an eternity, he then just let his hands do the job of arranging his hair into a curly pageboy.

Gene studied his clothing selection. Not much change, except the skirts seemed to be either mid thigh or floor length. There were also some dresses in the same lengths. He picked out a slip and a minidress and then realized he needed a girdle to make it fit. He put it back and selected a skirt at floor length with a slit up the side, with a camisole top.

The shoes had one inch heels, but they weren’t that hard to get used to.

So Gene went into the common area and Roman laughed at him.

“I thought we were all going to be daring today and show some thigh. Here you are, Mr. Prim and Proper.” Roman and Norman were both in mini skirts.

“Just couldn’t handle it today, guys.” Gene said.

The crew of three went to breakfast.

“Hello Gene, ready for Trigonometry today?” Mrs. Fredricks asked, dressed as Gene always remembered her.
“I hope so, Ma’m. It’s not easy stuff.” Gene answered.

“Nothing good ever is, Gene. Good luck.” She turned to the next boy in line.

The three roommates sat in a corner nook to consume their food. Gene’s attire fit right in with the crowd.

“Gene, let me help with the math. We’ve got about thirty minutes to review the material.” Roman offered.

“Ok Roman, pick a topic and let’s cover it.”

After the lesson Gene left. Roman and Norman looked at each other.

“I’m worried about him, Roman. I think he’s losing it.” Norman said, quietly.

“So am I, Norm. He was always so tightly wound and it all came too easy for him. I only gave him that stuff to get him to calm down.” Roman said, his voice showing unusual concern. He check his hair in the mirror on the wall and patted it into place. The boys grabbed their purses and left for class.

Gene went back to the room. The swimsuit calendar was unchanged, the girls were just like they should be. Gene touched the calendar with an outstretched hand, as if to anchor himself to something he could count on.

He looked at the time and realized he had to get to the test. After a breakneck sprint across campus, he arrived at the exam room.

The first question was easy. Then the second was easy. Then it got harder.

He left the test and walked back to his room in a complete daze. Defeat surrounded him, but he had a glimmer of hope. Somehow he found his bed and collapsed, letting sleep take him away.

Chapter 9: Repeat After Me

As Gene got more trig questions right, the pace of change slowed down.

The radians and arc length lesson was coupled with nail polish.

Sines and cosines brought lipstick and foundation makeup.

Tangents and slope ushered in the need to keep male nipples covered. Roman had to wear a bra for his overweight chest. Gene learned he should wear one in ‘polite company’. Norman wore one to cover his well defined pectoral muscles.

Inverse functions were coupled with eye shadow, liner and mascara.

Solving oblique triangles added high heels. Gene hated that one. Norman never wore more than a two inch to keep his leg muscles intact for sprinting. Roman loved four inch and higher, being the shortest of the three. Gene found he favored three inch according to his closet.

Secants and cosecants came along with skirted suits. Hems just above the knee.

Gene was getting really tired of the breakfast choices. He knew he could ace the test today, he probably had the last time. As he left the dining hall, Mrs. Fredricks gently tugged on his arm.

“Gene, can I see you in my office? It will only take a minute.” She asked.

“Yes Ma’m. I’ll be right there.” Gene said.

Mrs. Fredricks nodded and turned to leave the hall. Gene looked at her walking away and realized that his hair, his suit, his shoes and makeup were almost an identical match for Mrs. Fredricks, with the exception of colors. He looked around the dining hall and realized that all the boys were paying the same homage.

Chapter 10: Divine Discussion

Gene entered Mrs. Fredricks’ office through the open door. Closed, it required a knock.

“Sit down Gene.” She said, closing the door.

As the sound of the wood meeting the jamb, Gene found himself sitting in a white void. Mrs. Fredricks was across from him, her legs crossed. He always loved when she did that.

“Gene, it took a while to follow your trace. You do know you weren’t supposed to escape your fate? Failing that exam was supposed to make you learn to deal with difficult challenges. Instead you slipped across several realities. But you did learn in another way. So what do I do with you?” She said.

“Who are you? Are you God?” Gene asked. He felt amazingly relaxed and at peace.

“Heavens no. I’m more like a maintenance routine fixing circuit breaks. God is much too busy for this stuff, all those meetings and things. So where do you want to go? You have to pick someplace to go. One of the places you been to or maybe you want to be a little more feminine? I have one where the boys have bigger boobs than the girls, or bigger butts. How about where you are female completely? I’m only suggesting this because that seems to be where your mind wandered on its own. “

“I get to pick? I know I should ask about the catch, it it’s not too disrespectful.” Gene said.

“You are a smart one. And polite too. The only catch is you won’t remember this. Wherever you end up, it will be as if you were there your whole life, because you will have been. Take your time, we have all you want. Eternity, so to speak.”

“Tell me about the one with the boobs.” Gene said.

End

This story was originally published on 2/27/2004 on Classic Big Closet.

Harlequin

By Tyrone Slothrop

Chapter 1: Breathlessly, She Awaited Her Lover

I watched as Raoul's shadow darkened the moonlit wall of my boudoir. I could smell the scent of the man, his primal essence entering my spirit as I hoped he would stay long enough to enter me for real.

My brave white dove, I have been gone too long. The damn Navy seems to hate pirates with a particular passion these days. I am now at your service, Milady.

He stood there, his smile radiating such warmth that I felt flush when I met his eyes. My bodice heaved up with each breath, my gown swayed in the gentle Jamaican breeze. "OH GODDAMMIT GEORGE IT S THE PHONE!!!"
"BREAK SIM BREAK SIM! "

George shook off the sim and picked his cell phone. He was glad the sim had only begun as later it would have been far more difficult to break away from Jean. She was just coming out of it herself.

"This better be good, Alfred, Jean is trying to meet your goddam final proof as we speak." George said. Only Jean's publisher had that number and he was pretty judicious about using it. Jean reached for the phone, still shaking her head full of long brown hair to regain a hold on the real world. Jean smiled at her husband and took the call, walking out by the pool. George knew she would be a while.

Chapter 2: Bodice Ripping For Profit

George and Jean were more in love this year than last year. And last year was better than the year before. When you have been married for a while, say around seven to ten years it either gets steadily worse and you cope with silence or divorce, or it gets deeper and richer and you celebrate your time together. Now being in this kind of steady, infatuation free state of love does not mean you do not get on each other s nerves or occasionally really piss each other off, but the big stuff is not there , like infidelity, and the little daily stuff of each other s preferences is on automatic. George and Jean were coming up on sixteen years. Jean had wanted children but her medical condition prevented it. Her cancer was in remission but she was substantially weakened from the various therapies.

George had felt that leaving his career and spending his time with Jean when she fell ill five years ago had saved his own life. His work in virtual environments and neural interfaces had been so consuming he had gotten into a maelstrom of long hours, high stress, and constant travel. Ten years as a high tech road warrior had ruined his health and had submerged his soul. He was overweight, out of shape and disconnected from real people. Jean had been his only lifeline. When she got diagnosed, he was there with her. The look on her face was like the hand of God had descended and belted him right in the jaw. There was now no other priority or purpose for George beyond being there for Jean. She had put up with his insane existence and now he would pay her back. So he had walked away from the research, keeping a small consulting job with the Labs. His life became dedicated to becoming the worlds foremost amateur cancer spouse, tracking every food supplement, sorting out the research, refereeing the various conflicting specialists, finding the most experienced surgeon, all the stuff you do when your family gets visited by the disease. Mostly he was there with Jean, usually just sitting silently, just being ready when she wanted to talk. After three years, Jean was slowly creating a new, compromised but decent life.

Jean had been a systems analyst when they met, but she had followed her star when George became successful enough to build a comfortable lifestyle. An incurable romantic, she had tried to write romance novels. On the third try, she got published and began a reasonably lucrative career of her own. She was strictly paperback and was well known for what she called her bodice ripper scenes, where the heroine was lovingly semi-assaulted by the dangerous but handsome adventurer. She always started a book with the scene on the cover and then worked in either direction.

Jean was not pretty but she could be beautiful. Her features had a depth and grace which became apparent after you looked at her for more than thirty seconds. Look for more than a minute and you could not take your eyes off her. She was not thin and not fat, and carried herself with a confident bearing which conveyed to everyone that she was quite pleased with how she appeared , thank you. George had had a lot of time to study Jean for long periods of time lately and realized that much of beauty was keyed to that unconscious attitude. Jean had never lost that, even during the ravages of chemotherapy, with all her hair gone and her face gaunt and wracked with pain. She was the kind of person who did not suffer fools but gave everyone many chances to prove they were not. If she was your friend you could count on her to be there without reservation.

After Jean had begun to mend, Alfred, her publisher had visited. He was one of her professional and personal admirers and had coached her writing along until she was a staple in his lineup, with a new novel coming out every nine months or so. Jean used to joke and call the books her children and said writing had a lot in common with pregnancy.

Alfred stood on the deck with George, overlooking the Pacific. George had sold his portfolio and bought a huge house on the Oregon coast with several levels of decks and easy beach access, yet high enough up to avoid the worst storm surges. Jean loved the atmosphere, five months of afternoon sun with heavy morning fog, followed by seven months of heavy morning fog followed by afternoon rain. He had stair rail chair elevators installed so Jean could navigate the deck system. She could walk, but exhausted easily.

Alfred had made a proposal to George. "I want you to get Jean writing again. She s ready and her fan base misses her. No new J.J. Brighton books for three years and they are going crazy. Her first book would sell out the first day. What do you think, George? Is she ready? "

"Alfred, I agree. She s been through such crap for so long it would be good for her. I ve been bringing it up recently and I think she s talking herself into it. I want you to do one thing for me and I ll back this all I can. Give me a hardcover commitment. I mean a real, marketed hardcover, not some vanity publishing nonsense. She can do it and it would provide the incentive to get her to do it." George said, ticking off his talking points.

Alfred nodded but not in agreement. I 'm not sure I can swing that, George. I mean that's a whole different market..

Cut the crap Alfred. You just told me she had a following that was going crazy for a new book. As I recall, her current fan base exceeds eighty percent of average new hardcover distribution. Plus I bet you can play some games and get a bunch of new readers to see what s the fuss all about. Play the famed author returns from brink of death card. She can even do talk shows, remote from here though. I've got videoconferencing gear enough to go to any studio out there.

Alfred furrowed his brow and stared into the surf. "If she can deliver a real book, take her stuff up a level, add some depth of plot and background, I ll back it. You ve got nine months. If you agree , I ll get the buzz going now and start spending money to prepare the way. Half my fortune came because she was in my writing stable so I ll do it if she says go. Do this and we are talking real money on the next one."

Later that evening, George broached the idea to Jean while he supported her walking at the edge of the surf line. A few gulls walked along with them , but expressed no opinion.

Jean stopped and turned to face George. She held each of his hands. "George, I want to do this but I m nervous. I love writing the characters and the relationships and I can do bedroom scenes better than any but a real book! It needs more, plot, historical background, little fine details. I ve been thinking about it, and I ve been trying to find a way to ask, so now I just will ask. You write with me, George! You can do all that stuff and you ve been my first read for years. You ve always added that stuff when you could but now we can co author. Please, just so I can get back on the horse?"

George agreed with a few conditions. She was the author and ran the book. He would submit an outline of the book after she had designed the characters, relationships and major emotional conflicts/issues. Once they agreed, he would get started outlining the action and fleshing out the story with detail and research. She would write the relationship defining key scenes and build into his outline. His main condition was critical. No credit other than a mention with others in the author's notes as providing support in the process. Jean fought it for a while but realized, like all people in their kind of love do, that this was not negotiable. So the deal was struck.

The first book rolled out and after a few weeks, hit the bestseller lists and stayed there for months. All of the old fans were joined by thousands of new ones. The book was actually reviewed, not well, with a lot of condescension, but it was reviewed, and some were even hopeful for future work. The public did not care about the critics, they loved it. It had it all, romance, a complex plotline, romance, laden with fascinating historical fact, and most of all romance.

Alfred had Jean do limited interviews as she had worked herself to her limits and George told him to lay off and sell the damn book. It worked better as the fans reacted with sympathy and Jean became the hottest get for every talk show. The bestselling author-cancer survivor angle just plucked the heartstrings.

Jean persuaded George to do another book and he demanded the same conditions plus one. It blew the other book off the charts. Alfred was building a publishing powerhouse. The money went from a steady stream to a flowing river.

Chapter 3: Secrets of Famous Authors

George had posed one more condition before he agreed to the second book and it was tied to his old work. When he had left the Labs he had still been on retainer. Since getting someone else with his security clearances would take forever, they needed George, who, even at two hours a week was still priceless. As a result, he kept his hand in and had even been sent some breadboarded prototypes in his home workshop. The Defense Department okayed it and reserved the right to check his inventory at will, but had never done so. Plus, they were not sure they could inventory what George did anyway. He could show them a blender and a snow cone machine and they would never be sure what he was doing. The good news was that George was a man of his word and a patriot besides, which was really the backbone of security anyway.

George had brought Jean into his shop on the premise that he had helped her and now she could help him a little. Plus he had an anniversary gift he had been working on for over two years to deliver.

Jean could walk and stand fine on her own. George looked at her and fell in love all over again. Her brown hair was back just to her shoulders after almost two years and she was almost back to her old weight. Aside from a few lines here and there, she looked restored. The success of the book had done wonders for her spirit and she felt deeply indebted to George for his contribution.

Jean saw she was standing in an open space, about twelve foot square. There was a wide padded chaise lounge in the center.

"Jean, you know what I was doing before, and I ve added some things I thought you might enjoy. Put on the headset that's on the chaise." George said.

Jean trusted George implicitly and donned the headset, which covered her eyes and ears. When she blinked she was standing outside a large white tent under a clear night desert sky. Her hair was blowing in the warm breeze which billowed her white gown. She could see the sand in her bare feet. From the distance a horse and rider approached. The rider dismounted at about ten feet away and strode forward. He was George, but with somewhat darker skin and longer hair. He wore a khaki safari shirt and riding pants, with a bullet bandolier over his shoulder. His boots were somehow shining despite the dust. Jean recognized the scene , it was from one of her early novels. She had just been rescued from the slave traders and Clive, the mercenary soldier with a heart of gold had just returned with her jewels.

George recited the dialog flawlessly and then put his finger to his lips. He broke character for just a moment.

"Just go with it, you know what comes next. "

Jean did indeed know what came next and relaxed in George's arms as he carried her into the tent. He carefully set her on the ornate divan and began to make love , tracing the exact moves she had laid out in her novel. When they were done, George stroked her hair and delivered the final line.

:"You make your jewels pale in comparison, Lady Penelope. " George/Clive said.

Jean looked into his eyes and delivered the closing line. " You have brought me much more than mere jewels, my love."

After the kiss, George said "BREAK SIM BREAK SIM" and the workshop returned. Jean found herself sharing the chaise with George all their clothes strewn about the area.

"My God, George, I had no idea you could do that! It was incredible!" Jean was amazed. Her world had come to life and she had just had fabulous sex.

"Wait until I have you try the tactile suits. Then I can have much more impact. "

"Any more impact and I will need a wheelchair, you incredible man. As it is I m going to be walking bowlegged with a big smile all night!" Jean grinned and lit up George s face.

"Since your novels all drive from one or two scenes like that one, I thought you could use a tool to test run the characters while you are working out the concept. Plus I thought we could have some fun trying it out. I have a hacked together menu system which allows you to change the scene and characters." George said, beaming at Jean.

"I can t wait to try out Raoul the pirate and Milady Cummings. You ll look great with the eyepatch. Jean licked her lips. She ran her fingers through George s blonde hair. When she had lost her hair from the chemotherapy, George had shaved his head. He told her they would grow it out together and they had.

"George, are you getting this cut soon? Have you ever noticed the hair on my heroes?" Jean asked.

"Yes and they all look like male strippers, but with fabulous long hair. I always thought that was your historical settings."

"Well, if you are playing the hero, you need to look the part. Let it grow out, will you?" Jean pleaded.

"Why not babe. It will take less compute time that way. Hair in the sim just eats up cycles. Besides, it s past that annoying in my eyes stage. I can at least tie it back. So, do you like your present?"

Jean really liked her present. George then told her she was sworn to secrecy or the Defense department might get a bit perturbed. She looked at him funny, Why would she give up the edge this gave her over other writers?

Chapter 4: Every Writer Must Grow

So the second collaboration novel was a wild success. Alfred was bidding out the screen rights. The other publishing houses were going crazy trying to find the fabulous new author to break her contract with Alfred, and Alfred and George had built up a series of false fronts which preserved their anonymity. Jean had been on television, but she had been in her JJ Brighton outfit, with a long and full blonde wig, heavy makeup and a gown similar to her characters. She was the woman on the covers and that is what her public wanted to see. It was George's idea, to enable her to appear in public without recognition, and Alfred was more than supportive, seeing the branding impact in the market. Jean never wanted public adulation and was very happy that George was so effective at keeping their private lives private.

Now back to where we started this narrative, where Jean has just taken the phone call from Alfred and George is archiving the Raoul/ Milady sim. They had just been running it for one last time, a kind of farewell.

Jean came back into the workshop, which now looked more like a movie studio with props allowing for resetting the scene in the sim. She was removing the bodysuit which provided tactile input for the experience.

"Thank God you made the crotch easy opening, sweetheart, otherwise these things really stick to your skin. Jean said to George while he was at the keyboard."

"Self interest, my dear, pure self interest. Are you going to tell me what Alfred thought was so important?" George said, not taking his eyes off the console.

"Oh, yes. We made the Times list at number 1 and the reviews are all really good. Well mostly good. Alfred wants to know about the next one book and had a small request. Plus he wants me to do a book tour. "

"Do you feel up to a tour, babe? I'll go if you will, but keeping our real faces out of the public eye may be tough." George looked up to see Jean s reaction.

"I told him, not this time, but next book we ll do it. I should be ready to take it by then. We ll do the TV stuff from here just like last time. I already have my wig over at Bobby s for styling."

"I assume Bobby is sworn to silence, babe. I thought hairdressers were notorious about not keeping a secret."

"Bobby will. I've kept his secrets for a while. Plus he loves our books and has some of the few autographed copies. Plus he's been my friend since elementary school. And you like him too, so shut up. "

"I don t even want to guess at Bobby s secrets. Alfred had a suggestion?" George looked quizzical. It had been unlike Alfred to ever request content.

"He asked me to consider a little change of pace for the next one. A strong woman chooses a man who adores her from afar. She rejects my traditional hero type. Alfred thought it would show some flexibility. A lot of the critics are expecting me to fall into a pattern."

"Your buying public loves that pattern. Critics don t buy books, hell I don t think they even read them."

"I think it's interesting. Let's take our vacation and I'll mull it over."

Chapter 5: On The Road

Jean and George took an early fall driving trip through the Four Corners area, Starting in Albuquerque, up to Durango, looping through the San Juan mountains, a stop in Telluride then on to Canyon De Chelly. A great pre-sunrise drive to Monument Valley, then back through the Navajo Reservation to return to Albuquerque. George navigated the large SUV through dirt roads and interstates, once getting caught in a herd of sheep and then having a friendly talk with the Navajo family who owned them. The dog loved Jean and George was told the dog hated everybody except the sheep. Jean was pleased to see several JJ Brighton books gracing their trailer. She raced out to the truck and brought in a copy of the new book and signed it for the Begay family.

As they drove away over the rock and rut path called a reservation road, George leaned over and said "There are only about ten or maybe eleven signed copies of any of your books out there. I wonder if they know what it might be worth?"

"Jim and Lori Begay already seem to have a good idea of what things are really worth, George. Why is it couples always can sense when other couples are as in love as they are?" Jean said, her face reflecting the high desert scrub and red dirt as hey drove slowly down the track.

"It must be a synchronization of frequency thing, babe. Harmonies and all that." George talked while avoiding a having an unexpected sharp rock pierce the oil pan. He hoped the skid plates would take the shot.

"Oh George, you always have to put it in a theory."

"Theories are just shorthand for feelings, babe, it keeps me from talking so much. But that s just a theory." George smiled avoiding the punch to his arm Jean threw. She was laughing out loud.

After ten days or so they headed west, driving over to LA and going up the coast highway to their house in Oregon. Jean cancelled their flights out of New Mexico and George called the rental company and told them he was buying the truck. It had been brand new when he picked it up and he found he really liked it. After some usual We Can t Do That , he finally got the owner on line and told him he would pay $1500 over his purchase price , just to cover his replacement administration. The money would be transferred to him as they spoke. George always found that cash was the best convincer and had their business manager make sure the titles and insurance were handled. He was assured there would be a Fed Ex waiting at their next stop with all the paper needed to make them legal.

Rolling into home, George was happy to see his 1969 Mustang back in the garage. He had hated leaving it at the airport, but it was the most disposable of his collection. Bobby had picked it up at the Portland airport and brought it home. Dent free, noticed George, and he made a note to thank Bobby the next time he came over. He and Jean were happy tired. They loved touring and seeing the different sunrises and sunsets, meeting people and picking up location and plot ideas.

Chapter 6: The Love Triangle

Bobby was there to greet them He shook George's hand and them gave Jean a mammoth bear hug. Jean was five ten and statuesque and George was six feet even and slimmed down from his old weight, but Bobby towered over them at six four and two forty. He had added just the usual weight over the years but would not be considered fat except by a modeling agency. From his short but well styled hair to his Gucci loafers he could attract any woman he cared to, or guy if he wanted one. Bobby and Jean had literally grown up together in a New York suburb, and been close friends ever since. They kept in touch after college, and George could not think of anyone who had been happier at his and Jean s wedding. Bobby had been best man, since George was pretty much on his own and really did not have anyone he wanted to ask. Bobby used to kid George that he should really have been a bridesmaid, given he and Jean went back so far. George had laughed and thanked him for helping him out, and told him his only reservation was that Bobby looked a lot better in the tuxedo than George did.

When Jean got sick, Bobby had sold his chain of hair and nail salons in New Jersey and retired early to live near Jean and George. He had helped them both through the really tough years and now had followed them to the coastal town, buying the house next door. He opened a small appointment only makeover practice and actually made house calls. George could never really figure out if the house calls were all business or not, but would never dream of asking Bobby directly. He knew Jean and Bobby shared everything, but that was Jean's private world. Their marriage had worked in great part to both of them knowing what was shared and what was kept private, shared by invitation only. Just like an operating system security structure, but with no administrator, thought George.

George had always known that Jean's heroes in her books were modeled after Bobby, who used to have hair past his shoulders and the classic tight abdomen with a hairless body. Bobby had toyed with going the Mr Universe route when he was younger , but never wanted to do the steroids and other things needed to play the game. How he got into hairdressing George never knew, but Bobby had been wildly successful at it both stylistically and as a businessman. George also liked Bobby as the friend he never had and could never be jealous of Jean and Bobby s relationship. Bobby used to say that for a sociopathic loner genius, George was the most stable, integrated and happy person he had ever met. George agreed, but saying and believing that it had all been due to meeting Jean.

"Welcome home! Your emails were great! All those pictures, it must have been wonderful. Jean, I ve been mulling over your new ideas and am ready to discuss them if you want to. Plus, I ve got your wig ready. Let me know when the TV shows are so I can get your face to match. I just love doing blondes!"
"George! Looking good! The car was a lot of fun on the drive down, I remember when I had one of those, back when. I never should have totaled it. I think your carb s running a little rich, though, so I leaned out the mixture."

Talking to Bobby was like drinking from a firehose at times. He just kept coming at you until you talked back. "It ' never held the mixture more than a few hundred miles, Bobby. I think the screws were poorly machined on that model. Thanks for picking it up. I assume you were able to get a ride to Portland without any trouble." George said, recovering from the handshake.

"One of my clients was visiting her sister and I had just finished doing her hair, so I used my charms and got a ride. Come on George, do you really think I can t get a ride if I need it?" Bobby feigned looking hurt.

"Bobby, I am sure not only could you get a ride but if you got pulled over the cop would loan you his car." George said. Jean laughed, which always brightened up any room she was in.

Chapter 7: The Other Love Triangle

George, Jean and Bobby were watching the Pacific sunset on an enclosed portion of the deck, a fire pit roaring in the corner. Bobby threw another log on and watched the spray of sparks in the fading light. Salt air and mild woodsmoke went well with the Kona coffee and green tea they were enjoying after their grilled salmon. Jean could not handle anything alcoholic anymore and George did miss the occasional wine, but he knew Jean did too so he just lived without it. Bobby had never drank, smoked or did any drugs. They were relaxed and absorbed listening to Jean describe her new book concept. George got up and put an insulated sweatshirt around Jean, sensing she was about to start shivering. She forgot everything when she got talking about her books.

Jean was going to do Alfred's request. Still a period piece, set in the nineteen sixties, which made it historical fiction today. A kind of Doris Day/ Rock Hudson type light romantic tragic-comedy set in New York City during the Carnaby Street, Swinging London, Beatles era.

"I always loved that era, even though I was about seven when it was going on. It was light and frothy and contrasted to a lot of social upheaval and change. Plus I love the styles. I think our audience would love to visualize them. I am picturing an advertising executive and she seems destined to marry Mr. Right, who is tall, handsome, witty and rich. Everything about him is great but she is attached to her hairdresser as best friends, and he has always loved her but can never come out and say it. " Jean said, watching Bobby s reaction.

Now George knew, since Jean shared everything important, that Bobby and Jean had been lovers for a whole month right after high school. They both decided it was going to screw up their friendship and just shifted back to being best friends. Neither had ever tried to rekindle the romance for over twenty years. So now Jean was proposing a book with Bobby as the model for both roles.

Bobby giggled. "Not too autobiographical, is it? It sure sounds like people I knew a long time ago. Ok, so why am I suddenly invited to you two's little book planning session? You never needed me before and I think it will ruin my appreciation of the book when it comes out. So what's going on, Jeannie darling?"

"Bobby, George and I need your help. You need to teach George to be a hairdresser over the next month. Just good enough to let him work with me on the key scenes." Jean went on. She and George had agreed to trust Bobby with the sim secret, but only if he needed to know. So far he did not need to know.

"I can imagine which scenes those are. George, let down your hair, I want to see it." Bobby said. George undid his hair clip and his blonde hair fell about three inches past his shoulders. His was longer than Jean's because her's had taken so long to recover from the treatments.

Bobby picked up a strand of George's hair and mused. Well, you ve got more than enough to practice on, and I m not that busy right now, so I guess I can fit you in. You promise to feed me?"

"Great, we will cover your rate at a monthly basis." George started.

Bobby held up his hand. "George, I don t need the money. How about you loan me that car for the duration. I bet I can fix the carburetor before I'm done with it."

Jean laughed again and George extended his hand for another bonecrushing handshake. Bobby surprised him by being exceptionally gentle.

"You are going to need those hands intact, George. I hope you are ready for the course. I assume you will master it like you do everything so I hope I m not creating a monster." Bobby said.

Chapter 8: An Officer And A Gentleperson

Bobby semi-moved in. Between Jean doing the television interviews and George getting daily lessons he often stayed the night. Jean had Barbara, her half a day three times a week housekeeper set up a guest room. Barbara handled the upstairs but knew the garage and the workshop downstairs were off limits. The Department of Defense interview was intimidating enough for her and she was not prone to gossip anyway. Plus, she was really attached to George and Jean, who viewed her as a family member and made sure she was well compensated. George s secrets and JJ Brighton s secrets were secure. Bobby had been cleared , quietly, a long time ago. He apparently had some prior and mysterious security clearance and the DOD guys just backed off.

Bobby worked with George in a way he knew George would relate to learning. He gave him the theory, some of which he found he had just put into words himself. They covered hair and scalp, the chemistry, the biology. Aging, growing , dryness, treatments. Heat and wind, curling and sprays. Conditioning, cleaning. George just absorbed like a sponge.
Then they covered aesthetics. Styles, head shapes, occasions. They reviewed styles, particularly of the 1940s, 50s and 60s. Bobby tried to impart the historical evolution of the styles and his own sense on what worked and what did not. George just took it in. Bobby was an outstanding teacher with an outstanding student.

Jean found out she suddenly needed a lot more wash and sets than ever before. Under Bobby s watchful eye, George worked Jean s hair except when they were near a television interview. Even with the wig, Bobby took no chances with Jean s self image. Jean reacted well to all the attention. George had always been attentive but this was a level of pampering unheard of in their time together.

George also practiced on himself, and Bobby had him try the more outrageous styles on his own hair. Jean found sleeping with George while he was in curlers amusing and then a bit arousing. It was impossible to make George self conscious when he was on a mission so she could laugh with him instead of worrying about his feelings. If she giggled at a big hair bouffant style , George laughed with her.

While Bobby and George were training, Jean was exploring the menu system for setting up the sim scenes. George had given her a dizzying array of options for character features, clothing and emotional makeup. She could create the setting, control the weather and location. George had showed her how to import stock video of period pieces set in New York to build the backdrops.

George and Bobby were in the garage, tuning up the Mustang. Bobby had given George a break from his training so George was leaning over the hood, careful of the elaborate beehive he had spent the morning assembling.

"Bobby, there s something missing from this." George said as Bobby fiddled with the engine throttle linkage.

: "George, I ve been over this linkage three times."

"I mean the hairstyling. I'm not getting any feeling from it. There s no emotion, no sense of accomplishment .It's not going to work with Jean." George went on in a very analytical tone.

"Im glad you brought it up George. Look, I've seen men do their hair before. They either are frightened to death they will lose their johnson or are overcome with excitement at looking all girly . Not you. You approach this more like a science project. Look at that hairdo. It is one of the more ridiculous and feminine things ever invented in the fifties, extremely difficult to do , you pulled it off on your second try and just walk around with it, not blinking an eye. How did it feel when you finished the style and looked in the mirror? Any reaction? Did you feel sexy? Ashamed? Beautiful? Good Looking? Did you feel lighter? How do you feel when you see yourself in rollers? Or with you hair all curly and flowing? " Bobby set down his Phillips head and looked into George's eyes.

"I don't know. At first I just focused on did I meet the specs. Sometimes I felt a little silly with the rollers but that passed quickly. I looked at this one and thought my God, this will be a pain to live with, I can t even fit into my car. Jean has been pretty tolerant and I like it when she likes the style. So I guess I measure it by whether Jean will like it." George said.

Ok, here's your plan. I declare you graduated at the technical skill level. Frankly, you are better than at least eighty percent of the hairhackers out there, but no woman except Jean would ever feel comfortable going to you. So now I want you to focus on one thing. Pick styles for yourself which get Jean's attention for the next week. If she likes the style and I mean 'wild ass sex' likes the style, then tell her you will give her the matching one. So pick ones she likes on you but really likes on herself. Hair for a woman is a never ending debate between attracting other people and self love. Just don t color her hair, we don t want any more toxin stress on her than she s had. Make choosing a hair style part of your sexual dance. Do you follow me?" Bobby looked at George sympathetically.

"I'm beginning to get the idea. Hair is part of sex."

"George, for a woman, everything about her is part of sex. Her shoes, her lingerie, her jewelry and her hair. When you are a hairdresser it is a form of sexual surrogate. That's why we act so damn fruity to reduce the threat, to be safe. That's why Jean's idea is so fantastic. A lot of women have had a fantasy about a hairdresser who can then ravage them. Hell, just letting us do their hair is a halfway form of surrender." Bobby went on, grinning.

"I would guess you speak from some experience, Bobby. Ok this has been good. Now I need one thing from you. Like you said I seem to be ok with the technical aspects, but I need to be faster and looser. I know that takes years. I want to record you doing a few styles on my equipment. I think I can download your muscle memory and speed myself up." George now grinned.

Bobby was incredulous. George led him into the workshop where Jean was sitting at the console.

Jean turned and hugged George, kissed Bobby on the cheek. "George that hair is much too much for a sweatshirt and jeans! You need something much slinkier and some pearls!".

"When I lose five more pounds babe. I m bringing Bobby in on our little secret." George said.

Chapter 9: Little Red Schoolhouse Meets Silicon Valley

Bobby was speechless when George put him into a sim. George could not remember Bobby ever being speechless , so he assumed he was impressed.

Bobby took off the headset and shook his head. " Goddam George, I knew you were a genius but this is unbelievable. I was riding a horse in the desert! I could see Jean in that white dress! She could talk to me! Why isn t this out on the market?"

Because it has more implications than entertainment. I know you understand about black projects, Bobby, and I don't want to know why you know that. Just say we are about ten to twenty years before it goes civilian. Now since I wrote the system I get to stay up with the latest work so I can advise my old employers effectively. So you know about keeping this quiet. Now I have been working on a variation where I record a person performing some skilled task. I get the muscle memory, their pain and joy at creation, their emotional state, in other words, the feel of performing the task. Then I play it back into a sim with me playing the role. It's new and I ve been trying to set up a test, but I m limited. Jean and I know each other too well so it would not be a fair test. And aside from you, there is no one else we trust to know about all this. So, will you let me record you?" George asked.

"Sure. Can you read my mind?" Bobby smiled.

"Just your feelings, which may be worse. Oh damn, I have to go check the email. Jean- please show Bobby some more sims, I know he wants to try it again." George went to his office.

Jean looked at Bobby. I have prepared a sim just for you Bobby. I'm nowhere near to what George can do but I have developed some finesse. Let me help you with the suit, it gives a much greater experience than just the headset. "

Bobby entered the sim. He was in a large hotel suite looking out on Manhattan at night. It looked like something out of an old movie. He felt hair falling down his back, brushing over his rump. He looked down and saw he was wearing a Dior gown, low cut, which exposed a bit of cleavage. His arm and hand were thin and elegant, nails polished, a diamond bracelet dangling on his extended wrist. His waist was impossibly thin and he strode forward on tall stiletto heels. He could feel his stockings tug slightly at his garter belt. His reflection in the glass door leading to the balcony showed his face was thinner, more delicate yet still his own, with tasteful makeup. Jean was outside, in the same dress, her hair blowing gently in the breeze as she looked out at the skyline. Bobby opened the door and went over to Jean. He could hear the street noise at least thirty stories below. They looked at the Chrysler building, with its distinctive crown.

"Ok, Jean. What can I say? This is incredible! It is my dream!, Hell, it's better than any dream I ever had! Can you conjure up a willing lover? I would ask you but we already did that and you and George are too perfect. " Bobby said, amazed that his voice was an just a bit higher.

"It works better when you provide your own lover, Bobby. The bodysuits just are not quite good enough to handle realistic virtual sex with a generated partner. George and I act out all the key scenes right here. This is what I have built for the new book. Plus I m never sure whether you want a boy or girl." Jean said.

"I assume you only have one Dior original programmed? Otherwise we d never have the same dress .Plus, FYI, I haven t done boys in years. I have a few ladies who are supportive of my clothing preferences, and a few who don t know." Bobby said, swirling around on the balcony. He was actually giddy.

"Yes, only one gown, I just got it loaded. Isn t it lovely? George could record a few of your friends remotely for now if you want. I doubt they could get clearance, at least for a while. But I can build you some very recreational sims. Now tell me about George. I can t believe how fast he has learned to do hair. At first it was really funny, but I kind of look forward to it, what style he is going to wear, and having him do mine is fantastic." Jean said, a happy look crossing her face.

"It seems the only person George can get embarrassed with is you sweetheart. Let him know you like his work, he is trying so hard. Does George know I dress? It's been hell not getting comfortable when I stay over."
Bobby looked at Jean in the glow coming up from the street. Thankfully, the sim did not seem to have pigeons.

"George respects your privacy. He figures if you want him to know something personal, you'll tell him. He likes you no matter what. Besides, with him prancing around in a beehive or a bouffant, how could he object to you wearing a nightgown? Just tell him. He won't care, in fact he ll be happy you trust him." Jean broke the sim and she and Bobby were back in the workshop.

For the next three days George had Bobby attach about twenty small sensor patches on his body and head, and then do George's hair. Jean loved the spiral curls and George replicated them on Jean. She got very excited about the simple wave and flip, and it became George's favorite. The slight teasing with banana curls Jean fell in love with as extremely romantic. George began to feel the excitement, the lift that hair styling could bring. Bobby told him that he and Jean used to do each other's hair all during junior high and high school. It was where he learned to love the skill. Bobby pronounced George graduated, at least for anything up to 1970.

Jean finished the publicity campaign. Bobby went back to his practice and George told Jean he was ready for the sim. Jean had noticed that his proficiency was much improved. It seemed as if he had been a top stylist for years.

George had been his own guinea pig. He had practiced on several wigs at first while wearing the neural headset, a variation on the sim headset. He then worked with Jean on several styles. Jean felt it was eerie. It was like George was there in body but gone in spirit, his hands moving efficiently just like Bobby's. Then he started work with the headset and he had retained almost all of the skill and dexterity, while making her feel desired and wanted. Jean was feeling very aroused. She interrupted two styling sessions for bouts of wild lovemaking. George seemed to have the hang of the character. Jean had her sim partner. The book was on its way.

Chapter 10: Cross-over

Jean noticed it about a week later. For some inexplicable reason, George had stopped wearing pants. He walked around in a shirt and briefs, throwing a blanket over himself when it was drafty, which was often, it being January at the Oregon coast. He continued to keep his hair styled . Barbara had politely asked what was happening and Jean had said George was focused on his research, which Barbara took to mean shut up and don t mention it again.

One morning George came out of the shower wearing a robe and shower cap, turned to Jean and said "Jean, I have a bit of a problem. I think the training program has messed up my responses to stimuli. "

Jean turned towards George, a very concerned look on her face. "George, what is the matter? Tell me and we'll deal with it together, like everything."

It has to be the training sims I've been running. For the last few days I have had this urge to wear a skirt or a dress or stockings or something. I can't quite isolate it. I dream about wearing them. From the research I've done, becoming a crossdresser at my age would be highly unlikely." George went on, brushing his hair into his everyday style.

"George, when your device records someone, can it pick up personality or emotional states? And second question. Have you ever worn a dress or a skirt? Ever crossdressed even for a laugh or a school play or Halloween?" Jean asked. She had a suspicion forming in the back of her mind.

"Second question first. I think when I was three, my mother had me wear my sister s fairy princess costume for Halloween. Other than that, no. The occasion never came up. You know I never cared much about clothes of any kind. Now on your first, I see where you're going and I've been there in my head for a while. I thought I knew what was recorded on my database through my sensors, but there is so much of the neural interface and brain function that s unknown. There is no spot or area in the brain signal map we can call Personality or Psyche or Conscience but they are there, made up of uncountable intermixed signals. So are you going to tell me about Bobby now or should I ask him directly?" George finished his hair looked directly at Jean.

Jean sighed, knowing that living with a genius was always a challenge. The only time you could ever fool or hide something from George is when he did not care to focus on it.

"Yes George, Bobby s been a crossdresser since he was seven or eight. I was his best friend partly because he could be himself with me. He has always hidden it except to a few people he trusts. He s tried being gay but found he wasn t. And if gay people have trouble being accepted, heterosexual CDs have it worse. You know his father didn t speak to him from age twelve until he was twenty? And then he used him in something overseas which Bobby won t talk about to this day. All I know is I spent a year putting him back together. He had just left when we met. I do know the only time Bobby s gone out in public dressed was to his father s funeral, I think to mourn and spit on the grave at the same time. But I wish you would ask Bobby this. I think he can help you and I know he would." Jean spoke, quietly and slowly. There were not many secrets between them and revealing one was always a wrenching experience.

"Jean, I respect Bobby s privacy and hope it didn't hurt you to tell me. Yes, you are right, I would like Bobby's help. I don't know any more about what happened to him from his security clearance other than his Dad was Agency. He will tell us that story when he's ready to. Back to my little issue. If you don t mind, could I borrow some clothes? Something simple, please. My ass has been freezing off lately. And call Bobby but keep this off the phone lines. Just tell him to come over and it's important." George went back into the bathroom.

Jean got up and laid out a pair tights which she thought would fit George, a skirt with an elastic waist and selected one of George's dress shirts. She paused , looked at the skirt and added a half slip. Might as well do this right, she thought. She knew none of her shoes would fit him so she selected a pair of soft sole moccasins they had bought in New Mexico from his closet. She then grabbed one of her spare purses, fairly plain which could pass for a utility bag, almost. She debated adding a brassiere but decided to see how this worked without it.

George came out and asked a few questions and then got dressed. With a little coaching from Jean, he adjusted his skirt and looked in her full length mirror. He looked like George in a skirt, but that was not all that bad. Jean found herself getting a little aroused at the novelty, especially since he did have great legs. With the long blonde hair, with it slight teasing and end flip draping over his man-tailored shirt, and George s torso, which was masculine but not in an exaggerated way, with a 38 inch chest and a taper to a 34 inch waist, his biggest flaw was a lack of hips and rear end to let the skirt drape properly, and of course, the lack of any breasts. Jean then noticed something.

"George, did you shave your legs. And your arms?"

I"t seemed to be the fitting thing if I was to wear these clothes." That was George, always trying to meet the specs.

"Well, it does make your legs look really good. How does this feel? Do you get anything looking at yourself?" Jean's curiosity was piqued.

"Yes. I feel aroused, a lot like I used to when I was going through puberty. I may need something a little more controlling than these tights and my briefs. How does it make you feel.?" George asked, seeming to be the world s least self conscious crossdresser.

"Like knocking you over and lifting that skirt. At first it was a novelty and it probably still is, but you are making me very horny, George-with-the-great- legs!" Jean grabbed George s ass and pulled him to the bed. She had her hand up the skirt and George had removed her nightgown.

Later when Jean found some new clothes for George she added an old panty girdle that had been very stretched out. She told George it was an option if he wanted more control. So George went to work, reading before and after shots of his brain signal map, looking for areas to focus on. Jean prepared for Bobby.

Chapter 11: The Cure And The Disease Are Synonymous

Bobby arrived and Jean met with him to explain the situation. He then went and sought out George in his office.

"George, I am sorry. If I had told you about my hobby...". Bobby was close to tears.

"Bobby, if you had told me I would have done this anyway. I never thought it would give me this crossover effect. Actually, it is a bit of a breakthrough if we can figure out more about it. Besides, why didn't you tell me.? All those times you were here and being uncomfortable because of me? That's bullshit, Bobby. You are family and dress as you want. Especially now, you might have some things which I might like." George said, totally unfazed to be sitting in a skirt and hose with Bobby.

They talked. George quizzed Bobby about how it felt when he dressed, things which really made him react, fear of other people. Bobby talked for hours. He told stories. He was funny and tragic. He told George he was jealous as his frame was much easier to really be convincing, where Bobby's size and build made even finding clothing a challenge. Not impossible, mind you, just a challenge.

Bobby probed George on how far George wanted to go. He gave him tips and pointers, showed him websites and places to order all the items which made the act of crossdressing easier and more enjoyable.

"George, I guess my dream was always to look as feminine as I could and have a woman love me that way. It is the paradox of the lifestyle. Those women really don't exist. Not in the long run. To them, it s a novelty at first or fun as a change of pace, like the guy is playing on her side for a while, but either they are into really sick domination crap where there is no love, only power and pain or you become a sister, which is where I think I am with Jean and very happy to be there, thank you. And let me tell you, if a real stud guy comes by, their hormones work really efficiently or the human race would have surrendered long ago. So it ends up being mostly for yourself." Bobby took a breath and grabbed George by the shoulders. He continued.

"George, you are probably the least narcissistic person I know which is why I think this will burn out for you in a while. From what I know, I suggest you give in to the urge and immerse yourself for a few days or a week. Do the whole fem thing. Wear heels, jewelry, pad a bra. Let me help you do your makeup and get you some clothes of your own. I know Jean will help. Then in a week, let s see how you feel. Besides, I would view it as a fun. My best guy friend can join me in my hobby , even for a little while." Bobby said.

George thought and told Bobby he was tracking consistent with George s assumptions. He wanted to review some more data and he would join them for dinner.

Bobby and Jean discussed her novel and how to help George. Jean thought Bobby was spot on in his prescription and would turn George over to him. Bobby agreed to move in and told Jean to warn Barbara that there would be some ladies staying over. Jean laughed and said Barbara was used to strange things going on.

George met them as Jean was serving the prawns in the dining room. Over the food, he told them what he was going to do. "Bobby, your approach was mostly right, but from what I can tell, my theory says that you do your immersion and then taper off, starting to switch back to normal for longer periods. Now this is all guesswork but it's the best we have. So , which one of you gets to make me beautiful?" George grinned. Jean and Bobby laughed out loud.

"Well, Georgette, my love, Bobby will get to play Professor Henrietta Higgins. I will merely be the audience. He is moving in tonight." Jean said while Bobby continued to laugh.

"George, I need the SUV, I have some things to bring over." Bobby said, rising from the table.

Chapter 12: Pygmalion Redux

George was just out of the shower. Today he was going to set his hair and then go into his workshop. Bobby had other plans.

George looked up from his vanity which Jean had bought for him for his hairdressing practice. In his mirror was the tallest woman he had ever seen. She had teased out red hair and dangling earrings with her lips a shade that George could not name. Her heels clacked on the wood floor, her skirt constricting her movements. Her breasts were magnificent and her blouse was open enough to display them prominently. George heard Bobby speak.

"Good to see you getting started sweetheart. Having your hair up will give us access to that untouched face of yours!" Bobby said, and then rambled on about clothes and jewelry. George grinned.

"What do I call you, Miss, I don t believe we ve been introduced?" George held out his hand in the way he knew Jean offered hers to women she had not met.

Bobby giggled. "Just Bobbi with an i Georgie. Let s decide on your outfit for the day. "

Jean had been focused on the new book, feeling utmost confidence in George and Bobby to work the situation out. The words were coming, the nuances were better and the intricate relationships were becoming more than real, they were compelling. It was unlike any book she had done and her level of satisfaction and excitement grew. It was addictive. She wanted to see how it turned out and could not leave the keyboard. She was approaching the close, filling into George's detailed outline and fleshing it out before he did. This was going to prove something to herself, that she could consider her self a real writer, not just someone who ground out trashy romance novels. She hated to admit it but some of the reviews had hurt, as they had enough truth to burn inside. She just needed some really good closing scenes. George needed to sort through his little issue and then she licked her lips thinking of the rehearsals in the sim.

Three days later Bobby had made dinner for everyone. George has been appearing increasingly feminine up to now but Bobby has told Jean that tonight was the turning point for George and he intended to dazzle her. He stood there in the frilliest apron Jean had ever seen, towering over the stovetop in his heels and slit skirt.

George made his entrance. The constant stream of overnight deliveries Bobby had ordered must have contained magic, Jean thought. George was there, in an off the shoulder gown, his hair full of the huge banana curls she liked so much. Somehow it was George but not George. He could have passed close inspection and had his pick of dates in most bars. Bobby had set the room lighting to create the most beneficial effect. Jean approached George and greeted him like she would a long time woman friend. She had not planned it, it just seemed right. George seemed remarkably nervous, poised but it was like his skin was actually pulsing. He had never been afraid to look her in the eye before, but she sensed it now.

"George, " Jean intentionally used his familiar name, "you are amazing! Bobby did a wonderful job! I was skeptical of how convincing you could be but my God you are great! " Jean wanted to get George focused on his mission and to stop worrying about how she felt. Also, she wasn t really sure how she felt.

George gave a weak smile and sat down. The bodyshaper was really tight around his waist and the padded panties Bobby had ordered made him feel like he was sitting on extra cushions. Bobby had fitted him with breast prostheses, not large but large enough and the sensation was truly unique. He felt different in a new way. He felt his garter belt shift as he sat. Bobby had insisted on the garters for the full experience . George could still smell his own perfume, an understated scent that Bobby had concocted for him, not flowery but more like spice with just a hint of musk. Bobby and Jean steered the conversation over dinner towards clothes and hair, shopping and other topics. Bobby had prepped George that tonight was dinner with the girls. George joined in, discussing his outfits and the magic that Bobby had worked. He started to ease up and relax. He still could not enjoy dinner with his stomach bound so tightly. He realized he was imitating Bobby and Jean s hand gestures, moving his colored fingernails as he talked. Jean leaned over and gave his hand a squeeze, and then reached down to his thigh. George found the sense of excitement and vulnerability very arousing. At least it would have been if it were not for the crotch snaps on the bodyshaper. He was beginning to understand what Bobby saw in this.

Later, after Jean had ripped the gown off and they had thoroughly tested the resilience of their mattress, George lay back while Jean was cradled in his arm.

Jean murmured. "George, was it the occasion or the dress? You seemed to really get into the fun tonight. "

"It was you, babe. I think I see what Bobby gets out of all this. If I didn't have you , I get sucked in myself. "

"You seemed pretty sucked in tonight, Georgette. I can t get over how fabulous you looked. Did it feel good?" Jean asked.

"It's a bit like Christmas, Jean. The planning and thinking about it exceeds the actual event. The preparation, the primping, it all creates this air of anticipation. Then you see yourself and are amazed. It wears off for me really quickly. I think Bobby burned me out faster than we thought possible. I m going back to pants and sweats tomorrow and then begin to taper off." George said, smiling.

"Not before you wear my present, sweetheart." Jean handed George a large box from under the bed. It was shiny with a huge red bow. George opened it and laughed loudly. Jean had given him a negligee which matched her own favorite. She got up to retrieve hers from the closet.

Chapter 13: You Can Go Home Again, But Just To Visit

Bobby told George to wind down slowly, to avoid the purge and rebuild cycle so many crossdressers fell into. It made sense to George. He settled for camisoles and padded panties worn underneath stretch pants and one of his sweatshirts. He still kept his legs shaved, just in case . Jean was happy with her scenes and she and George went to work in the sim. It was very different than any of Jean's other works, more complex, with clever dialogue. For the first time, George felt it was based more on his relationship with Jean than the Bobby model she had used before. The sex was incredible and Jean threw herself into the rewrite cycle. George played the hairdresser who loved from afar to perfection and Jean played her character as forceful yet vulnerable, who gradually opened her eyes to a depth of feeling she had never before considered possible.

George had added a subplot about the student movement and created tension and danger as the three people played out their values against the drama of being in the crossfire of a radical group and the FBI. The riot scene at Columbia University was a key plot point. And George knew it would be a selling point for a screenplay.

By the third week, George was back to his old self and his old clothes. He had Bobby trim his hair to a more manageable length, but one which still met Jean's old hero definition. She had been rather insistent, so they compromised at a little past shoulder length. He wore it back and decided to leave Jean's hairdressing to Bobby. Every once in awhile, he noticed a dress or a hairstyle and felt a twinge, but it quickly faded.

Bobby had some advice. "George, your Christmas morning metaphor is a good description. The whole thing about dressing is it can consume you for a while and then move to the background. But it never goes away. I know you got something pleasurable out of it, Jean does talk some and you made it obvious. View it like you ate a rare delicacy and ate so much you got tired of it. You wanted to go back to your regular diet. But does it mean you will never have a desire for that food again? You have just added something to your personality. I know you will not let it get out of control, you ve got Jean and your work plus all the other things you re interested in. Plus you can write. At least as well as Jean, just with your own style. What I'm saying is if you feel an urge a month from now or five years from now, indulge it a little. Jean won t mind, she likes it in small doses. She likes me but we're sisters. You two can't be sisters, it would be incestuous." Bobby was back in his well tailored but male clothes. George knew Bobby was wearing something feminine underneath, and that was his compromise with himself.

Chapter 14: Won t Quit Till I m A Star, On Broadway

Alfred read the initial galleys and booked a private jet to fly from New York to the little airport nearest to Jean and George's Oregon home.

Jean welcomed Alfred at the door and was shocked when he hugged her off the ground. Alfred was not a demonstrative man. George stood back and grinned.

"Jean, George, this is a knockout! It's going to be a monster hit! It's the best novel I've seen in ten years and it appeals to a broad audience! You made me cry, dammit and I never cry unless I get punched! We are going to promote this like you ve never seen before. Jean, can you do a real tour this time? I ll keep it easy on you." Alfred bubbled out, overflowing like a fountain.

They sat down and discussed the market approach. George was worried but Jean was very proud of this book and wanted to try.

"George, I've been living like a hothouse flower for years now. What s the sense of surviving if you can t live? I promise I won t push it." Jean pleaded with George. George knew she was right, but he was still worried. He nodded but told Alfred he wanted two of Jean's doctors on call wherever they were and that the tour would be limited to North America. Alfred agreed. Jean also asked that Bobby come along as her hairdresser and makeup person. She hated other people fussing over her. George concurred and Alfred was in no mood to argue.

Jean and George discussed their next book, to have something to focus on while they endured the marketing whirlwind of three months mostly on the road. Bobby prepared his business for a lengthy absence. Alfred provided a leased jet which took some of the sting out of travel and they threw themselves into the breach.

The lights in the trees were sparkling as their horsedrawn carriage approached the restaurant in Central Park. The late spring evening air was soft and Jean was radiating happiness from every pore. George basked in her glow. The book was just out that week and Jean was doing five media spots on talk shows tomorrow, The critical reviews were nearly unanimous, and the words effusive praise were used over and over. Alfred was right, every once in a while the elites and the general public agree and a book sucks all the oxygen out of the marketplace.

Jean was great during the interviews. Fortunately , the interviewers had decided she was a sympathetic story and played her as overcoming odds to build a writing career. She was soft news and there was no ratings advantage to trashing her, at least not this news cycle.

Chapter 15: Candles Burn Bright Or Long

One month later, George noticed Jean was getting weaker. He confronted her and had the doctors brought in. Jean knew he was right and did not object.
After a brief pause in the schedule while tests were run, George called Alfred.

"She's got a new tumor, Alfred. No, it s not due to the tour. It was there before we even started. They've caught it early but we're going home. I don't care how you handle it but we are going home and where that is remains private. Now more than ever. Right. I'll tell her. Talk to you tomorrow." George hung up his phone and turned to Jean and Bobby. He could see Bobby had been crying heavily and Jean was holding him.

"Alfred says to get home. He'll handle it. He's really upset. He said he ll be out when you get settled." George said in that monotone people have when dealt a real shock. Jean nodded. Bobby sobbed.

One month later, George is with Jean in her room at the clinic in Portland. She has been there for a week, The surgery had been aborted and viewed as too risky to continue.

"George, I want you to help me finish the new book. I need to get focused and move as fast as I can and I need your help more than ever. I want to get it done before I have to go." Jean said, her face gaunt and the pain not far below the surface.

" You mean you want to go home? There s a few more things they want to try " George said, holding down the gusher of emotion he only kept at bay by his need to present strength for Jean.

"George, you and I both know they ve run out of tricks. Doctor Takamori finally told me I have a month, maybe two and the last few weeks won t be pretty. I want to finish this, it will be like my last child to send out into the world. Come on George, I want to use what time I ve got left." Jean said, a calmness surrounding her which seemed almost otherworldly.

Chapter 16: Harlequin Performs

Bobby was talking to the television producer and sounding more deadly by the minute. He did this while attending to the last minute details of JJ Brighton s hair and face.

"I told you we would be ready to go now, not held over to the next segment. If your little diva of a hostess can't manage her time then we will just pull the plug. We have to do another show right right on top of this one. So either put us on now or do without. Make your call now, darling, we're waiting. Bobby intoned into his headset. He adjusted the puffy sleeves of JJ's gown and made sure the bodice presented the cleavage just right.

Bobby backed off and watched as JJ Brighton appeared on the monitor. He was still amazed at how George had synthesized Jean s voice and had it track his every word. George had the hand gestures down pat, and he did not need the wig anymore since he had let his own blonde hair grow out. Bobby had lightened it a bit, but it had not been really necessary, except for George's morale.

Earlier

Alfred had sat George down after Jean's funeral. Bobby had seen loss and pain before but every time you encounter it you feel it all over again. Bobby decided that Alfred was a real human being, one of the best, because he devised a scheme which had brought George back from the brink and built a fitting memorial to Jean. He could have played it the easy way and made more money with less risk, but Alfred had loved Jean and George like the grown children he never had.

Jean had succumbed to the cancer before she and George could finish the book and she made George promise her he would tidy it up and get it out before they know I'm dead. She was proud of her last work and wanted it to stand on its own merit. If it was released as her final book, she knew the critics would lay off and it would be purchased out of sympathy. Plus she wanted the world to know George had been as key a part of JJ Brighton as she had been. George made that promise on the last day she was conscious. She died four days later.

Alfred's plan was simple. George was to finish the book in a few months while Alfred let slip that JJ Brighton was actually a writing team of two very close people. He would build the mystery carefully, with some planted leaks and non denial denials and then announce George as a major contributor. The book would publish and Alfred would rerun some of Jean's old television spots for a few weeks to feed the cameras. Then, when it got it's fair review and reaction, George would do some publicity and then, at the right time Jean's death would be announced. The world could mourn and Jean's last book would have earned its own merits.

George told Alfred he would consider it.

Bobby had been staying at the house with George, since neither he or Jean had any family to provide support, and Bobby was worried about George. Someone so anchored in a relationship gets adrift when it's gone.

They were staring at the surf early one morning. Bobby had not crossdressed since the funeral, and he was not sure why. It just seemed out of place right now. But he did show up for the small service, with Barbara, Alfred , and George, and he was dressed in a stunning black dress which Jean had demanded he wear.

Jean had also invited the Begays from the Navajo Reservation with whom she had kept in touch with via email. They were the only fans she wanted at the service and George had sent the plane for them to come.

The surf crashed on the sand with a subtle rumble. Bobby turned to George.

George, I want to tell you what happened to me in Europe. I want you to know. Bobby began. George looked at him, holding his coffee as the wafts of water vapor rose from his mug to enshroud his nose.

Go ahead Bobby. It s a good time for sad stories. " George said.

Bobby explained that his estranged father had approached him when he was in his early twenties. Old Dad had always viewed Bobby not with disgust but a kind of slight disappointment that only fathers can express. Bobby would have preferred disgust, it would have been less devastating. Dad needed someone he could trust to bring out an agent, a woman from a major city in eastern Europe, which was on the other side of the cold war back then. That someone had to pass as a transvestite. Really pass. Bobby was floored that Dad thought he was bright and capable and able to do this, and his father let him know that he always had thought Bobby had potential but had chosen to channel it into what he called not very useful pursuits. So Bobby agreed and went through the preparation and then over the iron curtain.

Bobby met the woman of his dreams. She accepted him for what he was and desired what he was. She thought his soul was beautiful. After a year, the escape process was ready and Bobby was going to bring her out through Berlin. They were part of a traveling sex show and playing the part took its toll on both of them

The escape plan was compromised and she died at the hands of the STASI, the East German Security Service, right in front of Bobby. Bobby was viewed as useful to trade and not useful to break, so he was swapped six months later.

Bobby knew she had accepted the risk but he could never forgive his father. He also could never stop loving his father for bringing them together. He pieced it together years later that his Dad had set up his role because he thought the woman was the one for Bobby, someone that could accept him on his terms. She unfortunately was already undercover. Dad had bent every Agency rule to make his son happy.

"Bobby that's a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare. The irony and conflict must have been crushing." George said, holding Bobby while he sobbed. Bobby nodded, his large chest heaving with the incredible muscle ballet that is the physical act of grief and guilt.

Bobby and George healed each other. They were not lovers, but they had shared a love of Jean and cared about each other. Bobby closed his practice for a while and moved in with George. Just two men who had lost their great loves tragically, just getting by with the rest of their lives.

"Bobby, Alfred's plan is good, but it has a flaw. JJ Brighton's prime and core fan base are women and men who assume the books come from a woman. By bringing me out front, we are adding another variable to the process, I can finish the book but I want your help with a slight twist to Alfred ' scheme." George had said. Bobby agreed.

It took some convincing for Alfred to agree, but George was very convincing and the technology he developed closed the deal. Bobby had outdone himself.

So George finished the book and a year after Jean s death, and he was doing the publicity tour. Sometimes on television as JJ Brighton with Jean's voice and sometimes as her sister who had a slightly different voice, one George could actually speak with in public. The public went wild over the sister team as JJ Brighton and Alfred kept an air of mystery about their real names. Jean's wish was fulfilled. Her book got reviews unaffected by her death and the world knew she had a close collaborator.

Chapter 17: Into The Twilight

The interviews done for the day, George leaned back in his chair. Bobby was straightening up his cosmetics kit.

"I guess it makes no sense to remove these just for tonight, Bobby. We re flying out to a book fair tomorrow." George indicated his breasts.

"Just wear something to support them when you sleep, George. You know Alfred wants you to do another book now. Have you thought about it?" Bobby said, trying to avoid the grin which was sneaking onto his face.

"I know. It's a big commitment. Sometimes I just want to get back to being old George. Plus I can stop wearing these silly gowns all the time. I think I should stop now and let the world mourn Jean." George said, a note of sadness in harmony with happiness in his voice.

"I think Jean would rather someone was taking care of her fans and letting them take enjoyment from the books. She used to call the books her children, but the fans were her family. Make the family happy George." Bobby said, straightening his skirt. He waited for George's answer.

The fifth Angel story.

Lamb And Lion

By Tyrone Slothrop- an Angelverse story

Predators and prey, prey and predators. One good turn deserves a……hero

Chapter 1: Angel Flies

There was just something about a nice full skirt. Angel was a devoted fan of “Sex And The City” and had decided to emulate Carrie on this plane ride. His hair was done in one of her season five styles, curled and off the shoulder. With his face, lean body and five foot seven inch frame, he never worried about being ‘read’. Angel could not conceive of that problem, not because he was so good, but because he had never cared.

The guy next to him was very polite, offering Angel the window seat if he wanted it. Angel smiled and said that the aisle would be fine, he was a bit afraid of heights. They settled in for the two hour flight, allowing Angel to read the series of firearms magazines he had in his shoulder bag.

The sky marshal, traveling undercover, looked at Angel’s reading material and decided he should keep an eye on the pretty girl in row 2. Angel looked up at him and flashed a full white toothed smile, which brought out his makeup effectively. The sky marshal smiled back, an automatic response, despite his training to avoid personal connection with the passengers.

The flight arrived at the airport on the Pacific coast safely. Angel had the porter retrieve his bags and load them into a waiting taxi. He sent the first cab away because the upholstery was filthy and he really liked the dress, even though he would probably have to leave it here. Sometimes he had to leave a place suddenly.

The hotel room had been rented by a friend the prior week. Angel went to the desk, his heels clicking on the oak wood flooring, and asked for a companion key to room 1212. He fished his driver’s license out of his bag, which showed his baby face framed by his brown hair. Without makeup, the picture could suggest either a pretty young woman or a finely featured young man. There was a slight scratch in the laminate over the M or F designation, enough to obscure it if anybody looked at the license quickly.

The clerk smiled at Angel, since she was also a fan of the show, and struck up a conversation about Carrie and Angel’s resemblance. The two talked for at least ten minutes until the line behind Angel started to get a bit antsy.

“Have a nice stay, Angel, you and your brother enjoy this fine weather!” The desk concierge said cheerily.

Angel, alone in the room, partially unpacked. He took a glass of ice water and watched the sunset on the balcony, letting the sea breeze flow through his hair and around his skirted legs. The rustle of the petticoat was very sensual.

He then returned and with a hint of sadness, took off the dress and retired his Carrie look. He removed the breast prostheses and showered, needing to destroy his hairstyle. It was time to become Eric. He always had to leave the best hotel rooms too soon.

Chapter 2: Contact

Angel disliked being Eric, because Eric hated himself. Eric’s legend, or manufactured story for those of you who don’t read LeCarre, was that he had moved in with his old buddy Freddie since his divorce. Freddie had a beat up townhouse down on the marina and was the local recovering alcoholic who had found God. Which meant the locals avoided him like the plague, most of them being into the boat and bar scene.

He hated fern bars, their character was so manufactured. His martini was orphaned, down to a single olive slowly becoming one with the vodka. He had been zeroed in by the local hunters. The gay guys knew he wasn’t, the straight guys were spooked and the women were dismissive and curious simultaneously. He was only interested in one particular woman, however. This was his second night here and he had just spotted her.

Victoria Prentille, using her real name in a display of totally indifferent arrogance, came up to Angel and dropped a business card into his drink. She blew him a kiss and walked away, her shapely ass moving in time to the rhythm of her heel clicks on the parquet. Her red hair waved across her naked back, almost totally revealed by her cocktail dress. Angel wondered how she held up those magnificent breasts.

He read the card through the refracting haze of the vermouth.

For My Special Men-
“I Have What You Need”
Miss Victoria- by appointment only

No phone, no fax, no email, no postal address.

Fortunately Angel knew where she was staying, Victoria has borrowed a penthouse from her brother over at the Marina Condos.

The waitress reluctantly provided service, visibly rolling her eyes as she approached.

“Another one. Whatever happened to real guys?” she thought, almost saying it aloud.

Angel smiled subtly. He read her reaction and knew his projected role was just what he wanted.

“I’ve left you something, Miss. Thank you for your excellent service.” Angel said in his best man trying to fit in with women voice. The service had sucked for openers and graduated to world class surly as the evening progressed.

He smiled at her grin for getting thirty percent for treating him like crap.

He picked up his light brown Coach bag, which just happened to match his hip length soft leather jacket as well as his shoes and walked out of the bar, checking his shoulder length hair in the mirror on the exit door. He liked the small emeralds in his ears, they matched his eyes. He brushed some dust off his black knit pants with his hand, his clear polish glinting in the soft red light of the exit sign.

His had borrowed a car from Fred and regretted it. A light blue Passat with problems embedded in the fuel injection. It was driving him crazy, feeling the engine just miss mixing and firing correctly.

Tonight was the night it was going to happen. Tonight , tomorrow and Sunday, He had a flight out of town booked for Sunday evening. And he planned to be on it.

Chapter 3: Slick Vicky

Victoria just knew he would come. The smart ones could never avoid it. It was too bad, this one was classically beautiful, if a bit short. Vicky liked her victims taller. And richer. But sweet little Eric would do. And not fight like the last one.

Victoria Prentille had been on a crusade which had turned into a classic badger game. Since her husband had left her for that THING, that girly man, she had found her release through her new hobby.

Victoria granted the wishes of men, men who were looking for their feminine side. She was more than happy to be their spirit guide.

Victoria laughed out loud. A spirit guide right over the cliff. She wanted these men to really get the whole experience of being a woman. A certain kind of woman.

All was in place. The hairdresser, the bank teller, the muscle, her airline ticket. The condo doorman was prepared to say she had not been here since last year.

Victoria felt things had just fallen into place. Eric was already halfway there, with his fashions and androgynous look. She needed that, she only had the weekend before she moved on to her month stay on the Whitsunday Islands, and with Eric she could move him along fast.

Chapter 3: Fly On Approach, Web In Sight

Angel was not happy with posing as Eric. He either preferred being masculine or feminine in appearance and felt at peace in either state of dress. Eric as he played him was supposed to be a crossdresser too frightened to go all the way but too needy to hold it in. Perfect prey for a vulture like Prentille.

Angel had known hundreds of Erics. He felt for them. They were bound and consumed by their own fears and needs, a life of pendulum swings instead of balance.

All of the shame and fear of appearing ‘wrong’ had been driven out of Angel at age twelve, by his Mistress and her art of pain and humiliation. He had watched her die at the hands of the Group, and joined their cause. What little fragment of soul he had left he signed over to them.

They had forged him into a instrument of retribution, with his enthusiastic participation. They had also given him the unconditional love which he had never before experienced.

As he approached the front door of Victoria’s penthouse, he invoked the preparatory mental zen routines his sensei had given him. Angel always held out the hope of redemption, that his target would sense Angel’s pure heart and cease what they were doing, having a realization that they should treat no fellow human being with their intended methods and machinations. He knew he would be rewarded someday, and his would be tormentor would realize the error of their ways. Angel was prepared to be patient.

Chapter 4: The Enticement

Victoria answered the door wearing a strapless basque in black, with gartered stockings. Her red hair flowed over her incredible bosom. With her five inch stilettos, she towered over Eric’s five feet seven inches.

“I was hoping you’d come. I just love your hair. I could not take my eyes off of it back at the Marina Grill..” Vicky spoke breathlessly. She touched Eric’s brown curls and giggled.

Eric entered with the wave of Vicky’s hand. Angel looked out from the eyes of his character and saw an opulently decorated and appointed living area, with an incredible view of the Pacific, something that a middle class paycheck to paycheck administrator would be find staggering. Eric the character spent all of his money on clothes and his ‘secret hobby’. He could only imagine living in a place like this. He could never dream of someone like Vicky paying any attention to him, much less indulging his little concessions to femininity.

Angel tried to deliver an Eric as excited, stimulated and a bit overwhelmed.

“Let me take your purse, darling. And your lovely jacket. They really look good together.” Vicky kept up the sugar stream, enticing the insect into her web.

Vicky served Eric a drink, a potent blend of several liquors laced with lots of sugar. Boat drinks. Eric quickly downed one and was on his second. He was clearly loosening up. Vicki was also loosening up, so that her breasts were close to popping right out of the cups of the basque.

She stroked Eric in an expert, almost clinical way to heighten his arousal and was careful to not let him touch her in any significant way. She had to set the right positioning in their relationship. Her whole focus was to let his secret desires emerge. His desire for sex would be subordinated to his desire to be feminine. At least for a while.

Vicky’s method was simple. She appeared as the chimera, the unicorn, the mythical creature of crossdressers, the woman who wanted them to dress and was sexually excited by their dressing. Then she played her game, her way.

The initial critical setup had worked flawlessly. She already had Eric’s pants and shirt off, in a pile on the floor, revealing his thong made of satin. Some strategic kissing, a lot of fussing and cooing and Eric’s excitement could not be constrained. The thong was not enough to contain it. Good , Vicky thought, he responds to me. Control of orgasm gives you a lot of control of personality, she believed.

Angel was glad he had taken a large dose of Viagra before he came over. He was going to need it.

“Sweetie, could you light me before you go clean up. We have a whole night and I like my boys clean and sweet smelling.” Vicky commanded him, a long slim cigarette on her lips.

Eric used the table lighter and walked over to the bathroom. His head was downcast.

Vicky took some lighter fluid from a drawer and sprayed a small amount on Eric’s pants and shirt, now in a pile on the floor.

When she heard Eric finishing up and she could see he was naked by the reflection in the mirror, trying to wash out his thong in the sink. Vicky dropped her cigarette onto the right spot on Eric’s pants. When they were flaring up enough, she knew the smoke alarm was about to go off.

“Eeeeekkk! Fire! Help!” Vicky squealed.

Eric ran out of the bathroom naked, seeing his clothes on fire and grabbed a water pitcher on the table. He doused the small fire, ice cubes clattering over the floor. The alarm sounded.

Vicky hugged Eric. “Thank you! I must have dropped my cigarette, silly me. It is a bad habit. You saved me!”

There was a banging at the door.

“Oh, God, it’s the doorman! He can’t find a man here! My brother will kill me! Go hide! Now!” Vicky said. She pushed Eric into the bedroom and then into her walk in closet.

Delbert used his key and opened the penthouse door. He figured this was an easy fifty bucks for looking the other way. Who gave a shit if some broad was screwing around? He wished she would screw around with him, he’d give her the fifty back.

“Fire Ma’m! Where is it?” Delbert said, loud enough for Eric to hear.

“Here, I just dropped a cigarette, Delbert. It’s out.”

Delbert keyed off the buzzing alarm. “Looks like men’s clothes, Ma’m. You know I have to report to your brother.”

“Oh , no Delbert! These are my girlfriend’s! She’s just here for awhile! You know I can’t have men here!” Vicky closed the setup, whining loud enough for Eric’s benefit.

Chapter 5: Consumed

Angel smiled. Victoria had closed all the trap doors at once. Damsel in distress. Need to appear as a woman. No clothes. With more setups built in. He admired her capability the way soldiers respect the skill of their adversaries. He wished she was on his side, the Group could use this kind of talent.

Angel examined the contents of the closet. He was not surprised to find a variety of sizes in lingerie and dresses, especially the plus sizes. He also grinned that there was absolutely nothing that would allow a man to pass as a man. No pants, no sweats, no man tailored shirts. He also thought Vicky had very nice taste, if a little towards the obvious side. Angel could live with obvious, he found it to be fun on occasion. A few drawers were locked. He assumed those were the special items, to be revealed later in the transform.

Angel selected a robe with frills and flounces. It was the easiest to cover Eric’s nakedness, and the least outrageous choice. He was grateful Vicky was a redhead and avoided the usual preferred color of his targets, pink. Angel was so sick of pink in these situations.

Vicky opened the closet door. “He’s gone for now, but we have a problem, sweetheart.”

The tale was spun and Angel had Eric in wide eyed amazement at what unfolded. Vicky’s brother was a beast and had her on a short leash. She was forbidden to associate with men in the condo, and men in general. Her brother was dangerous and she feared he had done horrible things to other boyfriends she had. Her brother controlled all her money. It was tragic. All because she loved her men to be soft and caring and not afraid to be gentle.

Vicky looked up at Eric’s eyes. “That robe is so cute on you, it drives me wild, dearie. I’ll bet you like it too, don’t you? Isn’t it soft and comfy?”

Angel allowed Eric to get visibly erect. It was easy, he really did like the robe.

Vicky said she had an idea, especially since Eric’s clothes were ruined anyway. A little disguise to keep the doorman from reporting her. Eric would pose as her girlfriend. Vicky would help.

“Won’t you do that, Eric? I know you can, even though it would be too much to ask. Most men would be too stupid to be able to help me, but you can do it, I know you can.” Vicky was very persuasive, applying a tongue to Eric’s ear and a hand on his crotch. Vicky made sure Eric ejaculated all over the robe.

Eric agreed, since after all, he would be in danger too. He would pose as Vicki’s girlfriend Erica until Sunday. As if any crossdresser could give that one a pass.

Vicky went to work. After having Erica clean himself up again, she made sure he washed his hair again.

Erica was standing there, around nine pm, naked and shivering, mostly with anticipation. Angel was in awe of the fantasy realization Vicky was spinning, all with little guilt removers and permission slips along the way.

“Let’s harness you up, Erica dear. I don’t want to run out of clean clothes, tonight.” Vicky gaffed up Erica, making sure that tonight would be focused on a girl’s slumber party with just kissy face. Not that she was physically afraid of the little man.

After a while of expert fussing and dawdling over the selections, Erica was in a matching basque with some breast forms glued on, conveniently ‘left over from a girlfriend who needed them’, his hair blow dried and full, some modest make up except for his eyes which were immodest, fishnet stockings and high heeled mules.

Chapter 6: Bound In Satin

After an hour of cuddling with Vicky, Eric was served another boat drink. This one made him sleepy. Angel assumed it was a strong sedative. He staggered to the bedroom, with Vicky steering him towards the smaller bedroom down the hall. He collapsed on the bed and Vicky covered him.

With Eric safely out cold, Victoria Prentille changed into another cocktail dress, arranged her hair and went out to meet her date for the evening. She licked her lips thinking that this one was going to be all man. She planned to be home before the little girly boy woke up.

She gave Delbert the fifty on the way out, telling him he did wonderfully and reminding him of the fact that she had not been there for a year.

Ten am sun hit Eric’s eyelids. He staggered out of bed, stumbling by having only one mule on his feet. He removed it and went into the bathroom. His makeup was a mess, but Angel knew he should not repair it until he saw Vicky. He did straighten out his hair and smoothed out the front of the basque. Time to see the Mistress of the house, he thought.

“Erica, darling, you should fix your face! Let sister Vicky help you!” Vicky was dressed in a simple sundress, but her shoes told Angel she was going to go out. He figured the money came next in the scheme.

So, makeup repaired, Vicky had Erica dress to go out, soothing his fears and concerns about being found out. He ended up in a similar dress but with a padded girdle and waist cincher. Angel felt insulted at Vicky’s perceived need for that form of control, he had spent hours keeping his waist as trim as he could. The bitch will pay for that one, he thought. At least the bra supported the awful breast forms. More heels, just in his size, were available. Amazing how lucky they were. Delbert would never suspect, Vicky said.

“Have some yoghurt Erica, we girls have to watch our figures.” Angel thought that Vicky was losing some edge, that last line sounded like bad TG fiction. He ate the yoghurt anyway, needing to soak up the alcohol and whatever she had drugged him with.

So now Vicky laid out the second scam. She needed money, cash, now. To pay off Delbert, to convince him not to call her brother. To get out of town on Sunday for a few days and away from her brother’s other spies. Could Erica loan her some money, being like a sister, or more like a girl lover? And her car?

Vicky had Erica in her lap, kissing her on the nape of the neck while this negotiation was going on. Erica agreed. Vicky could have half her money and borrow her car. But they would need to get to the bank soon.

Bonnie Belinder had been a teller at the Marina Savings for a year. She hated her job with a passion. She hated her boss, her coworkers and even the entire Federal Reserve System.

Vicky had a talent for finding bribable people and Bonnie had ‘Integrity for Sale, Discount For Cash’ hung around her neck. All she had to do for a quick $200 was tell her boss there was a customer outside that needed to do a signature card change and they couldn’t come in, some kind of handicap. The real handicap was her husband like to dress like a girl and Vicky was getting tired of it, so could Bonnie just come out and do the signature card change on Saturday? Bonnie could check the cards, the signature would be legitimate. She would be only guilty of good customer service. The money was to avoid the embarrassment.

Vicky was driving Erica in the Passat over to the bank, about an hour before closing which was 2 PM on Saturdays.

“Erica, don’t be difficult. If you put me on the account, I can take the half you promised me and you don’t have to go into the bank. We can’t take a chance on you being challenged. I think you’re beautiful but I’m afraid you could be detected and then we are both dead. My brother has eyes all over town. This way you stay safe in the car and I can get the money myself.” Vicky said, in a soothing yet dominant manner. Angel was very impressed, she was back at the top of her game.

Bonnie came out in the parking lot after telling her manager about the situation, got the addition form and witnessed the signature card, matched Eric’s signature to the original and told Vicky to follow her inside.

Vicky went in and did a withdrawal for Eric’s sum total wealth, about seven thousand dollars. Not the half he had promised. Bonnie was annoyed that she wanted it in two transactions of $3500.00 each. Vicky shook her head at the pitiful sum. Barely able to cover her costs.

When Vicky left, Bonnie’s boss came up and retrieved the account change form. He wanted to make sure it got handled quickly, It would be bad if the transactions were not valid because the signature authorization had not gone through.

Vicky handed the first transaction receipt to Erica when she got into the car.

“See, Erica, thank you for the loan. I’ll pay you back as soon as I return.” Vicky said, kissing Erica on the cheek.

Chapter 7: Hair Raising Experience

Vicky was embarrassed to be seen driving the Passat. She took solace in the fact that it would only be until tomorrow, then she would get rid of it for whatever pittance she could get. She smiled inwardly. Four more little stages for little Erica, time for the next one to start.

“Erica, I have a treat for you. Have you ever had your hair done in a salon? I think it would really be fun and help you pass for my girlfriend. Your hair is nice but I think Sandra could make it just so much more pretty.” Vicky cooed to Erica.

“I thought we were going back to the condo? You want me to go into a salon?” Angel injected the overall excitement poorly masked by trepidation and panic into Erica’s response.

“Don’t worry, Sandra does a number of men. She knows just what to do for girls like you. She’ll keep your little secret, just let her do what she wants.”

“You’ll be there with me, right?” Erica said plaintively.

“I’ll go in, sweetheart, but just for a while. I have to run some errands so I can leave on Sunday. You’ll be fine. Just keep your knees together, dear. Have I told you how precious and so very vulnerable you look in that dress? “ Vicky leaned over and stroked Erica’s derriere as she parked the car in front of the salon. She wondered how Erica would look after a few years of heavy hormones. Probably much better than her first girly boy, three years ago. He was having such a difficult time being a TS. His heart had never really been in it.

Sandra Brilling enjoyed her work. She had been doing hair for ten years and felt she deserved to be in better surroundings. Lately she had been building a sideline of men some of whom loved a little humiliation along with a wash and set. Not a large clientele, but one that paid triple for a little privacy and a certain controlled maliciousness, coupled with really excellent hair styling. She had created a number of styles which could easily convert from feminine to androgynous and was getting very popular with a certain community. She liked her boys, as she called them, and only gave them a difficult time if that’s what they asked for.

Victoria Prentille at first seemed like a wonderful new business ally to Sandra. She brought men in who clearly loved having Vicky tell them what to do, who were thrilled to have Sandra take their hair and make them as feminine as possible. By the fourth guy she had dragged in, Sandra was starting to worry. None of the other three ever came back, and she had done her best work. They had all just disappeared.

The fourth one was the nicest of the lot and she had heard a rumor that he had been arrested for some kind of break in or assault. Vicky was creeping her out. And most importantly, Sandra was apparently not good enough to do Vicky’s hair. She had heard Vicky used the salon at one of the hotels with that hack fruitcake who ran it. Sandra decided this one was going to be her last partnering deal with the big redhead.

Erica entered the salon hesitantly and swiftly walked down the rows of women and stylists to the rear where Vicky had said to go. Angel knew he needed to keep projecting utter panic even though he always wondered why men were supposed to be so afraid. The women were here about themselves, not to laugh at some guy getting his hair done. As if they cared. Angel imagined a pretty young woman, walking into a neighborhood barbershop, sitting down and asking for a buzz cut. The men would look up, have a puzzled look and then go back to arguing about sports. Why would women be different?

Vicky breezed into the private area Sandra had set up for her boys. All her other customers knew what she did back here and were mildly amused. Some were jealous of the way the boys looked when they came out.

“Sandra, this is Erica. She’s new to this. I would like you to help her with her look. Please give her your usual attention. “

Vicky leaned over and kissed Erica on the lips. “Just enjoy yourself, dear, don’t let these nasty women scare you. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Erica watched Vicky leave, a deer in the headlights look about him. Sandra came up, spun the chair and began the act.

“My my you are a pretty boy, aren’t you? I have all kinds of things we can do you. Would you like me to bring in the girls to watch?” Sandra said, using the lilting, mocking tone she had practiced.

Erica faded and Angel sat up in the chair. “Sandra, why don’t we plan on something nice? I have a few ideas. But first let’s talk. Would you like to tell me all about Vicky or would you like to have something unpleasant happen to you?”

Sandra went white and stepped back. Angel when he was cold and direct was a chilling sight, and an even more chilling feeling. It was like a puppy suddenly had morphed into a pit viper.

“Do you know Spider Robertson Sandra? He’s a particular friend of mine. He would be very upset if you did not choose to cooperate with me.” Angel continued. He wanted fear but also cooperation. No need to run up the casualties.

Sandra was shaken to her core. Spider Robertson was the one of the local street crime lords. He was just back from Lompoc prison. People made sure they stayed out of his business and left his friends alone. Claiming to be his friend falsely was also suicide.

Sandra told Angel the whole tale, the four victims, her concerns. Her new business.

“And what were you supposed to do with me, Sandy? Make me look silly?” Angel said, his voice softening. He was beginning to like the hairdresser.

“No! I was supposed to make you a blonde, Vicky always requested that. Sometimes I wondered if the boys really wanted that. The style was up to me. I was supposed to make you enjoy it, after I scared you a bit. I always give my boys my best, they’re willing to pay so much for it and are genuinely happy when I’m done.” Sandra said, her courage returning driven by the pride in her work.

“Well, Sandy, darling, forget the color, I like mine the way it is. Let’s talk style. I’m sure we can do something to challenge your skill. “

Angel and Sandy fell into a discussion of styles. They ended up with a variation on the one Angel had done coming into town. Sandy was a fan of the series too, and felt she could improve on Angel’s version. Angel gave her a cover story that he was allergic to dyes in case Vicky got upset. Sandy was more than happy to play along with Angel.

“You really look great in that dress, Angel. I take it this isn’t your first time dressed like that.”

Angel told Sandy a highly edited version of him story. He could see her getting angry.

“I wish those goddam bitches would leave people alone! How could they do that to kids? I’ve got no problem with if the guy wants to be bossed around, I know some of them get off on it. But to take advantage of it, to enjoy humiliating another person, that’s bullshit. I only gave them a bit and backed off if it made them uncomfortable. You can tell, you know.” Sandy said, angrily.

Two hours later, when Angel was admiring his hairstyle and Sandra was pleased with her work, he made her a promise.

“Sandy, after this is over, I think you will find your business with the boys will have a significant increase. And getting financing to expand will not be a problem. You do excellent work. Just make sure your customers are operating on their own free will and I see a great future for you.” Angel kissed her on the cheek and gave her two hundred dollars. He had kept an emergency packet under the seat of the car and was glad he could augment the money Vicky had given him for the appointment. Sandra let him use her office phone and promised to warn him if Vicky returned early. Angel let his cell phone recharge in the desk outlet.

When Vicky came back she was pleased with Erica’s giggling demeanor, all bubbly about the hairstyle, losing his fear of humiliation. He was becoming more comfortable as ‘one of the girls’. She grabbed Sandra aside and started to complain about the color, but Sandra explained the allergy and told her she was not going to risk a lawsuit for Vicky.

Vicky seemed mollified with the answer and Erica was acting so femme that she felt the plan was on track for the evening. The sun was going down and she had set up a catered dinner for two at the condo. Time for Eric’s last pleasant memory.

Chapter 8: Goodnight Sweet Princess

The evening was perfect. The balcony was lit with soft flames, the food was superb. The waitresses were pretty and fawned over Erica’s gown and hair. Vicky always felt her victims should have a last girlish evening, dressed to the nines, made to feel beautiful and their decision reinforced.

Erica was really more beautiful than any man she had ever seen. With his hair of soft floating curls, his silk gown, his mannerisms and bearing, he could have attracted any man he wanted. Vicky began to have some doubts about the next step.

Later, Erica had stimulated Vicky at her demand, driving her to a level of pleasure she had not experienced for some time. All with just a tongue.

The doubts increased but she quashed them. Her anger returned in a skin flush as she remembered how her husband had made her feel this way and then betrayed her. For one of these things. Erica was now an object, no longer a person to Vicky.

So the final toast began, and Vicky led Erica to believe that she was finally his. Real sex. She led him into the bedroom and watched him collapse from the drugs in his wine.

Vicky bound Erica to a chair with velvet cuffs. She lit a cigarette and began to pack her few belongings which were not already at the airport.

She had already sold the Passat at a used lot. Erica had signed over the registration to Vicky when she had been convinced that Vicky wanted no hassle if she got stopped by the police.

The Bug was used to people fearing him. His three hundred pounds were well allocated on his six foot five inch frame, covered with ballpoint pen prison tattoos. It seemed as if he had been the model for the badass biker or big gang member used in the movies, and had actually been asked to consult on one production. He always regretted missing that, but the arrest for armed robbery seemed to get in the way. His greasy black hair was held by a bandana and covered only a small part of his massive shoulders. He was a fixture on the street in town, careful these days to avoid a parole problem.

He had been skeptical when the redhead approached him, but she was vouched for by the Weasel, and the Weasel always knew a good con act. All he had to do was show up, look tough, growl a bit, scare a guy and get a blowjob. If the guy wanted more, do more. He got to use a condom. The Bug had made it through prison without getting AIDS and wasn’t going to take risks now. No big deal. An easy three hundred for an hours work. No risk, there was no crime other than a small chance of the guy beating him up. Vicky knew how to playfully challenge a guy like The Bug.

Chapter 9: Over The Edge, Beyond Redemption

Angel woke up feeling restrained. He looked around and realized he was restrained. Vicky was just entering the bedroom and it looked like all her personal items had been removed.

“Erica, I see you are back with us. Last night was so memorable, darling; I hope you treasure it for a long time.” Vicky was in a conservative suit. Her red hair looked great on the white jacket.

“Why am I tied up?”

“Your next to last lesson, Erica. You need to learn to please a man. And what a man have I got for you. Now don’t pretend you don’t want a man, girl, you can lie to yourself but not to your big sister. All you girly boys want a big strong man. Come in Bug.” Vicky was dripping pure evil with each word, as if she was possessed by her anger. Her eyes were staring past any object in the room.

Bug arrived, causing things to rattle on shelves just by walking. He was rippling his muscles and leering at Erica. Angel felt just how scary he looked, grinning, looking down on his small body, restrained, wearing a revealing gown. He understood the fear that was generated by Vicky’s scenario, the fear that drove men to do anything to avoid extreme pain and survive.

“Bug here is fresh from prison and got quite used to being serviced there, dearie. I felt someone so experienced could critique your technique. If you don’t make him happy, he’ll be very upset. I would hate to see that, you are so pretty. If you do give him pleasure, he’ll make you happy and pleasure you in return. Not the same way of course. I’m told he will use a condom, however, even though I swore you were clean.”

The Bug growled and laughed. It was frightening. Vicky undid Erica’s bonds. She pushed Erica to his knees in front of the giant.

“No! No! No!” Erica screamed. The Bug undid his pants and produced the intended object of Erica’s attentions.

“Now now, all girls have last minute jitters. Just do what you know you want to do, you little bitch. Do It!” Vicky was gone, over the edge, off into hell. Beyond any hope.

Chapter 10 Avenging Angel

Angel mentally pushed Erica aside. He looked up.

”Bug, I’ve never done this. Wouldn’t you like someone more experienced?” And with bigger tits?” Angel said, calmly.

“You mean the redhead? I like redheads.” Bug growled.

Vicky began to back away, but Bug was blocking the door. Angel got up and grabbed Vicky, firmly but not enough to hurt her.

“What are you doing? What ?” The look of sheer terror in Victoria’s eyes was just perfect. Angel felt gratified, in an almost sexual way.

“Nothing you didn’t have planned for me, Victoria dear.” Angel spoke in his lovers voice, soothingly right next her ear. He sat her down in the chair and fastened her arms in the restraints.

The Bug moved forward, still unzipped, still ready for release.

“I paid you, dammit. I’ll get to your parole officer and get you back in prison! Stop it! Right now! Make this thing let me go!” Vicky was getting hysterical.

Bug handed a piece of tape to Angel, who applied it slowly and carefully, caressing Vicky’s face as he applied the gag.

“Victoria, it’s important I get to talk now. You’ve had plenty of chances to show me you deserve better than what we’ll do to you. And you blew them all.
You stole my money, you burned my clothes, you sold my car and you hired Bug here to screw me, whether I wanted it or not. A word of advice, darling, not all guys want sex with other men. If they do, fine, but to force them? There’s a word for that. Rape. Can you blame me if I’m a little pissed right now?” Angel spoke, his voice in a soothing tone.

Vicky’s eyes went wider than he believed possible. She was absolutely certain she was about to get what she had inflicted on four other men. Her breathing became rapid, her face was in a rictus of pain.

Angel thought the imagination was quite often more grisly than the reality. He had learned that as a torture victim at age eight.

Bug approached Vicky. He was laughing the scariest laugh Angel had ever heard. The kind that makes you feared in prison.

“Ok Spider. I think she gets the point.” Angel said.

Bug, also known as Spider Robertson, rezipped his fly and stood behind Angel. The two were a marked contrast. Six five, three hundred pounds in denim and leather, five seven one hundred something (Angel never tells) in silk and perfume.

Angel continued talking.

“Vicky, this is Spider Robertson. When your last muscle man got arrested, Spider got word of your scam, since the guy worked for him. Spider didn’t like what he heard and told his parole officer about your game. The parole officer called some people whom you do not want to cross and they sent me.

“I was your chance at redemption and like I said, you blew it. We found your last victim still recovering from rectal rips and a mental mess. The other three weren’t any better.

“So now we have to decide what to do with you. We could have you raped, since you did promise Spider here some relief, but no, we don’t believe in that.

“We could have you killed. I’ve done that before. It is rather final.

“We could allow you to go after some restitution to your victims. So what’s it to be?”

Angel removed the tape. Victoria was eyeing him, attempting to figure the angles.

“What kind of restitution?” Vicky said. Angel admired her ability to recover and get on with it. She was a worthy adversary.

Angel explained. A lot. Most of what she had to be wire transferred right now. He handed her the cell phone, ringing her Grand Cayman bank. Vicky gave the codes, the amounts and the receiving account numbers.

Chapter 11: Sex And The Angel

“So I can go now? Just like that?” Vicky said.

“Oh yes. There is one more request and a few words of advice. Would you care to hear them?” Angel smiled.

“Why not.? Go ahead.” Vicky was respectful. She knew Angel had gotten her solidly this time. She had been sloppy and regarded him with a professional admiration.

“I think I saw some things in your closet in my size. I assume you won’t need them anymore?” Angel said. Vicky nodded.

“The warning is: Don’t do this again. Anywhere. The next time we won’t be elaborate, just final.

“And by the way, you shouldn’t commit bank fraud and grand theft auto so close together, now you have the FBI and the local police really mad. You’ll find my signature was quite invalid on the registration of the Passat, since I never owned it, and there seems to be no record of you ever sharing an account at the bank. The teller was quite motivated to not be prosecuted for conspiracy. The bank manger was quite willing to lose the whole thing. So you are on video, forging a withdrawal. I recommend you avoid the US for a while and you might find travel to be a bit problematic. Goodbye, Vicky. Don’t screw up again.”

Angel delivered the news, watching her face. Vicky was non responsive on the surface, but he could tell she was scared, frightened and ready to bolt. He and Spider watched Vicky run out the door.

“Do you think she’ll get out, Angel?” Spider asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“She’s smart. And despite being nearly broke she’ll be in Australia within a week. I will call our chapter over there. They’re new, and they need some practice. How’s your sister?” Angel asked.

“She’s fine, thanks to you. After you busted me and sent me up, I thought you would be the last person I could count on. I was a real scumbag then, too.

“She’s almost through school now and you’re invited to the graduation. She says you’ll know what she wants you to wear.” Spider hugged Angel, like a bear would hug a butterfly. “You need a ride, man? I’m being picked up by the boys. We can drop you off. “

Angel decided he liked the gown and grabbed a few items from the closet. The boys dropped him off at the original hotel. The valets were dumbfounded seeing the pretty young woman in the expensive gown emerge from the H2 full of gangbangers. Especially when they all got out and hugged her gently goodbye.

As he walked into the lobby he saw the concierge who had checked him in. She helped him carry the clothes up to his room, commented on his hair and gown and told him coming in after noon on Sunday must have meant an exciting Saturday night.

“No, just spent it with a few friends. I was a little tied up.” Angel said, wishing her goodbye at the door.

He turned and saw his favorite dress in the closet, back from the cleaners. He decided to be Carrie again, letting out a small giggle.

Chapter 12: Angels Fly

Flying in First Class, Angel found his seat next to a very attractive woman. She seemed to be remind him of Samantha from the show. Probably just projecting, he thought.

She commented on his Manolo Blahnik shoes. That opened a conversational floodgate. They exchanged partial stories, carefully edited the way you do on airplanes. Carolyn commented on Angel’s look. She found herself strangely drawn toward the brunette. There was just something about this person that was attractive and she never felt that way about women. Angel promised to call on her when he was in Denver the next time.

When Carolyn had gotten up to use the restroom, Angel sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. He thought the English cut gray suit would work when he called on Carolyn. His hands settled onto the fabric covering his thighs.

There was just something about a nice full skirt.

END

October Intervention

By Tyrone Slothrop

What do you owe for having your life saved?

Chapter 1: Vacation Cruise

The small yacht was going down as Emily looked through the storm. Fred was laying on the beach unconscious, completely tired after his futile attempts to swim out and get any supplies.

Their ten year anniversary trip around the world was looking like their final vacation. Emily worried that after five days of insane seas and wind they were far off any shipping lanes.

The island was anything but tropical, stuck in the ‘roaring forties’ latitudes of the South Pacific somewhere between South America and New Zealand. That meant they were about as lost as you can get.

Emily ran an inventory. A survival lighter, two swiss army knives, three deck shoes with Fred missing one, two shredded tee shirts ripped on the rocks coming ashore, one pair of ripped light pants, her size. One hair scrunchie. Three earrings. One pair panties, also ripped, one pair men’s briefs, one sports bra. Two wedding rings. Two Rolex watches, submariner type. One handkerchief, very wet. One canteen water, two liters, full. Various cuts and bruises, nothing broken. Fear, panic, despair all ready to come on stage. Temperature dropping below fifty Fahrenheit.

Emily as usual was the opposite of passive. She got up to her full six feet one inch height, pulled her hair back and refastened it, and proceeded to carry Fred off the shore to the cover of the bush line. She could bench press two hundred pounds but not for long and Fred was one seventy all dead weight. Despite the strain, she staggered over the sand and got him under cover.

Chapter 2: Suicide Is Painless

Five days later, Fred is hungry. He knows Emily is hungry too. The water is three quarters gone.

“Fred, I’m sorry I made you go on into the storm. It’s all my fault.” Emily said.

Ten years married. They had built a company from nothing, consumer grocery bulk buying over the web. People could buy a years worth of their favorite items and get huge discounts for brand loyalty and cash in advance. All they had to do was pick up the item when they needed it and their frequent shopper card tracked the rest. The grocer just saw it as a free coupon, the manufacturer saw it as guaranteed sales and the consumer saved about forty percent. It took five years and then they cashed in for enough to set them for life. So at thirty five, they were sailing the world. Until an unscheduled stop at the end of the everything.

Both of them knew what they faced. No food. Limited water. No source of fresh water and neither had been able to catch any fish. Rescue highly unlikely. Their last radio message had been hundreds of miles away and probably never received through the storm interference.

“Emily, shut up. For the zillionth time if I disagreed with you I would never have headed into the weather. Now, did you find anything on the other side of this rock that I didn’t find yesterday?” Fred said calmly.

Neither of them had discussed their probable options. And neither would.

“Nothing. Just what looked like a small opening in the rock above my head. I didn’t want to try it without you there since if I fell it would be a two hundred meter drop right onto jagged rocks.”

“Well, we’ve got no other appointments today and dinner looks like it will be delayed, my dear. Lead me to it.” Fred grinned.

Thirty minutes later, they are both looking up at what appears to be a hole of indeterminate size in the face of the cliff about two meters over their heads. The rain had finally stopped for a moment.

“Babe, I think I can get halfway up and anchor myself. You can then climb over me and look in.” Fred said, beginning to scramble up the rockface.

Emily watched as Fred positioned himself precariously on the rock, his bare feet supported by a small protrusion of granite.

“Dammit Fred, if you fall I’m letting go. You’re not leaving me here alone. “

“Deal, Babe. Now climb.”

Emily carefully went up the cliff, sometimes using Fred as the only hold she could get. After about fifteen minutes, she was able to see into the hole, her foot supported by Fred’s shoulder. As she levered herself into the little cave, the wind and rain returned with a vengeance.

The cave was dimly lit, how, she did not know. As she was about to look closer, she heard Fred.

“Emily! I’m losing my foothold!”

Emily threw herself out of the cave entrance, bracing against the sides with her legs. She grabbed Fred’s outstretched hand. Fred had one option available which did not involve a messy death on the rocks below. He somehow scrambled up over Emily into the cave. He then hit his head on an outcropping with almost full force as he tried to save his life. Fred went out like a thrown switch.

Emily crawls out from under Fred and makes sure he is breathing. She then looks up at he odd luminescent lighting on the walls. The next thing she knows is blackness.

Chapter 3: A Place That Looks Like The Evil Lair Of A Master Criminal But Is Not

Emily has very weird dreams. Somehow they are all set in the past, a past she never inhabited. Cars with tailfins. Bright sunshine and palm trees. Pillbox hats. Sunglasses in the shape of hearts. Dresses with petticoats. Saddle shoes. Stockings and garters. Scarf around your hair while riding in a huge convertible. Funny swimsuits and bathing caps.
The place looks like the Florida Keys, but years ago. About the 1950s or early 1960s. Emily recognizes a big Chrysler 300. Her brother had restored one years ago.

Emily feels questions are being asked without words. She is not asleep but not conscious.

She feels her fashion sense is being probed. Images of hairstyles and clothing are brought up for her and she almost feels like her reaction is being solicited. All of the images are women’s or teenage girl’s fashions from the era.

She then feels something about a mission, something important, something she needs to do. She must get ready but for what is elusive.

Emily is confused. She has always been self conscious of her height and looks, always too tall, too plain, too athletic. She had compensated by enjoying clothes, hair and more feminine styles since they had been wealthy. But it had not made her feel any better. Fred made her feel pretty and desired. Fred the good looking one. God, she was even taller than he was by two inches and he didn’t care.

Why did anyone care about what she thought looked good? Particularly from an era she only knew historically.

Emily notices another thing. She is not hungry. If you are without food for a few days, hunger is very real. Its sudden disappearance was noted even in her strange not conscious state.

The lights go on or her eyes open, she is not really sure. Somehow, she is in the bedroom of what looks to be a simple American suburban house, a young woman’s bedroom from the vanity and accoutrements laid out. She is naked but feels just washed. Her hair is wet but feels like it was just shampooed and conditioned.

Emily gets up and sees no sign of Fred. She wanders into a hallway and sees Fred sleeping on a bed in an identical bedroom to hers. He has also been washed and looks clean. In fact he looks like he has been shaved all over except for his scalp and all of his cuts are healed.

Emily gets a feeling of well being communicated, an indication that Fred is all right, just resting from his concussion. She doesn’t know how the word concussion got into her head. She inspects him and he looks fine, breathing evenly.

She looks at the rest of the place, a living room, kitchen and dining room. No windows. She recognizes it as a copy of the set from an old situation comedy she watched on that cable channel.

There is a door which leads to a large white room with a window, or a sort of window. It may be a computer screen, showing ocean and palm trees. Emily knows it looks a lot warmer than where they are. The room is huge, at least a half a basketball court in size.

Emily gets a feeling to fix her hair and get dressed, a strong feeling. She returns to her room.

Chapter 4: Dressing for Success

Sitting at her vanity, Emily starts to have a hairstyle visualized in her mind, one she would never have chosen for herself in a thousand years. The curly bouffant looked like something her mother used to wear when she was a girl, and she feels strangely drawn to opening a drawer and taking out rollers, pins and combs. She sets her brown barely shoulder length still wet hair, something she has not done since high school.

Completing that task, she feels good, not giddy or high, just satisfied. She next wanders to a large armoire and opens the doors. A drawer is open slightly. It contains a single pair of panties, white with a lace trim. She steps into them. She closes the drawer and finds the other drawers will not open. Returning to the drawer, she opens it again and finds a white brassiere, which looks a little old in style, thicker straps, heavier material than the ones she is used to.

So it continues, item by item, drawer by drawer. Everything fits perfectly. A panty girdle with garters. Stockings. A full slip. A petticoat. A long sleeve dress which comes to mid calf and floats on the petticoat. The dress covers her to her neck but displays her bust prominently. Emily swears the bra padding has made her a “C’ cup instead of her normal “B”, with a slightly conical shape. She selects the offered pair of pumps with three inch heels. She normally wears heels about never, given her height.

All of the clothing is given in a strict sequence, one item at a time. The next one not there until the last actually is on her body.

Her next compulsion is to sit back at her vanity and add some lipstick and eye makeup. She hasn’t worn cosmetics for the entire six months of their cruise, and used them sparingly before that.

Emily looks in one of the mirrors and sees herself transported back in time to the middle of the previous century. Her hair in rollers and her dress make her feel like someone in an old magazine photo.

She checks on Fred again. He is still sleeping.

Chapter 5: The Sleeper Wakes

Fred is dreaming weird dreams. He recognizes the time as 1962 by the cars, and the area as the Florida Keys. But the images of women’s clothing and hair are confusing. They seem relentless until he begins to notice small details with every image. He relaxes and begins to wake up.

Emily is leaning over him , but she is very different. Her hair is in some elaborate style, all full and teased, she is wearing more makeup than he has seen her wear since their wedding and where did she get that dress? Where the hell were they? He remembered them looking at death on a volcanic rock with no food and water.

“Fred, are you all right? Fred?” Emily’s voice was good to hear.

“I’m ok” Fred croaked. His throat felt unused.

Emily helped him up. Fred realized he was naked. And not hungry.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“We are on the island Fred. I’ve been here for three days waiting for you to heal. How’s your head?”

“It feels fine. I remember hitting it when I got into the cave. “

“You had a concussion. Whatever runs this place had taken care of you. Are you hungry or thirsty?” Emily said.

“No. I feel pretty good except I’m a bit chilly now. “

“Lets get you into a shower and get you dressed. Then we’ll have some real food.”

Emily led Fred to the shower of his bedroom, waved her hand inside and the water flow started.

“Touch the pink tile for shampoo and the blue one for soap, Fred.”

Fred did and he was amazed. As he touched the pink tile, a shampoo like substance oozed into his hand. He washed his hair, which was about an inch past the tops of his ears. Emily hadn’t cut his hair since the Galapagos islands. The soap was a similar liquid.

He found a toothbrush and touched a green tile with it. Toothpaste. His mouth felt wonderful after so long without any care.

“Open the drawer under the sink, Fred.”

As he did, he found a single large white towel. After he dried off Emily grabbed it and threw it on the floor.

“It will be gone whenever you look away. I stared at one for an hour, blinked and it was gone. Now let’s see what kind of clothes they have for you. I can’t open your armoire so I assume you can. I also assume you will have some clothing from the 1950s or early sixties.”

“Emily, I was dreaming about 1962. I remember that.”

“I did too. I’ve just been reading books and exercising and doing my face and hair until I’m ready to scream. I feel like somebody’s grandmother.”

Fred grabbed her about the waist and lifted his face up to kiss her. She was taller than he remembered.

“It’s the heels, babe- It’s all I get to wear.” Emily laughed.

Chapter 6: The Naked Or The Well Dressed

Emily explained how her armoire worked, one thing at a time. Fred opened his and found a single drawer slightly open. He removed a pair of white underwear which Emily thought looked like panties but cut fuller in the front. They have the same lace trim hers do.

“Is this all that’s in there? How do I get something else?” Fred asked.

“Fred, does the place give you any feelings or talk to you in any way?” Emily asked.

“Not that I’ve noticed, babe.”

“Well, it sort of talks to me. I think you are supposed to get dressed in what it gives you. And it is chilly here when you’re naked. I would recommend you go along. I’m the only one here and I promise not to laugh.” Emily said calmly.

“Oh well. It’s only clothes. “

So Fred was issued a high waisted girdle cut for him in the crotch, with a fair amount of padding in the rear and hips, a brassiere which Emily thought was like a padded training bra, stockings, a slip and a fairly tight skirt which slightly hobbled his legs at the knee and a white blouse.

“I don’t want to wear high heels, Emily, I’ll go without.” Fred said. Emily thought he was taking this very well.

As Fred tried to leave the room, he felt a buzzing in his head, like an annoying alarm clock. He stopped.

“Fred, I’m getting a feeling you need to finish completely or this place will buzz you until you do. It’s tied into some important thing we have to do. Don’t ask me what, I don’t know yet.”

Fred sat down and put on the two inch sandals. “At least it’s giving me something easy. These could be worse. “

Fred began seeing a visualization of a hair style in his mind. It was overpowering.

“I think it wants me to do something with my hair, Emily.”

Emily asked Fred to describe it and eventually got the idea that Fred was to roll his hair in small rollers and create a full and curly style with what hair he had. She coached him through the process.

Completing that one, she said “Fred, I bet you’re not getting out of here without some makeup. Do you want to try getting buzzed or just let me help you?”

“I don’t see why not. Tell me what to do.”

Fred was able to leave after his lips and eyes were done. He almost blinded himself with the mascara, but managed to recover.

As he was leaving the room, he felt little reminders, visualizations on improving his walk, already terrifically altered by the combination of heels and tight skirt. Fred soon got the idea of smaller steps and a little more hip, but was nowhere near automatic.

Over the next few days, Fred and Emily learned that taking off clothes without a complete redressing gave Emily a strong feeling to correct it and Fred a buzzer. If he took off his heels to rest his feet it left him alone for about an hour. The place only talked to Emily.

They found playing cards in a living room drawer. They found meals at the dining room table. Fred actually caught one appearing out of thin air. The food was acceptable but repetitive, like frozen dinners. The living room was well stocked with classic books.

Once each day, they went into the white area to exercise, individually for about an hour.
For some reason, they never asked each other about their exercise. Every time Fred was about to ask, he just shook it off. They both came back, showered and fixed their hair and faces and got dressed again.

Chapter 7: At Least We Get Sex

After a week they are about to play cards after dinner. Fred is relearning to shuffle with his somewhat longer fingernails. They are a deep red which matches his lips. Emily is leaning forward, elbows on the table her hands cupping her face. Fred has gotten used to her hair and face and is starting to feel aroused for the first time since they got here. He really wants to flip up her skirt and have at her, but his girdle is constraining his erection painfully.

“Fred, I was wondering why we haven’t slept together. You are making me really horny with the way you look. I love your hair. I want to rip that petticoat right off you and take you right here. “

Fred puts the cards down. “Why don’t we get ready for bed and I’ll come visit your room. I think it’s time to get into something more comfortable.”

“Just get into something more accessible, sweetheart.” Emily said, laughing as she got up and strode across the room. Fred watched her shapely calves move under the flow of her skirt, brought to life by her tall stilettos. He ran to his room as fast as he could, heels clicking furiously.

Later, Fred entered Emily’s room and got into the bed, which he was grateful was at least a queen size. The place or Control as Fred had named whatever agency was driving them had let him skip wearing the panties and sleep bra he normally was issued, so he merely had on a baby doll nightgown. Emily was similarly dressed.

“Oh yes, definitely accessible.” Emily cooed as she licked her lips. Fred just moaned and closed his eyes.

About an hour later, they are in the bed, hair askew, makeup ruined and unbelievably satisfied.

Emily runs her hand over Fred’s thigh and hip. He is still smooth and his skin is really soft to the touch. She notices he seems to have gained a little weight but it is all over, like another fat layer. Fred had been lean and fairly strong, with defined musculature, which was hidden now. He might have lost some muscle mass also. She tried to focus on their diet, but meals just seemed to happen and made them full, but she had trouble remembering what it was they ate.

Emily wonders. They had shared a bed happily for ten years, why had they not done it for the last seven days? She then realizes she is seeing Fred without a bra for the first time in a week. He has some small puffiness in his chest, nothing unusual for a guy gaining weight, but there is no weight gain in his waist or stomach. If anything, it is slimmer than ever before, just smooth and soft. Maybe that crap her grandmother told her about ‘figure training’ was real. He had been wearing a waist nipping girdle for at least three quarters of each day.

When they get up, they both head into their respective showers. Fred knows he will be setting his hair afterward since he does every time he washes it. To avoid that buzz in his head.

While he is in the shower, he gets a new image of himself. A very strong image , accompanied by positive emotions. His hair is much longer, long enough to drape over his cleavage displayed by a low cut dress. It is wavy and it is blonde. He is staring out at the Atlantic Ocean and it looks like he is standing by a car on the causeway to Key West. The 56 pink and white Ford has some kind of trouble, water vapor is emitting from the radiator and the hood is up. Emily is looking at the engine, her hair longer and even more bouffant than it is now, Her hairspray has it fixed as even ocean breezes can’t move a single strand.

Fred knows he must be there and he knows he must be as attractive as he can be. It is important. He does not know why, yet.

He gets a welcome surprise today. He goes to the armoire for underwear and is given a pair of heavily padded black panties. While they are comfortable, it feels like he is wearing a pillow around his crotch. He takes the black bra, which he notices is now padded a bit more also.

After sitting at his vanity and rolling his hair, he thinks it might be noticeably longer, maybe a half an inch. Wet, it seems to drape further over his ear than a week ago. He made a note of just where it measures to.

He is shocked when he gets ankle high white socks. And a sleeveless blouse. But he almost cries when the next item is a pair of casual black stretch pants. And slip on canvas shoes. He then does cry. A day off!

He gets up to leave and instead of a buzzer, he feels a little nagging feeling. He grabs a lipstick and uses it. The nagging feeling is replaced by warm satisfaction.

Chapter 8: Plan B

The couple sat down to breakfast. Emily noticed that she had two eggs and a slice of ham while Fred had toast and jelly and a Belgian waffle. She hated sweets and so did Fred, but he seemed to be enjoying it, although he ate considerably slower than he used to. Nothing like wearing a girdle all the time to slow down your enjoyment of food.

She was feeling grateful for the clothing reprieve, although she found Fred much sexier in his dresses than the stretch pants. His ass was cute though.

Fred reached for his coffee and a cup appeared as his hand grasped it.

“Control talked to me today, babe. I think we’re going to be here for a while and then we’re going to Florida.” Fred related his visualization.

“Okay. I’m putting this together from the impressions I get. First, this place is not alive but is a very intelligent machine. It is here to prepare two people for a mission, in the Keys in 1962. I think we are Plan B. It is trying to adapt us to play roles somebody else was supposed to play.” Emily said.

Both Fred and Emily felt a positive feeling, an indication that Emily was correct.

“I also think it is important, and the lives of a lot of people are at stake. We both have to stop somebody from doing something wrong. In October. I don’t know where ‘October’ came from, the word just appeared.” Fred added.

“Fred, I think we are being asked if we will do this willingly. Up till now, Control has been guiding our feelings, and we seem to have passed a test. It wants us to do this on our own now. “

“I feel I can trust it. It did save our lives. We would be dead or very dying right now with it. Sitting here in a bra and hair curlers beats dead and dying. Hell , wearing heels almost beats dead and dying. And if you still find me attractive, babe, that’s what counts for me.” Fred said, looking for Emily’s response.

“God, yes, honey. I’m only pissed because you look better than I do already. I will admit you are a little different from my old fantasies, but you sure are making some new ones. Maybe Control has allowed me to enjoy you like this, but it’s better than being dead together. Besides, last night was the best in years. You haven’t gone for three in a long time.”

Chapter 9: Blooming Rose

Control seemed to cycle them into a standard week. Dressed for work or going out five days a week, casual on what Fred assumed was Saturdays, very dressy including gloves, hats and veils for Sunday mornings followed by casual afternoons.

Fred moved into Emily’s bed for sleeping and more.

Emily noticed that all of their outfits were ones she had ‘chosen’ during her initial session with Control. She apologized to Fred for the choices. He just laughed and said how was she to know?

Fred’s hair grew about an inch every two weeks. Since he had started his measurement, and from his guess on the image he had in his head, that meant about twenty to twenty four weeks to grow it out to the length he was shooting for. Emily’s was growing but at a much slower rate.

It was also getting lighter. He had shifted several shades from dark brown to light brown with blonde streaks. The blonde color was becoming more pronounced.

Newspapers started showing up, dated in the summer of 1962. Local Key West and south Florida news. They devoured them, reading everything. Ads, obituaries, horoscopes, police reports, everything.

“I think these are coming along nicely, Fred, I’m very jealous.” Emily said, coming up on Fred from behind and grabbing his breasts. They had kept growing in size since she had noticed his slight weight gain. He was now larger than her normal unpadded ‘B’ cups, and her armoire had added to her bra’s enhancement to compensate.

Fred was glad it was a Saturday, since his erection was unconstrained by a foundation garment. Emily quickly found herself on the table with her pants pulled down. She smiled. Adding another erogenous zone to Fred had done wonders for her sex life. Plus he was a sexy blonde now.

Emily patted Fred’s now ample behind. Control had somehow moved his fat around and reduced his muscles. He had slimmed down his waist so it merely looked thick for a woman, about twenty nine inches. His hips and buttocks were plump and soft. Control had ceased issuing him padded panties or girdles, just regular ones. Sometimes he needed support to fit into the clothes he was given.

One Sunday in August, as they are changing from their “Church Going Best” which Fred called the outfits they were issued, Emily came into Fred’s room with a pair of scissors.

“Oh no, not that. It’s all I have left! “ Fred squealed, laughing.

“Calm down honey. That’s the last thing I’d cut off. I have a compulsion to cut you some bangs. Does that feel right to you?” Emily asked.

Fred closed his eyes. Emily watched as he slowly moved his head, his blonde hair trailing over his shoulders. “Yes, that’s consistent with my target image. That’s part of how I need to look. Be gentle.”

Emily laughed “Sit down and don’t move, sweetie. This won’t hurt a bit. Now we can have the same hairstyle for a while.” Fred had caught up to Emily’s length and matching her bouffant had been a running joke for two weeks now.

Chapter 10: Fall And Revelations

September came and bled into October. Fred had plumped up in an attractive way. Emily thought the word was zaftig to best describe him. His breasts had that magic combination of being both large and firm and his lower curves made his waist look thinner than it was.

He had given up the bouffant, complaining that the hairspray made it feel like he had just varnished his boat, and returned to a simpler style of soft waves. His hair was close to platinum blonde now and his skin coloring had lightened to match.

Control had given him dresses which were very low cut and Emily was thankful Control had stopped padding her bras so much to keep up with Fred. As it was she was usually a cup size larger than reality, sometimes two.

She had pierced his other ear and he wore more jewelry as Control provided it.

Emily realized that standing next to each other, particularly with Control making her wear heels to add to her already imposing height, along with hair which itself added two more inches, Fred would attract more than his share of men. She was the best friend that tagged along. She grinned. A role she could do well, given her lifelong practice.

Emily’s exercise program continued to add more martial arts. She practiced against realistic simulations of skilled opponents as well as unskilled but powerful opponents. She gained in strength, speed and confidence.

Sitting after dinner in their nightgowns, they often discussed what their mission could be, how they felt, what might happen to them and what was in today’s papers. They reserved discussing the great literature for lunchtime conversation.

“Fred, I can’t believe you just calmly accept what’s happening to you. You look gorgeous but wouldn’t most guys be going crazy?” Emily had asked.

“What choice do I have? Control saved us and has convinced me I need to do something important. My other choice is to run around naked and starve. You didn’t marry a whiner babe.

“Besides, if I knew these felt so good, I’d have gotten a pair years ago. No wonder men are fixated on them. It’s latent jealousy.

“The way I look at it, every day I’m alive is gravy, Emily. Another day with you. I was thinking some pretty dark thoughts before we got rescued. And I remembered something today. Do you know what happened in October of 1962? “

Emily looked frustrated. “Dammit Fred, you know I have a problem with dates. History’s great, but I never worried about being precise.”

“Let me remind you. My Dad used to tell me about it and it finally clicked today. He said it was the scariest time of his life. He actually lived in a bomb shelter at Grandpa’s for two days. Three words. Cuban Missile Crisis. Key West is only ninety miles from Cuba. The world damn near blew itself to shit during a few days in October 1962. Russian missiles right off the US shore. The US almost invaded. And we are going right into it.”

“But that worked out okay, right?” Emily said, not sounding sure.

“I think we are part of keeping it that way. That’s the feeling I get.” Fred said.

Both of them felt positive feelings from Control It felt like you do when you place that first key piece to a jigsaw puzzle, the one where all the patterns intersect.

Chapter 11: There’s A Ford In Your Past

The paper was dated October 19th. Fred was reading aloud about the rape and murder of a local Miami woman off the highway in Jacksonville. The picture was a young, pretty and very buxom woman with long blonde hair, probably taken in her senior year at high school. The article said she was twenty. Witnesses described a short man and a big car, probably white, with fins. About half the male citizens of the east coast of the state fit that one.

Emily came out of her room holding two purses. They had not seen a purse yet.

“Fred! Look at this. ID cards! Drivers License! Social Security Card! I’ve got a library card from the Fon Du Lac public library! I’m from Wisconsin! “ Emily actually said ‘Wiscaaahnsen’, the correct pronunciation according to people from neighboring states.

Fred looked at his new self. 1962 he thought, no credit cards, people used cash and checks. Little picture ID. No huge cross connected databases of personal data.

It appeared that he and Emily were either and brother and sister or married, since his license listed him as male with the name Frieda Jugens. Back then you could change your name but the DMV was very sticky about what sex you were, Emily was Emily Jugens. Funny, he thought he had an Aunt Jugens he had never met. He must be either a crossdresser or some kind of transsexual. He had not thought that happened back then, but he could be wrong. So if they got stopped by the cops he either had to pass or would probably get arrested in a lot of places for wearing a dress, especially in small towns. He decided to let Emily drive, her license was unambiguous.

They had about three hundred in cash, and it looked real. Fred saw a few silver certificates in with the federal reserve notes. Nothing dated later than 1961. Emily had a checkbook with a register written in balance of nine hundred dollars. She also had a New York registration to a 1956 pink and white Ford convertible four door, V8 of course. Both of their driver’s licenses were from New York, listing an address in Queens, near the site of the planned next World’s Fair.

Fred had a saving account passbook for a Key West bank. It showed $100 as an opening transaction.

“Fred, my Gram used to tell me about living back then. Cars cost less than $1000, burgers were 10 cents, gas was less than 20 cents a gallon. This is a bunch of money. I guess we are moving from New York to Key West to start a new life or something. I’ll bet you can get a job as a cocktail hostess and make big money.” Emily grinned.

“Don’t they have a Playboy Club or something? These are worth at least that.” Fred said, grasping his boobs from the bottom and thrusting them at Emily.

Emily’s face suddenly got that look when Control wanted to guide her somewhere. She opened the door to the white room. There was the 1956 pink and white Ford convertible. The keys were in it and the trunk lid was up, showing six suitcases inside.

“Emily, I think it’s time to go. I’ve got a feeling. I’m going to get a sweater and fix my hair for riding in with the top down. Meet you back here in a few minutes.” Fred said, his heels clicking, echoing off the room walls as he turned and left.

Chapter 12: Sunshine State Of Mind

The sun was bright but not enough to overcome the wind as Emily drove down US 1, heading south. She and Frieda had stayed in a motor lodge at Marathon the night before and were now cruising slowly down the causeway.

She loved this car, despite having to adjust to a three speed column shift. It rode smooth and straight and the seats were comfortable. She even learned to drive in heels, although the clutch was tricky with them.

She was still in awe of how they had got here. They got in the car, Frieda’s hair safely in a pony tail and hers in a scarf, both wearing matching sweaters, and both reminding each other to bring their purses. Emily hadn’t dealt with a purse for almost a year. She hadn’t needed one on the boat or the island.

So Emily started the Ford and Control urged her to slowly, just slowly drive slowly towards the far wall of the room, slowly please.

Both Fred and Emily felt a wistful and sad feeling, a farewell from Control which made them both tear up. They both just then knew they would never feel that mental touch again. They had not realized Control could care. It was like losing your dog.

It seemed like they both blinked and suddenly they were on a deserted stretch of highway, passing a US 1 sign with the lights of a Howard Johnson Motor Lodge lit up down the road. It was dark and late.

Emily realized she was doing about ten miles an hour in a forty five zone so she sped up and shifted into third. Not drawing attention was the rule they agreed made sense.

The motor lodge was clean and the restaurant manager made sure they were left alone while they ate something in the bar. Several salesmen tried to buy them drinks, politely, and Frieda politely refused, smiling a killer smile while thrusting his breasts forward. Large hooters make up for a not that deep but not that feminine voice, he determined.

Emily slapped at him in a gently limp wristed way. “Stop that flirting Frieda. It’s the last thing we need.”

“Just practicing, Sister Emily. I think the one on the end came in his boxers.” Freida whispered.

After the hotel clerk had unloaded their car, Emily tipped him a dollar. He refused, grinning at Frieda.

“This is really testing my patience, Freida, my husband is getting more looks than I am.” Emily said , pretending to be gritting her teeth when they were alone.

“Get ready for bed sweetheart and I’ll look everywhere.” Freida said.

The next day, October 22 saw them driving south towards Key West. They stopped frequently. Frieda saw a school of dolphins and they tracked them for several miles. Emily wanted to look at every gift shop.

Freida overheard a conversation by two fishermen.

“They called up the reserve units, the air station is closed and the Coast Guard is saying nothing, just telling us to get out of the straits. It’s fuckin Cuba again, just like last year, Bobby. This one’s gonna be bad.”

“Yep. Bad.”

As he walked by he could see the cigarette drop out of Bobby’s mouth. Frieda turned, bent over to make sure Bobby saw right into his cleavage and picked it up. He put it back into Bobby’s mouth and said. “You dropped this. That’s littering.” He turned and slowly walked away. Bobby dropped it again. Frieda heard the low whistle. He smiled. He’d always wondered what it was like to do that.

Late afternoon, they approached the turnoff for Bahia Honda park, a little beach a few miles north of Key West. Emily felt the need to pull over.

“Freida, I think this is where we are supposed to be.”

“Yes it is. Pull over and open the hood.” Freida said.

Emily opened the hood and Frieda used a towel from the trunk to open the radiator cap enough to let a cloud of vapor escape.

“I’ve got to recreate the scene. Emily- stand by the open hood and sort of look in. I’ll stand by the road.” Frieda said.

Emily knew it was right. She watched Frieda undo his pony tail and brush his hair out. He stood on the sand shoulder, his dress swaying in the gently wind, his hair blowing about his shoulders. God he looked attractive. She assumed they would be up to their ears in helpful men within minutes.

Chapter 13: Riders On The Storm

Frieda and Emily both saw the huge 59 white Cadillac convertible slow down and stop. The driver got out. Emily swore he was like something from the Wizard of Oz, a Munchkin. She exaggerated, he looked about five foot five, maybe six and he was wearing cowboy boots with at least two inch heels. Some small guys look happy, he did not.

The newspaper article ran through Emily and Frieda’s head. Young blonde big boobed woman found dead by side of road. Short guy, big white car with fins. The last article they both had read before coming to 1962. Their mission had arrived.

Frieda held down the panic. This guy exuded slime. Emily went to the open trunk of their Ford.

“Baby, you look like you’re ready for my help. Want to go for a ride?” Slime Munchkin said. Frieda thought that nobody actually talked like that.

“No thanks. It’s just overheated. We’re waiting for it to cool off. “ Frieda said. She suddenly knew she was supposed to get this guy away from his car.

“Looking at you and I need to cool off. I got a bottle in my front seat. You wanna sit under that tree and have a snort?”

Mustering all the force he needed to wade through the guy’s slime, Frieda decided the palm tree would be good. Emily was keeping her distance.

“Is it good booze? I hate the cheap stuff. It makes me sick.” He said, adding some whine to the word ‘sick’.

“Only the best, Rock & Rye, my favorite. Come on now. Leave your big sister over there.” Slime Munchkin oozed.

So Frieda nodded his head to Emily. Emily nodded back. He and Slime Munchkin went over to the tree. Slime took a hit from the pint, put his arm around Frieda, planting his hand right on his breast and handed him the bottle. Frieda pulled his hand off.

“Not now.” Frieda said.

“I don’t have time for crap, girlie.” Slime was incredibly strong and pinned Frieda to the ground. Frieda heard a switchknife snapping open.

“Spread em, girlie or I’ll cut you and your sister. I told you I don’t have time.”

Slime held Frieda pinned with one hand and opened Frieda’s legs with another. The panties were not a lot of barrier for the point of the knife, they parted.

“A guy! A Fucking Guy!” Slime Munchkin screamed. He was disoriented, staring at Frieda with wild eyes. Deranged eyes.

“My fucking guy, asshole!” The tire iron made a really nice crunching sound, followed by a squishing sound, followed by a spurting sound as some kind of dark blood coated the area. Slime Munchkin’s head was out of round, with a distinct inch deep indentation on the left side.

“Six months of kung goddam fu training and I use a tire iron. No finesse, Emily.” Emily said while she helped Frieda get up.

“That’s it? That’s the mission?” Frieda asked, staggering to his feet. He felt in need of new underwear, it was awfully drafty.

Chapter 14: Another Day In Paradise

Three more Munchkins appeared. The jolly ones. Out of nowhere.

“Are you all right?” One asked both Frieda and Emily. They nodded.

“Thank you. You just saved your world from a huge mistake. “ Munchkin One said.
“How? Who is this guy?” Frieda said, wiping the blood off his face.

“Like your prior life before, we too have a war on terrorism. Ours crosses time as well as space. Just say he was a terrorist and this was just a training exercise in small nuclear devices, on an out of the way place. He was going to detonate it tonight after the speech, removing the naval air station. You can figure out what would probably happen after that. Watch television tonight. Thank you, we must go now.”

“Wait! Can we go home now? How do I change back?” Freida asked.

Munchkin Two turned. Munchkin One touched his arm and they held a spirited discussion which neither Frieda or Emily could follow a single word.

Munchkin Three removed a box from the trunk of the Cadillac and carried it over. He waved a hand and it disappeared.

“Twenty kiloton portable. Nasty thing.” He said. The other two Munchkins shut up. This apparently was Senior Munchkin.

“We find you, almost dead. Determine to use you for mission. Otherwise no right to save you. Sorry, rules. Time stream flow change. Bend rules. Save you. Change you. Send you back. Save your own world. Thank you. Have nice life. Don’t change anything. Bye.” Senior Munchkin smiled. Frieda and Emily understood.

Senior Munchkin reached up and whispered in Frieda’s ear. Frieda smiled, kissed him on the cheek and shook his hand.

Frieda found he was holding a bank book, the same one he had had in his purse. The Munchkins disappeared, along with every speck of blood and the body. The Cadillac registration was in Emily’s hand, signed over to her.

The savings account showed a transaction dated two years ago for $100000. Real money in 1962.

Chapter 15: Ouroboros Coffee Bar, Key West Present Day

The two lovers were not famous but they were well known in the community. They were old timers, having seen the place develop over fifty years. Rumor had it they were filthy rich and had their fingers into lots of things.

Most people assumed they were lesbian lovers, being publicly affectionate for so long. There was always some thought that Emily had been a transsexual, being so tall, but those who knew her well knew this to be false. Frieda had been a local beauty for years, even gracing a billboard for tourism back in 1965.

The shop was empty right now, but their staff would open the doors soon. Frieda, looking very good for being in his late seventies smiled as he lifted his cup of chicory laced coffee to his lips. He looked at the china with his lipstick smudge. Emily smiled.

“Our offer was accepted for the bulk grocery service. Now our young selves will have the cash to buy that yacht and cruise the world.” Emily said, her voice as clear as ever.

“I remember that last minute offer was what made us think of chucking it all.” Frieda said.

Emily looked up at the motto engraved on the wall.

“Have A Nice Life. Don’t Change Anything”

Words they had lived by. They made money on the market with foreknowledge, but not enough to change things, they hoped. The invested cautiously and carefully.

As they gained influence, they subtly made sure the local police and administration was always tolerant of people of confused sexual appearance. Not promoting it, just calmly tolerant.

Frieda had never changed his driver’s license since he applied in Florida.

“Fred, dear, it’s time. You promised you would tell me.” Emily only called him Fred when she was really serious.

“Okay. Now the loop is closed, I can tell you what he said. Now remember the scene, Senior Munchkin just said his farewell, he leans over to me and whispers in my ear..” Frieda began.

“Just tell me dammit! I’ve waited long enough. I’m not getting any younger and neither are you!” Emily said, her voice rising slightly, a smile sneaking out from behind her stern expression.

“So he leans over and says ‘Nice Boobies, Baby!’ “ Frieda says.

The kitchen staff was worried. They had never heard two crazy old rich people laugh that loud.

END

ROADSIDE ATTRACTION

By Tyrone Slothrop -a High Sierras Story, part of the Angelverse

Terry takes life's challenges in stride, with the help of those around him.

Roadside Attraction

Chapter 1: Exit To Nowhere

The Peterbilt cab rolled into the Sunny Serve, over to the diesel section. Another Wal-Mart trailer on its way somewhere else. Betty looked out the window of the café. It had been the only truck today and she bet he would not even stop for coffee. She watched Bobby hobble over from the garage bays and talk to the driver.

It was broiling hot in the high desert and she could not see the Sierras through the haze.

If you’ve driven in the West, in that region between cities of any size, you have seen this place thousands of times. An exit to a minor road, forty miles or more from the last exit and fifty miles from the next one. A large gas station, a motel, a diner or national chain restaurant of questionable profitability, a souvenir shop/convenience store that also sold bait and ammunition along with hunting and fishing licenses. A cluster of mobile homes or manufactured houses, whichever phrase you last heard from the salesman, with some fenced in yards and cars between ten and twenty years old in the driveways. A notary public sign in front of one house, others advertising services like hairdressing or taxidermy.

The unincorporated village of Filler was also undistinguished, unknown and almost uninhabited. Bobby was the sheriff when he wasn’t running the gas pumps and Charlene was the almost self appointed mayor when the motel desk was not busy or the ice machines were working.

Betty removed her apron and walked on her tired feet out the back door of the café. She looked up and put on her sunglasses. Four in the afternoon and you could feel the moisture flow out of your pores. Her home was only a few hundred yards away but always seemed farther at the end of twelve hours of waiting tables. She had to see if Terry was ok. He had been so sick the last few days.

Chapter 2: Teenager Down

Terry Singer had been having a miserable summer. At fifteen he should have been running in the streams, fishing and hitchhiking to the Wal-Mart at the next exit. And finding whatever paying jobs he could. Instead he had been running fevers and unable to hold down much solid food for two weeks. And they were closing his school too, consolidating everyone into a high school ninety miles away. Instead of an hour bus ride each way he could look forward to two hours and all new kids where he and the few he knew would be totally outnumbered about fifty to one.

Mom was doing her best since Dad had rolled his rig over the I-5 guardrail up on the Oregon border, avoiding a skidding Volkswagen. The couple and their baby had lived, Dad was charred beyond recognition. That was eighteen months ago.

The insurance barely covered Dad’s funeral and paying off their debt. Since then all they had was Betty’s job at the café and they now owned a plot of land and single wide home free and clear. The problem was, with no possible buyers they were stuck in Filler. Most of the town was in the same situation. They had no medical coverage and no savings. But Terry was reasonably happy and Betty loved him in the best tradition of mothers.

Terry was at that stage when boys lean out and bulk up, shedding the last juvenile pudginess. He had just started this process, having shot up to a height of five foot ten, finally passing in height the only other kid his age, Joelle, who lived a half mile down the road with her Aunt and Uncle. The one with the hairdressing sign out front of the trailer. Her uncle Richard ran the Filler Super Center, the only store in fifty miles, with the full partnership of Flora, his wife.

Betty opened the door and felt the blast of air conditioning like a cold shower. It was the single luxury they would not do without. She had never adapted to the desert, despite having moved there ten years ago when her husband found the land near his old Marine buddy Bobby. Bobby had tried to take care of them as best he could since the truck accident.

Terry got up off the couch, wearing a sweat soaked tee shirt and shorts. “Hi Mom, I made you ice tea. Are you hungry?”

Betty hugged her son. They were the same height when she wore flats and he was clearly her descendant in looks and coloring. They both had light brown hair, hers in an 80’s curly mass and Terry’s way longer than usual, combed back like a mini mullet. Betty owed way too much to Flora for haircuts and was prideful enough to not want to incur any more credit until she paid her off. Flora kept offering to cut Terry’s for free, but both Terry and Betty would not take charity from neighbors. They were close to the edge financially already and knew they would not use goodwill casually. Terry refused to let Betty cut his hair after two disasters when he was younger. Besides, it was summer and he was not in school to catch crap from his friends. When he got better he would work a shift for Bobby and pay Flora himself. Right now he felt so bad he could care less about that problem.

“Terry, you look awful! Your face is puffy and has blocthes! And you are sweat soaked!” Betty felt his forehead and knew he was running a low grade fever. He looked swollen in his face and neck. His tee shirt was clinging to his chest which also looked puffy.

Betty resolved to take him to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. They had to see him, even without insurance. She had Terry wash up and get dressed while she drank her iced tea with her shoes off. Her rest after her shift was going to last about ten minutes. She decided to get out of her uniform and into jeans.

Chapter 3: The Limits Of Modern Medicine

The waiting room was full, as usual. Betty assumed when they planned hospitals, they figured how many people would be waiting in the emergency room, divided it by two and built the room to fit that. That way they were always ‘crowded’. The gift shop could be ten times larger with one tenth the traffic, but that was not the measure the State used for funds. Terry was sleeping on her shoulder, an amazing feat given the chairs were designed to fit no human anatomy alive since the Neanderthals.

She had borrowed Bobby’s truck and Joelle had come with them, sent by Richard and Flora to provide support. Charlene told her she would ask Thelma to work over so Betty could show up late for work tomorrow morning. Betty felt bad about that, Thelma was getting on and she got so tired by 4 am.

The hospital was seventy miles from Filler.

Fortunately for Terry and Betty, the attending physician was new to the country but had been a very good student in medical school. He was well versed in obscure diseases and conditions and like a lot of immigrants who were professionals, represented the best and smartest of his country. He missed the Philippines at times, especially with this climate so dry in the high desert. Cold and dry in winter, cold at night, hot and dry in summer. A land of extremes except in moisture.

The doctor tried to find a private place with Betty in the bloody circus that was the ER. In between the hunting accidents, the car crashes and victims of general aches and pains, he sat her down on a gurney and gave her the best he had.

“Mrs. Singer your son has a serious condition, but it is not immediately life threatening. He may have what we call an endocrine disorder, which means his body chemistry is not working as planned. He has probably been exhibiting symptoms for a while, but they were not that noticeable. I know you have no insurance and I have no spare rooms to admit him to now. Anyway, I’m sure we don’t have what we need here to really find out what to do. I’ve given him some medication for the fever and his stomach upset. “

“But where can I go? What’s going to happen to him?” Betty asked. Joelle clung to her arm in support.

“I have a friend who works in this specialty. I think he would at least look at Terry and may be able to tell you more. I’ll call him tomorrow and let you know. Until then, let Terry rest and try to get him to eat, preferably bland food.”

“You’ve just described my cooking, Doctor. Thank you. You have my number?” Betty said. She was not one to get all whiny in a crisis. Terry needed her and she would be there for him. Joelle was helping Terry get dressed Betty saw his chest was swollen out, almost like small breasts. Joelle buttoned Terry’s shirt up for him and noticed them too, but kept silent.

Chapter 4: Town Meeting.

The next evening, after Betty’s shift, she made sure Terry was all right, leaving him with Joelle there in case he got worse. They were both watching movies on the VCR, since she could not afford satellite TV. If they wanted to watch TV, they went over to Richard’s or Bobby’s homes, both of whom had dishes on their roofs.

Charlene had invited them all to the bar to discuss what to do about Terry, mostly to support Betty in a tough time. Charlene had owned the motel and café with her husband Fred for twenty years and survived him after cigarettes finally took him down. He went pretty quick, a painful three months after years of a hacking cough. She was Betty’s boss and friend, a feisty woman who did her best to keep two marginal businesses afloat. She and Bobby had that attitude of the two major employers in a very small town, they carried a burden of responsibility beyond simple profit and loss. If either the Sunny Serve or the Highway Inn and Family Restaurant closed, Filler would literally dry up and blow away.

Charlene lit her menthol slim and opened the door for Bobby. With his usual facial wrinkles resembling an off road tire tread , Bobby limped through the door, closing it quick to save the AC. He acquired that limp somewhere at Khe Sahn, and added to it by years of riding rodeo. He was tall and lean, and looking at him you knew there was little moisture in his soul. He was a desert creature, at home in the heat and dry, like a lizard or a coyote. Bobby also had a great heart and small mouth. He loved a few people and would die for them but rarely said much. He mistrusted most institutions larger than the government of Filler. It was well known that he and Charlene were lovers, but neither of them would ever say anything. Bobby nodded to Charlene, dropped his Stetson on the bar and pulled himself a beer from the tap. Not a word spoken but volumes said.

Flora came next, follow by Richard. Flora had left the town, went to school, taught elementary through high school, met Richard and ended up back here with him years later. She had retreated after waging a war of trying to actually educate children versus the school system’s view of existing to acquire state funding and job protection. Flora was formerly pretty and now had settled into ‘good looking older woman’ with grace. She was the town hairstylist, manicurist and school tutor when she was not running the Filler Super Center.

Richard was the outsider. He had only been in Filler for five years, when he brought back Flora and bought the convenience store. He had made money in the dot com boom and got out before the nick of time. Richard was smart and was not compelled to prove it to you. He dealt with people as all having something to say, but most folks deferred to him once they realized how much he knew without rubbing their faces in it. Everyone wondered why a guy like Richard would live in a dead end like Filler, but minded their business. Richard had money and if someone left, he offered to buy their property for twenty percent more than the best other offer they could get, within reasonable limits, of course. He already had picked up two lots from widows who needed to move to nursing homes. What people did not know was he took a bath on the deals, converting the proceeds into trusts supporting their care.

So Betty came in and sat down with her closest friends. She never drank herself, being raised of religious persuasion, plus she had puked real bad the first time she tried it. Her husband was a recovering alcoholic and never strayed when they were married. It had taken years to get his insurance rates back down, and he could only get the minimum coverage.

“Betty, Richard here has done some digging on the internet and talked to some friends in the medical business.” Flora said. The crowd got quiet. Richard the Wizard was about to speak. He was always right about things like this.

“Betty, from the doctor’s name you were given and the symptoms Terry has, I got some guesses on what’s going on.” Richards’s guesses were as good as other people’s sworn statements. “ The doctor is an Endocrinologist, and is a researcher at the Wilder Institute. That’s about two hundred miles south. His papers are on a subject called Gynecomastia and related syndromes. It’s a group of conditions that enlarge the male breast, especially during puberty. Are you with me so far?” Richard never talked down, but always made sure people could ask questions so he did not lose them.

“Is that like a sex change thing?” Betty asked.

“It’s similar partly, but it’s not voluntary or self induced. It occurs frequently enough that there are treatments for some conditions, and surgeries. Sometimes it goes away. Like a lot of these things, they give it a name, but it’s really a group of symptoms. There are at least five know specific diseases with case histories grouped under it and there are probably more. It seems to be focused on the breast, but may also affect the fat distribution and sexual development. Is Terry pretty much grown in down there by now?” Richard asked as politely as he could.

“Oh yes, he’s a man all right. At least he was two weeks ago when I had to wake him up. Living in a small trailer it’s hard to keep total privacy.” Betty said.

“Good, that means it probably won’t affect that much I hope. It’s a good sign for him. He may get larger in the chest. I think you should see this doctor. He looks pretty good. Been doing research in this area and others for a while, solid reputation, Navy surgeon with a Silver Star. If he will see you, it’s probably on his nickel, since he is funded for research in this area. “

“Richard, how big can Terry get up here?” Charlene asked the question she knew everyone wanted to know.

“Most are barely noticeable but some range from woman sized with a few being pretty big. Some guys need to wear bras.” Richard said. Betty was happy that nobody laughed. Terry was well liked by this group and they all felt real bad for him.

So it was decided that Bobby was headed south to negotiate for parts in two days and that was when the doctor would examine Terry. The institute was near the parts distributor and Bobby would take him along in the flatbed cab. He assured Betty that he would be fine and she didn’t need to come. The doctor would not know anything until the tests were done anyway, so she would just waste her time watching them draw blood and stuff.

Chapter 5: When Medical Science Does Not Know, Do Nothing

Dr. Schlange was the opposite of stuffy. He examined Terry himself after all the blood, urine and other samples were drawn. Terry was feeling better, still a slight fever now and then, but he was eating. The doctor spent some time with the mounds of fat pushing out Terry’s nipples and finally decided on a mammogram. Terry found that it was not pleasant, but he had been told to expect ‘some discomfort’, the medical term for ‘I’m glad it’s happening to you and not me’.

Bobby sat with Terry the whole time, a silent reassurance just in his presence.

“Mr. Filler (Yes, Bobby’s Dad had founded the town) that’s quite a limp you’ve got. How did you get it? “ Dr Schlange asked.

“Rodeo” Bobby said, pulling up his boot cut jeans to show the scar.

“Rodeo bullshit. That looks like a grenade fragment. Look at this one.” The doctor rolled up his leg and showed a jagged scar below his knee.

So Terry heard Bobby talk more to the doctor than he had heard him say in ages. He and his Dad used to talk like that. Apparently the “Doc’ was near the same places and times Bobby had been in Vietnam and they swapped a lot of did you sees, remember thats and wow what an assholes. Their talk turned to fishing, one of Bobby’s passions and the next thing you know Doc Schlange is telling Terry he will bring the results up in a week, right to Filler. Along with his flyfishing gear,

So on the drive back while the deuce and a half was slamming Terry’s spine on every expansion joint, Bobby was as quiet as ever.

“Bobby, what’s going on? What’s wrong with me?” Terry asked.

Bobby believed in the truth, having see lies get people killed. “You’re growing tits, Terry. It’s some disease. It’s happened before. Doc Schlange studies it.” Typical Bobby- straight out and short.

Terry sat for a while. “Can they fix it? Before school? Am I going to be a freak?”

“No more than I am for having a bum leg, or holes in my side from a friggin bull. Dammit Terry, we’re all freaks in some way. You didn’t ask for this but you got it. Deal with it. We’ll all help. You’re still Terry and you’re one of us crazy Filler people.”

Terry knew Bobby was now talked out for the rest of the ride. He conserved words like water in the desert. Terry pushed his hair back over his ears and settled in for a long ride home.

Doc Schlange arrived on Saturday in a big Ford SUV, full of gear. Bobby had told Charlene to book him the good room, which was hardly a problem since it had not been occupied for two months.

He found everybody called him Doc, which was how Bobby referred to him. A new visitor to actually see someone in town was a bit of an event, and everybody went out of their way to say hello. Doc met Betty in the café, where she served him the special meatloaf. He had her sit down and told her findings. She started to tear up, but kept her composure. Doc held her hand and did his best to keep her calm.

Later, Doc was in Betty’s home sitting with Terry. Betty was in the kitchen, just home from work.

“Terry, you have a condition that is similar to some like Kleinfelters Syndrome, or Cohns, but is different enough that we need to watch you for a while. Your body chemistry is not stable and we need it to settle down before we can proceed, Also, your immune system is weakened so you are prone to catch colds and viruses, as well as infections.”

Terry put his hands to his budding breasts. “When can you cut these off? Richard says that’s what they do sometimes.”

“When you stop growing and your immune system can handle surgery. Right now I’m afraid we’d be taking too much risk. I’d be afraid an infection from surgery would be likely. We’ll fix them, but you need time.” Doc said.

“How are we gonna pay? Mom doesn’t have any insurance.”

“I think if you participate in a study of mine, I can get a grant to cover your medical expenses. Otherwise, I’m afraid even the state program for the poor would not cover what they would call cosmetic surgery. “

“Can’t you do it? We won’t tell.” Terry pleaded,

Doc smiled in a way that reassured Terry. “If your life were threatened, I would do it right now, lawsuits be damned. But right now, the best thing I can do for your health is to wait and see.”

Chapter 6: Summer Surprise

By the end of July, Terry had developed somewhere around an ‘B’ cup and was really obvious in a tight tee shirt. He still had not gotten a haircut and it was about chin length now. From a distance he looked like a skinny hipped girl whose Mother shouldn’t let her out of the house without a bra.

Doc Schlange was a regular weekend visitor, and sometimes brought two assistants along to examine Terry, draw blood and then go fishing with Bobby. Charlene welcomed the rise in business.

Terry was pretty weak and Betty restricted him to small jobs which kept him near people in case he got sick and did not require real exertion. As a result, he gained some weight, maybe about ten pounds, distributed between his breasts and butt.

He and Joelle became very close. She wanted to mother Terry since he was not in the mood to boyfriend her right now. Flora had told her to give Terry time, growing boobs was a bit of a shot at his male ego.

“Terry, we haven’t been up to the Wal-Mart all summer, or over to the movies. Why don’t we go with Flora tomorrow? She’ll drop us off and pick us up after a few hours. I know you’re not working for either Bobby or Charlene then.” Joelle asked. She wanted to prod Terry to relax.

“Right. I go looking like this and I’ll be pounded into the dirt. You girls don’t have that problem. Those guys will think I’m some kind of city fag or something.” Terry said.

Joelle knew he was right, but she was persistent.

”Ok, so don’t go as a guy! It’s just a movie theatre and with that haircut and a little help, they won’t know what you are for sure, but they’ll leave you alone. At least in a crowd in daylight. I know nobody in Filler has told a soul about you or Bobby and Charlene would kill them, and the few kids you know are never at that place during the day, they all work in the fields.” Joelle made a compelling case.

“Let me think about it. I’ll see you tonight at the café. They have lime sherbet.” Terry was half convinced, driven by the need to get out of Filler for a while, see a real movie and actually go on a sort of date with Joelle. He really liked Joelle and she had been real nice to him.

Terry needed to ask three people, Richard, Mom and Bobby.

Richard was quiet and sorted it out. He asked Terry to stand up, turn around and pull his hair over his ears. “Terry, it’s not a bad plan. It can be done. That does not mean it should be done. I can understand you wanting to get out for some fun, and understand that you don’t want to risk exposure of your condition. Those are reasons. The question to you is, will it bother you? Or is it just a disguise, necessary, like wearing a toupee to cover a bald spot.? You want my opinion, I’d go and see the movie, and if people look at me and think I’m not who I am, too bad. It’s up to you. “

Mom was worried but saw the logic. She thought getting away safely for a little while would be good for him. She assured him it was just a little trick in her mind, a little misdirection.

Bobby was the most positive. “Hell, boy, get out of town and take that nice Joelle to the movies. If it was me, I’d wear a dress to keep those dirt pounders from messing with me. Go have fun. It’s not like you asked for this.”

So Flora and Joelle went to work. They wanted the maximum effect for the minimum change and decided that Terry needed just three things. A sleeveless blouse, a little eye makeup and a bra. Terry balked at the bra but Joelle said why not use what he had to get the maximum effect? Plus, without a bra he was inviting guys to hit on him since it was getting obvious and his enlarged nipples were showing through his shirts.

Flora put an arm around him and said “Terry, even the Doc said you should wear one as you grow. I’ll bet they are a bit sore. Try it on here and if you can’t stand it, we’ll try something else.

Terry relented and had Joelle help him into one of Flora’s, since he was bigger around his chest than Joelle. He found he was a 42 B. And it felt really good compared to the soreness and wobbling he had been feeling.

Flora approved. Terry looked convincing in his jeans, which were a bit tight since he had gained weight, a white top and his hair down to his chin. His breasts were really noticeable but they looked in place, and no one would look at him twice thinking “Is that a guy?”

“Terry, wash your hair tomorrow before we leave and come over here with it wet. I want to fluff it out a bit and then we’ll go.”

“But Mom still hasn’t paid the bill, Flora.” Terry protested.

“Terry, this is a medical emergency, to prevent you getting your face black and blue. That will cost her a lot more. Give me a fifty cents, my special new customer discount and it’ll be fine. Your own account. Fair?”

Terry agreed it was fair. Flora told him to wear the bra home, he should wear them while he was growing.

Chapter 7: See You In September

The trip to Wal-Mart and the movies went fine. Terry drew some looks, but they were ones where he was classed as ‘prey’ by the scanning eyes of the boys at the Cineplex. Joelle made sure she sent out the ‘girls together, off duty’ signals by chatting and keeping her eyes off the boys. Boys took anything as a signal to come over and were notorious for misreading girl’s intentions, but this was offset by the fact that only five to six percent of the time did they have the courage and timing to initiate contact. So Joelle sailed Terry through the radar and they had a great time. She only wished he could put his arm around her in the movies, but she would wait for that.

Terry actually relaxed. Until he realized he had to use the girl’s bathroom. After he could no longer contain the large soda, he told Joelle.

“Ok, Terry, don’t be silly. We’ll go together.” She grabbed her purse, and they went.

Terry got over his fear when he closed the door on the stall and remembered Joelle’s warning to sit down. So he sat and proceeded as quietly as he could. Joelle was waiting for him at the mirror and proceeded to add mascara to his eyes.

“Dammit Terri, next time don’t leave your purse at home.” She said, providing some covering conversation. The sole other woman turned and smiled, with a nod to Joelle.

Terry felt he could finally exhale when they got back to their seats in the darkened theatre. He was real glad his hair didn’t need major work. Flora had opted for a simple low maintenance style, really just trimming some ends and blow drying it.

The only thing Terry felt uncomfortable with was the flowery perfume they had selected.

“Just so there is not room to doubt, Terry.” Flora had said. She was probably right. If he smelled someone wearing it, he sure would not think ‘GUY’.

So they returned and Betty and Charlene were there to greet them. They both fussed over Terry, but did their best to not make him feel humiliated. Charlene offered to help him remove the makeup and he accepted.

Betty and Flora conferred with Joelle. Charlene and Bobby had already hatched a plan and they were deciding on putting it into action.

So Terry came out with Charlene, his face scrubbed but still wearing the top.

“Terry, you’ve been avoiding the best jobs here for you because they all involve seeing the public. Working the pumps or the café or spelling Richard at the Center are where you can do the best and we all need the help, especially on the odd shifts and breaks. You did real good today going out in public, why not do it for the summer, at least until the Doc says you can get your surgery? The town would support you.” Charlene said.

Terry turned to Betty. “Mom? I guess you agree or I wouldn’t be hearing this? Right?”

“It’s up to you Terry. Bobby agrees too. He was hoping you could spell him at the pumps some. He’s lost two part timers this week. Go ask him. And the Doc is getting real insistent that you support your chest somehow, which is going to make them even more noticeable. You know he won’t let you tie them down, he’s afraid of the effect while they’re growing.

Terry, none of us think you’re some little sissy or not a man. But the rest of the world is not us. We just want you to avoid embarrassment and trouble until we can get you help.. And I love you, son.” Betty was crying, under control, but tears were running down her cheeks .

Terry hugged her. “Ok, I just want to talk to Bobby and Richard first.”

Everyone nodded and thought that was right.

Bobby and Richard were supportive for good and selfish reasons, and both admitted it to Terry. They knew he was a better and more reliable worker than they could hire anywhere else and they did not want him embarrassed.

Bobby told him the truckers were decent guys and mostly all talk. They would never think he was anything but a young girl, a niece of his and would treat him right. Plus, He needed him working and Betty needed the money.

Richard basically said the same. He offered to help out ordering clothes and things he needed and Flora would do his hair for a real discount. He told Terry it was his decision and his alone. He then relayed some stories about people who took a handicap and used it to learn something about themselves.

Chapter 8: Fundamentalism To The Rescue

Doc Schlange was examining Terry in his hotel room, which Charlene had given him for a monthly rate. He billed it to his research grant.

“Terry, you’re getting a disease named after you, Singer’s Syndrome. Your chemistry is still unstable and the rate of growth seems to not be slowing down. You’ve gained a small amount of weight in your hips and buttocks, but not a lot. Most of it seems to be right here.” Doc pointed at Terry’s breasts with his pen.

“Are they going to get bigger?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I would not bet against it. What size bra are you wearing now?”

“42 B.”

“Go to a C. Your filling it out too much. My grant will pay for your clothing needs, I’ll set up an arrangement with Richard. I hear you are posing as a girl sometimes. How is that working out?” Doc said, not trace of humor in his voice.

“Not too bad. I got my ass pinched by a guy at the pumps the other day. I belted him and his wife gave him incredible shit. It was kind of funny. I do the pumps, work the store, and cashier at the café. Mom said they’re getting me a waitress uniform so I can do late shifts. Then she can get some sleep.” Terry went on.

“How about school? That’s much harder to pull off. You won’t possibly be ready for breast reduction until at least the spring, assuming you slow down soon.” Doc looked worried.

“I don’t know. Flora said she had something in mind, but I have no idea what. And I have four hours a day just on a bus just to go. Maybe I should drop out.” Terry said, an air of resignation creeping into his voice.

One week before school, Flora came over to Betty and Terry’s house, with Terry and Joelle following behind. His hair was in rollers for the first time. Joelle had been trying to get him to try it for weeks and he had finally given in.

Joelle had told Terry she wanted to be his girl, no matter that his boobs were bigger than hers. She had promised to help him through this and said he was going to be the best damn looking girl she could manage. Plus, he was a great kisser. Terry had even let her feel his breasts in exchange for like favors.

“Betty, my certs came in! We can do it!” Flora was clearly excited.

“Flora, are you sure?” Betty asked.

Flora was sure. She had spent the last month setting herself up to run a “Fundamentalist Academy” to support home schoolers. She was now listed as running a non-profit tutoring service supporting parents who chose to home school their children.

“Flora, why the ‘Fundamentalist’ name? You aren’t very church going as I recall.” Betty said.

“It scares the state education people silly. They think of lawsuits and crazy protestors, so if they can’t nail you on something stupid, they leave you alone. Trust me , I know these people. Plus, who says ‘Fundamenatalism’ is religious? To me it means reading, writing, math skills, history and science, not all the PC crap and twaddle they spew out to get funding and keep their jobs. The stuff kids need to know cold to do anything in life, not ‘how to be sensitive to mixed sexuality devil worshipping druids who are homeless and need all your parents money’ week That’s why I left teaching the last time. So I get to teach Terry and Joelle and they can avoid the four hour bus ride. The other two kids are going to their own Christian Academy anyway, so nobody else from Filler would even be at that school.

Terry and Joelle were surprised and pleased. They thought Flora was a great teacher. She had tutored them through school up to now, just informally. So Terry could go to school without dealing with his pair of ‘problems’.

Chapter 9: Miss Terri At Your Service

Being a tomboy type girl was not that much of a challenge for Terry. He was just careful about overt guy mannerisms, and he bathed a lot more. Bobby was real hard on him when he wasn’t ‘ladylike’.

“Dammit, Terry, I got an image to maintain here. How does it look if I have a niece who scratches her crotch in public?” Bobby said, using up his word allotment for the day.

Terry became familiar, with gentle coaching from everyone when he needed to fix his makeup and hair. Flora and Joelle had been trying to give him survival skills in these areas and he was coming along.. Richard had ordered him a purse and had Joelle fill it with cosmetics, along with some extra hair clips, pins and brushes.

In September, as the sportsmen started rolling through on weekends, his waitress uniform came. He knew what it looked like, it was just like his Mom’s. Short sleeve, a bit low cut and pink, with a hem about at mid thigh. It came with an apron, with ruffles. His first dress.

“Terry, Richard thought this would help a bit. He found it somewhere on the internet.” Betty handed him a padded panty, obviously made to make a man look like he had feminine hips and rear.

Terry was a little stunned, but since he was standing there in a 42 C bra and filling it out, this did not seem that big a deal. Plus, he wanted Mom to get a break. This way she could cut back to fifty five hours a week.

So, now introduced to leg shaving, panty hose, and a full slip, he stood next to his mother in his uniform, wearing the same white flats she had on. Her hair is still considerably longer and still curly from her last perm, but aside from that, they could be mother and daughter.

Betty was astounded at Terry’s appearance. He smiled and hugged her.

“Mom, you can get eight hours sleep at least three days a week. It’ll be fun. I bet I can get some good tips, too.” Terry laughed.

Betty slapped his butt. “You better get used to that too, sweetie. At least you’ve got padding now.”

Terry, with a nametag of Terri, went to work the café with Joelle on the four am to eight shift, three days a week. He then changed into jeans and worked the pumps for Bobby while Joelle went to stock shelves in the Super Center. From noon to four, Flora ran school and they had homework for at least ninety minutes a night. Fortunately for Terry, Flora combined his hairstyling with school to save him time and expected him to handle his hair maintenance at home.

Chapter 10: Personal Growth

November rolled around and Doc Schlange looked up at the girl in the pink waitress uniform entering his motel room.

“I didn’t order any room service…” He began.

“I did, Doc. I’m here for my exam. I just got off my morning shift. “ Terry said.

Doc looked at Terry, his brown hair now longer and arranged in a very curly pageboy. He was wearing a lot of eye makeup and pink lipstick to match his dress. From the cleavage, it was apparent he was still growing. Doc estimated a little less than a ‘D’ cup. Terry had a worn look in his eyes but a smile and positive bearing. Doc bet he made a lot of tips.

“You are looking real good, Terry. How’s being a girl?” Doc asked.

“It’s not bad. I’ve stopped worrying about people ‘catching’ me and I guess being calm makes it easier to act natural. Doc, I was wondering. What’s the record on this kind of Boob growth? Can I get in the Guiness Book or a win a prize?” Terry asked.

Doc stopped short and laughed. “That’s a good question and I don’t know. I do know you are the largest I have ever seen in five years of study of this disorder. I’ll check. Now the last time we were together, you asked me about testosterone shots. I had a team check it out and we came to the same conclusion as our first guess. It won’t help. Singer’s Syndrome is locally destructive of male hormones. Adding more and you’ll end up the Bearded Lady. And very sick.”

“So what do I do now?”

“We believe it is slowing down. At this rate, we can expect you to be stable by early Spring, maybe March even. But that’s a guess. Now I have a question for you. Have you had sex yet? Any prospects? This is a professional question, Terry, I don’t want names.”

“No and yes, there’s a prospect. Ask me after Christmas. “ Terry blushed through his makeup.

“Can you get erect? Do women arouse you?” Doc asked, blushing himself.

“Yes, every damn morning. And yes, sometimes I look in a mirror and arouse myself. That’s a joke, Doc. Yes, I like women. No I don’t want to be gay.” Terry said.

Doc knew some young lady in Filler was going to have a Merry Christmas.

Terry stripped down to his bra and padded panties for the exam. Doc went over him and then had him remove the bra. Terry’s breasts were shapely and firm and his nipples were enlarged beyond any male design.

“Any more leakage, Terry?” Doc asked.

“No, not for a month. Mom gave me some pads and it was pretty sticky for a while, but I’m dry now. I guess I’m not going to be a wet nurse now.”

Terry pulled his panties down and Doc noticed some slight but noticeable increase in fat on the hips and buttocks again. Singer Syndrome had a real breast fixation. He had never seen localized feminization this pronounced. No change to the genitals, slight changes to the lower body, reduction in body hair but there was lots of fertilizer on the melon farm.

Exam complete , Terry thanked Doc and went to change for his pump jockey job. Doc went to chat with Bobby about tying flies.

Chapter 11: Sweet Sixteen

Terry and Joelle’s birthdays were a week apart and three weeks before Christmas, so they shared the mutual suffering Christian kids always have when their big day is close to their other big day.

This year, they exchanged presents of great worth and little price. Joelle decided to force the issue, like so many girls before her and told Terry he was driving her crazy and could he please stop waiting for his little boobie problem to get solved? Terry took at least a minute to get it and then responded just the way Joelle wanted. She even had a condom ready.

Terry began wearing stockings and a garter belt soon after that. He was all for easy access.

Betty asked Terry if he wanted to take his driver’s test now or wait. He decided to go now. So Bobby found a DMV near San Francisco which was more experienced in sexually ambiguous people and Terry passed his driver’s test with flying colors. He could have gone for any commercial license by that time, but chose to put that off.

Terry’s and Flora’s gift to Betty was having Terry copy his Mom’s permed hair style. While not as long as Betty’s, Terry’s hair had achieved enough length to make it work. And Flora had assured him it would be lower maintenance.

Terry loved the look on his Mom’s face when he showed up on Christmas Eve with Flora and his mass of curls. Then he told her he was taking her shift that night. Betty cried.

Richard gave Terry a selection of dresses, skirts and blouses, courtesy of Doc’s grant account. He mentioned that they would mostly fit Betty as well, but she might need a little padding to fill them out. He gave out an obsolete video game console and cartridges for Joelle and Terry to share.

Christmas in Filler, with a few exceptions consisted of little gifts and big thoughts.

Chapter 12: Town Meeting

February brought Doc Schlange back. Terry had achieved a ‘D’ cup. The Doc explained that Terry may be the record holder if Guiness would make a category. He had contacted them and they were interested. Doc made sure that Terry’s name was still unknown.

Terry laughed out loud at the news. Doc could see his breasts jiggle with each gale of laughter. Joelle was giggling uncontrollably. Doc guessed Terry was likely in solid sexual working order, looking at the interaction of the two.

The café was deserted, Filler was in its hard winter doldrums. Business slowed to a crawl. Doc looked at the new winter parkas the teenagers were wearing and was glad Richard had interpreted Doc’s orders on the use of the grant money correctly. Somehow, in little ways, the people in the town were getting a little benefit from his study with Terry. If Joelle got a new ski jacket, or one of the old ladies got some new underwear, he was for it. He knew Richard was a bit of a Robin Hood, and was compelled to quietly help people. Plus, Terry’s blood chemistry was worth untold amounts in scientific knowledge. And his grant was barely five percent utilized. Richard stole small and made sure it was kept that way, with meticulous records and linked justification for everything.

Bobby, Charlene and Richard were having their “Town Council” meeting, which meant they poured a beer each, Charlene lit another cigarette and they sat in the bar. They were totally alone. Joelle was running the pumps and Terry had the café under control. Flora was doing hair and Betty was sound asleep.

“Charlene, it’s been this bad before. Can’t you hang on another six months?” Ricard asked.

“No Richard. You can’t argue with cash flow. We didn’t clear enough during the sports seasons to get through. With the new taxes and Bobby having to revent his tanks, we’re are looking at a meltdown within three months Better we liquidate now before they do it for us.” Charlene looked more haggard than ever before.

“I hate giving up, Richard, but I may not make payroll and I’m behind on my worker’s comp payment, which they just raised another fifteen percent. It’s like pushing a rope.” Bobby said, plain and straight.

“If I can convince you to stick it out, will you work with me to save these people?” Richard smiled.

They looked at him and nodded.

“Let me tell you why I came here.” Richard began a long exposition which held their attention like a stainless steel chain.

After Richard was finished, Bobby stood up. He stuck out his hand and said. “I’m in. Let’s find a way to hang on.”

Charlene agreed.

Chapter 13: Fifteen Minutes Of Fame

It had been decided that Richard would approach Betty and Terry with the proposition.

“You want me to be a freak show, for tourists?” Terry was incredulous. Betty was torn. She knew things were bad financially.

“I won’t lie to you, Terry, yes we want you to be our Sasquatch or UFO. You know other towns have had gimmicks to attract traffic, and this would be no different. If we can hold on for just about six more months then we may make it through. Flora has some ideas to keep your identity private and the Doc has agreed to play along.” Richard said, in his normal calm tones.

Terry looked at Betty. He actually started to cry for the first time since all this started. Betty held him like mothers do. She nodded to Richard and he quietly left.

“Mom, I don’t want to be a freak. Do I have to do this?” Terry pleaded with her.

“No, you don’t. I’m sure we’ll land on our feet. No one in the town thinks you are anything other than a great kid, Terry. They would never have asked this unless they had run out of things to do. Charlene, Bobby, Richard and Flora all love you like their own. Think about what it took for them in pride to have to ask.” Betty was an intensely practical woman, firmly grounded in real things and real people.

“Can I think it over a bit?” Terry asked.

“Of course, honey. Take your time.”

Later that evening, Betty saw Terry walking out to the town graveyard. She knew he was going to ask the one person he respected the most.

Terry looked at the simple headstone marking his Dad’s place. He did not have a loud discussion, just a silent meditation. He got a sense of what to do. Not a plan, not directions, but a sense based in the values he had grown up with. He cried some more.

Bobby spotted him and waited at a respectful distance. When he sensed it was time, he came up and put an arm around Terry.

“Did he tell you?” Bobby asked.

“I think so. He told me to do what I had to do to help my family. My whole family.” Terry said, quietly, almost a whisper.

Bobby nodded and walked back inside with him. The dry snow was flying by sideways, skittering around the little fence and the ten grave markers.

Chapter 14: See The Strange Thing, Buy The Tee Shirt

Doc Schlange had been on TV before and was telling Terry to stay calm. The News van had pulled up along with three other cars in the Highway Motel and Family Restaurant parking lot, and the crew had just finished assembling their satellite uplink dish.

Terry was squirming. He hated the wig, a red haired one which he thought was pretty ugly and way shorter than his own hair. He thought about how much work it would be to get his hair style back in shape for his shift in the café. The phony fat belly was uncomfortable. Flora had told him it was a ’pregnancy simulator’ for men, and Terry thought that sounded like something silly beyond belief. What kind of civilization thought that was an important product? He wished the effort had gone into finding a cure for his real problem.

Flora had darkened his face and simulated a five oclock shadow, as if he had not shaved. Terry had not needed to shave yet in all his life. He had been looking forward to it. So here he sat, wearing a really low cut tank top which not only showed his boobs, unconstrained by a brassiere, but also showed him to be a fat slob with a bulging gut. He had on men’s jeans and he had to agree, he looked nothing like himself. He looked like a fat kid with huge breasts.

So they did their interview with the tabloid television show. Richard had timed it to find a slow news cycle and lined up the sensational media with ‘semi-exclusives’. Doc Schlange lent an air of credibility to the story and he was careful to just verify that he was treating an obscure condition on a young man from the area. He appeared on the first interview show and answered few questions.

They really wanted to pan the cameras on Terry’s chest. They asked him a series of silly questions and Terry made up answers equally silly but drawing from a carefully worked out background story that Richard had devised. He made sure Terry could converse and deal with any trick questions. If a reporter got too aggressive, Terry was to look puzzled, and look around, which made for bad television. The reporter was then taken aside and reminded of their agreement by Richard or Charlene. Bobby was too scary to play that role.

Within two weeks, a trickle of cars rolled through to see “Booby Boy”. Terry did two shows a day, walking from the Super Center to the Sunny Serve on good weather days and always twice through the café, wearing that tight tank top. He never talked to anyone and was ushered back to the privacy of either a motel room or the office.

Richard had souvenirs made up and they sold them at all three retail counters. Pictures with Booby Boy could be negotiated depending on how much they thought the mark would pay. Joelle ended up owning that franchise, she could figure a price just below the ‘forget it’ level.

All photographers and TV crews payed for space and facilities, a normal occurrence. Richard researched the fees and was good at getting the most they could from the media just for parking their trucks.

Booby Boy was hardly a national sensation but like all strange things , it drew a small throng of the interested. For some reason, a part of the transgender crowd adopted Booby Boy as their mascot/idol and he had a fan club. Some obscure manufacturers of ‘special’ clothing for crossdressers wanted product endorsements.

Guiness awarded him a mention as worlds largest naturally occurring male breast development. They took pictures of his beauties, which Richard leaked to the internet through a third party. They were a sensation that kept the buzz going for another two months. They did not show Terry’s face.

Chapter 15: Life Is A Carnival

Terry decided Flora was a genius. For his one hour a day as Booby Boy, he was fat guy with a round bulge in the middle. Everyone was looking for padding on his breasts but nobody suspected padding on his belly.

So when he took off the wig and let down his brown hair, put on a light base makeup, and used the waist cinching girdle with highly padded hips and butt, he became a curvy girl with big breasts and a real waist. From a blimp to an hourglass. No one ever mistook him for Booby Boy. If any reporter thought of the ruse, he would be looking for a fat girl. And Terry was proud of not being fat.

Betty had thought that to make sure, he should dress as ‘girly’ as possible when not doing a show, just to make sure.

“Look at these, Mom. How can I not dress ‘girly’ ?” Terry said, giggling. He was at the high end of the ‘D’ cup scale.

He had slapped a guy who grabbed at them during the show today and Bobby had hustled the jerk off with a threatened arrest. Sheriff Bobby told the offender that a generous amount for the photo with the offended star attraction might prevent charges from being pressed.

Terry and Joelle dated, driving up the interstate to the movies or the Wal-Mart. Joelle could never decide what to wear, since Terry usually wore a dress, following Betty’s advice. Terry had the girl thing down pretty well, since his voice was fairly neutral. Richard said that people heard what they expected. They looked at Terry’s appearance and heard a girl’s voice when he talked.

Joelle decided to make the most of it, which seemed to be the town motto of Filler. She enjoyed snuggling into Terry’s chest after sex, and really liked how Terry responded when she worked his breasts over with her tongue.

Truckers up and down the Interstate stopped by to say hello to Bobby’s niece, that ‘pump jockey with the big rack’. They liked Joelle, too, but went in for coffee if Terri was the waitress. Terry knew them all and developed a friendly style of back and forth banter which made the shift go quickly.

Betty had asked Terry to begin wearing a ‘proper hat’ on Sundays when she ran the church service for the town in the bar of the restaurant. Betty was a natural preacher and had a relaxed brand of religion which soothed the souls of most people in town. Betty never minded when Terry and Joelle held hands during the service, which she kept mercifully short, thus meeting the criteria necessary for true redemption. If you can’t tell them they can save their own souls in ten minutes, then you sure can’t do it in two hours she always said. So Terry borrowed one of Flora’s big hats with flowers and a veil, since Flora only attended on important days, like Bingo.

By the end of spring, several things had developed.

Terry and Joelle placed in the top percentile on the PSAT tests, ranked among the top ten thousand in the state. Flora was proud, especially since they took it a year early.

Terry’s rate of breast growth had almost stopped. He found ‘DD’ bras a little loose but a better fit than his ‘D’s. He was still a little pudgy in his hips and rear, maybe by an extra inch.

Joelle explained to Doc Schlange that Terry was in fine working order. The Doc was interested in Terry’s sexual responses to breast stimulation and Joelle talked for hours, in the interest of science, of course. The Doc was amused and left the recorder on even though he knew the memory chip was removed. Joelle needed someone to talk to.

Bobby, Charlene and Richard compared financials. Filler had made it through the winter and spring.

“Booby Boy” had pretty much become a forgotten fad. Every once in a while, if a group of tourists asked real nice, Charlene or Bobby would ask Terry to consent to a ‘performance’, putting on the wig and belly, darkening his complexion and letting his boobs out of their bra.

Terry found going braless felt very awkward and caused him embarrassment. The desire to feel normal is inherent in the human condition and Terry was rapidly adapting to his current state as ‘normal’. He was respected in his community as performing a difficult and important service, despite the risk of personal humiliation. He was friends with truckers and salesmen , highway patrolmen and women, all the folks who lived between the exit signs, traveling the road. He was treated as an adult doing adult jobs with adult responsibilities, and helping to keep the bills paid. Joelle loved him despite the way he was. And he loved her.

Chapter 16: Surprise Sergeant Carter! Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!

A year after it all started, Doc Schlange had news. Terry had finally stabilized his chemistry. His immune system was slowly recovering. Springer Syndrome looked like it did burn out.

Doc was checking his fly rod while Terry was getting back into his slip.

“Terry, what do you want to do now? I can schedule a breast reduction surgery in about six months or so when we are certain you are ok and your immune system could handle it. I would want you to go to San Francisco or Los Angeles and have a very experienced surgeon do the work. I ‘ll help out getting the cost down, but it’s still going to be expensive. And quite a shock to your system.” Doc went, checking his supply of flies. Bobby was going to show him a hidden deep spot that was good this time of year.

“Can’t you do it Doc?” Terry asked, tying his apron.

“I know my limits, Terry. In an emergency, sure I’d do it, but this isn’t one. You are a healthy man with healthy breasts and a somewhat soft ass. And a better girlfriend than most guys ever see. No, Terry, in many ways, you have more of a life here than a lot of people ever get. If you do this, do it without risking what you have. That’s what a doctor is supposed to tell you. Now I’m going fishing.”

“Good luck Doc.” Terry said. Terry walked home to the trailer, determined to get off his feet for awhile. He was real glad he could stop wearing the girdles, they became a pain after a long day. He remembered he was going to wash his hair tonight with Joelle. That would be fun.

Richard had called a town meeting and brought a bottle of champagne. Really good champagne. With a real cork. And from Napa Valley. Richard had a problem with the French which he refused to disclose.

“Al right, Richard the Wizard, why are we here and drinking this fizzy stuff?” Charlene opened. Bobby grinned and sipped his glass. Flora was in attendance too, and pouring the bubbly all around.

“Because our proverbial ship is coming in. Filler is saved!” Richard said, ginning mischievously.

Richard relayed the story. Six years ago he was looking for places to invest his cash out of his IPO when he got a proposal for a resort development based on a water diversion project which was being held up in the courts. It was close to Filler and Filler’s exit would be the key point of entry for the area. So he saw a chance to bring Flora home and build a quiet life while he waited for this to happen. He knew the court delays would take a while but the need to develop was pretty powerful and the case would break through. So he optioned a part of the resort project, the part tied to the development of the highway exit and services. He then moved in to sit on his investment. So while Richard had money, it was tied up in development funds on the option or he would lose the rights. So he lived fairly frugally on the interest and what he could earn from the store. Flora and Richard had adopted Joelle when Flora sister died, prompting Flora’s desire to return home and raise her in the environment she knew.

So now the project was underway, court cases dismissed and the resort was rolling. It would be a huge complex twenty miles down the road in the sierra foothills, with golf courses, restaurants, spas and other luxury features, as well as condos. The hunting and fishing in the area would probably triple.

Most of all, the value of Filler property would skyrocket. From less than zero to actually worth something.

“So, Richard, do we all just sell out?” Bobby asked.

“To be honest, that was my original plan. But then I lived here and you folks became family. No, the current proposal is to rebuild Filler a bit, so it fits with the theme of the resort, but still services the highway travelers and truckers, our current regulars. And maybe we will have secure employment for the people in the town, a school nearby and things like health insurance and dental care, and maybe a swimming pool. Nothing fancy, just a little security. That’s what I offer.” Richard looked at the other three Fillerites.

Bobby stuck out his hand. Richard accepted it. No words needed. Charlene kissed Richard , Flora and Bobby in that order. The one with Bobby took a while.

Chapter 17: Another Few Years Go By

Joelle glanced up at the truck rolling into the Sunny Serve. She called the kitchen and told them to get a chicken fried steak ready. That driver was regular as clockwork. As hostess in the new Trucker’s Rest, she made it a point to anticipate her customers, especially when they were running reefers. She saw the driver wave at Bobby, who was untangling the air hose, and continue on in.

The buildings had been redone in a Spanish stucco façade, the only thing remaining of the old Filler was the tall neon Sunny Serve sign, visible for miles down the road.

Charlene had married Bobby and they formally merged their businesses. They were now a subsidiary of the large resort. The truck stop complex had a new motel, pool, café and family restaurant, and served as a training ground for chefs at the resort, so the food was excellent. If a chef could handle the menu and pace here, he or she was given a shot at the big time, the five star operation down the road. The benefits were great, with paid vacation and even dental.

Flora converted her tutoring operation to an actual private school, and was feared by the State education bureaucrats.

The trailers were demolished for scrap and replaced by a better set of locations in the shade, away from the highway noise. Double wides and better, the best manufactured homes there were. With swimming pools. Richard made sure the cemetery was moved with the consent of everybody, and totally paid for by the resort. The dead did not mind, and the shade made visits easier and the flowers last longer.

Doc Schlange had been dating Betty for a year now. He was a recent widower of six years. Betty was showing him how to really fly fish, like her daddy had taught her.

So the driver came in and Joelle greeted him, asked him how his knee was and seated him at his favorite table.

Terri brought out his chicken fried steak with salsa, and exchanged insults with the driver. The driver thanked him and whistled as Terri walked away.

Terry had put on a few pounds and they seemed to have settled in his butt. It just made his life a bit easier, since he could forego the padding now. He took his apron off in the back, put on his sunglasses, adjusted his bra strap and went over to Joelle at the front. He kissed her on the cheek and told her he would be waiting by the pool. And please get his tip from Bubba.

Terry walked out and got into his car. He kept putting off the surgery, this time because he wanted Betty to have some free time to spend with the Doc and he was covering her shifts. He looked at his long brown hair and decided he would get another perm from Flora soon.

END

Spring Is The Season Of Recovery

By Tyrone Slothrop- An Angelverse Story

Authors Note: I write to tell myself stories. Sometimes you get an idea and cannot let it go until you key in the final sentence. A rare few of these ideas come out like pearls, an irritant which produces a thing which can amuse or give pleasure. Sometimes it is like worrying out an abscessed tooth. This one is a reaction to abuse which comes in many forms, and it is a strictly personal reaction. It may be different from other stories, I certainly hope so. It is not meant to challenge any other points of view, just to express one. Parts of it are a bit dark. It may not be welcomed by some.

Chapter 1: Let Me Be Frank

It was one of those days when he wondered whether waist length hair was worth it. The winds whipped around the sides of his truck as he unloaded groceries, picking up speed as they traveled through the gorge. His hair flew all around and it was a struggle to close the door of the Ford without getting caught in the hinges.

Frank, relying on his many years of practice, managed to get inside with all of the bags and his tresses intact. He set the groceries down in the kitchen of his A frame while looking through the mural windows at the dance of wind on water in the river below. After removing his windbreaker he set about changing into his “alone at home, winter style” clothing, black tights and a long sleeve flannel shirtdress with slippers. He used his brushes and combs and got his brown hair back into a smooth and neat fall down his back. After hanging up his jeans and workshirt on a peg, ready for tomorrow’s chores he checked his vanity and decided he really needed to moisturize his face, really soon. He settled for some lipstick for his chapped lips and went back down to put away the groceries.

After a grilled chicken salad he cleaned up the kitchen and proceeded to go to work.

Frank settled his six feet two inches into his Aero chair and booted up his computers. After handling his email, he proceeded to review the business consulting documents which four different firms were presenting to their respective clients, ranging from product strategy to market development. For the next two hours, he read, wrote, corrected and commented on the quality of the proposals. He then sent in his weekly invoices to the firms for being their quality checkpoint.

Frank shifted, enjoying the feeling of his padded panties. It was like carrying around your own pillow to sit on. He then grabbed his wireless notebook and went to his other job, writing detective novels. Laying back on his couch, looking at the lights on the river, he hammered out the conclusion chapter, second draft of the latest Bobby Caldwell thriller. He felt he was close to final on this one and was really happy he had finally killed off Bobby’s clingy girlfriend in this book. Bobby needed that to get really motivated and he needed him convincingly mean for the end of the book. He decided the hormone mix Dr. Peters had him on was not screwing up his ability to write from the male perspective. Testosterone memory, he laughed inwardly.

His next agenda item, work now over, was his social life. He surfed around the websites and message boards on a variety of topics, adding to the discussion, telling jokes with electronic friends and even submitting some TG fiction pieces.

Chapter 2: Murder, She Wrought

The Detective and the Man from the State Attorney General’s Office were at the scene. A stately middle aged woman was tied and gagged with duct tape and bleeding from several minor wounds, none very serious. She had a monumental black eye. On the ground was the town police chief and a deputy, dead, shot with the chief’s own handgun. Two boys, dressed in extreme girlish finery, petticoats and makeup with Mary Jane shoes were sitting against the wall, holding themselves and staring into space. One of them had removed his wig.

The Undercover Agent, also dressed like the boys was standing next to the Detective.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, but they must have blown my cover. I did what you asked and it’s been contained to this house. The groundskeeper and the other staff are all neutralized. “ He looked about fifteen but the Detective knew he was much older. The Agent had been very useful in penetrating this criminal enterprise.

“We have managed to keep this off the radio and only “Special Squad” is involved.” The Detective said.

The State Attorney went over to the woman, the Agent following him with a blank expression. He removed the duct tape from her mouth, in the most humane way, which was also the most violent way, a quick rip.

“You are in very serious trouble! You will be prosecuted for the murder of those men! And this illegal procedure! I know the law!” she said in a cold manner. It was clear she felt little for the police chief, her longtime accomplice.

“Excuse me, honey but you seem to be confused. You are officially a “Jane Doe” an unidentified person, a probable sighting, so I’ll just call you Jane. Jane, sweetheart, we are not here as the Law. Today we represent Justice. Your activities here are crimes against the spirit of all of the young men you claimed to have helped. As I speak, all of the judges, doctors, social workers, “child psychologists” and mothers who participated in these crimes are being dealt with. Right now, I will give you two choices. A bullet now or do I let those boys over there, your last victims, have a chance to return some of the pain before I shoot you? Your last choice in this world.” His tone was amused which infuriated the woman.

For the first time , the Man from the State Attorney’s Office saw a realization of fear in her eyes. The terror seeped into her face as she realized that there would be no escape, no like minded sadist to provide legal cover, no way to use her wealth to fix this.

“But I was improving these boys! You loved it Michelle!” The woman looked at the Agent. She went on “Petticoat Discipline is a time tested tradition! I have kept many boys out of jail or a life of…”

The Agent broke in before she could finish. “You tried to keep us from becoming men, you sadistic bitch. You are the prime example of why moral superiority has nothing to do with gender. Sadism masquerading as discipline is not character. Petticoat Discipline is from the same culture that conceived of the Opium War, the Smallpox Blankets and other self justifying acts of barbarism. Save us from you well mannered sociopaths. “

“But I have a record of success…” She cried out.

“Not in the real world. Your husband, who has turned you over, has been deluding you for years. Your graduates have ended up hating women so much that their lives are failures. Two are convicted serial killers specializing in women about your age. Do you want to guess at what they made their victims do before they slit their throats? You taught them well, you pompous, self righteous piece of crap.” The Agent eyes burned as he brought the Glock up to bear. The Detective ushered the two boys outside.

Jane Doe was shocked. This was no fifteen year old juvenile delinquent. He had completely fooled her for four weeks. And now she knew he was going to kill her.

The State Attorney nodded and the Agent pulled the trigger. Jane Doe would not ram her twisted viewpoint down another innocent boy’s soul.

“I want the bodies gone. The testimony of the victims we have will make this a great case and destroy the complicit judges and parents. And Jane makes a much better mysteriously escaped child molester than a live martyr. We are seizing all the assets, including those of her grown children who participated.” The Attorney directed the Detective.

Later, when the bodies were gone and the remnants of the local police in custody, the press was brought in. The State Attorney was on camera across the world announcing the breakup of a child molestation ring, with tales of young boys being forced to become girls for the delight of twisted and sadistic criminals. Sadly, several local judges were implicated as having circumvented the legal system and fed boys from the juvenile justice system into this gang’s clutches. Everyone involved in the town was being detained and the mothers who also sent their sons into the process from other states were being extradited. The press went crazy.

Later, the Attorney, the Detective and the Agent, now looking like a normal plainclothes cop were driving back to the state capitol.

“Are you going to the group outing next weekend up at Silver Lake?” the Attorney asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it. I have a new little black dress that’s I been dying to show off.” The Detective answered.

“Wait till you see my new outfits. I have some new breast forms you just have to see! And I’m going to be a redhead! How about you, Angel?” the Attorney said, loosening his tie as he drove down the two lane county road.

The Agent seemed lost in thought. “I’ll be there, but after the last four weeks, I may not be very femme. That bitch may have turned me off dressing for a while. How in God’s name can you think forcing a boy at that age to crossdress will help him in any way? And then screw with his self image, while planting “friends” as informers. Making him think masculine traits are evil? Mess up a fundamental identity trait? It was all about her and her idiotic fear of men.”

He paused, looked out the window for a while, and then continued. “ Dressing should be voluntary. My God there is enough crap you have to deal with when you want to do it, but to make a child do it? I should have made it a gut shot instead of two in the head.”

The rest of the car was quiet for a while.

“What happens to the boys we just retrieved from hell?” Angel asked.

“I am thinking I know someone who is specially equipped to help.” The Attorney said.

Chapter 3: A Cry In The Wilderness

A week later, Bob Angelo of the State Attorney General’s Office was at Frank’s door. He was expected and Frank had decided that this discussion required utmost seriousness, which meant his clean jeans and a white dress shirt. He decided against padding his rear and opted for thigh highs with his sneakers. He checked his face and decided it was free of obvious makeup, straightened his hair and answered the door.

“Bob. Come on in. it’s been a long time.” Frank took Bob’s coat and ushered him into the kitchen where he had coffee already poured.

“How are you Frank? How are you feeling? Any better than the last time?” Bob said, smelling the aroma of the Kona coffee. Frank had been stricken by several rare body chemistry malfunctions over the last three years, which required him to utilize a complex form of hormone therapy. He had retired from his consulting practice and lived conveniently near his doctors and clinics. His wife had been killed in a shooting crime three years before that and Frank believed his disease was related to her loss, if only because he had wanted to die himself. So for Frank to answer Bob’s simple question was complicated.

“Moody as all hell and wondering if I’m getting breasts. I swear Dr. Peters would do that just as a gag. I’ll bet she added some extra progesterone or something to my mix.” Frank said, smiling.

“Does she know you dress, Frank?.” Bob asked. He had met Frank at as part of a circle of CDs which was comprised of men who were older, settled and comfortable with who they were.

“You mean the hair didn’t give me away? Well, she does make house calls and I don’t put on an act for her. I make her dinner once a week while she’s here to draw my blood. I usually wear some of my nicer outfits for that. Plus she was Samantha’s best friend.” Frank said.

“It sounds like she has something for you, Frank. I’ll bet it is the hair. Some women go crazy over that. Well, I wish you luck, our Frank hooking a Doctor no less.” Bob did his best version of a yenta, not hitting the mark at all.

“It sounds better than a lawyer Bob. So, why the mysterious visit? Your little group needs my help?”

“Ok, Frank. I know you’ve heard about that teenage boy child molestation stuff from last week.” Bob went, looking for recognition from Frank. You could never assume what Frank knew and did not know. He absorbed everything but when he got focused on work, he ignored the world for a while.

“You mean the one you are using to get your boss’s job? Yes, I saw you on TV. Get a better makeup person or do it yourself.” Frank replied.

Bob continued. “If I did my own makeup I’d lose the union vote, Frank. Ok, you know the story. So now I have two boys who have been damaged pretty well by that sadistic bitch and they need a place to decompress. What they have been through is pretty unique and both of their mothers are in jail right now. Neither has had any decent male influence and been subjected to the worst kind of female influence. I also need them psychologically prepared when they have to testify. Right now if I put them on the stand they will get ripped to shreds by the media and the defense lawyers. I need someone who can devote some time to healing them, someone who understands what they are facing. And someone I can trust to get them ready to live real lives and not be a freak show. “

Frank knew when his buttons were being pushed. His mother had been instrumental in torturing him about his “little problem” until he left home at sixteen. His Dad had died when he was twelve. Frank worshiped his Dad. Life was perfect up until then. He later realized how much Dad had shielded him from his mother’s psychosis. He had come to these realizations after many years of painful self discovery, in which his wife had been the catalyst.

Frank knew he was going to accept. He had known since he has seen the video. Angel had emailed him with his concerns for the boys. All he had to do now was extract some concessions.

“Bob, before I would do anything like this I need to know what steps you are prepared to take to shield me both legally and from the media. Second, I need the ability to call on the group for help, no excuses, no questions asked. Third, how are you going to fund it, and last, who do I get to turn them over to when they can fly on their own. And I will need Angel to play a role, a lot. They already know him.” Frank intoned, his voice measured masking the anxiety he was beginning to feel.

Bob outlined a plan. “Frank, I can guarantee you anonymity since we are treating this as witness protection. With that, I get a lot of latitude, especially since that crazy woman is still out there. “ Frank smiled, knowing she was probably part of a highway overpass by now. “With the media I can do my best, but we have no guarantees other than your isolation here. I know your sheriff and she likes you for some weird reason. She’ll help keep it under wraps. Plus, you have a nice physically defensible position here, as I recall from my AIT course. Even if they hound you, we can keep them out until we helo in and extract them. Second- the group will be there for you, they always have. You can have Angel, he needs a break anyway. Funding I got, I can cover reasonable food, clothes and medical and even some extravagant things if they can be listed as witness protection equipment. The last , I’m working on. I was hoping you could give me some ideas. So , can you do it?” Bob asked, looking Frank directly in his eyes.

Frank nodded and then asked “Where have they been? Are they still dressed or what? Have the idiot shrinks gotten to them?”

“Slow down, Frank. Yes, the shrinks have been involved but only one I trust and he’s one of our group. His evaluation is why I’m here. They are in a safe house we keep and after their medical checkups we’ve been flushing out the little chemical cocktail they were fed to make them docile and frightened. One boy seems ok but he is protective of the other one, who seems immersed in the forced dressing. The protective one dresses in support of the weaker one. They are like puppies who have been hit too many times and they trust no one, especially people who seem sympathetic. That false friend thing she pulled was awfully effective. My Dad was a POW in Vietnam and he described the same techniques, the same destruction of personality, only she was better at it.” Bob explained.

Chapter 4: Meet The New Boss, Not Like The Old Boss

Frank looked at his two new boarders, Billy and Jamie. They were sitting in their frilly dresses, but without their wigs and makeup and wearing sneakers they looked distinctly out of kilter. Billy was defiant and Jamie was sobbing gently, holding Billy’s hand.

Frank had decided to spend the first few days making as few demands on them as possible and he appeared before them in his jeans and workshirt, sneakers and no makeup at all. His hair still flowed down since he hated tying it back unless he was doing physical labor.

“Okay, some introductions are in order, now that the police are gone. I’m Frank and I have been asked to look after you for a while. This is my house and you are my guests. Now I understand your names are William and James, is that correct?” Frank opened, his voice shifting back to his consulting sales mode.

“I’m Billy and this is Jamie. Just tell us the rules and we won’t cause you any trouble. “ Billy said, trying to hold himself together.

“Billy, my information says that both of you are fifteen. Have you ever been called Bill? Or you Jim?” Frank asked.

“No, it’s always been Billy and he’s always been Jamie.” Billy said, warily. They had been subject to many mind games which started out with a simple discussion like this.

“Well, unless you really object, I’ll call you Bill and Jim. It just us men here and fifteen is old enough to start being called a man’s name. Now, you wanted the rules, so here they are.
One: This is my place and my stuff, I ask you to respect that.
Two: If you want to leave, just ask and we will have you back to where you were or with the best foster home we can find, and within twenty four hours.
Three: This is a kind of school and there will be things I ask you to do. It is up to you to decide if you want to do it. No one will make you do anything, or fool you into doing things. I don’t make cute little offers and I don’t beg.
Four: Wear what you want. I only ask you dress warm enough for the weather. All of the things you wore where we picked you up are mostly in your rooms, along with other clothes.
Five: If I let you use my things, like my computers or my tools, you will follow my rules.
Six: You eat what I eat. We all will take turns cooking and cleaning after you get settled.
Seven: I can make up new rules as needed but I will inform you when I do.
Are there any problems with these?” Frank looked at both of them. Jamie avoided eye contact as if it were a snakebite.

“Sounds fair, but there’s always something that gets us in trouble.” Bill was sounding resigned.

“Jim, what about you. I’d like to hear you say if you can deal with these rules or not.” Frank asked, softening his voice.

Jim looked at Frank for the first time. “Yes, Ma’m I mean Sir. They sound fair to me. I can wear whatever I want?” Frank nodded in assent.

Chapter 5: Schools Come In Many Shapes

The boys had settled in over the first three days. Frank had to remind them to pick up after themselves and was fairly surprised when they usually did it without complaint. Of course he was careful to not demand total cleanliness. They were fifteen, after all.

He gave them cooking lessons after they had mastered the art of pot cleaning and kitchen clean up. Both boys enjoyed the process, it seemed to them like it was productive, useful. They worked as a group to make food they would enjoy.

During the day, they watched Frank’s movie collection or the television until Frank asked them if they had ever read many books. Frank sprung his first school lesson. He asked Jim to read the first chapter of a book aloud and all Bill had to do was ask the best single question he could think of about the characters. Frank had handed them “Citizen of the Galaxy”, a Heinlien juvenile.

Bill had decided to wear jeans and sweatshirts while Jim gave up his idiotic little girl dresses for some casual jean skirts. Frank could still hear his nightmares and knew he was afraid that woman would come back.

Angel came over and moved in. He still looked about sixteen and he was only an inch taller than Bill. The boys remembered him and practically idolized him. He had taken everything they had endured and then challenged the wicked witch and her cops. They had seen him take on two grown men with guns and come out ahead while wearing a pinafore and wig.

As Angel settled in, Frank moved school outside. They were going to design and build a deck on the lower slope with a staircase up to the house. Frank ran a set of challenges for Jim and Bill to sketch the deck, measure the area, look up how to build it on the internet and determine the material they needed. Angel drove them to the lumberyard, Bill in his sweatshirt and jeans and Jim wearing his skirt. His hair was long enough and he made a convincing girl drawing some appreciative stares from the boys in town.

Frank’s health only allowed him to participate in the construction project on a limited basis. Angel explained to the boys that Frank was very ill and tired easily and if they saw him collapse they were to call him immediately. They were also to not let him carry anything too heavy.

There is something about giving a teenager a power tool after its proper use has been explained. Even the hardest cases feel empowered and suddenly entrusted with awesome responsibility. There is something about building something you envisioned on paper. There is something about working as a team with patient coaches who let you do the work and only stop you to avoid injury or a major setback. And there is something to sweating together in the wind and rain and sun. And there is something to feeling responsible for the health and welfare of someone older than you are. All these somethings made Bill and Jim prosper in spirit. The deck and staircase was done in three weeks.

Jim had decided to emulate Angel and Bill when he was outside. He wore his sweatshirt and jeans without fear. Inside, he switched back to a skirt after cleaning up. His hair was almost to his shoulders. Angel had taken Bill for a haircut in the town barbershop and he was sporting a short buzz. Bill had mentally turned Jim’s protection over the Frank and Angel as he slowly built trust in the two men.

The reading program moved to the evenings, with Bill and Jim voraciously consuming and discussing more Heinlien, Clarke short stories, Asimov’s Foundation series,. A Tale of Two Cities, The Stars My Destination and The Count of Monte Cristo together, all stories with ideas and challenges for a two young men. What is Honor? Character? Obligation? Friendship?

Angel intrigued the boys through math and science, Frank became the candle to guide them through English spelling, grammar and composition, which is always made substantially easier if the students regularly read anything written coherently. Frank had a fundamental belief that mastery of the language, and the knowledge of math were the cornerstones to teaching yourself anything. Unfortunately most schools systems reserved those skills to those who brought them with them, since they had forgotten how to teach fundamentals at all. Frank’s bitter experience with teachers who were illiterate in math, science and grammar convinced him that schools were mostly child warehouses.

The boys took over some basic cleaning chores as Frank showed increasing fatigue. Fortunately, his latest novel was at the publishers and his consulting work was at a planned lull.

Chapter 6: First Test

After about three weeks, Frank reverted to wearing his normal fashions inside the house. He began adding his breast prostheses to his daily routine. He started sorting out Bill and Jim’s issues with their reaction to women.

Bill and Jim initially showed no reaction to Frank’s attire. He was the first adult responsible for their welfare who had not deserted, hurt or assaulted them. If Frank wore a dress, then that was fine with them. Angel stayed as the male figure.

After a few days, while Jim was making dinner under Frank’s watchful eye, he asked Frank about why he dressed like a woman sometimes. Frank told him it was because he chose to and it felt good. No one had made him do it and he fully accepted it as part of his character. He also explained that it was not a popular pastime except among a few men and it created many problems. He explained that women in general may tolerate it but really appreciated a man who looked like their fantasy, not the man’s fantasy. Crossdressing was something you did for yourself. Frank asked Jim why he still dressed in skirts when he was inside.

Jim thought for a while, stirring the pot roast. “I guess I still wake up scared of her. And my mom used to punish me a lot, making me wear dresses if I did anything she did not like. I just grew up believing that if I wore girl’s clothes, I could not get in trouble. I know it’s crazy, but I just feel safe like this. Do you want me to stop, Frank?”

“Not now, but I think you should consider trying to appear like a guy for a while. Get a girl, date, look like a girl wants you to look. It would be a shame to miss that. I didn’t, Angel didn’t. We both dress when we want to, but enjoy being guys, too. But if you don’t feel right, then it would be wrong to force yourself to do it. You are old enough to make your own call, Jim. No mom or crazy woman can make you do anything like that. Part of growing up is dealing with not feeling safe, Jim. That’s true for men and women, but we deal with it differently. Now watch that roast, it smells great and I’m hungry.” Frank said, smoothing his skirt as he sat down.

Dr. Peters came over, having been thoroughly briefed by Frank. She knew she was there as a test. Frank met her at the door, wearing a floor length dress, his hair shining, his cleavage showing. She was impeccably tailored in her skirted suit. Angel was in a dinner jacket and Jim and Bill were in white shirts and ties. Frank made the introductions, watching Bill and Jim’s reaction carefully. They were very wary, since Janice Peters was a strong presence, poised and confident, similar to their tormentor. They had not dealt with an adult woman since the rescue.

Dinner was good, and Dr. Peters complimented Jim on the meal. Jim beamed at her and caught himself about to curtsey, a difficult maneuver in pants. Janice Peters did her best to maintain a poker face and kept the smirk down.

“Jim, can you show me how to cook this? I want to make it for my father, he would just love it. And please call me Janice.” She said.

“Bill, would you take Janice out to see your work on the deck? I’ve told her about the job you guys did. Angel, Jim and I will clean up here.” Frank asked, watching for Bill’s reaction.

Bill visibly shook but stood up and got Janice’s coat for her. Her turned on the outdoor lights and escorted her outside.

On the way down the stairs, Bill carefully explained every step in the construction process, the setting the pillars, the concrete mixing, the frame and the flooring. Janice listened with rapt attention. Down the stairway, they looked over the river at a barge moving freight. The night was clear and Bill had turned on the gas torches, which provided a soft flickering light.

Janice noted Bill was standing, almost at attention, as if waiting for her to give her review. Just like her Guard unit.

“Bill, are you proud of this work?” Janice asked.

“I would hope it pleases Madam! We did try our best!” Bill was trembling.

“Bill, it is wonderful, a great piece of work, especially for two men so young! It’s better than I could ever do. But I asked you if you were proud of it.”

Bill looked confused, and then courage emerged. “I am proud of it Ma’m. I never did anything like this before and Frank and Angel, they trusted us! They helped us but not a lot! I think it looks good, Janice.” Bill said. Janice noticed he somewhat braced himself for a slap to the face.

“Bill, I want you to know something I really believe in. The most important person who decides if what you do is good is you. Never let anybody else be that. Listen to other people, but you have the final say.
I know an evil woman hurt you, and your mother did too, but there are some good women out there. I wish you could have met Frank’s wife, she was my best friend. Just meeting her once would make my point. I think you are mature enough to understand that evil comes in both male and female guises. So does good. Now Frank is my friend and I have known Angel since before he was your age. I know they have been good for you. If you want to, you can talk to me too. Think about it and call me or pull me aside when I come over.” Janice said, not reaching out, letting Bill decide what he wanted to do.

Bill hugged her. Janice heard him sobbing. It reminded her of some of the refugee children she had treated in Iraq the last time she had been activated. She gently held him, just responding to his pressure, not exceeding it. She let him control the process. Bill cried himself out and then she kissed his forehead, wiped his cheeks and led him back to the house.

Chapter 7: Review and Analysis

George the psychiatrist from the Group was sitting in Frank’s kitchen. Angel has taken the Boys out for a driving lesson, since they both had just received learner’s permits.

“Dammit, Frank, I can’t believe how much you’ve done with those two. They appear bright and well integrated, they look fine on the surface” George went on, slurping the coffee appreciatively.

“George, you know I believe you guys and the regular docs have it easy, since a large percentage of the time your patients heal themselves. But that aside, both of these boys are above average intelligence and have some real survival skills. They just needed a little example and to be shown that not all adults are rotten evil bastards and bitches, just most of them. You know, kids have an incredible need and drive to grow up to some definition of normal. My theory is to use that, not fight it. All I did was treat them like they meant something. They were willing. Plus remember, Angel was with them at the end. I know he helped them psychologically, giving them someone they could trust. I am still worried about Bill, though. He needs to get exposed to women of character, like Janice. “ Frank said. He adjusted his bra strap. The hormone therapy had given him something approaching an A cup and Janice had suggested he wear either a brassiere or a top with built in support. He had retired his prosthetics when he had begun ‘growing his own’ as he called it. He got up to move his hair, which he had been sitting on whenever he leaned into the chair back.

“Is Jim still dressing? He seems to be making a steady transition. “ George asked.

“Less and less. I think he may retire it for a while, since he really is noticing girls in town. We had a talk about it and while I think he will always have it as part of his life, I think he will be sexually consumed with pleasing teenage girls for a while. Plus, he’s becoming a real babe magnet since Angel has them running and doing weights. My guess is that he may return to it after his first or second sexual experience, but I doubt it will control him.

I think Bill will never make it part of his life, but I could be wrong. Angel tells me he was defiant the whole time, plus he didn’t have his mother screwing with his head, just ignoring him while he was little. I would more worry that we need to keep him from starring in his own remake of “Psycho”. “

“Frank, I assume you are playing the mother role now? How are the boys dealing with you?” George asked.

“I don’t have much choice. I’ve been pretty weak and frail lately with constant hot flashes, and I’m putting on weight, all in my thighs, butt and boobs. I can’t remember the last time I needed to really shave. The damn disease is really persistent but Janice thinks were tracking it down and killing it. She tells me I am about at the peak of the side effects and she will start shifting the mix back in the next month. Right now, I couldn’t fit into my jeans if I wanted to. So here I am, living the crossdresser’s dream, wishing I didn’t have to.

I’m letting Angel play the big brother. They worship him like most kids do their big brothers.

I think they respect me as both dad and mom surrogate. Right now, they feel sorry for me, and wait on me hand and foot. They even volunteer to take turns washing my hair. So George, when do they go? I think they are wondering about that.” Frank said, his face darkening.

“Frank, Social Services is reeling from this scandal. Bob has launched an investigation and we have found this thing to be widespread. The thing is, if it had been fifteen year old girls made to wear corsets and pinafores, the whole establishment would be threatening public executions of those involved. There is less clamor and outrage when boys get abused. That’s why we decided to intervene. Someone had to speak for the boys, and sometimes someone has to act. So Bob has some solid blackmail on senior civil servants and he intends to use it to keep them in line and prevent this from a happening again.

The judges he is showing no mercy, they have way too much power and if they think this is acceptable treatment then they are as bad as the old racist assholes who thought there was a law based on color.

So right now, the boys are safe here under witness protection of the State Attorneys office. Bob does not trust the Social Service system, there are probably a lot of sympathizers who would take revenge on these two after they testify.

We are still looking for a long term home solution for them. Given they are underage, we are going to videotape their testimony and put it under seal. The defense attorneys will get to see it , but they can’t copy it or distribute it. And that’s where we are.” George finished his statement and looked out at the river.

“I suspected that. George, can I ask you a question?.” Frank said, staring at the reflection of his eyes in the glass of the mural window.

“Sure Frank, whatever I can answer.”

“Who are we to do this little crusade? Is Bob right or righteous? Is Angel? Are you? Me? I keep losing sleep wondering why we think we can do this.” Frank asked, drilling the words slowly and precisely into the idea space he shared with George right then.

George looked troubled and did not answer. He stood up and removed his shirt, showing a series of scars across his pectoral muscles which then converged towards his groin.

“This is why , Frank. It’s why slaves revolt, it’s why Israel was formed. It’s
why nobody prosecutes a rape victim for blowing away her rapist. Almost all of us in the group found the roots of our dressing could be linked to somebody screwing us over when we were vulnerable, either physically or psychologically. Somebody who was supposed to be an adult we could trust. We speak for the boys who should be allowed a childhood and a chance to build a rational identity, not have some original sin of masculinity condemn them. Like the last one , sweet “Jane Doe”, who took pleasure in matching her wits against scared children. For all her bullshit about handling the tough cases, she and her judge pals selected the most vulnerable kids they could. Christ, not even a fair match. On the streets I grew up, any average fifteen year old boy would have pushed the bitch down the staircase, accidentally of course. She would have lasted about ten minutes with you at that age. Frank, the system does not care about young boys, they are not worthy of media attention or are politically correct. So our twisted little band of crossdressers will do it. Because there is no one else who seems to care.”

Frank nodded. There was no other response he could think could add to George’s passion.

Chapter 8: Later

Frank was putting on the new dress he had bought for the event. Janice was helping him. He had finally decided to trim his hair to keep it at waist length since he had found sitting on it to be more trouble than he wanted. Janice had helped him style it using the huge four inch rollers she had found. Frank’s body had settled in at a vaguely feminine shape and he had lost a lot of muscle mass over the last two years. His breasts were still about an A cup, but today he had used a little help with the size. His rear end was nicely rounded, thanks to the bodyshaper he was using. He seldom went out in public dressed, but the people of the small town knew him, and like most places, were generally tolerant of people they knew well.

Angel was waiting when the two went out to Janice’s car. He still looked much younger than he was, and his five foot seven inch trim frame was unchanged. There were a few lines in his face and his gaze was a bit steelier. He wore a pinstripe suit and looked elegant holding the car door. Janice and Angel helped Frank into the back seat.

“I understand Bob and some of the Group are attending. It will be good to see them. “ Frank said.

“It’s not everyday a high school graduation gets the Attorney General of the state to be the guest speaker. I turned his security over to Ramirez. He’s a good man.” Angel said.

Frank reflected on the past few years as the car drove along the tree lined roads. Bob had asked him to take in the boys because Frank had done it before. He knew there would be no foster home. Frank felt that once you took in someone, you stuck with them until they went off on their own. Whether it was a puppy or a child. Bob knew it too.

He had made a deal with the high school to let the boys attend part time, with him doing home schooling in critical subjects. Bill got to run track and Jim was a swimmer. They both played baseball. They both had their share of girlfriends, especially since word got around that they treated girls with more respect than the normal teenage boy.

Their testimony was over, and the media had forgotten the case. Bob had nailed five judges, six doctors and over twenty mothers. Social Services had a new found respect for children’s dignity, regardless of gender. A number of social workers had slowly been eased out of any active case work.

Frank remembered the last graduation he had attended. The battered twelve year old boy he had taken in, the one who had been subjected to a cattle prod on his genitals whenever he tried to wear pants. The one who was being trained as a personal playtoy. He and Samantha had picked him up from Bob’s police car and taken him away. They had raised him and watched him graduate high school. Samantha was gone before he graduated college.

“Dad, we’re almost there.” Angel said from the driver’s seat.

END

Teenage identical twins Allie and Cissy started swapping places just for the fun of it when they were small. It worked better than you might think, considering that Allie is a boy named Alan. Cissy loves sports and Alan loves fashion and the still enjoy playing games and fooling the grown-ups.

But things have turned serious and it looks like someone is setting up a trap....

The Princess Trap

by Tyrone Slothrop and Wanda Cunningham

Now on Kindle!

Ty and Wanda's classic story of hijinks and suspense is now available in a Kindle edition. All proceeds will be donated to BigCloset.

Please, if you buy, read and enjoy any DopplerPress book on Kindle, leave a review. Thanks.

Originally posted to Classic BC on February 24, 2004
 

Chapter 1: Reporter

"Why there's Bobbi Jo now! That's the new minivan. Now, mind you, Bobbi Jo's a bit sensitive about the weight gain. And those boobs and butt are pretty big. Well, big's being generous, monumental would be better. We had to get all new chairs to handle that rear end.

"Now, mind you, I kid Bobbi a bit myself but we're like family and that's my right. You, being from LA and all, please don't say the word fat. Bobbi becomes right upset and gets all emotional. At least the drinking has stopped

"Now where was I? So here we are, two years after it all started."

I sat there with my recorder running. My interviewee tended to ramble and I prayed I had enough memory to get it all. I sipped my beer and wiped the beads of sweat from my cheek.

This story had consumed at least a week. Just getting to this part of the Ozarks from LA takes a while as my destination airport was not exactly a highly traveled location. I hear they will be putting in runway lights next year. With luck, a new windsock.

Now don't get me wrong, I like these parts of the country. I came from a small town and there is just something to them. The people are refreshing and usually honest. And just as worldly as most of the coastal types who look down on them. But they do have their peculiarities.

I sat there, in the dim interior light of the bar, feeling every bit of the surrounding moisture soaked air, debating whether to file what I had or trash the effort. My editor would love it but screw him. It bothered me. The weird stories and rumors which brought me here were true.

There was more. My best lead turned out to be the most outrageous crossdresser and bar owner I had ever met. JayJay Cummngs ran this little bar, "Good Night Johns", the only one in the town of Parkville. I had no idea how he made a living with it but that's another mystery.

He appeared as a famous country singer every time I saw him when he was tending bar, and he was very convincing. Off duty he was normal enough, dressing well and not too flashy, and his mannerisms had to be an act for my benefit. Nobody's that effeminate.

He had inherited the place from his parents when they both died a year ago and returned from LA. In that peculiar way of small town folk, JayJay was just JayJay, a member of the community and fully entitled to his preferences.

Plus, he was a hell of an act. La Cage Au Folles meets Nashville. He was definitely better than satellite TV. So JayJay, tonight dressed as Trisha Yearwood proceeded to recount the strange events hereabouts. He continued after trading insults with his two waitresses who tonight were passing as Crystal Gayle and Dolly Parton .
 
 
Chapter 2: JayJay's Tale
 
"Well darlin' about three years ago the tire factory went bust. The region's economy was already pretty shaky and this wiped out the best payin' semi-skilled jobs for a bunch of little towns around the plant.. It seemed that every man between twenty five and thirty in this town had been thrown out of work, all of them married. "

"You know, small town folks are smart and hard workin' and quite frequently earn less only because their opportunities near home are limited. They cope with this by buildin' their lives around family and friends. Clothes, boat trailers, power tools, babysittin' and other things can be shared to stretch the money as far as it can go if necessary.

"The problem is, when jobs dry up, they are more reluctant to move than those of you slick coastal folks who have thin to non-existent family ties, no neighbors you can count on and fewer you trust. "

JayJay waited for me to light his cigarette. "Now, unemployment is no stranger to these parts, especially since most people had stopped dirt farming a long time ago. So the boys, all graduates of the high school and generations deep in Parkville, did what they always did. They went huntin' and fishin' and when the weather was bad, they sat in here and told stories about huntin' and fishin'.

"The impending plant closin' had postponed a lot of planned baby makin' and none of them were fathers yet. The local girls around here are careful about that, they want a steady income before they get in a family way.

"Those wives were all graduated from the Milady Business Academy, the next town over, which as everybody knows, produces the best office help in this part of the state..

"About year after the plant shut down some biotech hotshot growth company called Viometric opens up in the offices of that same old tire plant. Why did they select the Ozarks? A regulated company has many politicians to please and it really did not matter when they put this particular operation, or if it did, it mattered less than pleasin' an Oversight Committee member.

"They needed local office staff and the county commissioner recommended Milady as the place to go for findin' good people. The headmistress, being as her mother lived right here in Parkville, was sympathetic to the plight of the town. She gave Viometric their names, with special mention of Bobbi Sue Williams as the best and first they should talk to. Bobbi Sue's the one over there in that fancy business suit with that too short skirt for her thighs. HI BOBBI SUE! " JayJay waved.

"So Bobbi Sue pleased them and then she brought in Wanda June and Peggy and so on until a every wife in town was now gainfully employed. They carpooled the twenty miles and left the boys to their huntin' , fishin' and drinkin' beer. No one was worried and the wives new money kept the trucks and boats from going back to the bank, at least for the next season. "

JayJay left to talk to some customers and I watched his shapely hips sway on the five inch heels. He returned, his blouse fringe dangling below his ample bosom in time to the clicking of the stilettos on his boots. He arranged his blonde hair and began again.
 
 
Chapter 3: The Setup
 
"The boys, and we don't say good ole boys here so I better not see that when you write this up, sweetie , were pretty damn average. Not a giant or a dwarf in the lot. Average build, height. Now also average weight, but you must understand, given their current circumstances.

"When I played sports with them , now don't give me that look, darlin', I was a good wide receiver, they were like Greek gods--slim and my God, well-built. Since then, after six to seven years of beer , home cooking and jobs with a lot of standin' around they put on a few pounds. And now with the layoff they're all working on some impressive beer bellies. I mean nine months pregnant lookin' beer guts.

"Now these boys drank some but they had it under control, more prone to saying stupid things than acting mean. They never raised a hand to their wives. This town doesn't tolerate that with all the brothers, fathers and uncles with 30-06s in their pickups."

JayJay leaned over to me, showing a lot of cleavage. It looked awfully real. "You know, I could make you look just like Terry Clark, with the big hat and all. "

I smiled and said that not many people had ever told me that.

"I'll bet not darlin'." JayJay laughed. He poured two Jack Daniels for us and continued.

"So their wives were all a bit jealous, them going to work and the boys sitting at home with big swollen bellies. Thelma even told Delbert she'd make him wear her sister's old maternity pants before she bought him new size up overalls.

"Now, you may know that beer bellies are a time honored tradition here and I swear some of those boys seemed to be trying for the town title. And they were doing less actual huntin' and fishin' and more talkin' about them as it was getting harder to not tip the boats and crawl into the duck blinds.

"Now, a bit later on comes into the picture Mr. Van Sussman himself, the Diet King. You know, the one that was all over the TV, especially late at night? Yes the one with that hair. Distinctive, huh? What ever happened to him?

"So Sussman International Body Image contracts with Viometric to run the measurements and monitoring on some group testing which needs volunteers. Van Sussman's got this killer product for men and he sees he can double his business, being that only silly fat girls fell for his crap up to then.

"Then the Viometric Manager for this contract brings in Bobbi Sue, who's now the office manager. 'Bobbi Sue,' he says, 'I need to find some local men, in their mid-twenties, preferably unemployed who could stand to lose some of weight, particularly in the gut.' Who says the universe is random?

"You know that Bobbi Sue, she's real sharp. She says she might know of a group, and they all lived pretty close. Now, Bobbi Sue sure did not want her husband sitting on his butt and getting paid for it unless she had to. The Viometric fella wanted to keep a lot of legal distance between the volunteers and Viometric, just as a matter of course.

"So now they started to horse trade. And here's what you need to know. A separate company would be set up and Bobbi Sue and her nineteen girlfriends would be the staff, with Bobbi Sue as the President. They would get to keep their old jobs and their other jobs at the new firm, Sussman Testing paid an amount equal to their pay at Viomertic so the women would get double pay.

"Now here it gets clever. Sussman Testing had medical benefits which covered their spouses, including participation in an experimental weight control program. Since the program was the whole reason for Sussman Testing's existence, non-participation by the husbands would eliminate the need for the wife's position in the new company.

"Real cute, so the women have a real incentive for their hubbys to do it. Double your money, the wives keep control of the new income so it doesn't become more beer money and the husbands have something to do. Also the husbands still get unemployment. How could they not take that?"

JayJay paused, looked down the bar and sent two men home before he got a call from their wives. He told them he only lied to wives on Fridays. He came back and batted his eyelashes at me.

"No attraction, hon? You haven't called me beautiful yet."

I guessed JayJay was just playing around. I wasn't gay despite what you hear about LA guys, but he was awfully good looking, enough to keep any guys interest just on instinct. You know, those animals that mimic other animals you see on the nature shows? Well JayJay could have had a two hour special on that topic. So I called him more beautiful than Trisha herself.

"You've met Trisha? I am impressed now, darlin'. Well, I'll let you get away with that compliment. Where was I? Oh yes."

"So the test was set to run for eighteen months. Bobbi Sue knew what testing normally was budgeted for and squeezed out a bonus of $50000 if the husband and wife team made it all the way.

"The Viometric fella was happy, the test subjects were nowhere near Viometric's payroll. Not perfect, but enough to slow down most lawyers. Bobbi Sue would be officially connected to any transactions with Van Sussman, Viometrc was only selling services to the new company.

"Parkville was buzzin' about all this. Pastor Farnwell even made it the topic of that week's church sermon.

"They had a big meeting at the old plant, twenty boys and their wives, now their bosses. It looked real good. They were all worried about making their payments, maybe having to move elsewhere for work and this came along and seemed like the best deal they had. The money was better than they had ever seen at the tire plant and the bonus was enough to build a decent cushion for the future. And maybe an outboard for the bass boat.

"A representative for Van Sussman alongside the fella from Viometric sat back while Bobbi Sue went over the requirements. The Ten Requirements as they were known thereafter. I can't ever remember them all, let me bring over Big D."

JayJay drags over the Crystal Gayle impersonator who now that I see up close is six two in heels and I guessed a man. The long black hair is dramatic, though. I assume the name Big D refers to his boobs. Jay Jay introduces me to Big D.

"We used to play baseball at the high school here and isn't his hair great? It's all his own you know. "

I am getting that weird sense you get when stuff doesn't add up. How many world class crossdressers can a town this size support? Plus, if you don't remember Crystal Gayle at the height of her career, that was a lifetime growth of hair. I doubted Big D played catcher at Parkville High with that style nine years ago.

So Big D recites the Ten Requirements.

"1. We had to come to the plant everyday for nine months except on Sundays and certain holidays, and never more than forty eight hours between visits. No exceptions. You get sick, we can deal with it at the plant. Really sick? Sorry, your study is over.

"2. The next nine months we could stay home or anywhere their monitors would allow.

"3. We had to stay on a strictly measured food plan for the first nine months. The next nine anything we wanted. That food plan was pretty generous, about 2500-3000 calories per day they said.

"4. For the first nine months we had to have company beer in the morning and the afternoon and in the evening, amounting to about four cans per day. We thought that was pretty funny.

"5. We had to wear issued sweatsuits and sleepgear which contained body monitors. The suits would work in the plant and our homes, which they had set up those wireless receivers. When we traveled to and from the plant, it had to be on a bus supplied by the company which was also equipped to monitor the sweatsuits. If we went anywhere else, we had to carry a portable unit and could be out for no more than two hours. If we went out in the hills, we had to stay in contact or quit the study. Same for fishing. So we had a two hour maximum to be out of the house. Anyone else's house in the study was fine assuming their wireless was working.

"6. We would be expected to engage in light exercise at the plant and then a required cool down period and do all medical checkups as requested.

"7. We had to lose all body hair except eyelashes. They said that hair rate of growth was a study factor. Once off, no haircuts or face shaving for the duration.

"8. Any felony or misdemeanor charge, including DWI meant dismissal. Not following any reasonable request of the company management (which meant our wives but we hadn't figured that out yet) meant dismissal. Translation: Asshole behavior was to result in dismissal.

"9. We would be filmed during the process and may be used in commercials for the products. Sweatsuits and our persons must be clean and neat at all times. Any hair must be neat and presentable but not be tied back as they wanted length to be visible for the cameras.

"10. Out of monitoring suit time must not exceed one hour total per twenty four hour period. So one hour to shower or whatever. Bobbie Sue blushed at this one when Bubba asked if that included sex. Wanda June hit him so hard he fell over.

"Do all this and double your money, win $50 grand and free beer. We all bought in and signed on the dotted line" Big D smiled and went back to bring some longnecks over to a table.

JayJay grinned and said "That's right, Big D was in the group.

"So buttercup, everyone was wonderin' what the heck was the product? Van Sussman had never gotten into the men's market for his programs and kept salivating at the potential money he could get if he had something to appeal to guys. No one knows in what country or even planet he had the research done, but he had a flash of marketing genius.

"He had a diet which would reduce beer bellies, which as you know is a pretty major issue in men's flab , while you drank beer and his beer only, kept to a reasonable and not hard to follow diet, mostly a balance of protein, carbs and fats, coupled with light but regular exercise. A diet for men which required drinking beer. Did I say he was brilliant?

"He had greedy investors worldwide. So he had nine months to test it and nine months to see what happened when people went off it. Got to get ready for the repeat business. He was a marketing genius, or so we thought."

JayJay tapped a new keg without breaking a nail. He had my interest now. Greed , money and new miracle diets really sell out at the grocery checkouts, particularly when it was as told by a spectacular crossdresser. The tabloids would bid millions for this.
 
 
Chapter 4: We Are All But Players
 
JayJay had me light another cigarette and after doing his best Gloria Swanson Sunset Boulevard bit, continued the story.

"So it began, the great beer diet test. The boys all had a physical at the plant and they were so pumped up about easy money they did not object to being shaved. All over. Bobbi Sue handed out a depilatory cream to the wives and told them to finish the job, right then.

"Now we had twenty boys in twenty little changing room/bathrooms, standing in shower stalls while their wives lathered them down with the cream. They came out of the showers smooth and bald as babies, all over. The lack of eyebrows was the most upsetting to me.

"They were given regulation underwear, a sleeveless undershirt, a cross between a thong and a brief and a pair of over the calf thin socks, all in a shiny smooth black material.

"Wanda June thought it looked like satin, but the technicians told her it wasn't, it was designed to assure good skin contact for the equipment in the fabric. I thought it looked like satin too and asked if I could have some. Bobbie Sue told me she'd try, but it would be hard.

"They were issued their sweat suits which looked pretty ordinary except for that shiny look to the white fabric. The pants all had an elastic expansion panel in the front. Thelma was giggling at the time and said it was just like her sister's maternity wear. Bobbi Sue explained that she was right, the pants had to stay up and the guy's bellies were bigger than most women get in their last trimester.

"There were also some suspender straps on the pants to assure a secure fit. No bare belly peeks. The sweatshirts were cut fairly loose and were extra long Again, to get over the front overhangs. A pair of white sneakers finished the outfit.

"The wives stood back as a photographer took a lot of pictures. They had video crews and still guys and lights and all get out.. It reminded me of my fashion days.

"Betty Lou commented to me later that she said at the time, well out of earshot of the men and said it quietly. 'I wish they had picked some other color than white. It's going to be awful keeping them clean.' The others agreed."

"Bobbi Sue just grinned and she said 'That's going to be their problem. We have a full laundry here and since they have nothing much else to do, I don't see why keeping their sweatsuits clean can't be their job. In fact, you all are their managers so let them know that's required unless you want to do it while you do your other job. And I will frown on anyone here who takes time out of their job to do something their man should be doing.'

"That Bobbie Sue, she was a natural leader because she had good ideas. And the girls thought this was a very good idea.

"Last, the men were issued their portable units and chargers. The charger was a flat plate that had a wall plug and a short antenna. The bag was black and shiny, using a thicker version of the same material as the sweats and underwear, with a leather like feel. It was about twelve inches wide and six inches high with handles and a shoulder strap. It opened with a clasp and was empty. It was like some of my purses.

"The tech explained. 'Boys, these are your portables, your walk around bags. These bags can be used to carry your wallets and keys and stuff and are pretty tough. Try not to throw them under your pickups, though. ' That got some laughs from the boys.

"He went on. 'You need them with you when ever you leave the plant here, your homes when we activate the equipment there, or the bus. They can last for about two hours before a recharge. If you go off into the hollers and streams, you have to watch this little light. If it goes red for more than a few seconds, get back from there until it turns green. It means we've lost you. Stay off the air too long and your study is compromised. Which means you're fired. If anything isn't working call us here. We'll be right there to fix it.'

"The boys got busy transferring their pocketknives, lucky coins and rabbits feet, wallets and cash into their new purses.

"The first week was a practice run to make sure the boys learned their routines without risking screwing up. Bubba and Big D kept leaving their bags everywhere and let the charge run down. The boys learned about wearing white, it showed everything and their wives taught them how to use the washers and dryers in the mini plant Laundromat.

"The new diet was really tough but it had enough lean meat and fried things (low saturated fat) that they adapted. Bacon, ham and eggs, some low fat grits. Bobbi Sue told them outright that if they cheated, the monitor guys would know. The exercise, due to their overweight condition, was kept to an hour of stretching and walking on the treadmill. By the end of the week they pretty much had it down.

"They kept asking for the free beer, but they were told to wait until next week when it officially started. So they all went a week without beer. Then it got started for real. "
 
 
Chapter 5: We Find The Boys Strangely Engaged
 
JayJay started looking wistful and then he gave his head a little shake. He told me about a conversation he got from Big D.

"Bubba and Big D were having coffee in Bubba's house at about nine in the morning. They were to be picked up by the bus at ten and they both wanted to be ready for the official first day. Bubba was wearing his nightshirt which came down to just below his rear end and nothing else.

"Big D complaines. 'Damn it Bubba, cross your legs or something. I'm tired of having to watch where I look! Don't you wear your underwear to bed?'

"Bubba explaines he used to sleep with nothing on at all. Big D goes on. 'Dammit, I never remember coming over and finding you naked except when you were drunk. Put something on!'

"Later Big D grabs his purse and ran next door to get dressed. On the bus, they all greeted every guy as he boarded. Particularly when the bus driver handed each one a beer bottle as he got on. No label, just a longneck brown bottle. They were informed that this was all they got until the afternoon, so make it last for the whole ride.

"The bus arrived, and twenty guys, all bulging bellies and heads covered with a fine stubble in white sweats got off. They were happy and calm. A slight buzz in their heads which was amazing from one beer. They had a meeting, and Bobbi Sue went over the rules again. No problem. Nice work if you can get it."

JayJay checks his face in the bar mirror and touches up his lips. He leans back, extending his magnificent breasts out as far as they go and exhales.

He goes on. "And so the boys settled into a routine. Everyday they showed up carrying their black purses and their dirty sweats and sleepwear from the day before. Morning was medical tests, then sit around the Laundromat. The TV in there was run by Thelma, who supervised that area and she kept it pinned to her talk shows.

"So they played cards and watched their laundry spin dry. Then lunch was make their own food in the cafeteria. It had all the facilities but they usually settled for sandwiches. There was a food consultant who gave advice on what to eat to stay on plan.

"Then after digestin' the food, they did exercise. Stretching, treadmill. Coolin' off. During the coolin' off period, they could sit in the lounge which was run by Betty Lou. She did her work and amazingly kept track of two soap operas at the same time.

"The guys were served their two beers while they cooled down. The only drawback was Betty Lou told them they had to be quiet so she could hear the two TVs. Then shower and medical check, then off on the bus home by 4pm. Their wives came home about an hour or so later.

"About a month into this several things happened. The boys grow out about an inch and a half of hair from their head. The guys who had some bald spots were really thrilled. Their eyebrows were only faintly there though and their beards were still gone, along with most of their body hair. Some of it on their legs and arms was there but faint and very light.

"The Viometric people were pleased, male pattern baldness gone and triple the normal growth rate. This had been hopin' for this as an anticipated side effect. So now they might have a beer diet which cured baldness.

"The boys' bellies got smaller. They got new sweatpants. Van Sussman had a beer which got rid of your beer gut! The marketing potential was staggering.

"The photographers were all over them, at the plant, on the bus and at home. The women decided that the boys could start bringing in the rest of the family laundry. It only made sense since they were doing the steps anyway, just a few more instructions. It helped that the issued underwear required the same wash cycle as the women's delicates.

"Bubba's bag did fall under his pickup truck and it looked like he was almost gone. Bobbi Sue had to plead his case with the Viometric fella. She won, but there was a lot of discussion about the close call. Bubba was watched closely and he really tried to be more careful.

"The boys were unusually cooperative and calm. Four beers a day seemed to just mellow them out.

"The media crew had complained about dirty uniforms. Bobbi Sue assigned Thelma the task of fixing it. Now Thelma was strong willed and she let them know that keeping the white sweats clean was really important. The boys were told to help each other notice any dirt or smudges. Imagine a bunch of guys looking where they sat, worried about smudges! Their behavior was pretty funny to watch.

"Betty Lou's soaps became real popular with the boys. They got totally sucked into all four shows she followed, given they always watched them while suckin' down their two beers. Being the cooling off period, they had nowhere else to go.

"Now at this time I had asked to see Bobbie Sue. I was concerned about the boys social life and all that. Bobbi Sue told me I was more concerned with losing half my business. I told you she was sharp.

"Bobbi Sue then said the boys had been missing my act and I could be a distributor of the beer to them in the evenings and all weekend as long as I controlled the amounts they had. We kissed, shook hands and hugged each other. Bobbi Sue and I were in the Future Hairdressers club in high school, did you know that?

"The Parkville boys did their stuff. And not one of them screwed up enough to get dropped. Meanwhile, Bobbi Sue and her team were expanding. The setup had seemed to be a good business model so Viometric added other tests in progress.

"Sussman Testing was expanding. The rest of the plant was converted and Bobbie Sue and her girls were now running three other tests. Their salaries were raised and their workload went way up. This forced some change to their homelife. So here's a story I got from Bobbi Sue."
 
 
Chapter 6: Sort Of Rob and Laura Petrie
 
JayJay whispered now, this was obviously real quiet gossip, which meant the whole town knew it except the gossipees.

"It was now the fourth month. Bobby J was waiting for Bobbi Sue to get home. Delbert was still in his kitchen, talking about fishing. He had to get moving so he said. 'Delbert, I've got to get going , Bobbi Sue will be home in an hour and I've got stuff to do. Can you show me how to tie that fly tomorrow?'

"Delbert looked up, his train of thought broken. 'Ok, you're right. I've got to put the dang laundry away anyway before Thelma arrives. She gives me hell if it's not done.' He picked up his bag, and headed out.

"Bobby J told him he had some smudges on the pants of his suit and Delbert got upset. 'Goddam, I just got this clean. I think they find dirt. Dammit!'

"Bobby called his Mom to come over and help him make dinner. Bobbi Sue was working real hard and she was really too tired to cook when she got home, so Bobby J had been learning from his mother. Simple stuff but it wasn't that hard. He thought he was better than Bobbi Sue at some of it.

"He vacuumed the house while he waited. Since he wasn't at the plant and there was no photographer around, he pulled his hair back and out of his way. It had continued to grow fast and was now about six inches long all around.

"He was worried his eyebrows would never come in. They were faint. Visible, just barely visible. They were better than his mustache, which was only evident real close up. Under a magnifying mirror.

"He looked down at his gut and was happy it had slimmed down by about a third. He could almost see his sneakers now.

"He felt a bit guilty that Bobbi Sue was working so hard so he did what he could. It was kind of tough not going out for more than two hours at a time, so the only real place he had to contribute was around the house.

"So dinner was ready, Bobby J just finished putting it out when Bobbi Sue comes in. She smiled and then got a annoyed look on her face. 'My God, Bobby! I just told the photographer to leave! Thank the Lord he didn't come in here! Look at you! ' Bobbi Sue went on, not screaming but letting Bobby J know she was not happy.

"Bobby J reached up and grabbed the hair clip. 'Shit, Babe, I'm sorry! I was just cleaning and I forgot.' Bobby J was clearly upset. He was trembling.

"Bobby Sue hugged him. 'It's ok, darling. You know the rules, hair down for the cameras. I can't let you slide on it since I could not do it for anyone else. So be careful! Besides, I like the way it looks. What's for dinner? It smells great!'"

JayJay paused. "Can you imagine that! Bobby J just falling apart like a TV housewife? I started wondering then. But all the wives kept saying they were havin' great sex so they were seeing no problem.

"Now at six months and it was Saturday night at Good Night Johns. I was in full drag, doin' my Tammy Wynette. I had the ten guys there standing in a line so I could assess their new slim figures. All their wives were there and the place was having a fine old time.

"The boys were proudly on display in their white sweats, hair a little past their shoulders and neatly brushed in place. They were doing the opposite of sucking it in, trying to be the one who still had the best beer gut.

"I had them pull up their shirts and was the judge. I remember saying 'Bubba, not bad but a little thin. Big D, you still got a belly but it's small and cute. Delbert, your getting too skinny, but your chest is still almost a big as mine, Thelma, loan him a bra! Bobby J, you are a rail!..'

"The guys were not slim, but compared to their former selves they were just plump. They could actually fit into the booths now, instead of needing a table with chairs.

"The crowd laughed hysterically and voted Billy Bob the winner by an inch. I gave him the prize, an eyebrow pencil and then proceeded to demonstrate it by coloring in Billy Bob's still almost invisible brows. The joke turned out to be viewed as an improvement by the crowd so I did all their eyebrows. They got their own pencils after that. We had to explain to Bubba that regular pencils weren't good enough.

"So far, it looked like Van Sussman had a winner of a product here. Those big beer guts were just meltin' away and that hair! It was lookin' fine, like those guys on the covers of romance novels, the ones that look like they use a gallon of conditioner a day?"
 
 
Chapter 7: Figures Don't Lie, But Liars Figure
 
"Now it is nine months and Bobbi Sue was actually stoppin' to look back on the last nine months. She had gone from office manager to President of a new company, which was growin' like crazy. It wasn't different than keepin' her house and community runnin', just it had real numbers to measure it with.

"The other women were blossomin' as well, takin' charge of themselves and getting' things done. She was happy and pleased with herself that phase one of the Parkville test was windin' down. It had been great. Van Sussman himself had come and thanked her, in person!

"And she was also happy at home. Bobby J had really pitched in and was cookin' and doin' a part of the cleaning. The other boys were doin' the same, some more than others. You should have tried chewin' on Bubba's attempt at a pot roast.

"Bobby J seemed really content and was lookin' real good with his belly mostly gone and nice looking hair. When she wasn't dead tired, he was still great in the sack. He was bein' very attentive to her lately. We had talked while we were both getting our hair done at Thelma's sisters' that all of the boys seemed a little more docile lately. That was viewed as a positive.

"Now Van Sussman was an impatient man. He had built his fortune by being impatient, so he saw no reason to stop now. He was staring at a potential product which staggered his imagination. He had plans of getting approval from the Mexican Government and generating demand by having it available south of the border.

"So he wanted to hurry the study his board of directors had demanded. And get the after videos of people who went off his new plan. He wanted the boys to get fat, real fast as soon as they went off the diet. The Viometric fella said that forcing them to eat destroyed all credibility of the diet study. Plus he knew that if the wives caught wind of it they would probably demand more money. They were afraid of little Bobbi Sue.

"So they hatched a plan. The next phase started on Monday and they selected ten of the boys to be targeted as 'binge eaters' to show the dramatic difference the diet made compared to normal' habits. The Viometric fella would encourage Bobbi Sue to let the boys celebrate, have their favorite foods, throw some community parties, drink all the beer they wanted for the first week.

"Then Bobbi Sue and the other nine wives would be sent on a three week tour of Viometric facilities around the world. Van Sussman could then send them some food to help take care of them while their wives were gone.

"Now I cannot figure out whether what happened next was deliberate or a just a random event. Van Sussman gave the order for the whole thing and included delivering beer along with the most fattening food conceivable to their homes and the local bar, free to the boys, of course. Either he specified his special beer or just said beer. We may never know, Well, the special beer was ordered."
 
 
Chapter 8: This Little Piggy
 
"So the boys were home. They still had to follow the rules but they were home free all day long. Which meant they could leave the house only three times a day. Trapped at home like little housewives.

"The town threw them a wonderful party, with food and beer. There were pie eatin' contests, courtesy of Sussman Body Image, hot dog eatin' contests, again, Sussman, and free beer.

"Bobbie Sue was turnin' the project over the Thelma while she was gone and wanted to make sure nobody screwed up for the next three weeks, especially Bobby J.

"The boys were in heaven. They could eat and drink as much as they wanted to after nine months of someone else tellin' then what to do.. And they did. They all had lost their beer bellies and while they did not have hard bodies, they sure looked a lot better.

"Bobbie Sue told me she looked at Bobby J as he was sleeping in bed after they had their farewell sex. His stomach was soft and just a little rounded , pudgy but not at all fat. His love handles were almost gone. His pecs were a little saggy, like the skin had been stretched a bit when he lost the weight.

"His hair seemed to have slowed down at around fifteen inches and draped nicely across his back. She had him condition it regularly, and he had gotten good with a blow dryer. She was the President, after all and he had to look good for her.
He had to set an example for the rest of the boys.

"Bobby stunk of beer that night but he had been so rationed, she thought he deserved a little release. She would give him hell if he ever got a beer gut like he had again she swore to me.

"So the women left and the boys went back to goofin' off. Van Sussman had food delivered to the houses of the ten boys with traveling wives, loads of it. Cases of beer.

"So they slept late, got up, ate what was delivered. Drank some beer. Then they either visited another guy and had lunch with beer or ate and drank alone. Then they all gathered to watch their soaps and eat. And have some beer. Then dinner together or out to Good Night Johns for two hours. They were feelin' good.

"Thelma visited each of their houses and gave them hell when she found a dirty mess which was always. She threatened them with dismissal if they had a hair out of place.

"Now, normally a bunch of guys drinking that much beer would have been fearless, but the boys were shaking with fear at Thelma. So they quit the drinking until the evenings and kept up their houses. So instead of drinking all the time, they ate. They then drank every night at Good Night Johns, when I had it open.

"Now the boys started adoptin' a strange kind of attitude., a kind of screw it all concept. They missed their old lives, with huntin', fishin' and so forth but were committed to finishing the program. They were exhibitin' what you would call classic passive aggressive behavior', rebellin' at their situation but wantin' to please their wives. So they ate. And drank when they could, but not at home or Thelma would get them. Van Sussman had gotten just what he wanted."
 
 
Chapter 9: New Developments
 
JayJay traced lines with his red polished nail on the back of my hand. Then he got on with the story.

"I think I was the first to notice. Just before Bobbie Sue and the women returned from their big trip, I had the boys in this place on a Saturday night. My theme that night was Crystal Gayle and I thought I looked great. The wig alone cost a fortune and weighed a ton. I had the boys line up again for a beer belly check and noticed they had put on some weight. What was strange was where. But I'll get to that later on, darlin'.

"So based on the best I can get from girl talk, Bobbie Sue returned with the other nine wives. They were surprised at the cleanliness of their homes and the meals their husbands had prepared. The boys were attentive and listened to every word of their stories.

"Bobbie Sue first noticed her husband had put on some pounds when he bent over to pick up something off the carpet. His sweat pants were stretched tight around his ass, which seemed fuller than before. Bobbie Sue, she just ignored it for now, figuring Bobby J had been eating a lot of junk. Bobby J made her forget a lot that night when the lights were out. Oh, if someone would do that for me!"

JayJay stared into my eyes. Then he laughed. "Just foolin' around, babycakes. Now where was I? Oh yes.

"Over the next two weeks, the gals were busy trying to make up for missing three weeks at the plant. The boys went about their business, keeping their houses clean, learning to cook and watching their soaps. They had settled in at about five or six beers a day, two during their soaps and the rest in the evenings right here at Good Night Johns.

"A bit later, Bobbi Sue and I were talking over coffee. We meet frequently for lunch you know.

"I said 'Bobbi Sue, have you noticed anything about the boys since you got back?' Bobbi Sue said Bobby J was putting on some weight. He might need to go a size up in sweat pants.

"So I finally just came out and asked her 'Sweetheart, has he gained anything above the waist?'

"I was watching Bobbi Sue's face. Bobbie Sue looked back and paused before answering. Then she began. She says to me, with a few tears, 'Bobby J hasn't added a pound to his belly, but he's starting to get a pretty nice pair of boobies. And not just fat man like, but real ones.' I hugged her and told her I would help any way I could.

"I told her, 'I suspected that, and I bet a few of the other boys are too. It looks like something that happened to me when I tried to join your side with my hormone treatments in LA.'

"I got me quite a pair from that, and put some padding on my butt, too. I have to confess these aren't natural."

I told JayJay they looked fine.

"You will turn my head, lambchop, with that kind of talk! So, now it gets to the good part. Bobbie Sue decided to wait a bit and see what happened. She knew a man on female hormones lost his sex drive and Bobby J had if anything gotten more amorous. Maybe he was just gettin' older and his fat was rearrangin' itself. Besides, Viometric was being very good to them. She decided to compare notes with Thelma and Wanda June."
 
 
Chapter 10: So Lets See What Happens
 
"The boys continued their routine over the next two months. They continued to gain weight .They got increasingly better at housekeeping. Their mood swings were becoming noticeable, sometimes they just broke into tears for no apparent reason. They continued to make their wives happy in bed and a few other places they got caught at it.

"Bobbi Sue got the techs to get some new clothing made up and it came without a moment to spare. She also made sure the boys were given a full medical exam once a week and had the photographer record it. She distributed the new suits and underwear to the wives of the ten boys most affected. So she then told me what happened at home.

Bobbie Sue says, 'Bobby J, I have some new suits for you. Could you come in here please?' Bobby J stops stuffin' his face and comes in. Bobbie Sue says 'Bobby J, please take off your clothes. I have some things which might fit you better.'

"Now Bobby J was reluctant, but eventually was standin' there in just his cute little thong. His breasts were firm and at least a B cup, He still had a little pot belly and his torso was covered in a soft layer of fat. His hips and butt were spreading out a lot. He was crying his eyes out.

"So Bobbie Sue goes, 'Now Bobby J, it's all right. I love my man. You look fine to me, a lot better than that big gut you used to have.' Bobbi Sue said that as soothingly as she knew how. She then proceeded to take off Bobby J's thong and begin arousing him. The thong was way too tight, and it took some doing to get over Bobby J sizeable big fat butt cheeks."

JayJay paused, grinning widely. He continued.

"When Bobbi was done with Bobby, she looked at her work. He was now wearin' a pair of men's panties which I had recommended and got mail order. They were big enough and covered his rear without pinching while supporting his package.

"He then had a plain black camisole with a built in shelf bra. The camisole was control material and supported his boobs and smoothed his torso. Bobbi Sue and I had figured an actual bra would be too much for the boys right now, so we would ease the boys into their new endowments needs with some finesse.

"Some support pantyhose came next, to contain the flabby thighs which they were gettin'. I also told them where to get ones cut for men. Now the boys could wear the new sweatsuits which was tailored to their new figures. Bobby J was really happy that his clothes fit him again and Bobbi Sue still loved him.

"Next, Bobbi Sue had Bobby J fix his hair and get his purse so they could visit the other couples who were all goin' through the same thing. Bobby J played his part, calming down a few of his buddies who were panicked at their new shapes and sizes. "
 
 
Chapter 11. The Sting
 
"So now, the wives had a great plan, from their perspective of course. They knew that their husbands had been affected by the diet process somehow and were pretty sure it was the beer. It had to be the beer. As soon as the boys stopped exercising and went off the diet, they added fat but just like women. Somehow their fat distribution had been rearranged just like female hormones do to men. Trust me, I'm an expert.

"Bobbi Sue sensed a big payoff but thought they needed the boys to develop a bit more to make it incontrovertible and dramatic. I agreed. Since the sex drives of the boys were high, they were now doing most of the housework and in general being fairly docile and submissive to their wives, it was decided to let it go for another while. The wives of the unaffected boys decided to join in on the fun and I agreed to host some beer bashes just for them.

"Bobbi Sue then contacts Van Sussman and the Senior Operating Officer of Viometric and invites them to the project completion in five months. All reports to them have said nothing was wrong with the test, just that the test subjects had gained back their original weight when off the diet. The baldness cure is workin'. She has had to include some key people from Viometric in the plan.

"The week before the project end, Bobby J spent his time mostly watching his soaps and eating. Bobbi Sue took to calling him Bobbi Jo and the J always had stood for Joe, so we all had adopted it. Getting up required some extra work for him lately. He had added back the seventy pounds he lost plus another thirty, all in his thighs, I thought.

"He finally has a little bit of a beer belly, but that's the least of his features. His incredible boobs are snug in an EE cup bra and he sure was glad Bobbi Sue had got him panties which fit around those 60 inch hips.. Bobbi Sue wanted him to go to Thelma's sister and get a good style. She is going to present him to Mr. Sussman as exhibit A with all the before and after and after and after photos. "
 
 
Chapter 12: Know When To Hold 'Em
 
"Van Sussman was mighty shocked and so was the guy from Viometric. Their killer product turned men into fat women who have trouble losin' weight. It did cure baldness, though and I hear they are trying to isolate that. Well, Bobbi Sue immediately showed them that the town wasn't greedy. Our silence was worth less than a month of airtime for his commercials. It was enough to have us set for life here. She dickered and stuff, and Van Sussman agreed to pay. Viometric went under just after that, some kind of insider corporate thing.

"So, since then a few of the boys slimmed down and watch their weight like hawks. Any weight and they start lookin' distinctly girlish. Now Big D and Delbert over there, they just can't get those last thirty pounds off but their wives don't seem to mind and Big D has that wonderful hair. Delbert is actually bigger than Dolly Parton herself, you know and he doesn't need my wigs either. They took the waitress jobs just to keep busy. The rest of the boys are somewhat larger than those two. "

JayJay smiled and said, "And the women all got pregnant but they mostly got new jobs at the new Wal-Mart since they have these live at home husbands. "

"And Bobbi Jo?" I asked.

"Well, Bobbi Jo stopped the beer when we did the deal and we turned out to be right, it was the beer. Now he won't drink anything alcoholic. But you know, getting off your butt and exercising and not snacking are hard habits to get rid of, especially when you've got a butt like he does. He stopped gaining weight after a few months but he's been stuck like this for a six months. He needs to stop watching those damn soaps. But he's makes a great little housewife. Won't let Bobbi Sue hire a maid, says he'd get really fat then. I think he's gonna try that drug I heard of which lets him breast feed their next one if he still hasn't slimmed down. "

I stopped my recorder. I knew what I was going to do with this story. These people were happy and comfortable here and would do anything to just stay here and raise families. Even if you had to enlarge your horizons a bit.

The next day, I was in my rental car heading home. I had thanked Bobbi Sue and Bobbi Jo for their side of the story and left to pick up JayJay. He was on my flight to LA so he could visit some old friends. I had agreed to give him a lift. I think he was traveling as Shania Twain. At least I hoped so.

Originally published on Classic BC on 2/8/2004

Therapy

By Tyrone Slothrop

Chapter 1: No Retreat, No Surrender

I watched my mother. She had that thousand yard stare again, sitting on the porch. I knew it was best to just be with her and wait until she came out of it. It had been six months since she had been rescued from the South American jungle and I still did not know all that had happened to her. I had missed my parents terribly for the two years they had been missing, kidnapped by a group of self styled political rebels. Rebels my ass.. Thugs and killers. I was glad they were all dead. Mom had had to watch them kill Dad and it had pretty much crushed her emotionally.

The Special Forces Captain who led the team in had taken Sandy, my sister, and me aside and told the story of how she had been found. While Mom lay in a hospital bed, being examined and treated for malnutrition, exposure and a few rare parasites, we had learned that loving, gentle Mom , freed from her wire caged area was there when the rebels were lined up to be returned. They were on the ground, hands tied behind their backs. Mom had asked the Captain if they were going to be interrogated, if they might know anything useful. The Captain had said no, they were pretty much just guards. They already had the bigger fish in custody. Mom had walked up to one of the men on the ground, pulled a homemade knife out and slit his throat. The other two men started screaming. The Captain, having been through this too many times, had looked at his troops and nodded. The five other soldiers looked the other way as Mom quietly killed the other two. She had then collapsed in the Captain s arms. Dad s death had had a down payment.

The Captain told them that he had never said this, it appeared in no report, and he would deny it, backed up by his men. He wanted us to know for Mom s sake. He had spent nine months and lost three men trying to get our parents back and was damned if, having gotten there too late to save our Dad he would not have someone know what happened to help with Mom's recovery.

Captain Jack said, "I ve seen guys tougher than your Mom go through less than she did and never get over it. I visit them when I can at the VA hospital. Your Mom's a great lady, and she is going to need you to help her with this. If what I told you became public knowledge there would be stupid legal and international investigation bullshit, pardon my language Sandra (my sister), and she doesn t need that. Her shrink can know, if you trust her shrink not to feel sympathy for those rebels and make political hay out of it. I wouldn't trust them, myself. I told your Grandma, she s a pretty sharp old girl and she asked me to tell you. The rest is up to you. Take care of Carolyn (that's Mom). She deserves better than she's had in the last two years. "

I thought Sandy was going to jump on Captain Jack and take him right there, which she probably would have tried in better circumstances. Instead, she had thanked him , burst into tears and hugged him. I had a few tears too, despite my best efforts to fight them back. I felt better when I saw the Captain s eyes were moist.

He shook my hand, and told me, "Brad, call me if you want to talk. It may take me a while to return the call, sometimes I get a little out of contact, but I will call you back. "

He was one of those guys who could probably have been a rich businessman or lawyer, but instead did the dirty and miserable job of keeping us as safe as he could. I wanted to be him at that moment, he reminded me of Dad in a lot of ways. I hope we always have enough guys like Captain Jack.

Chapter 2: Get The Background Out Of The Way

Gram had taken us in when Mom and Dad went missing in Argentina. They were supposed to be on their twenty-fifth anniversary trip, which Dad partially funded by doing some business down there for a few days. Then they were to be on their own for two whole weeks. Dad did consulting for business development, and was putting together a deal to create a medical serves operation in the more remote areas of the region. I hear people bitch about HMOs here but according to Dad the people in these areas would view getting even half of what we did here as arrival in heaven. The things we take for granted become life and death for others. Dad was one of the good guys. Mom was a hospital manager, having worked her way up from being a duty nurse. They made a great team.

Sandy was twenty , I was seventeen. One great thing about kids is they really tend to pull together when it hits the fan. Sandy and I had grown up with all the stages brother and sister have, disdain, disregard, anger, all laced with a constant undercurrent of sarcasm. That changes as you get older, especially when one of you moves out, which Sandy had done when she went to college. She had almost graduated when Mom was returned. She had put her life on hold and moved back in with Gram and I.. At least five guys were heartbroken as she had told them to get lost for a while and tended to Mom's recovery. Did I mention she was a total babe? Try growing up when your older sister is the best looking girl in town and the particular fantasy of all your friends. She was legendary and the subject of a lot of amateur photography. Only one guy had snuck a picture of her in the shower and I had pounded the crap out of him. She may be a pain in the ass but she was my sister. She was also valedictorian, prom queen, and about perfect.

Brad, that s me, I was another story. I was smart enough, but not the smartest. A bit of a loner, ran track, computer geek, kept to a small circle of friends. The same way ninety percent of kids can be described in high school. Lately, if some kid goes nuts and makes 24/7 cable news coverage, they are described that way as if it was a dread disease. All adults seem to forget that s how they were back in the day. I know for a fact they all were not homecoming queens or football captains. I was average height, wiry build, not great looking but not bad looking. The kind of looks a witness always describes to the cops on TV. He was, you know AVERAGE, kind of, officer.

Gram was the best. She had stayed with me when Mom and Dad were going away, to protect me and the house from me. If I ever have a real nice house and a fifteen year old boy, I'd have someone like Gram there too. Not that I was stupid, but I'd done some stupid things, some of which ended up with expensive things broken. Again, I'm not alone in this, most of you have been fifteen already. Gram was Mom's Mom, and had been a nurse herself. She had been a Navy nurse at Pearl Harbor when the bombs fell and had been shot at and saved lives in all kinds of really nasty places across the Pacific theatre of operations. I'd seen the pictures of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, and the wounded. She had felt their blood spurting. I guess Captain Jack just sensed she had done her time in hell, like two championship athletes just sense one another without words. Gram had never left. She sold her house and just reported for another tour of duty, raising her daughter s son and daughter. Sandy had stayed at college, but we both needed Gram to hold us together through two years of not knowing what had happened. The State Department, Dad's Company, The Argentinean Ambassador had all expressed their concern but it became obvious they had no clue. Gram had even hired Recovery Professionals and they tried, got some maybe clues but still nada. Fortunately, Dad had provided a trust which kept us afloat. Not well off, but just below the upper middle class. Money was not an issue, except being a teenager I never had enough. Gram kept me on a reasonably short leash financially but gave me a lot of room otherwise. She treated us like almost adults and did not condescend to us. As a result, we acted pretty grown up, most of the time. Plus, I can tell you, losing your parents at that age sobers you up. Life has come out and sucker-punched you right in the face. I began to understand those refugee kids you see in the pictures. School life can seem very petty in contrast.

Chapter 3: You Never Really Know Your Family

Like I said, it had been six months. Mom was not seeming to get much better. It was hard seeing her, distant and silent, a real contrast to the Mom who had raised me. She wasn t mute, she just didn t say much. She loved me, I knew that. That had not changed. She hugged me a lot. I spent hours, just sitting and holding her. Gram found a shrink who she either trusted or had threatened with a contract hit, probably both, knowing Gram. For being somewhere over seventy five, Gram acted not a day over forty and looked about sixty. A young sixty. Mom had seen the shrink for almost two months.

It was early March and the weather sucked. I was just returning from school, on foot. I had my license, but no car, yet. Gram had taken out Mom s SUV and I was not allowed near Dad s Porsche. It is not a real good idea to let a seventeen year old boy access to a 911.. Newton s Laws of Motion segue into Murphy s Law. Gram ran the Porsche just enough to keep the engine and bearings loose, like she had promised Dad. I was allowed to drive the SUV, just not everyday.

Janet had walked with me, so there had been compensation. Oh, yeah, Janet. I haven t mentioned her yet. She was my girl friend, maybe on her way to girlfriend. A lot of high school girls would have dropped me like a hot rock, after appropriate sympathy; of course, since I had pretty much dropped out of a lot of social activities for the last two years and was totally gone the last six months being with Mom. Janet was far more evolved than that. She had hung with me through the whole time. The only reason she wasn't girlfriend instead of my friend who was a girl was that she was waiting until I was ready to put the two words into one. At least I think that's it. I sure had thought about it and had been about to make the appropriate ritual moves when Mom had come home. Janet told me to spend time with Mom or she'd never talk to me again, threatening words which actually made me feel better. She was good to me.

Gram and Sandy had been conferring, and they were both smiling at me. Danger. Alarm Bells. Red Alert. I was no match dealing either with one of this pair and together they could tag team me into the canvas. Mom was off taking a nap. She had not been able to sleep more than three to four hours at a stretch during the ordeal and this was a great luxury. Sleep without someone hitting you with the butt of an AK-47.

"Bradley, how are you? How s school?" Sandy said, so sweetly I knew I was being set up. Gram nodded and smiled. Crap, double smiles. I'm Doomed.

"Fine. I just left Janet at the Prom Committee meeting. She s the leader. " I replied.

"Are you taking her?" asked Gram.

I hadn t planned on going. I'd rather be here.

The conversation got predictable. They thought I should go. I should ask Janet before someone else did. Mom would want me to. I would never get another chance. My replies were the same. It's not that important. Girls place a much higher priority on it than boys. I will think about it. I agreed with them both I would decide in the next few days to be fair to Janet. It was two months away and she would need time to figure out her dress, shoes, just everything, they said. Ok, ok. Girls do have a lot more to do. I just had to get a tux and a haircut.

Dinner, homework, sitting with Mom. That was the evening. She liked classical music, so that s what we did. I learned to like it. I feel sorry for people who only like one kind of music. It s like intentionally being color blind. You can see all the colors, you just choose not to. Mom turned to me and asked me about the prom. I told her I might go. She smiled and then got wistful. There was a flicker of light in her eyes. Then she looked sad. She said she had missed Sandy s prom. They had left before it was planned and she was supposed to be back in plenty of time to help Sandy with the preparations. She let a tear go. She had done a lot of things, but I had not seen her cry since she got back. I bet she had been cried out after a while in the jungle.

Chapter 4: Nothing Says Lovin Like Something From The Coven

That night, I was mostly asleep in my room. I got half awake when I thought I heard the front door, but then I heard Gram talking to Sandy. They quite frequently got up in the middle of the night and talked for a while. It was no big deal. I thought I heard Janet's voice, but I assumed I was wrong. I went back to sleep.

"Wake up, Brad. " Sandy was shaking me awake. I woke up, holding the covers over me as I slept in the nude. There were Sandy and Gram, both wearing the same white nightgowns, hair down and barefoot, with full makeup on . Weird, but not too weird, when you just want to go back to sleep.

"Bradley, I am going to ask you to do something which will require courage and fortitude. We think it is important for your Mother." Gram said. She was serious. I came to full awake mode.

"You know I ll do whatever I have to for Mom, Gram."

"I know that dear. But I want you to know this will not be easy for you. Now just listen for a while and then ask questions. I need you to understand this and you need to make your decision within the next half hour." Gram said. I was now really wondering what was going on. What could happen in the next half hour?

Gram continued after I nodded. "The women in our family are gifted or cursed, whichever you want. We have some powers which skip generations. I have them, Sandy has them. Your granddaughter may have them, when you have children. Assuming you are picked by the right wife." I remembered the ' are picked by' line later, much later. Gram went on.

"The powers can alter people somewhat and people's perceptions and attitudes, but not on a large scale. When that's been tried, some of our ancestors got burned by the townspeople."

"Don t tell me you are witches." I blurted out.

Gram held up her hand. "I said let me talk. It is a historical fact that women were burned and someone had to be their descendants. Call it what you want. We've had a lot of bad press and a lot of foolish people think it's fashionable to play at it. We cannot use the power except when it can help somebody in need and not at the expense of others. Sandy thinks we can alter the perception of reality just slightly and only with minimal disruption. Perhaps we can manipulate space-time as Albert used to call it, I do not know. I've seen a man levitate small objects without a single explanation, other than to label it paranormal . I knew him quite well and he was not con man. He never made a nickel from it and shunned publicity."

"So, here we are. Carolyn, your mother has been unresponsive to treatment. Someday she may tell us what happened but we do know she has been badly scarred in her spirit. Her body can heal, that's mostly done. Sandy and I have noticed she is holding onto the Prom she missed , the one Sandy attended. It is a symbol of what she has lost. We want to give her back that experience. We want you, with our help, to give her that experience."

I thought. And then talked. "Fine. I ll go to the prom. She can help me pick my tux. She can help me pick a corsage for Janet. But that's not even close to what you say she missed. Sandy, as I remember it, she was even making your dress. She used to ask me to hold up material while she measured. She never got to finish that."

Sandy smiled. She then said. "Brad. You are right. We want you to re-create what she would have done for me for your upcoming prom."

Ok. This was off the weird scale. "Sandy, I love Mom, but this sounds like a bad TV show. You think she wants me to be a girl or a drag queen?"

"No. We want you to be yourself , just with the world s perception a bit altered. Brandi replaces Brad. Brandi, a fine boy somewhat like yourself, wears dresses to the prom and everyone thinks it is fine. Mom will think it s fine and normal and enjoy herself. Brandi dates Janet and they go together. Gram and I will handle the world s perception. You have to act convincingly. Tell Mom you need help with all the stuff you need to do. That will be the truth, you will need a lot of help. Your job is to be the role, and enjoy it. If you fake it, Mom will be able to tell. She can sense when her son is not genuine."

I was stunned. Gram talked now. "Bradley, we need to give Carolyn something back. She's had so much taken from her. And this will cost you nothing in the long run. You might even learn a few things."

I broke in. "So, you do your magic stuff and I wake up as Brandi, Mom gets me dressed, and Janet and I go. I guess I can do this for a day. Does Janet go dressed like a guy?"

"We would never do that to Janet, she will just find you stunning. I'm sure she will make sure your outfits will coordinate. But the prom process is not one night for the mother. It begins now."

Two months? I have to be this Brandi guy for two months?" I said. I was getting convinced that they had been doing heavy pharmaceuticals. But this was also Gram and she was no fool.

"It will be a gradual transition, made to seem natural and help to ease you into the part. We will be there to help you along the way. Now will you do this? Please think it over, we ll come back in a bit." Gram said. She and Sandy kissed me on the forehead and left, closing my door.

Chapter 5: The Things You Do For The Ones You Love

My mind was in overdrive. It was a lot to digest, but you need to understand. These two could stare down a shark. They were tough-minded. They would never joke about anything like this. Not with Mom involved. Some people might use my feelings of grief over Mom for fun, but not Sandy and not Gram. So they fully believed what they had said. The question was, did I?

My next train of thought was, so what? It either was true or it wasn t. If it was a delusion on their part, then what was the difference? Just do it. Gram and even Sandy had always been there for me. If it was true, then maybe it would help Mom . I meant it when I said I would do anything. Case closed.

So they came back in. Gram told me she was happy with my decision. Sandy kissed and hugged me.

Gram gave me a last chance to back out. She was very even in her tone. "Bradley, I want you to know this will be as uncomfortable as you make it on yourself. A lot of what you need to do will go against your own self image. If you fight it, you will fail to be convincing and your Mother will probably feel confused. This effort carries the risk of prolonging her situation. You must embrace the reality changes that come at you, go with them and enjoy them. I promise you no one will ridicule you. Except yourself. When it is all over, we will put it all back together. You will be fine and yourself .again, but maybe a little wiser. Tell me again, do you commit to giving this your best?"

The family value. My Dad and Mom had drilled into us that we should never do anything half-assed. It was ingrained in our brains. "Yes, Gram. Let's do it."

Gram asked me if I was fully unclothed under the sheet. I said yes. Good, that was required. I was told to close my eyes, and relax. Gram and Sandy would do some rituals and then Sandy would stay and Gram would go by Mom's side. All I had to do was keep my eyes closed and if sleep came, don't fight it. Then just get on with my life.

I listened to Sandy and Gram whisper but could not make out what they said. My eyes were closed and the whispering kept getting quieter. Then it was just Sandy whispering in my ear. I still could not understand what she said. Then sleep came.

Chapter 7: I m Glad We Didn t Have To Do That

Looking in the bathroom mirror my teeth seemed clean enough. It was coming back to me, the ridiculous dream from last night, Gram, Sandy, witchcraft. I shook it off. Sandy was banging on the door telling me to get out soon. Life seemed pretty normal.

Downstairs Gram had out a platter of scrambled eggs and Mom was making toast. She seemed just a little more animated today. Maybe this was a good sign. Small steps and Mom would be back.

I ate my eggs and had coffee with Mom. She told me to get with Janet and straighten out the prom situation, time was getting critical. She smiled. She told me Janet and I made a great couple and Gram agreed. The conversations from yesterday continued - I filed it in my head that way. I agreed to see Janet today at school. As I left for school with the precious keys to the SUV I heard Mom tell Gram she was going to spend the day getting her sewing room back into order. That was great, she was starting to get interested in her old hobbies.

School was uneventful, except Janet pulled me aside at lunch and asked if I had a date for the prom yet. I told her no so she just said she would love to go with me. That was easy. Of course I agreed. Mom had seemed focused on it and it was the least I could do, plus I really did like Janet. It was time we started getting together.

The Prom Committee had issued the theme, the calendar and the sub-committees which needed volunteers. The school was buzzing with who was asking who and so on. Janet told me she had put my name in for decorations. No problem. Hang some crepe, handle the ladders for the girls.

As the day wore on, a few guys talked about who they might ask to the event. There was a lot of kidding back and forth, typical guy stuff. They didn't ask me, they already knew I was going with Janet. I was told that was great, Janet was a great girl.

I never knew how much of a frenzy this was for the girls. I knew they worked themselves up with the matchmaking process, a microcosm of adult life, like much of high school. By the end of the day, girls I barely knew had come up to me, told me they heard I was going with Janet, gushed about what a lovely couple we were, and asked me if I had figured out what I was going to do. I wasn t sure what they meant so I was vague, like I guess I'll start looking around . That got giggles and grins and they all told me I was lucky and they were sure we would look great. It seemed like they thought I was making a joke. I dismissed it as girl dementia.

I was giving Janet a ride home but I had to get the SUV back for Gram so we had little time. On the way she told me she was thinking of a dusty rose color scheme for her ensemble. I nodded and kept driving. She came back and said would I have any trouble coordinating? I said no, thinking how hard could it be to match a shirt on a tux to her dress. Janet laughed and said I was hopeless but we would look great together. She kissed me and got out at her house.

When I came in it looked like a rerun of yesterday. Gram and Sandy talking and smiling at me. I had put all of last night firmly into the dream category. I was tempted to tell them about it, but it seemed so silly. Plus they had really good news.

"Bradley, your mother has been on the phone with Janet's mother for half the day. She's been more outgoing than I've seen her since she got back." Gram said.

This was great. I guessed they were talking about the prom. I realized then that Janet must have called it into the girl network within seconds.

Sandy added "They are working out the color scheme. I think they have a plan and I suggest you defer to them, Brad."

"Why not? Let them have fun." I said. Sandy smiled.

Mom was looking much better over dinner. She actually initiated conversations, and went on about how it felt good to get back to sewing. She did ask me to stand up later and took measurements. She used to make lots of clothes, so this was hardly unusual. I remember being a kid and squirming when she used to do this, but it felt so good, like a fond old memory. This was the Mom I remembered.

I was swamped with homework, having to finish a paper for Economics class, so I excused myself and went up to my PC. An hour later, Mom knocked. She entered, carrying a large book.

"Bradley, do you have a minute? I d like to ask your opinion on these." Mom said, looking cheerful.

I told her sure, I needed a break anyway. She opened the huge book on the floor. It contained girl's formal dresses and sewing patterns available. Mom and Janet's mother had agreed to work together on some prom gowns and she wanted to look over some with me. My Mom had a reputation as a great clothesmaker. She could have been a top fashion designer, but she used to say it would lose all the pleasure if she did it for a living.

Now normally, before her ordeal, I would have whined and tried to get out of it, but she was so happy and focused I sat on the floor of my room patiently looked over at least half of the designs which she had marked with paperclips. I even commented on how nice some would look on Janet. She sometimes agreed and sometimes gave me her opinion and why it might not be, like too frilly or not showing her figure correctly. She sat next to me and put her arm around me. I hugged her back. She went on a bit on which gowns might complement each other. I had never thought girls would worry about that but it made as much sense as anything else I knew about formal dress occasions, which was little to nothing.

Mom kissed my cheek and got up. "Brad, I ve taken up your homework time, I ll go now. Thanks for the help, I had fun."

I felt good after she left. Maybe my dream had been telling me to just let my Mom enjoy my prom some, and she could partially adopt Janet for the girly stuff. I just had to sit through it and act interested, which was easy as seeing her smile was great incentive. It was easier than crawling through broken glass, and I would have done that to ease her pain.

Sandy stopped by. She told me she was happy that Mom had focused in on the prom.

"Good going, little brother. Just keep her happy." She said as she left. I felt great.

Chapter 8: The Adventure Begins

Morning again. Groggy but moving. Brain still in hibernate state. Lucky day, Sandy is leaving our bathroom. Water on face. Brain booting up. Look in mirror. Error.

I was staring back, but it was me with three inches of hair growth on my head. I touched it. Still there. I also noticed I did not have to shave, not that I was a regular shaver yet, but I did need to at least twice a week (Okay maybe once a week I really needed to, but I did it twice a week). I looked down and realized I did not need to shave anywhere. Chest, back, legs all smooth with just a little under my arms. I opened the towel and saw my crotch still had hair. Then I looked up and in the mirror I saw a grinning Sandy behind me. I rapidly redid the towel.

"What." Was all I got out before she put her finger to her lips, indicating I should shut up.

"Enjoying looking yourself over, Brandi?" Sandy said. It all came back. I had assumed it was a weird dream and now I was living it.

"You and Gram were really there? Its all true?" I got out.

"Yes. You were great yesterday but today it gets a little harder." Sandy said. She told me to shower and gave me bottles of both her shampoo and conditioner. Instructions followed on shampoo use, How long to leave in the conditioner. How to comb. Brush. Things to avoid. She said to meet me in my room and hurry I had to get ready for school.

Showered, conditioned, deodorized and in my towel, my bare feet take me back to my room. Sandy is sitting on the edge of my bed wearing her nightgown, her long brown hair up in huge rollers. My room had changed. There is now a table with a mirror with lights around it. Another mirror on a stand, also with lights is on the tabletop, with an upright chair in front.

"I'm going to help you today, but you need to do this stuff on autopilot and fast, so pay attention." Sandy said. "Just relax and go with this. Don t get all anxious. Mom is doing great already, so you need to focus on that. Now put these on and then I ll help you with your hair." She threw some white underwear and black socks at me.

The underwear looked like an undershirt and shorts but it was different. The undershirt was sleeveless, like the old fashioned kind you saw in the movies, but was loose fitting rather than snug, and only came down to exactly even with my waist. The material was smooth, kind of satiny. The shorts felt like women's panties but cut for a guy. Same satiny material and smooth all over. I could still pass a not to close inspection in a locker room. The socks were like regular men's nylon dress socks, thin and just a little transparent. They came up over my knee. I just got dressed. Go with the flow. Remain calm.

Sandy had me sit on the chair in front of the mirror. She then showed me the right way to blow dry my hair, to add a little volume . I wasn't that bad a student, and she gave me some praise. The only problem with the finished result, other than it looked a bit too full to me, was the front, Three inches of hair hung past my eyebrows, even with some volume it was annoying. Sandy looked at me and told me to watch what she did. She pulled the bangs to each side and used some bobby pins, then some hairspray. It looked better.

"Brandi, your hair is in that annoying state when you let it grow out, but this should work for now." Sandy said. I did notice the name she used but I let it slide.

"Sis, this looks a little" I started.

"Too feminine? That s the plan. Now don t worry, Gram and I will handle it all. Just focus on Mom. You are her great son who she is going to help have a wonderful prom. Now things around you are going to change some, like I said, just go with it. Most of it won t hurt a bit and it's ok to enjoy it. In fact, you better enjoy it or this won't work. So now go into your closet and find the light blue shirt and navy blue pants outfit I have on a hanger. And bring out your dress shoes."

My closet seemed bigger somehow. There seemed to be a few new shirts and pants. I was in too much of a hurry to examine the inventory. Along with the shirt and pants Sandy had put there I grabbed my dress shoes, which were plain black loafers, now gleaming like polished mirrors.

The shirt was tailored just like a regular men s dress shirt and fit me just a touch towards looser than snug. It was silk and I got lots of warnings from Sandy about silk. The buttons were also fabric covered, something I had not noticed at first. At least it buttoned on my usual side.

The pants were very tight and had only one pocket, non functional. They were comfortable, being some percentage of stretch (about 90% I theorized) , and showed off every square millimeter of my butt.

The front of my crotch was flattened , just like a new pair of jeans would do.

I looked at my regular stuff, comb, keys, swiss army knife, pen, wallet and realized I had no place to put it.

Sandy produced a new bookpack, black leather and not too functionally dissimilar to my scuffed and worn old canvas one. Much more expensive with the name of a leather goods maker that even the fashion oblivious like me had heard of before.

"Brandi, you will need to carry your regular things here. Just do it as pockets are not part of your life for a while, ok?" I nodded. She added some new essentials, a hairbrush, some bobby pins and clips, a small hairspray, a pocket mirror. I hoped I could actually fit books in my bookpack while she started adding my new critical supplies , but she stopped at those few items.

I looked at myself. Not that bad, Bod shows off well, maybe overcomes the foo foo hair. I normally wore more casual shirts and jeans to school. The girls used to dress down but nothing in women's fashion ever stays put. They had trended towards more fashionable looks over the last few years. I was ready to go downstairs and eat.

Sandy had other ideas. "Brandi - I help you, you help me. Please help me with my hair."

She guided me through taking out her rollers and combing out her hair into something a little more done than her regular style. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders to mid back and I had somehow managed to have it come out wavier with a pronounced curl at the ends. With a lot of her patient help. A lot. Hairdressers all over the world must have relaxed. The kid's got potential but he'll never make it to the majors. No competition.

Go with the flow. I was adding new skills I never planned on acquiring. Sandy mentioned to me to not eat my usual twenty pound breakfast as that shirt fit me perfectly right now.

Go with the flow. Relax. Breathe. Starving for Mom. Good Cause.

Down at breakfast Mom kissed me and told me I looked nice. Gram concurred saying she was glad to see the schoolkids were not dressing as much like slobs as they had been. I ate sparingly, as after a half a serving I could feel the shirt getting tighter. Sandy came down looking great. She was seeing some friends from college who were in town.

"Sandy, you changed your hair. It looks really good." Mom said, smiling.

"Brandi did the comb out for me. He did it better than I could alone." Sandy said, grinning at me. She had set me up. And called me Brandi again. Relax, Breathe.

"Bradley, you have some hidden talent. I'm glad you're growing yours out for the prom. Sandy owes you some help now." Mom's eyes brightened and I melted. She was coming back to us!

"I already promised. I'm picking up some stuff for him on my way home, Mom." Sandy said sweetly. I wondered what that meant but I had to go. I was riding with Janet today.

Chapter 8: Popular Dude

Janet loved that my hair was growing out. She had all kinds of ideas I should try, mostly involving sets, lotions and implements of torture. She grabbed my butt on our way into school, some kind of primitive possession ritual. I got the message.

The guys were oblivious. They were all there, in jeans and pullover shirts and acted like nothing was different. I got a lot of arm poking, Brandi's the man stuff about going with Janet. One guy asked if I had gotten a haircut. I told him no, my sister had helped with it. They all nodded appreciatively at the mention of Sandy, whose very name still inspired awe in your average seventeen year old boy at that school. I was blessed. They were jealous. Brandi s the Man!

The girls were friendlier, more open. They commented on my shirt. They liked the new bag. After one class two of them grabbed my arm and said my hair needed fixing . We went into the girl's restroom. Nobody acted like anything was wrong. I went to get out my brush but they beat me to it. A practiced quick draw which would rival an experienced knife fighter. They had managed to put it back in order in less than twenty seconds. Damn, I was way slow on this stuff. They started to check their makeup and one asked if I had any mascara. Before I could answer, the other girl handed her a tube. Beat me to it. Not that I had any. At least I didn't think so. We left and went to our next classes.

The teachers acted like nothing was different except the one who taught English Lit. She liked my shoes and asked where she could get a pair of flats like that.

I found out that I needed to check my hair a lot more often. I had to fix the pins and reapply hairspray. Sandy was right, it was at that annoying stage.

Gram and Sandy had made this easy. No hassles, every female seemed to want to help me, hell they treated me like one of them. I was still one of the guys. It was monumentally Weird.

More homework that night. Mom showed me more gowns from the book. Apparently no actual decision is ever made the first time. Once you have winnowed down a list, things have a way of getting back on the list. I guess it's supposed to be so much fun, you just can t bear to finish the process. I began to realize she was making one for me, not just for Janet. I don t know how I missed that the last time. You hear what you assume.

I got into it. Why not. It made her visibly happy and Sandy had told me to go with it.

Two days later, my hair was between six and seven inches long when I got up. Sandy viewed this as some kind of milestone and pulled out a set of hot curlers. After a minor ordeal in which she had me do most of the work. I had what Sandy called a pageboy. To me it was a mass of curls hovering just at my shoulders. The undershirt had been replaced by what she called a camisole with thin straps and lace trim. The panties were a match. In white. Under a white silk shirt and off white pants. With a side zipper. Today she added a thin gold necklace she called a choker. Sheer black knee high socks and open toed sandals. White sandals of course. Sandy surveyed her work and pronounced it good.

Mom and Gram were bubbly about my near total (I felt) girlification. Mom touched my bouncy hair and gave me a big hug.

Janet liked the look and told me to be careful about the white outfit. She loved the camisole, which I then realized was totally visible through the shirt. Before we left my car, she had touched up my lips with her lipstick and then just handed it to me, saying she had another.

The guys acted again like there was nothing strange. I became used to being called Brandi or Bran to my close friends. The girls always would make it a point to group around me when I entered a room.

How did I feel? Weirded out. Relax. Breathe. Go With The Flow.

I started using the girl s room for fixing my appearance, as they had mirrors and facilities which were useful. Besides, side zippers make a urinal problematic. Plus, there were always girls there willing to help, equipped with every device, lotion and potion known to the world of beauty and fashion. I heard every bit of gossip about everybody. I even passed some on.

Chapter 9: Lines Of Demarcation, Lines Of Hem

Friday. Day four of Brandi. Sandy came in as usual and told me "Brandi, I am impressed. You are ready for another hurdle. Gram told me you'd adapt, after all you are from our family. I was skeptical, but that's because older sisters are supposed to be. Today you shave your legs and wear a skirt to school." She looked at me for a reaction. I had seen this coming and knew she was goading me. If I had needed coaxing, she would have coaxed. It was no big deal. The girl's room, that had been hard to do. But all this stuff was offset every time I saw Mom.

So she helped with the legs, and the pits. Damn. Now I know what razor burn really is.

The hair was just past shoulder length by a little, and today I was told to let it rest from hot rollers. Just brush and a little conditioner. It was falling naturally now and I only needed hair clips if I wanted to keep it back. It still had quite a bit of curl left. New camisole, more like a short slip, Sandy said. Panties cut for men, Pantyhose cut for men, with a control top. Sandy told me she decided not to use a padded girdle yet. Silk blouse. My First Skirt. Pleats. Just above the knee.

I tried to plead out on the shoes. "Sandy, let me get used to the skirt. Not the shoes too."

Sandy was adamant. "Oh quit whining. These are low heels and you need to get used to them. It takes a while to get comfortable in heels."

I asked her how long it took her. She laughed and said she ' tell me when it happened. Great. Just what I wanted to hear.

I came downstairs, a little wobbly but getting the hang of the heels. Sandy had given me the basic Life In A Skirt 101, but I knew the behavior was far from automatic. Still, I persevered. To make the situation truly ironic, Sandy was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with sneakers. I wanted to strangle her.

Mom and Gram were waiting downstairs with my breakfast of fruit and yogurt. Gram grinned but made no comment. Mom took a look and lit up. She praised me for taking the time to look ladylike. She was glad her son cared about his appearance. She was giving Sandy a subtle (not that subtle, really) shot. Sandy grinned at me and said she was jealous. The sheer insanity of this conversation was hard to take. But I kept a straight face and focused on not falling off the heels. Then it got worse.

"Bradley (I had gone from Bradley/Brad to Bradley/Brandi.) are you wearing lipstick?" Mom asked. I was. Janet liked it on me and if I neglected to wear it, every girl in the school would be putting some on me. Like branding a steer.

"Yes Mom. A lot of kids do at school." Lame, I know, but you are never creative and witty under stress.

"Well, it looks a little lonely there. Sandy, do you have some mascara handy?" Mom asked. Sandy, smirking so hard I thought she would choke, quickly provided some, and some eye liner. Mom and Sandy now got into makeover mode. I was the crash test dummy, never asked an opinion but told to keep still. Gram gave advice from the sidelines. About fifteen minutes later Sandy, Mom and Gram are surveying the masterpiece. I look in the hall mirror. It is fairly subdued except for the eyes. My eyes looked about fifty percent bigger, with very pronounced lashes. At least the eye shadow wasn't overdone. I worried that there was no way I could maintain this at school without a lot more practice.

"Ok, Sandy we ve had our fun. Brandi you look gorgeous but it is a bit much for school. (actually it was less than most girls wore to school). Sandy, help your brother tone it down and stock his bag. He ll need some more essentials." Mom was back, in charge in her old way. "Oh Brandi, I want to talk to you tonight about some things for the prom. We need to get busy. This weekend."

Sandy dragged me upstairs to her room, closed the door and rolled on her bed laughing. At first I blushed, got angry, realized I was merely annoyed and then her laughter became contagious. I started to giggle, the joined her in laughter.

"Brandi, you are the best sport I have ever seen. I love you, kid." Sandy hugged me.

Now I got a short course in face painting, girl style. I had the lipstick thing down pretty well, I thought.

"Christ, Brandi where did you learn to do your lips like that? You look like a such a tease!" Sandy said. I told her I had seen it in an old movie.

"Fine, don t change. Just don't be surprised if some boys have to leave the room suddenly when you do that." Sandy said.

"I know. I am a boy. But it feels like the right way to do it." I retorted.

"I like your attitude girlfriend. Now let's get this done. First some foundation..:" Sandy tried to keep it simple but there was no way as every component built on the preceding. Foundation, powder, eye shadow. All stuff she did on autopilot. She finally gave up and had me use just some mascara and lipstick. I was then instructed to practice every evening with all of options. My bag now got more stuff. I also realized I had to check my appearance regularly. I mean girl regularly, like every ten to fifteen minutes, not boy regularly of once a week.

School was incredible. I was in almost total drag and still got treated like one of the guys. Try sittimg on a locker room bench, refreshing your lipstick, working on not crossing your legs like a guy and having the other guys include you in the discussion of what some girl might be like under her dress. Trust me girls, this is a high compliment. Seventeen year old boys view this discussion like discovering the New World. The world is not flat. Now, this was becoming difficult for me as I had seen what was under there (girls room , remember?) and I was one of the girls too. Both sides seemed to trust me to be discrete and only keep my gossip along same gender lines. I could talk about girls to girls, but not to boys. But I could listen to the boys but not disclose who was the fantasy of the week to the girls. I felt like an intersexual go between.

Janet as usual was turned on by the outfit, enthusiastically so. We had a date that night, right after the prom committee meetings. But first I had to see Mom after school.

Chapter 10: Mom s Excellent Prom Adventure

While the week at school had gone by, Primary Mission was going to plan. Mom was on the job. She was lining up Moms and Dads to handle the finances, get discounts set up for tux rentals, limos, restaurants, hair, nail and dress establishments. The conspiracy of parents made sure the secret prom parties would be held at homes or locations which met at least some minimal criteria. All this while designing at least two original dresses. And coaching her son into the secrets of beauty, woman style. With lots of help from Sandy and Gram.

What amazed me was how a really smart and common sense practical woman could just accept the premise that her son just started to dress, act and in general look like a babe, with everyone accepting it as perfectly normal. I guess this version of reality was appealing to her right now. I hoped it was not this way forever, as these heels were killing me.

Mom and I got to do a lot of mother- daughter (mother son, dammit) stuff. Talking about hair, Janet , school, clothes. But it was now getting serious.

Mom sat me down and she told me her plan. I was still in my skirt and was proud of myself for getting the sitting right. Now Mom did not just say Here s the plan, idiot. Any questions? No , she said the same thing in a lot of words which made me feel great. The net result was the same. Mother talk. I had figured out Mom believed I was new to all of this, the hair, makeup, clothes. That made it a whole lot easier. She was in mother mode, helping me along. The only way I could screw it up was to appear insincere about what I was doing. So I told myself to want to do this. I would 'Enjoy Being A Girl.'

Now the plan. Mom needed Janet and I to settle on close to final dress designs by the next two weeks, so she was taking us to several boutiques next weekend, to try on gowns. We were getting very serious. We could buy ones we liked or let her improve on the design.

Next I needed to build a relationship with a hairdresser so Mom had set up weekly appointments with one both she and Sandy agreed on. She wanted a majority rule on this issue and through some obscure clause in the girl rules, Gram did not get a vote on this one. Maybe she was senior league and could no longer play on that level. I bet they retired her number.. I knew I really did not have a vote other than to pout, which was blindingly ineffectual with Mom. I knew that from being her son when younger and doubted a girl got any more slack.

Then there was a surprise. Janet ' parents had invited Mom and I to a sit down dinner. A week from Sunday. Not casual. Mom's tone on 'Not Casual ' told me volumes, but I could only read half of them. I would ask Sandy later for translation. Oh yes and Sandra was invited too, as Janet's older brother was home for the weekend. Parent matchmaking. I happened to know Janet s older brother Bill was gay. Handsome, witty, a damn good quarterback and gay. Bill and Sandy were good friends. Bill did not deny being gay but his parents had a don't ask policy and Bill never pushed his preference in anyone's face.

Now for the next discussion. Mom wanted to know what I wanted to do about my bustline. I got really embarrassed and turned several shades of red. Mom held me and said she could make the gown work any way I wanted. But did I want to emphasize my differences on Prom Night? Or did I want her to provide some help? (Translation did I want to be pretty but flat chested or blend in and compete on looks with the girls. Take the game to them.) I finally figured out an answer

." I wonder what Janet would like?" I said. Mom had me. Apparently this had been gamed out and I assume Janet consulted.

" Janet said she wants you to feel beautiful. So what do you think?" Mom returned my lob with an overhand smash. Back to me.

"I just don t know. Let me talk it out for a while." I called time out. I had learned girls don't want to think things over, they talk things over. I had escaped temporarily. Mom was impressed. I was learning the rules.

Next item. Easy one. Mom and I were going out window shopping two nights next week.

Last item. Mom dropped this one, now the all important Boob issue was tabled. "Bradley, when you go out and try on gowns next week we need to help you with the fit on them. I can handle your figure when I make the dress but you will need some bodyshapers for trying on the ones off the rack. I've asked Sandy to take you out for these." Now, according to the rules, I had two choices. Plan A: Pout and complain about being called fat and get assurance and a hug, or Plan B: just thank Mom and hug her. Tell her you'd been embarrassed to ask. Reinforce her Mom image. Plan B worked great. I was tied on style points.

Prom committee was short. I had moved to the managerial ranks, the guys being the unskilled labor, given a role at the last second. I was now an honorary girl and part of the decisions on balloons, streamers, and such. Advanced strategic concepts like color scheme and theme were the reserve of a select few girls, Janet being the leader. So my job was to round up the guys and get them where they were needed. I told them that job required more attraction than I had. They all laughed and told me I would have them kissing my feet. I guess I did know a few buttons to push with the guys.

I now had one hour to eat something and get ready for a date with Janet. Fortunately I had Sandy.

Sandy laughed at pairing up with Bill. She would enjoy it.

"Bran, Mom's 'Not Casual' means really done up, but just short of formal. Dress to impress but not to seduce. I would say killer hair, nails, face and dress for a family dinner. We are going to make the family look good. I expect you and Mom will find a really pretty dress while you are casually window shopping next week."

She continued. "Mom actually asked for help on the hairdresser so I steered her to Sally at Dressed With Skill salon. I already talked to her and she'll be gentle. Just do not piss her off, but don t let her sell you on something you really don t want. You and I will go out on Thursday for the bodyshapers. I know just the place.

"All that's fine, but what about." I started but Sandy cut me off.

"Your boobies? Ok now, forget Mom for a minute. Can you handle this? I mean it. I don t want you to get so freaked out it ruins your composure." Sandy went, really looking at me with some sympathy.

"Oh, damn. What s the difference? Why look like 90% of a girl. I can handle some assistance in that area. Do whatever. Just let s not talk it to death, Ok? I really didn t care anymore."

Sandy gave me a hug and said she would handle it. They she helped me get ready. Makeup for date night. So, in my sprayed on jeans and top with spaghetti straps, three inch heels and pony tail I was ready for the movies. Sandy let me borrow a purse and a sweater.

Janet picked me up and we had a great time. The movie was good too.

Chapter 11: New Developments

Monday morning. I woke up with breasts. Not big ones but they were there. Sandy was there in a flash. She really was concerned I would freak out but the cumulative effect of the last week had made this anti climactic. All I wanted to know was How Big Would They Get. And I wanted Sandy's assurance that no one would make fun of me.

"Sandy, I had sort of assumed some falsies of some kind. These look pretty real. How can no one notice?" I said. My rollers were loose again, I must have added another inch during the night. And I noticed my nails were longer. Sandy had told me to let them grow, as nails were an important accessory to my overall look.

"Well Brandi, my little brother, falsies are a pain and no fun. Plus this will give you the maximum flexibility in choosing clothes. How big would you like them? You re about an A cup now, on your way to B." Sandy said, relieved I was taking this so well.

"How big would you say Janet was?" I grinned.

"You are a nasty little bitch! Ok I have it on good authority that she may be a 38 C. You will be about a 42 fill in the blank."

"What s the next size up, a D I assume?" I said. Why not. I was going to enjoy this. I might as well compete fully loaded.

"You got it sister. Now this will take about two weeks and you are going to need some bras. I just happened to have a few with me. Also, the boys will be a bit in awe of you. They will still be friendly but will act like you might break if they touch you, like glass. Be gentle with them. Promise me." Sandy was serious.

" Okay, I already know all their buttons. It's an unfair advantage. I promise." I answered, seriously this time.

Hair, nails, skin care, makeup. Bra, Panties, Pantyhose, Slip. Skirt and Blouse. And the damned heels. Check everything twice. Check purse, bookbag. It was the difference between throwing a balsa wood glider and launching a spacecraft. Sandy made sure my bra was somewhat outlined under my blouse. She loaned me a necklace and sprayed some perfume on me. I was ready for Mom.

Mom made no comment. I knew she saw my new development, but she was cautious. Sandy had coached me earlier.

"Mom, I need you to look at something." I said, actually trembling for the first time. I still worried I would be rejected as a freak.

We went up to my room and I showed her my breasts. She held my hand and said all of her family had developed late and I was no exception. I would be fine. She would help out with letting out some of my blouses and shopping for new ones. She also told me I was her beautiful son and I would be a knockout. It felt wonderful. Mothers are among the most powerful forces in the known universe.

She said we would go shopping tonight.

My breasts became the talk of the school, some of it actually to my face. The girls were supportive and told me stories. The boys were my friends but I could already sense I would have to get used to them not making eye contact right away. Sandy decided I needed heel practice so it was to be skirts or dresses at least three days out of five during the week.

Janet was starting to scare me. We had arrived at school separately and I ran into her outside between buildings. The wind was up that day and it was messing up our hair, so we got into a sheltered spot. She reached out and gently touched my breast with an extended finger. They were not large but obvious under my blouse encased in a bra. My nipples came to attention and it felt very strange. Janet broke into tears. She went on about how she had hoped I would finally develop in time for the prom. We were going to look fabulous together. I started to tear up myself. This girl really cared about me. Standing back from this scene it would seem very weird but through the emotional lens we were looking through, it was really happy. Mascara running happy. After we repaired each others makeup we went on to class. Janet was talking about the surprise family dinner we had been invited to, going on about how her parents just wanted to get to know us. Mom was a bit notorious, and Gram had a reputation as that crazy old lady. I know Gram had carefully constructed that reputation and took great delight in inflicting it on the town. Janet's folks were really rich and while not stuffy, they were just cautious. I didn't hold it against them. They hadn't blackballed my family, they wanted to meet us, but formally, on their turf. All teams have to play away games.

"Brandi, they really want to get to know you better." Janet went on.

"They just want to make sure I'm not some gold digger trying to take their daughter." I joked.

Janet laughed. "There's a little of that too. Also, our Moms are spending a lot of time together and I think they like each other. Dad isn't here much so he wants to size you up."

"I was thinking of a trailer trash theme for what I would wear." I went on, tickling Janet in various places I had learned from my terrain mapping exercises in the back of the SUV.

Janet giggled and could not contain herself. She thought that was funny as hell. She went on to describe what I could wear, how to do my hair, shoes to really look trashy. I got into the act and we were both having a great mutual joke. We were a great couple.

Shopping with Mom was different. I felt like one of those intrepid explorers with the pith helmet, straining in every muscle through the trackless jungle. Mom, on the other hand was like the native guides. She could walk the explorer into the ground while balancing all the supplies on her head, and grin a big grin while doing it. She was tireless. My feet hurt and she had even let me wear sneakers (as long as I had pantyhose on. We might try some things on). I think it was the fact that you could never be off duty while shopping for female clothes. You always had to be scanning the horizon for that perfect item, the elusive prey. And like a Tigress, once you had the prey, you devoured it into a shopping bag and kept scanning for the next one. Guys went shopping only when they had to and then for something specific. Find something in the general specification in the first store, bag it and go look at the girls in the mall. Scanning endlessly. And why do women shop for clothes endlessly? To give the guys something to scan. The universe is complex in its symmetry.

I had begun to approach my situation as Project: Enjoy Being A Girl . In order to succeed in my Mission: Give Mom Something She Needs I realized I would have to make everything ingrained into reflex. Checking Appearance. How Do I Look. Keep your hair and skirt out of car doors and other things. Make Up (books on that one. I just followed Keep It Simple) Hair (I actually was getting good at doing the styling. Sandy said I should consider it for a living, I was a natural) Skirt behavior. Eating. (Treating all foods as the natural enemy of your wardrobe) Doing anything with nails (I had resolved that mine were staying at a half inch or less). Bras. Bras were hard to get used to. Being honest, I think it was the contents. Protecting your chest required new reflexes, counter to the ones I had. It was the hardest thing to overcome.

During our several shopping trips, I took endless treks examining dresses for Mom (She actually seemed to want to make me feel that my opinion of a dress on her was important. I guess it was, as she was going to be involved in the Chaperone and Parent's Committee events during the prom. So I got into it.) She got my ears pierced and had me pick several earrings. She was bubbly, my ears stung. But the gold hoops were nice. Sandy was right, we did mysteriously find a really pretty dress for Sunday at Janet s house., silk, sleeveless, just above the knees. The skirt was well fitted and not loose and I did not quite fill the bust. Mom told me we'd give my figure a little help. I also got my first pearls. And several purses. And shoes. And we had a great time sitting over cappuccinos at various places. Mom was acting like a regular person, engaged with life. She was focused on something outside her pain and that was me.

Chapter 12: Bend Me, Shape Me, Any Way You Want Me

Thursday afternoon. I have been on the phone with Janet for a half an hour. She keeps dropping hints about coming along with Sandy and me for our shopping trip. I am embarrassed enough about going girdle shopping and I really wanted to keep the crowds and photographers to a minimum. I had not told Janet where we were going. I know Sandy has not talked as I actually threatened her (something like If you tell anyone I won t ever forgive you Real tough) and begged her to keep this between us sisters. Sandy made a promise and you can bank on that. She would not reveal it under extreme torture or a lifetime of bad hair days. So I am in my room, applying a new coat of polish to my nails, down to my bra and panties with my hair up in a scrunchie, talking to my girlfriend, trying to find a nice way to ditch her for the evening.

"Janet starts laughing. Brandi, you are so funny. There is no way I'd take my boyfriend along to the Body Shop. I d take Bill, but he's special. I just wanted to see if you'd react the same way. I'm flattered. Go with Sandy, you'll have a great time. Love you, bye, got another call!"

I said my byes and thought. The only way she knew was Mom told her Mom. I weighed the decision of whether to have a Moootthhheerrr!!! scene where the offended daughter takes her grievance out formally, in the proscribed ritualistic fashion. Usually the grievance is telling any other woman and therefore the entire known universe something personal and embarrassing. It was kind of like those medieval scenes where the peasants petition the King to stop trampling them into the ground as the King's Men ride through their village. The King ponders, and then we know what kind of King he is. If he agrees to only trample the peasants on weekdays, the village rejoices. What a good King!. If he has the petitioners beheaded and then trampled into the ground, the village rejoices. What a strong King we have!

I decided that Mom deserved the whole Prom experience. I put on my nightgown, carefully as my nails were not fully dry, and paddled downstairs to petition the Queen.

Sandy was there, looking really good in a blue dress with patterned hose. Her hair was nicely done in her regular style and she had her daytime warpaint on. She had explained to me that One Does Not Wear Pants Or Other Casual Clothes When Inside The Body Shop . She was waiting for me to get ready so we could leave.

Mom and I performed the ritual. I actually had caught her and Mom was always gracious when she lost. She admitted she had talked about our plans today with Janet's mother, forgetting that with Janet and I as boyfriend /girlfriend it might be a little embarrassing. She said things today are complicated (Complicated? Crossdressing Boy-Girlfriend? Who would have thought it would be complicated?) and she was sorry. Could I ever forgive her? Like I wasn t going to forgive her. She was good. She had taken defeat and run it right up to the edge of victory by guilt. What A Good Queen We Have! I started laughing. Sandy joined in and Mom did too. Gram came in to see what the fuss was about. Sandy chased me upstairs to get ready.

The Body Shop was one of those places which understood the need for social rules. One of the problems in modern society is we have abandoned in the name of personal convenience many of the things which put the little details of life into a common experience. My Dad used to talk about how, when airplane travel was considered a rare event it had an air of excitement and adventure. People dressed in suits and ties, dresses and hats just because they were on an airplane. It was a special experience. Now, people show up, are herded through and no one likes it. But nobody makes it special. People dress like slobs and act accordingly. He used to say we lost something. There are outposts of past civilizations, like the monasteries in the middle ages, keeping the old ways alive. They just want to exist honoring a way of life that is important to them. The Body Shop was an outpost of civility and style.. They had unspoken rules. I'm sure some women in jeans have shown up and been served, but not ever with more than pity and no invitation to return. The shop thrived because they knew one essential fact. Most Women Love To Dress Up. And modern times has decreased the number of places and occasions which require dressing up. Dressing up requires a super majority of the participants always dress up, without question. If enough dress down, then you will commit the sin of Overdressing.

Sandy brought me into the anteroom of the Body Shop. Our hair was perfect and she had made sure my face was up to her standards. She wore blue, I wore beige. I was now really good in my 3 inch stilettos, I had graduated to a full license. Sandy graded my road test and I was ready for the high speed lanes. We were greeted by an impeccably dressed woman named Melinda. She was somewhere between thirty and forty but presented herself towards to low end of that range.

Do not get me wrong. The women at the Body Shop were not condescending, or snooty. If you entered their world and made a sincere attempt to respect it, they were wonderful, friendly and delivered a great customer service experience. Just show respect. Not too hard to figure out.

There was minimal display and comfortable chairs. There were catalogues of their products on the coffee tables. Tea was served. Melinda put the pot down and said our Personal Assistant would be with us shortly. I did not know Sandy had made an appointment. I was quiet as a mouse, trying to be as poised as possible. Sandy was flipping through the catalogue, showing the latest in lingerie. I sipped my tea, trying not to slurp.

Mary, our Personal Assistant entered. Hair up, tasteful dress, and warm smile. She ushered us into a private room with several full length mirrors, high backed chairs and a changing screen in the corner. There was more tea. Mary asked us how she could help us today. Sandy, as agreed, took the lead.

"My little brother, Brandi will be trying on prom gowns and we have some new dresses to wear to a dinner party this weekend. He wants to try some foundation garments and see how they look". Sandy was exaggerating the meaning of the phrase wants to try .

Mary looked me over, asked me to please stand up, and then commented on what lovely hair I had.

"Brandi, do you do your own styling? It really looks great!" Mary gushed.

I nodded yes and gave credit to Sandy's help.

Sandy came back "Brandi doesn t need my help anymore. He does my hair now." It was somewhat true. Sandy wanted me to practice, so I had become her live in hairdresser.

Mary asked if she could bring out some items which she felt would be worth trying on.

I agreed. I was warming up to her. I was a male in a most feminine domain but I was playing by her rules. She appreciated that and made me feel at home. I went behind the screen and took off my dress.

I now paraded in front of Sandy and Mary in girdles, waist cinchers, all-in-ones, long line bras, garter belts . There was also a line of camisoles and bodystockings which provided support and control. Mary commented that I should try some more items which enhanced my hips and derriere, as I did need any help in the bust. Sandy agreed that I should try it, just to see. This was girl talk for you look like a boy from the waist down . Since I was now topped out in my C cups, at least they couldn t call me flat chested. Sandy had told Mary to allow for some growth in my breasts and Mary nodded to me.

"The late bloomers always get the pretty ones. You will look fabulous at the prom, especially if you emphasize these, Brandi dear." Mary said sweetly.

Now I tried on a series of the same garments but this time with subtle padding for my hips and butt. Sandy told me to put my dress back on for some of them. The effect was dramatic. I had thought I looked fine but now the dress hung like it had been intended. It was just enough the give me a slight but definite curve to my figure. The higher waisted girdles and the all-in-ones pinched in my middle to complement the effect. I looked like a real fox. And I could still breathe. I had had visions of bondage sessions, like those old fashioned corset lacing pictures, but Mary was very good at this. I was convinced she could sell to a three hundred pound five foot tall woman and convince her she barely needed any help, just some minor figure enhancements.

Sandy and I selected a selection of various items, in both black and white. Sandy insisted I get at least one pink bodystocking. Now Sandy joined me in the fun. We had to pick some nightgowns, negligees and sleep sets. And sports bra and panty sets. And slips and stockings. I also got a whole selection of padded panties which were cut for men but rounded my hips and butt. I wondered if I was the only man to come here and then doubted it. Even in a reality not twisted by Gram and Sandy, I wasn t the first guy to wear a dress. Mary recommended I come back in a week for resizing my bras, and defer purchases of any items affected other than what I would need this weekend. Sandy and I tried a whole bunch of brassieres, including some strapless models which seemed to defy several laws of Physics. I would pick up the balance of my new wardrobe next week. Sandy took hers now.

Mary had our purchases sent to Sandy's car and when I assumed we would be ushered out, very nicely, Mary ushered us to another room with very comfortable chairs, a view of the lake and flowerbeds with trays of very small appetizers. Wine was available, I was offered a soft drink. Mary sat down and chatted with us. She asked me about the prom, my date and sundry questions. She complimented my poise and manners. I complimented her on what a wonderful time we had. It was true. Sandy, Mary and I had had fun, joking, telling stories and some secrets. I knew this feeling Guys have it too, while playing ball, or digging a ditch. Bonding.

Chapter 13: Just Leave It To Me , Dearie

Saturday. Gram had had everything running smoothly at the house for years now and she was turning management back to Mom. Which meant a new boss for our chores. I had yard upkeep. In our family you weren't given a job like 'mow the lawn '. We were given ownership. I was responsible for how the yard looked and given an operating budget. There was extensive constructive advice when it looked bad. I had realized over time that this was not how most kids were raised. Their loss.; I had taught myself landscaping, and horticulture and could probably give pro greenskeepers a run for their money. Sandy was an accomplished chef. We formed a joint partnership one summer to paint the house. We were both taught auto repair before we could get a license. We never thought this was strange. If you needed to do something, you learned how and did it.

I got everything done I could and had hired a local kid to do some basic stuff. Mom had set my first hairdresser appointment in the early afternoon and had given me a budget increase until after the prom to get some help.

Sandy was busy and could not come with me, but she had assured me that good casual would be just fine. Mom had asked me if I would consider something up for tomorrow's dinner and I could tell this was a serious request. Another new experience. And I would have to learn to replicate it. It was the family expectation. I put my hair in two plaits, put on a pair of soft pants over my padded panties, and added a camisole top over my 42 C black bra. Matching sandals and I was on my way, after refreshing my makeup. I navigated the SUV over to Janet's house. She ran out, kissed me and gave me a quick feel up. She was not going to miss my first salon experience. I reached over to her side while driving, put my hand up her halter top and returned the favor. I got a pleasant cooing sound but had to put both hands back on the wheel to avoid a bus. I didn t even break a nail.

We rolled into the Dressed With Skill parking lot. Janet ran up behind me and whispered "Nice Ass, Boyfriend." in my ear. We entered and Sally waved me over. I knew it was Sally from her nametag, I have no idea how she knew me.

"You're Sandy s little brother! She told me to take care of you." Sally said in greeting. I introduced Janet who got a positive comment on her hairstyle. We got down to the process, wash, shampoo, condition. She was talking the whole time and I could see Janet suppressing a smirk while paging through a magazine. I told her I had a dinner party and said I was thinking of something simple but up. Janet broke into a grin. Her Mom wore it up most of the time. Sally showed me several pictures. She was steering me towards elaborate, with serious curls. I calmly listened, asked her about what it took to repeat the style myself and we both settled on a simple but elegant French twist. Sally recommended some hair jewelry for the occasion and agreed to let me see the process. She knew Sandy. My sister apparently always insisted on learning how to do any style herself. Like being able to rebuild your engine if it went wrong. Family values. I liked Sally, she was hysterically funny, especially when it came to town gossip. She also treated me like a guy, sort of. A stacked guy who was getting his hair done. Sally kidded Janet on what a catch I was. The nail professional(I never know what to call them They always seem to go by their first name rather than a title) came by and Janet and I debated extensions, but decided against it. Maybe closer to the prom, Janet advised. Sally agreed.

When it was done, I looked at myself. I looked so different. I felt different, lighter, maybe floating. Sally was proud of her work. I looked at it and thought it would only take two tries for me to do it myself. Janet was stunned. She just kept looking at me. She seemed happy. She grabbed my hand. She was happy. Sally gave me some care pointers, then handed me a bouffant satin cap which would keep the style and made me swear to use it. I swore, following Sandy s rule of Don t Piss Off Your Hairdresser . Sally pecked my cheek and I heard her start talking to the others as we left. They make a real cute couple.

Janet and I discussed some of the styles as prom potential. The discussion really boiled down to: do we both do it up, down or surprise each other. This discussion had been under way for a week. My hair had stopped its rapid growth just past mid back length, about four inches longer than Janet's. Janet asked me to hide the style from her folks until tomorrow, so I dropped her off and headed home. Mom was picking her up later so we could go dress shopping together.

Chapter 14: Queen of the Jungle

Mom, Janet and I headed for the malls. I found that the The Body Shop had spoiled me with customer service. Janet and I were in our jeans and sneakers, her hair in a pony tail and mine in the French twist looking through the racks of prom dresses. For an event which guaranteed they would move half their inventory, most of the stores were complete idiots about making us feel welcome. I was glad we were just there to give us ideas. I knew Mom was going to make my dress, I wanted it that way. The salesladies treated us like dirt until Mom walked in and cut a few to shreds with a quiet manner and the willingness to request the store manager. Mom wasn't in the mood to take crap from a bunch of twenty year old airheads.

Janet was in heaven. I think she tried on twenty gowns in five different stores. I was trying to find one which didn t make me feel naked.

Mom took me aside and said to me, very quietly "Bradley, you need to get more comfortable with your body. You will look as good or better than most of the girls there. And I have some ideas about using your hair to de-emphasize your shoulders. Focus them on the boobs. There you compete really well. So forget hiding anything and enjoy showing it off. Janet wants to show you off, so don't disappoint her."

My Mom said Boobs to me. That alone was rattling things. But she was right. What the hell, let ' show 'em off. I found a style I liked, and showed it to Mom, then Janet. They both were favorable so I tried it on.

I had on my padded all-in one with the low back which covered my panties. It had garters to hold up my stockings. I was outgrowing the cups. I would need to get back to the Body Shop soon. I stepped into the dress and put my arms through the thin straps. I asked Mom to zip me up. I did my turns for Janet and Mom.

Mom had never seen me in a gown. Neither had Janet. Heck, neither had I. With my hair up, the effect was pretty good. Mom teared up. Janet grinned. Nobody laughed. The dress swirled nicely when I moved.

Mom held my hand. After she had composed herself, she got practical.

"Brandi, it looks great. You are going to need to find a strapless bra which works with it, I think, especially if you get any larger there. Lets think about it."

I knew it was my dress. Mom knew it. She was already figuring the materials, trim and process to make it in her head. Janet wanted some more time, and to bring her Mom for the finals. She promised Mom a decision by Wednesday.

Chapter 15: Guess Who Is Coming To Dinner?

Sunday afternoon. Sandy, Mom and I are getting ready, three people and two bathrooms. A volatile mix. Sandy and Mom were floored with the French twist. Gram loved it. She treated me like a princess all evening and morning. Dinner, snacks, breakfast. Mom had her hair up, Sandy was odd girl out but had a beautiful style, her hair pulled back and then down, with spiral curls on the ends. It looked high maintenance and was. Sandy said she need to shock Bill and show him she could be a lady. We joked that it was wasted on Bill.

"I'll keep him off you little sister." Sandy had said. I wasn t worried, Bill would not hit on Janet s date. He had class.

I drove. I had the SUV sparkling, ready to carry its elegant passengers. Mom looked like a movie star. This was the first time she had really done herself up in almost three years. She was all simplicity and beauty, understated and oozing class. Sandy was even more than her usual incredible self. She seemed determined to contrast Mom and me, wearing a floor length full skirted dress. She looked like something out of a romance novel cover.

Mom's dress and mine were similar but different enough. I thought my shoulders looked a little big in the sleeveless dress, but Mom said I looked fine. Sandy said no guy would ever look at my shoulders, and girls would love them. I had my pearls and Gram had given me some diamond earrings which dangled down. I was trying to adapt my head movements to avoid oscillations. I had my all-in-one on with my butt padding. The cups were just a shade small as I seemed to have increased my breasts just a little bit. The dress wasn't low cut but it did show some cleavage. I was again the tallest in my family as I had on four inch heels.

Driving was ok, after I temporarily traded my heels for sneakers. We got there in one piece. The three outstanding babes at the front door (Us) were let in by the maid, who took our coats as Janet's Mom and Dad rushed up to greet us. Kiss Kiss. Bill came in and hugged Sandy and they went off to talk. Janet's Mom was a toucher, one of those people who seems compelled to gently touch you when she addresses you, as if there was some extra communication by that means. There probably was. She loved my hair, my pearls, my dress. Call her Marjorie.

Marjorie marched me over to Andrew (Janet s Dad) and introduced me as This is Janet s boyfriend. Sandy's brother. He and Janet are getting quite serious.

I looked over to Janet to see if this was a MMMoootthheerrr!!!! Moment but apparently not, it was off the playing field. You only learn by watching and doing.

Andrew shook my hand, but so gently. As if I were glass. He then kissed me on the cheek. I kissed him back. He asked me about school, other things. He talked baseball. He loved baseball. I loved baseball but had only had had time to glimpse at the scores on the websites. He and I walked into the den, discussing the early season so far. Without looking, I could feel Janet and the Moms shaking their heads in that 'Men!' way. We were fine. At least it wasn t MEN! Then we were screwed.

On my way back to find Janet while Andrew had to take a phone call, I found Sandy and Bill, sitting in a small game room. Sandy waved me in.

Bill got up and looked me over. He was a big guy. I was six one in heels and Janet was tall too, only and inch shorter. Her Mom and Dad were tall. Bill was six five and built like a defensive tackle above the waist and a wide receiver below. He whistled. He then shook my hand, a real guy handshake. I had missed them. Bill leaned next to me and whispered in my ear.

"What you are doing for your Mom is really impressive, especially for a straight guy. Sandy has asked me to help out with the process. Oh, and by the way, Janet really likes you no matter how you look. Don t worry about whether she wants you to be this forever. Just go with it and enjoy it. You re a good man, Brad." Bill said.

" You're a witch or what you call it" I blurted out.

Bill put his finger to his lips. He whispered again. "Sandy clued me in years ago and helped me develop it. I'm either a guy witch or a gay warlock. Doesn t matter to me. Now go in and be dazzling for Marjorie. Andrew already thinks you are great."

I did, and actually had a good time. Mom and Marjorie were thick as thieves and Janet and I were allowed to sit and listen attentively. Andrew told me about his business and I listened attentively. That was our job , listening attentively. Janet and I were left alone for a while after dinner. We decided we needed not look disheveled so our normal activity was very subdued. Plus we were both dressed and madeup with much effort and still had at least another two hours to go before we could go offstage.

Later, Mom declared the evening a success, we did the usual thirty minute thank the host and hostess, put our coats on, forget the purse farewell. Kiss Kiss. I opened the SUV doors for Mom and Sandy and Andrew opened mine. Heels off, sneakers on, we drove home.

Chapter 16: The Pace Quickens

The next few weeks flew by. Highlight follow:

-I grew to a D cup and noticed the guys at school were impressed. They still looked more at my boobs than my eyes, but I knew they could not help it and took it as a compliment. The girls told me it was easy to take it well when you were as stacked and racked like I was. They were merciless but it was friendly.

-I had recruited all the mindless labor necessary for the prom decorations - I told the guys I would tell all their secrets to the girls if they did not volunteer. They knew I was kidding, I was a guy. So I flashed my boobs in the locker room. They had all been consumed with wonder and now I had them. If they did not cooperate, I would let each of their dates know they liked mine better than hers. Now I had their attention. Janet thought it was hysterical while she called me a slut. Then she kissed me and told me I was her slut.

-Mom was in full boss mode. The whole town was marching to her plan on the prom and felt good about it. She was then focused on the dresses. Janet had decided and I had decided. Mom was in high gear in her sewing room.

-Evenings after school almost always had a fitting of some kind, usually with Sandy and Gram playing the sideline fans and hecklers. I stood there, having material pinned up and watching Mom work. She was good.

-Sally and I became friends. We were evolving towards a style for the big event, following Mom's theory on wearing it over my shoulders. Sally taught me more about hairdressing every week and tried to get me to work for her. I was becoming the house stylist at home and Janet even came by for special shampoo sessions.

-Andrew asked me to consider interning in his business after senior year of high school.

-Sandy and I bonded as sisters. It was a like an extended slumber party. I knew some of her attention was her keeping me on balance, but we grew closer. We had shared grief and loss and were now sharing the joy of Mom's return. Mom had opened the money spigots and we were enjoying the results in our wardrobes and jewelry cases. A few times Sandy had caught me standing at the mirror, looking like a deer in the headlights. There was a stranger in the reflection. She held me, reassured me, let me cry. She told me I was doing what was necessary. And I was still the same at the core. Then she did my hair and we ate popcorn.

-The track coach asked me if I was going to be there next season. He assured me I could wear any uniform I wanted to.

-School went on. Tests, homework. The teachers slacked off the week of the prom.

Chapter 17: Somewhere, Over Occupied Europe, A Band Of Brave Souls

The frenzy went right to Saturday about noon. Then a strange quiet descended, similar to the one you saw in the old war movies. The guys on the plane about to jump into battle. All it needed was some girl at a make-up table playing the harmonica while the propellers droned on. Glassy eyed looks. Trained and ready to go. Then you would have some other girl staring at a gown shrouded in plastic suddenly jump up and go "The Waiting! I can t stand it!" while other girls wrestle her to the ground, slap her face and go "Settle down soldier."

Mom was pacing. I had modeled the dress several times. It was perfect and further attention was asking for trouble. Sally was coming over for a touch up to the hairdo, just to make sure after my appointment with her that morning. The limo was due at 5:30 that evening to pick me up and then head to get Janet. We had debated and Janet had urged me to agree to have dinner with Bill and Sandy rather than a double date. We would see all the kids all night, and we felt dinner should be a touch more sophisticated. Bill and Sandy told us they would handle the corsages, easing the pressure on Janet and me.

My hair was really really great. I loved it and it hid my shoulders which was important as my dress showed a lot of skin. Back from my face but soft waves cascading down over my shoulders, teased out but not excessively, it shined and flowed with blonde highlights in my normal brown. I just loved looking in the mirror at it. Sally had said it was designed to draw attention right to these babies tapping my breasts with her teasing comb.

I wrote an imaginary press release.

"Brandi is attending the Prom, his hair a crowning glory accentuating his best features."

"His gown is ladylike in soft flock fabric and lace. It features an empire bodice with lovely spaghetti straps. Detailed with lace overlay combining venise appliqu and trim embroidered with beautiful flowers and sequence specs add to the look. The skirt has three rows of softly gathered lace and a beautiful scalloped lace overlay. Soft gathers in back to complete the graceful look"

"Brandi runs track, likes baseball, computers, cars and girls. He is planning to become a business executive, centerfielder or a top hairdresser."

I started assembly. I called Sandy in as I began the construction project that dressing had become.

"Sandy, I need some advice on what to wear underneath." There, I put it straight. I was now a real girl, can't even pick out underwear without a consultation.

Sandy ran me through the options, which were very narrowed down by the need to wear a strapless brassiere. My gown had an open back, not too low , and had bare shoulders. I felt it was held up by my boobs and best wishes (there, I'm doing it again, saying I felt instead of I thought .Relax, Breathe, Go With The Flow). Sandy took this seriously, and within seconds had gotten to the critical path points. She told me to answer only two questions.

Question One: Did I want some waist support?

Question Two: Did I want Janet to get lucky tonight?

All else was dictated by the dress and event.

Okay, my mind was reeling with my newest piece of learning. Women had to plan on what they would allow their men to be able to do easily when they were dressing. No wonder they had claimed veto rights over time, place and how far. Backed up by the law.

No could mean No way, or Not now, I'm not stripping naked in your car. It always meant No. No wonder men were always confused, they thought it was about them. And never get a woman who was a poor planner at clothing.

Mom had done great with the dress, it fit like a glove, even with my guy waist. I still wanted some extra insurance in case I did something wild , like actually eat at dinner.

So yes to question one.

Question Two had me hemming and hawing, and Sandy, seeing I was protecting Janet s reputation, ended my predicament. "Bradley, my beautiful little sister, I know Janet isn't a virgin and I have a really good guess on your condition. So relax, you are being gallant since only real men don t screw and tell. But I know. And if you want Janet to have some fun, you have to allow for where you will be. Probably in the limo or somewhere else inconvenient, and you do not want to have to remove some major foundation garments, which means getting out of the dress. Follow me, honeychile? So what do you think about this?" Sandy proceeded to lay out the components. It was like going to the damn Moon.

Okay, we got it done. I started with a strapless demi-bra which somehow supported my breasts but felt like one of those big bridges held up by a single cable. Control top panties with a bit more padding than I usually wore. A strapless camisole which was two layers, with the interior layer being a control fabric which held my waist snug while the outer layer was loose and gauzy. A garter belt and sheer black tone stockings. Sandy told me the garters and stockings were irresistible. I agreed, but I liked the look better on women. Sandy said girls need some thrills too. A half slip which Sandy told me was a real toned down petticoat, just to make my dress seem full. Sandy then handed me my purse and my bag. My purse was so small as to almost be non functional, enough room for lipstick, compact, mascara and brush. Stuff like ID and money was less important. All the other stuff went in my bag, larger and stocked like a drugstore. It was to stay either with my coat or in the limo. Sandy had put in some extra panties and made sure I had a condom or five. She had also had me stick a small sanitary pad in my panties, just in case my constrained manhood got frisky at the sight of all those pretty girls .

Non-Mom stuff out of the way, Mom made her entrance, followed by Gram. They were both dressed for the hunt, Mom in her floor length evening dress and Gram in a really neat high neck silk long sleeve number that looked like it was Asian. Gram had her hair up and looked like the Dragon Lady in that old comic strip. Really sexy but dangerous. She could carry it off because she was dangerous. Did I mention she met Grampa while they both were occupying Japan in the 1940's?. Gram loved Asian stuff and despite having those people try to kill her regularly, she loved the place.

Chaperones at this event knew their charter. An occasional walk through early on, take some pictures, then get out of the room. They had a small party of their own in a room off the gym/now ballroom, keeping an eye to make sure nothing had gotten out of hand. They screened out the kids who had decided to let substances abuse them, and discretely helped them clear their heads. No names, no questions. As a result, almost all the kids were mature, which meant they controlled their substance abuse. Isn't that why they call them controlled substances? Mostly a few had some champagne or maybe one drink for courage . A few were stoned but harmless.

So now, I told Mom and Gram how great they looked, Mom informed me she was here for the final assembly. So here I am, demi-bra, camisole, half petti-slip, stockings, face, nails and hair done. Mom reviewed me and then she held up the dress for me to step into. Gram was taking enough pictures to fill a gigabyte chip.

Carefully put it on. Get zipped up. Sandy gave me my heels. Stand for pictures. Twirl around. The look on Mom's face was burned into my mind. I ll never forget it. She was at peace with herself and was having one of those perfect moments life rations out to you at rare and random intervals. I feel sorry for those who let them go by and do not notice. It made me giggle. We hugged, Gram hugged, Sandy hugged, a whole lot of hugging going on. In many ways , I understood what Sandy had missed when she did this solo, still in shock at Mom and Dad's disappearance. Gram had made her do it, but it was not the same. Then I realized that Gram had been stuck in Borneo by monsoons and had missed Mom's prom. All three of these women were getting something out of this, something they had lost. I could say I felt obligated, but that would be wrong. I wanted to give them something, whatever I could. They all were great Ladies, capital L intended.

Chapter 18: The Balloon Goes Up

The Prom was the Prom. Limo, Dinner, Dance, Ceremony, Party, Party, Alone With Janet, Collapse. Lets see the game highlights, Mr. Color Commentator. Run the replays.

Highlight: Pre Game Festivities

Sandy and Bill met us outside the limo at Janet s after Mom and Gram had bundled me into the back. The driver was cool and talked to me about his Prom experience, guy to guy. I laughed. When I looked at my reflection in the window, I had an image of al those movies where the expensive mistress of the wealthy bad guy is being delivered to his private jet by his bodyguards. I hugged my mink wrap (Gram's) and grinned. So, after we have been both corsaged by Sandy and Bill, which seemed just right, and anyway Bill looked great in his dinner jacket so the image fit, we are then whisked away to a local Very Expensive Restaurant On The Water. Bill poured champagne and no one bothered us. He did limit us to one glass each, but poured two into Sandy. I knew Sandy, he could have poured the whole bottle down her throat. and she would not show it. Toast. Toast. Great food. I was glad I had the camisole keeping my gut under wraps.

Highlight: The Team Comes on the Field

Janet took my breath away. I had seen her dress but the total package was proof about that sum of the parts thing. We had decided on her hair up, mine down. Her gown was making me glad Sandy had told me to use the pad. I didn t use it but came close. Low cut and tasteful. We were carefully color coordinated, not matching but clearly complimentary. We did have the same white satin gloves which went past our elbows. I was wondering how she would react to my outfit but she loved it and somehow it turned her on. Sandy had to make funny throat noises to get us separated and into the limo.

Highlights: Coach Instructs the Team

Sandy had given me some behavior strategy points.

"Brandi, you are one of the guys, but tonight you are playing on the girl's team. The guys will respect that. Except Janet, to her you are her guy but that's for later. During the Prom itself she will mostly want to talk to the girls. So I recommend since you look the part, be the part. I will bet the girls will have their dates ask you to dance. Do it. If they feel awkward, you know how that feels, make them comfortable. Dance with the girls too, but no real slow and dirty dances with girls except Janet unless you want some real crap later. Half of the real good discussion is in the ladies lounge anyway, so use it. Tonight, no boys room. Got it sweetheart? Walk this dress into the boy's room, with what's on that floor? Was she kidding?

Highlights: She Walked Up to Me And Asked Me To Dance, My Lola

I did dance with a lot of guys. I knew Sandy was right, their dates wanted to make sure I had my experience. Plus, they were pretty sure I was not real competition. Everybody did look great, but Mom, Gram and Sandy, Janet, Sally and Mary had worked a miracle. I wasn't the best looking one there but I was better than average and I knew it. Fortunately for me and the guys who wanted to dance, Mom and Dad had loved to dance. They inflicted enough years of punishment on Sandy and me until we could do what they called real dancing as opposed to what passes for movement on most high school dance floors. Waltz, foxtrot, jitterbug, swing, tango. Sandy had made sure I could now do it like it had been said about Ginger Rogers compared to Fred Astaire. I had to do it all, just backwards and in high heels. (If you've never heard of Fred & Ginger-look it up, it is a cultural icon). Mom had had some influence in the music selection and there were a few classic dances thrown in with the rest of the stuff in the mosh pit. Girls need to demand these to come back, these dresses were made to do these dances. I knew a few of the guys could do these if I forced them out on the floor, so I did. And yes, I did dance with Janet. Including the slow dances. It took a little adaptation to keep our boobs from collision, but we figured it out. Janet could also jitterbug like an instructor. Gram always said, Dancing Is Culture. To know a culture, study the Dance. When the dance changes, so does the culture.

Highlights: Everyone's Favorite Girl Friend

At that time and place, a minority of the guys had long hair. Probably around ten percent. At least half of them had come to me for hair advice for the prom. I assumed most of those had been prodded by their dates to see me. So in the interest of community service and because their girlfriends had begged me to do something with their usual rats nests which passed for hair, I gave them advice and walked them through what it would take. If they wanted more, it cost them. Cash. My folks had told me that my time, beyond a certain point of being a decent neighbor had value. So I became a hairdresser to the hopeless. They did have to do their own shampoo and conditioning, under my supervision. Then I gave them a style which worked. Their girlfriends were ecstatic and the guys ended up looking really good. I made a few hundred.

Highlights: The Moment We ve All Been Waiting For .

I know you're expecting it but no, I was not elected Prom Queen. Or Prom King. Janet was Queen and the second best looking guy in school was King. She did cry. I did make the Queen's court, so I got to attend Janet along with five other girls. Mom was raptly watching the whole thing. I then remembered Sandy had been Prom Queen. Damn, I would never hear the end of that.

Highlight: Party On Dudette

We had parties. If you ve never been to one, good for you. Kids at the parties are either coming down from the lift and magic of the event and unwinding, exploring each other's bodies in semi-public ways, or getting drunk, stoned or other . There were only three car accidents, no one hurt, just sheet metal and trim. There was some regurgitation, mostly in appropriate places. A few punches, all of which missed except two. I never figured out why at least fifteen percent of kids that age when presented with any body of water will end up soaked to the skin. Party One for Janet and I was the unwinding stage. Yes we had a few drinks but Janet was even more controlled than Sandy and I hated being drunk. I don t mind drinking, just hate being drunk. We had a good time. Everybody stayed dressed.

Party Two was the same but clothes were shedding, hair came down, heels came off. Janet and I were still intact. We liked the look and were preserving the moment. We also got bored and had the driver take the long way home.

Highlights: This Channel Strictly Available On A Pay Per View Basis And You Can t Afford It

Janet and I decided the limo was comfortable and available. The driver was cool and we told him to take an early breakfast break. Deep tinted windows.

That s all you get. If you need more you won't get it from me.

Highlights: Post Game Wrap Up

Janet and I were reassembling ourselves when the driver came back from breakfast. Sandy had proven to be a master at underwear planning. I had clean panties and no visible stains. My hair needed some work but not as much as Janet's. So, like a true gentleman, I reconstructed her hairdo. It took me a while, but she was thrilled. Unfortunately, now she expected updos on demand.. I had her fix my face in repayment.

The sun was coming up as we kissed at her front door. Her Mom opened and dragged us both in for tea and coffee and some breakfast. Forty five minutes later, Janet cannot keep her eyes open. I get another kiss and one from Marjorie.

Limo home. Sandy opens my door and escorts me to the waiting post operation review board. Mom and Gram are dressed down in nightgowns. Apparently Gram had taken up with another Senior Citizen and had just returned an hour before me.

I removed my heels and half slip. I wanted to take the camisole off but just sitting suddenly became more important. Over more bites of breakfast, we all swapped impressions and observations. We gossiped. Girl talk.

I was still awake enough not to fail a key test. The three women were dying to know what Janet and I really did after the prom. In some small way I wanted to share it. But I was still a guy. In Mom's mind I was still her son, and demi-bra and gown, long styled hair and eyeliner and all the rest were just what I wore. She still expected me to be a stand up guy. So I politely declined as a gentleman does not talk about a lady. Mom smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Character is what defined a person's worth for her.

Mom walked me up to my bedroom and helped me undress. I was dead on my feet and greatly appreciated her help. I don t remember anything after my stockings came off.

Chapter 19: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I woke up sometime around noon. Janet and I were going to the lake that afternoon and then out for the evening, probably an amusement park. We were definitely not going swimming as Janet wanted to keep her hair style at least until Sunday evening. I opened my eyes and there was Gram and Sandy. They were shaking me awake. Somehow I had been undressed and put into a sleep set and nightgown, with my hair rescued by a satin bonnet. My makeup was removed. My tongue tasted like fur. My gloves were still on.

"It's about time, Brandi you lazy bitch!" Sandy joked. Gram was waiting patiently for me to pass the threshold of semi-consciousness.

"Bradley, I want you to know you have done a wonderful job. My daughter has come back to me. To all of us. I know it was not easy but you were just what we had hoped. You did what you had to do, and did it well. Would you like to go back to being a little more masculine now? Notice I didn t say go back to being a man, because you acted like a real man the whole time. Everything you did was for someone you loved." Gram said, clearly happy but serious and focused. Talking to her when she was like this meant pay attention to every word.

"So, what now, just wiggle your noses and I m a boy? Just like that?" I said.

Sandy answered. "No, Brandi, it took two months to build you and Mom to this point, it will take about that to take you back with no disruption of Mom's psyche. We can start right now."

"Why do I think you want something else? I can read you like a day old newspaper. What s the catch?" I said. Gram laughed.

"I told you he had learned too much, Sandy. He's been an honorary girl and now he can play the game. Hell, our Bradley was a better girl than most there last night!" Gram went. Damn right! Nobody could outgirl me! What was I thinking? Damn, Gram was good.

Gram continued. "Let me lay out our cards, here Brandi dear. Carolyn is much better and I want to bring her out of this as slowly as we can. I have booked a large cabin on a lake in the mountains which sleeps four. It's for the last three weeks of August. We want you to transition back while we are there. I don t want to explain why it's better than doing it here, it has to do with minimizing energies. Leave it at that. I may get to teach your granddaughter if she inherits the ability."

"And until then?" I knew the answer.

"Just continue on as you are, you sexy thing." Sandy said, grinning from earring to earring.

"And if I don t want to go back?" I said.

"We can do that too, but there is a catch there. You have been surrounded by unquestioned acceptance by everybody you meet. We cannot suspend that suspicion of uncommon behavior for much longer. So you would have to be accepted for what you were. It would be difficult, as people are not as tolerant as they are in the world we have created for you. We of course would accept you and anticipated that you would consider this. Like all of our family, we never try to do anything half assed. We are born and raised that way. So you became as close to a female as you could and did it damn well. We love you either way." Gram said, her eyes tearing up.

"Just testing, Gram. I never really got comfortable in heels, anyway." I said.

"I haven't yet either." Gram laughed and I was made a part time coven member, capable of group hugs at a moment notice.

Chapter 20: Endless Summer

I started a part time job at Dressed With Skill at Sally's insistence, which went full time with the end of school. I was really good at hair and I now had my own clientele of guys who were doing much better with the girls with my styles. I had created a small upsurge in long hair in males. Plus they really liked to look at my boobs when I worked on them. Sally's advice on showing cleavage was great for repeat business.

Janet went to Japan in July with her folks and was not due back until school started. I told her to go when she threatened a pout sequence. I told her I would be there when she returned, and she had a great opportunity to see a part of the world most of us would never see. Plus, I wasn't worried, I was taller than the guys over there. She went, and we had a really long goodbye weekend at the beach. Bill was our chaperone and was very understanding. He must like me as he could break any guy I knew in half if he didn't like what they were doing to his baby sister. Also, he handed me a device to hide my crotch equipment so I could wear a bikini. What a guy.

All the bodyshaping and my diet had caused me to lose some muscle. I also lost two inches on my waist, which Mom chalked up to figure training . I knew I looked pretty hot and was never taken for a guy all summer, even in swimsuits. Of course, I guessed a lot of that was Sandy and Gram and maybe Bill clouding men's minds, but in a mirror, I admitted I was pretty good. Of course really styled hair and sizeable tits will tend to lead you to certain conclusions.

So here I am on the last day before our mountain getaway. Sally has convinced me to finally try a bare midriff look, so I am in pink hiphugger pants, sensible two inch heels, and a really short top with Sally s recommended cleavage percentage. I have just finished giving a guy a perm. His girlfriend is standing there. The guy stands up and looks at himself and gets a little wobbly. I know the feeling, but before I can calm him down, his girlfriend puts her hand on his crotch and kisses him fully and deeply on the lips. When he is allowed to breathe, she says. "It's great , you look like such a hunk! Look at Brandi s hair and he's got Janet for a girlfriend." The guy was sold.

As they left, Sally came up to me and said. "Brandi, if you did that, you could triple your business."

"I know, but then you would need another kind of license." I answered.

Sally kissed me and wished me well. She offered me a job leading to partnership whenever I wanted it.

Chapter 21: Ch Ch Ch Changes

The cabin was more like a suite at a luxury hotel. We had maid service, room service, massage, hair and skin care people. We could buy food and cook ourselves. We had separate rooms. There were few people and everyone kept to themselves. There was no cruise director, I think they would have been shot. We had a lake, fishing, boats, mountain trails, bikes, horseback riding. We did not have television. We had radio but there was only one station. We had music. We had a phone but we were told it better be important. Sandy and I were rationed to one call per three days. I was restricted to one hour of connect charges to Japan per week. The only nightlife was us, usually over cards.

We all quit wearing makeup and nail polish. Hairstyles were simple and practical. I don t think I wore a skirt more than twice. Underwear got much simpler, mostly sportswear.

Mom and I went fishing a lot. I started running everyday with Sandy.

By the end of the second week, I was down to between a C and B cup. My weight was back to normal and I was rebuilding muscle mass. Mom came in and announced we were going out to dinner at a resort about forty miles away, and we needed to dress for the occasion.

"Bradley, I know you are moving on with your life. Would you grant me one favor? I would like to take out my Mother and two wonderful girls for a last dinner together. Then I think I will be ready to watch my son grow up." She had tears in her eyes and was trembling. I thought I would breakdown right there.

I held her tightly. "Mom, please call me Brandi. And I need to do something with your hair, so go wash it."

We had my goodbye dinner and we went dancing at the resort. It was great.

Chapter 22. : Return From The Fling

So we returned. I was carrying in the stuff, feeling strange not having to deal with protecting my now manly chest from bumps and collisions. Brandi was away, visiting. Brad was back. But so was Mom. Mission Accomplished.

The next night I was shaken awake by Gram and Sandy. Bill was standing there.

"Bradley, We have already told you how much we appreciated what you did. It is now time to end this. Are you ready?" Gram said.

" What do you mean Gram? I thought it was over. Back to normal. End of Mission. There s more?" I was fumbling for words.

"Brother dear, we may be powerful but we are not that powerful. This has all been a projection into an alternate reality. You and Mom were players in our little play. An illusion, or a shared dream if you will." Sandy said. I still looked confused.

Bill chimed in . "Brad, think of it this way. We created an offshoot from the normal universe we live in and put you and your Mom and a few others into it. Like a simulation program. You all inhabited it, it happened to you and then we let it collapse. You wake up back where you entered. Some of us think dreams are a crude form of alternate universe creation. You will wake up and it will be back in March. Besides, this way, you and Janet get two proms. Next time you pin the corsage.

"Can Mom and I and Janet discuss it?" I asked.

"You could, but from what we ve seen, the time will never seem right, or you won t be sure if it was real. You, however, will retain the memory longer than the rest. And you should be proud of what you did."

"So you aren't witches, able to change my body and cloud minds?" I said.

"Cloud minds, somewhat. Change your body? That would require a lot of energy." Sandy said, smiling sweetly.

I fell asleep.

Chapter 23: You Can Fool Some Of The People Some Of The Time

Morning. I look outside and it is March. They weren t kidding. Mom is calling me from downstairs. Breakfast is ready. I throw on some clothes and head down. Mom is smiling like her old self. She was still fine.

"Brad, after you eat go upstairs and wash your face and neaten up. Take some care in how you look." Mom was back.

So it was over. I knew I would ask Janet to the Prom. I knew what her dress would look like. I knew the answers to my final exams. At least school would be easy. I hoped the limo driver was still a cool guy. Here I was, back to Brad.

It struck me while I was sitting in the chair in my room. Sandy had not said they didn't change my body, she just said something about how much energy it would take. I looked at my hands brushing my mid-back length hair and started laughing. I looked forward to meeting Sally for the first time , again.

End

Originally published on February 14, 2004 on Classic BC

Bobby, an older man somewhat wounded by life, meets up with three amazing women on the way to Vegas. He learns about playing poker with strangers.

Variations On A
Busted Flush In Spades

By Tyrone Slothrop

Bobby Billings found himself in the usual airport mode. Killing time waiting for word on the next flight out. The snow was not coming down only because it was traveling sideways. Love the Midwest in winter. He was at least comfortable in the rented conference room in the airline club. He had a stocked bar, plenty of ice and at least four hours to kill. He had just closed the 'Toughest Frigging Account' in the central sales region and he wanted to celebrate. He just did not plan on doing it here. Alone. He looked at the boarding pass for the first class seat to Vegas and could feel it vanishing before his eyes. He knew the airlines had gone to electronic tickets primarily to convince people that their promise to fly on time to your planned destination was only virtual, a mere will o' the wisp. You could not even say it was not worth the paper it was printed on. Not even that, any more.

Bobby had the blinds open so the main club area was visible but he had not been paying attention. He heard a tapping on the window and looked up.

There was what Bobby called 'a really fine looking woman' tapping on the glass trying to get his attention. Her smiled radiated warmth and friendliness. She was with two other women and they were all well dressed and around forty. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Looking past them, Bobby found that the club was bulging with people, obviously all victims of flight delay. He got up and opened the door.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" Bobby said, his Sales Charm coming on automatically. He figured that any woman who objected being called 'Miss' in a situation like this was not worth talking to for at least a few years. Bobby liked women. He had a wonderful marriage for sixteen years, one with mutual fidelity and a really deep love, with two kids and a dog. Sixteen years of shared experiences with June. She had died a lingering death over three months. That was six years ago. The kids were on their own and the dog was with June now.

"Excuse me. We were looking for a place to sit and it's a madhouse out here. We saw you here all alone and figured your meeting must be over, so we were wondering if we could please borrow some chairs? If it isn't too much trouble?" The woman said. Bobby found her voice pleasant and her request quite reasonable.

"I'm sorry, I've been daydreaming. I hadn't noticed what was going on. Please, come in, be my guest. I have plenty of room here." Bobby said. He always came across as sincere, which was very effective in a sales position. His management asked him how he did it and he always said he came across sincere because he was sincere. They did not get it and always laughed, like people do when confronted with an anomaly they wish would just go away. His sincerity must have convinced the three women, because after the usual 'No, we didn't mean to intrude, No we don't want to disturb you, You probably don't want us bothering you' protestations, Bobby was insistent and they came in. There were four chairs around the circular table and Bobby insisted on taking coats and seating each woman. While the getting settled chatter and purse fumbling was underway, Bobby took a five second look at his fellow strandees.

They were comfortable with being fortyish and that comfort translated into a sophisticated and feminine look Bobby saw them and he would have said they looked healthy and full of life. In younger or more sophisticated circles, they would have been considered fat or that deadly word 'mature'. The artists Rubens or the more current Vargas would have loved them. Thirty years ago, they could have been almost centerfolds, all pleasing and full curves. They had come to terms with their wrinkles, deciding that what reasonable makeup would cover was within the allowable rules, but life was too short to worry about anything else, If it showed, it showed. They were dressed in expensive suits which emphasized all of their strong points without being trashy. Bobby liked them based on information to date. Some people just make you smile.

Bobby was on the thick side himself, not bad looking and he still had his full head of black hair. No six pack abs and not worried, at least not much of a gut. When it got bigger than he wanted, he got rid of it. Simple. At forty two he had some mileage on him. No bad looking and comfortable in his skin, all six feet of it.

"Hello Ladies and welcome to our refuge. Before we get started may I offer anyone a drink? Then we can do proper introductions."

They all drank scotch and were impressed when Booby poured the Glenlivet. They weren't stuffy about it as they took it over ice. Bobby's preferred beverage. He felt it was better to drink one or two really fine drinks sparingly than sloshing it down for effect. It was the difference between enjoying a fine smoky taste versus medicating yourself.

They were April, May and Julie and were on the same plane as he was. Three babes on the way to Vegas for a week of fun. Being the same approximate age makes it easier to find mutual points of conversation when you are strangers.

They also sipped their scotch. Same approach to life.

They talked about flying, airports and Vegas. Various travel horror stories.

Then the group got down to who they were. Life stories.

Bobby learned that they had all found each other at various resorts. All were divorced and were capable businesswomen, building their marriage settlements into thriving enterprises. All had been dumped 'for skinny children' as they said. Bobby assumed their husbands must have been idiots. The kind who drank to get drunk. No capacity for enjoying the quality of another person, just wanting a hot chick. Bobby knew thousands of them. The best thing was they were not bitter, at least not any more. Getting on and enjoying life. Plus, they had each other and seemed to really have a good time together.

"Bobby, do you miss her? Your wife?" Julie asked, looking at him with a concerned look. Bobby knew it was his turn to tell his tale.

He held up a finger to indicate a pause, got up and refreshed the Glenlivet.

"My wife died six years ago. I assumed you guessed that." He said.

"You refer to her in the past tense. But you do it lovingly. It's pretty obvious." Julie said. April and May nodded.

"Okay. Yes I miss her. We had sixteen really close years. Towards the end she told me I had two years to mourn her and then if I didn't remarry or shack up with someone, she would never forgive me. After her, dating or just for sex stuff seemed pretty thin. I needed a real person. She had pretty much ruined me for one night stands. Last year I thought I had someone, but wasn't sure. I was right not to be sure. She was screwing around with my boss. She thought it was weird I cared about that. She told me we were a couple, and he was just some career plan. I told her to get more focused on her career. So now I'm off to Vegas for a week, a town where you can really comfortably be alone. The kids are great but they're all over the country. " He hadn't told this story to anybody, not like this. But these four people had a lot of life behind them and they all knew in their guts what this stuff meant. Plus, sometimes it is easier to talk to strangers.

The ice had been broken and they were getting comfortable. The girls took their heels off, Bobby loosened his tie. Someone looked out at the flight status screen. Three hours at least.

April took out a deck of cards and dealt out seven card stud. May took a box of push pins and declared various values by color. They played the first half hour to feel out styles of play. They had no tells that Bobby could spot. They were good, but this was a friendly game and they kept it that way. He took a break and went to the men's room for about ten minutes. It was crowded and guys hate lines in public restrooms. But he waited. No choice.

When Bobby returned, the blinds were closed. Julie handed him a scotch. He tried to decline, but Julie said to please indulge her, plus he might need it. Bobby sat down with the single malt in his hand.

May began "Bobby, we really like you and we would like to spend some time in Vegas together." She held up her hand to keep him from breaking in. " But first let me talk. We party really well in that town, but the crowd we mix with is strictly women. We have had as much luck with men as you have had with women since June. So we have a proposition for you. If you could appear more like us, we would show you a really good time and we think offer good companionship. Follow me?"

Bobby was smiling. This was truly a new experience. Invited to an all girl Vegas party with three great gals. "I've never gone for drag, but I appreciate the invitation. I really like you girls. I haven't had conversations like this for a while." He widened his smile and added "Plus I would look terrible in your outfits."

"I understand. We know this isn"t natural for you but we are not talking about just throwing a dress on you. We have some powers and are willing to make you fit right in. No one would know but us. You have fun for a week and go back to your life." April was animated, Bobby was now really intrigued. Powers?

"So what exactly are you proposing? You have some kind of supernatural thing going on? Come on, sell me. " Bobby said. He was totally convinced they were just setting up a game, some playing around.

"Remember, Bobby, 'Witch' is only one letter removed from 'Bitch'. Rather than try to get you to believe us, lets play some more poker. Here's the deal- we play for clothing, head to head. Two hands dealt. Each time we win a pot, you offer an item of clothing to our side. When you win a pot, one of us offers up an item to you. We play until you are convinced we can bring you with us to Vegas. You can stop at any time and call the whole thing off. Worst case we have some laughs while we wait for the plane." Julie pitched and she was good. Eye contact. Bobby felt he could get lost in her eyes. He didn't know why but nodded agreement. Life had been boring and a game of strip poker could be fun. They seemed non threatening enough. What the hell.

May was the first to play. Five card draw. Bobby lost his shirt in the opening hand. The girls won the next four hands, leaving Bobby playing in his undershirt, briefs and socks.

"You are looking fine, Bobby." Julie grinned.

Bobby was a good player and he had an even temper. Losing was part of life at times. "Just wait, Julie, the cards can turn. I know you will be looking fine real soon."

Bobby picked the next hand with three of a kind over two pair. Julie giggled and stood up. "I've been waiting for this. I hoped you'd win soon so I could get this off." She stepped out of a high waisted girdle after disconnecting her stockings from the garters and made the first deposit to Bobby's winnings pile.

"That feels good." Julie sighed, Bobby noticed she had spread out just a bit in the rear but still looked great. He was amazed at how unselfconscious these women were with him. As Julie was about to set the girdle down on the table, he was thinking about how his belly needed trimming again, about an inch or two. Just as the garment hit the table he felt a little twinge and then continued his thought. Good thing my belly is fine, but my hips and butt need to lose an inch or two. He settled into his seat, glad he was wearing one of his looser girdles.

Bobby lost his undershirt to May. And won April's camisole. As Bobby was about to deal to Julie he had to adjust his thin shoulder strap that had moved out of position. Julie gave up her stockings.

Bobby was feeling very comfortable with these three. The conversation was light and friendly, and he had not had this much fun in a long time. April peeked through the blinds and announced they had another three hours. Bobby called a break while he fixed his garter, one of his stockings had somehow come loose. Damn, my legs aren't bad for someone as old as I am he thought.

He was on a streak. May lost her dress, a silk high neck with long sleeves and a really tight skirt. April lost her heels, some elegant three inch stilettos. Julie's half slip was next.

"You're not going to make that straight, May baby." Bobby grinned as he dealt the last down card in seven card stud.

"You're wrong, Bobby. I bet your are nice to me with this one." May countered with a little laugh.

No straight. May smiles and reaches up to take out an ornate emerald clip which was holding up her long red hair. It cascaded past her shoulders. She looked really good with it down. The clip went into Bobby's pile.

Bobby accumulated a necklace and a pair of earrings in his winning mound. "Wow, these are real winnings."

" I'm sure you be generous and share them, Bobby, I'm real fond of those earrings." April giggled. On the next hand, Bobby loses. He followed May's idea and removes his own hair clip. His black hair falls down the back of his high neck dress.

April loses her black gloves next. Sitting across from Julie, Bobby is trying to read her. Her eyes are amazing. He looks at his two down cards, spades. He has two showing in the seven card game, with six cards out. Julie is about to deal the last card. She puts down the deck and smiles at Bobby.

Bobby is focused on Julie's eyes. She reaches over touches his nose with an extended finger, gently.

"Ok Bobby. Come back to us. I want you aware for this last hand." Julie says.

Bobby blinks. He looks around and then realizes while the girls are in various states of undress, he is decked out in a dress, stocking and heels. He feels the girdle and the slip and the camisole. He also feels his men's briefs and realizes he is still male, there at least.. But his figure is fairly feminine, He takes off his glove and his nails are polished, his hand and fingers more narrow. His hair is long and also obviously the result of a lot of attention either with blow dryers or rollers. He knew enough about that. June had had beautiful hair and kept it that way. His waist is thick, but less thick than it was and slimmer than his butt and hips which seemed to spread way beyond his recollection. The only things which make him look out of place are his face and chest. And damn, he had great legs, especially for a tall broad.

Bobby stands up and looks at his reflection in the window glass. He does not panic. He realizes that Julie, April and May had just delivered on their deal. He still liked them. A lot. So Bobby sat down.

"Deal the card, Julie."

Bobby got his flush. The queen of spades was the last card dealt. Julie grinned and proceeded to remove her long line brassiere. She tossed it to the table in front of Bobby, her big and soft breasts moving gently with the throwing motion. They were still really nice, minimal sag and smooth all over. Bobby looked down and his vision was obstructed by his bustline. His dress emphasized his breasts, which were larger than Julie's to maintain the proportionality between their frame sizes.

"Bobby, we have been talking. If we play this out, you win May's panties next, and you can figure out what that means. That was the original plan. We have an option for you. Stop now. Come with us as you are. It's been a while since any of us have had a man worth having. And we've decided you are the best and most decent guy we've run across. So please come, either way." April said a wistful look on her face.

"Do I get to change back, either way?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, whenever you want."

"I guess I can hide my face. " Bobby said.

Julie walked up to Bobby, held his face in her hands and kissed him. Then April. Then May. When he came up for a breath he saw his reflection. He was still Bobby, but the harder features were gone, the beard was gone. His eyebrows were shaped, his Adam's apple gone. His neck seemed a little thinner. He wasn't beautiful, but pleasant looking.

"Let's stop here. I'm cashing out of the game." Bobby said.

Julie, April and May were grinning. May handed him her panties, which had a ruffled bottom. "Now you can have these. They are just clothes and they will fit you. I wouldn't want to change you there, you will be just fine." May slowly licked her lips.

Julie called out "The flights on in a half hour! Get ready! We've got to board soon."

The group got into a frenzy. April helped Bobby with some light makeup, May handed him his old briefcase, now a purse.

"What about my luggage? My stuff's not going to fit me and the bags are checked." Bobby said.

"Taken care of Bobby dear. Your five bags will arrive with you in Las Vegas." Julie said soothingly, touching Bobby's arm.

"Five bags? I only checked one!"

"Darling, a girl cannot travel without a proper wardrobe. Five large cases was barely enough!" Julie laughed.

After the week was over, Bobby had agreed to meet the girls in two months, this time in Hawaii. He was drained and in a great mood. After he watched their flight leave he looked down and could see his wing tip shoes. No hooters to block his vision. He spoke out loud, but quietly, drowned out by the slot machines.

'Usually you lose when you get a Busted Flush.'

Walk On The Street

By Tyrone Slothrop- an Angelverse story

The women of New York want their men, and they will get what they want...

Chapter 1: Internal Affairs

“So you seem to be clear on this one Musgrove. What are you gonna do now? Take some time, hit the beach? Go to Disneyworld? I hear gay days are coming up.” Roberts made his usual attempt at humor and was as funny as always, which is to say, not at all.

Gerry knew he was finished as a cop. Once you did anything for Internal Affairs you either went upstairs with a promotion or your life was hell. He was very certain he was not going upstairs.

“You always know when those events are Roberts, you must be on the friggin mailing list. How much do you have to pay for a good number? Those guys are much more practiced than your wife but they have their standards.” Gerry said.

He got up to leave, remembering to grab his purse. Roberts grabbed the sleeve of his dress.

Gerry looked at him coldly. “Either back it up or lose it asshole. Now, before I put you on the critical list in self defense, right on camera. “ Gerry’s head motioned to the video camera mounted in the ceiling corner.

Roberts backed off, his mouth shut but his eyes shouting volumes. Gerry left, his heels clicking on the industrial strength composite flooring.

Chapter 2: Storybook Childhood

Gerry always assumed his Dad was named John. With Mom engaging in her part time work after her shift at the Greek restaurant in midtown, it was a valid assumption. She was as selective as she could be, keeping her independent business off the street, away from the eyes and fingers of the pimps. She was careful to keep the volume of trade low enough to avoid too much visibility, settling for a few regulars.

He remembered growing up in a small house in suburban Nassau County, just he and Mom. She had a job as a cook and worked odd shifts, women cooks usually getting the worst hours by the tradition of unsympathetic bosses in the restaurant business.

Gerry never knew when Mom slept, since she was always awake during his daylight hours. He knew the neighborhood women shunned her, and had been taunted by the other kids as ‘the whore’s kid’.

Gerry grew a thick skin and learned to inflict pain when he had to, when it became inevitable that he could not avoid some jerk. He was a little bigger than average and was respected as ‘that tough city kid’.

When he was thirteen, something happened to their financial situation. Gerry did not realize that his Mom depended on a monthly check to cover the house payment from somebody. For reasons Mom would not reveal, they had to abandon their home and move back to ‘my old stomping grounds’ as she put it.

SoHo was a shock to Gerry’s system. It was one thing to be the tough city kid out on Long Island, but he was back on the bottom of the food chain in Manhattan. Mom sublet a studio from Joey and Sasha, who owned a brownstone. Gerry knew Mom and those two went way back, to Mom’s days in the city, before Gerry was born.

So Gerry toughed up on the streets and then found he was still no match for Sister Mary Catherine. Mike Tyson was also no match for Sister Mary Catherine, if he bit her ear, she would bite his face clean off. Somehow, Mom was able to afford to keep him in the parochial school system. Gerry knew it was better than the public schools but there were days when he wished Mom wouldn’t work so hard for it. Especially when he was massaging his sore knuckles from the steel ruler.

So Gerry met all the street people, the artists and lost kids, the hookers of all kinds, straight, gay, trans, the grifters and scam artists, the junkies and pimps along with the priest, rabbi and reverend, the cops and shopkeepers, the restaurant owners and social workers. He fond after a while you got an invisible pass where nobody bothered you because you were one of the neighborhood kids. It was an unwritten New York City tradition going back hundreds of years, fragile, broken at times but still strong in many areas. All groups need rules to operate, otherwise just walking down the street is too much work. Sergeant Mike from the precinct house looked in on Gerry whenever he drove down the street and spotted the boy. Gerry knew Sergeant Mike and Mom went way back and he was one of the reasons the local pimps like Parnello and Big Daddy left her alone.

When Mom was working her part time job, he stayed with Joey and Sasha. They were an education in themselves.

Chapter 3: Families Are Families

Mom’s relationship to the two gay men was unclear and Gerry viewed it as her business. Joey was tall, thin old and with a sad look and Sasha was plump, fluttery and manic.

Joey had been an artist and decided owning art galleries was a better deal. Sasha tried to pass himself off as a Hungarian heir or heiress to royalty, depending on how he was dressed, but Joey explained that Sasha was a Jewish American Princess from Valley Stream and an heiress to a dry cleaning chain. Sasha pouted for at least two minutes at that. The two had been together for twenty years at least.

Being in charge of Carolyn’s (Mom’s) son brought out the parental instincts in both of them. They listened to Gerry’s issues and insecurities, his wins and losses with care and just enough attentiveness.

Joey taught Gerry about money, something he swore the school system totally ignored, which cost him untold millions when he was young.

Sasha made sure he was presentable and attempted to give him friendly advice on catching girls. For some reason, Sasha was well versed in this lore.

Sergeant Mike stopped over at either the studio apartment or Joey’s loft, depending where Gerry was. He listened to Gerry’s troubles and triumphs at least once a week. Mom’s trade seemed to haunt Mike Kelly deeply whenever Gerry got near it in conversation. Gerry liked and respected Mike so he steered away from the topic.

Gerry’s outdoor family was the hookers who kept an eye on him wherever he went. He knew them all, and had intervened a few times when a john got out of hand or he found one of the girls passed out from an overdose. Parnello had tried to pay him for getting rid of an abusive john, but Gerry refused, saying he was a friend of Thelma and she had covered him plenty of times. He gained street cred with that one. Parnello showed him his 9mm and said if he ever needed a brother, give him a call.

Chapter 4: Crowd Scene

High School graduation was an event Gerry would never forget. Having your mother arrested during the proceedings tends to be something a young man would tend to think about.

He saw the two plainclothes guys hustle her into an unmarked car while he was walking off the stage. Sasha , like an idiot, had tried to stop them and had been thrown to the ground by one of the cops while the other one flashed a badge at the crowd. Joey picked Sasha up and held him. Gerry had never seen Sasha in a men’s suit before and felt honored. He had hoped Sasha would wear one of his less flamboyant black dresses. He did see he was wearing open toed sandals, though, and his hair was far from what you would call butch.

Gerry was pissed about the bust but not exceptionally worried. Mom had been shaken down for money before. Either she handled it or Sergeant Mike got involved. There were rules to this stuff. Doing it at graduation was breaking a rule. He wished Mike Kelly had been there, but knew his wife was very sick.

The Monsignor had rushed up to Gerry and told him he was outraged at the behavior of the police, and he was calling the commissioner about it.

“Carolyn is part of our flock, son, and while we both know she has her faults, she doesn’t deserve this.” The tall Irish Monsignor held Gerry’s hand and forearm in a solid shake. Gerry knew those cops were going to get some serious shit. New York City had its ways and the connection between the church and the cops went way back. He felt a little better.

Chapter 5: Revelations By The Book

Joey was the one who had to tell Gerry. Sasha tried to be there but Joey had asked him to calm down and left him on the couch.

“Gerry, she’s gone. You mother is dead. So is Michael Kelly. I can’t think of any other way to say it.”

Gerry looked up and out the skylight of the loft. He saw a pair of seagulls winging in the afternoon light.

After some time, Gerry was ready for the story. His mother had resisted arrest, attempted to stab an officer with a knife and was shot in self defense during a prostitution ring conspiracy arrest. That was the official report. Sergeant Mike Kelly was killed by a drive by shooting at his wife’s funeral two hours later.

Gerry was in shock. He knew the cop story was bullshit but the one person he could go to for help with it was also gone.

The Monsignor came and gave his condolences. All the street folks , both Parnello and Big Daddy in a rare appearance together, Joey and Sasha’s friends and about eight or nine cops stopped by. The Greek who ran the restaurant was in tears, and his extended family brought mountains of food.
The rabbi, the parish priest and the reverend all came. Sister Mary Catherine showed up and actually hugged Gerry, tears streaming down her face.

Somehow he got through Mom’s funeral, with Joey and Sasha acting as bookends to keep him propped up. He demanded that Sasha wear Mom’s favorite one of his outfits, the one she liked to borrow for dressy occasions. Joey approved and Sasha got his emotions in check long enough to be dazzling.

Michael Kelly’s funeral was grand New York City pageantry. Thirty year veterans get a hell of a turnout, especially when gunned down. The Mayor was there and it seemed everybody who ever wore a cop uniform in the last hundred years was there. All the respectable crooks and politicians were there too, in a separate section. Bagpipes played. Joey, Gerry and Sasha arrived, hoping to pay their respects as part of the crowd when a Police Captain came up and politely asked them to follow him.

Gerry was astounded when they were brought up front to a roped off section.

“I am Billy Boyle, and Mike was my closest friend, my partner. At the request of the Kelly family, Mr. Musgrove. Mike wanted you here.” Captain Boyle nodded to the two occupants of the family row and smartly turned and left.

The two occupants were a very old Irishman holding onto a walker and the most beautiful girl Gerry had ever seen. She had reddish highlights in her long brown hair which highlighted her beautiful face. Striking features, not pretty but breathtaking, piercing black eyes and a trim but well muscled body, judging from her arms and hands. Her coffee and cream colored complexion was unique to her , it seemed, or it looked unique on her. Gerry’s eyes were fixated.

She turned to him. “Thank you for coming, Gerry, and you must be Joey and Sasha. I am Brigit Kelly, Michael’s daughter. This is Uncle Seamus, Michael’s uncle. I am going to tell you something you should know before the service starts but I will not explain until we are alone afterwards. You are here because Michael was you father. I am your sister. We will talk later, please. I know it’s a lot, but you had to know before they bury him. It was his wish.”

Gerry nodded. Even Sasha was speechless. The pipes began to play.

Chapter 6: Revenge Over Ice

After the service, Billy Boyle, now in plainclothes, Brigit Kelly, having dropped Uncle Seamus off at his nursing facility are sitting around the table in Joey’s loft. Sasha is fussing, serving coffee and some kind of snacks, dressed conservatively for Sasha. Joey is looking worried, but he always looks worried. Gerry is recovering from the multiple shocks of the last few days.

“So, Brigit, you are Mike’s daughter from before he got married and your mother was a ..” Gerry began, trying to sum up.

“She was a prostitute on Mike’s beat, just like your mother was. Mike always watched out for the girls and he had a fondness for some of them.” Brigit broke in to help Gerry with the words. She continued. “He married Virginia before he knew I existed. My mom died delivering me and her friends called Mike. He came in and took me home. Ginny adopted me and they raised me. I only found out about you in a letter Mike wrote to me that Billy delivered to me after he died. “

Billy spoke, his voice even with just a touch of brogue. “Gerry, when little Briggie here was seven or so, Ginny and Mike had a hell of a row. Ginny couldn’t have kids of her own and Mike was consumed with work and it all just blew up. I was riding in a car with him then. Mike stomped out, got stinking drunk for the first time in years and ended up with your Mom, who thought he walked on water. She coaxed him back to Ginny after two days, but not before you were started.

“Your Mom insisted Mike go back to his family and Mike wanted to do the right thing, but he knew Ginny would break down if she knew about you. She was already sick back then. So he got some cash and set your Mom up out on Long Island, keeping tabs on you as best he could. When Ginny got real bad, he needed the money for treatments the insurance wouldn’t cover. I was with him then, the choices were crushing the man. Your Mom told him to forget it and save Ginny. So she came back here and did the best she could for you.” Billy looked at Gerry, waiting for a reaction.

“So Mike was my Dad. Well it’s better than my assumptions were. It’ll be a while for me to think about this.” Gerry was outwardly calm. Joey and Sasha knew better, but they kept quiet. Everybody got silent.

“So who killed Mom? And Mike? What do you know?” Gerry asked, staring at Billy Boyle.

“We know who and why. But we need some help to get them.And it will take a while.” Brigit said.

“’Revenge is a dish best served cold’ Gerry lad. Will you help us?” Billy asked.

Chapter 7: Death And Rebirth

Gerry struggled with his hair style. Sasha was driving him harder than the nuns at school ever had, harder than his instructors at the state academy on the obstacle course, harder than his law instructors.

“Sasha, give me a break! I’ll get it!” Gerry pleaded.

“Oh all right, sweetie. It’s just that it needs to be second nature. You do look lovely, though.” Sasha giggled.

Gerry looked at the hair he was combing out from the rollers. He had not had it cut since he had been recruited into this effort and that was twelve months ago. Plus Sasha had fortunately talked him into wearing it a bit longer in high school, so it was just to his shoulders when wet now. Of course, given the style, it floated fully an inch or so higher than that.

“Now you look fabulous, Jessie. I like your new name, it’s so androgynous.” Sasha said.

Gerry looked himself over. Makeup obvious but very subdued, hair very femme, silk blousy shirt and a knee length skirt, sheer hose and open toe sandals. The perfect metrosexual. He smelled just a little bit like lime and his nails had a faintly coral tint.

“I still think you need a camisole, try it on for me.” Sasha said, his finger to his lips in study.

“The one that snaps at the crotch or the one with the slip?” Gerry asked.

The plan was simple and partially undefined, more of an idea really.

So far, what they knew had happened was this: One of Carolyn’s regulars, a Fred Mergovinian, was going into a new business and wanted Carolyn to help him start it up. He was going to revamp the burgeoning prostitution business for young single women professionals and he had a solid business plan. Gerry’s Mom was enthused, seeing it as a way to stop turning tricks and get into management.

The day before Gerry’s graduation she was with Mergovianian and just as she was leaving she saw him bundled into a car by two guys she thought were cops. Later, her street contacts let her know he was found dead under the West Side Highway. She called Mike and let him know the story.

Mike, in the middle of arranging his wife’s funeral, made a few calls about the arrest. He was gunned down within twenty four hours.

Billy had talked for a while then. “I was one of the people he called. I know who else he called and they were all within the department. They are tied to the ones who ordered his death and your mother’s but we have absolutely no proof. The only two witnesses are dead and your mother’s death was ruled justifiable self defense. Which means we have someone at a high level in the force behind this. The two detectives who arrested your mother have quietly disappeared, early retirement, and I doubt we will ever see them again.

“Michael was a bit more than a desk sergeant. He was attached to the commissioner’s office but only three people knew that and I trust the other two. We want to get these guys but we need to get someone inside, someone who is not connected to any law enforcement agency. The people we are going after have contacts every place we would probably borrow an undercover man from. So here is what we want you to do…”

Gerry was to leave for six months, and news would filter back that he had died from suicide. He was prominent given his place at the funeral and would not be unnoticed by the people involved. They would stop worrying about hi if he were dead.

He really was going to the state police academy under another name for a cram course in being a cop. The commissioner would swear him in with sealed records and he would not exist except in the commissioner’s files. The city academy was off limits. Too many cross connections.

When he returned, it would be as Jessie, no last name, one of thousands of young men who came to New York City to get a life and escape one. He would rent the studio from Joey and Sasha. He knew the prostitution game at the street level better than most people who were not already part of it, and he was the perfect age to get into the trade. His mission was to get inside the new upscale male prostitute business and get a link to the highest level he could. He would only report to Billy, who would take what he found and find a way to flush out the cops involved.

Chapter 8: One of the Girls

Joey and Sasha welcomed Gerry home once he was safe inside the studio. He arrived late at night and Sasha had the mission of making Jessie different enough looking and acting from Gerry so that the neighborhood would not catch on.

One advantage of living in a cross section like Soho, you acquired contacts in a lot of different places. Joey had put out feelers on the new male for hire business as a potential investor and was explaining it to Jessie while Sasha worked him over. Jessie was going to have jet black hair and much finer eyebrows. He was still recovering from all the ways he had lost body hair. The waxing was a killer.

“What’s happening out there is a market of very well off young women, lawyers, doctors, stock brokers and bankers who want sex and fantasy, and are willing to pay for it. But it has to be serviced very differently than the traditional ‘escort services’ have been prepared to do.” Joey said.

Sasha was still fussing over Jessie’s eyeshadow.

Joey continued. “The hot ticket now is the extreme ‘metrosexual’ a straight but very fem guy, who is nonthreatening, sexually submissive and can function as a girlfriend, hairdresser, masseuse, and still have a body which gets her going. Gay guys tried it but they were read too easily, and actually they were too good at the fashion stuff. The women really like a straight guy who while he looks fem, is not quite as good as they are. Plus, they really want to avoid AIDS, and we gays have that stigma, safe sex or not. Bi people they tried are usually too sexually aggressive, at least so far.

“For women to hire a whore, they need assurance they will be safe. What guy who has a higher maintenance hairstyle than they do will assault them? It’s all in projected image.

“So imagine an estrogen and Viagra cocktail. Soft, and when she puts her hand up your skirt, you can deliver the goods, with her in total control.”

Jessie/Gerry asked. “But I’ve seen the trans guys, I’m nowhere near their ability to pass. Too many muscles, to thick a waist.”

“You are missing the point. They want a hot male body, just softened up. It’s not a typical crossdresser thing, it’s a little different. They want you to be a little clumsy and they sure don’t want you looking better than they do. There’s some ‘taming the wild male’ thing going on, a little power and humiliation. The girls got game and they want their toys. They just want some safe toys, but ones that are in working order. Women thrive on contradiction in desires, it’s their lifeblood.” Joey went on.

“It sure is sweetheart, we all love a little sexual contradiction.” Sasha chimed in. Sasha conveniently claimed the prerogatives of either sex whenever it suited him.

“So to get into the trade, I need an introduction.” Jessie said.

Chapter 9: Brother In Deed

“I do not believe it! Look at you!” Parnello was truly amazed at Gerry’s image as Jessie.

Gerry had decided to bring Parnello into the scheme, at least a little way. He knew they were going after Carolyn and Mike’s killers and Parnello liked Carolyn and respected Mike, who had viewed Parnello as a stabilizing influence on the street.

“I know a guy who knows a guy, actually a woman who pays a fee for young boys like you. She runs a ‘finishing school’ down in the financial district. Most of the customers come from there. Let me make a few calls. You be ready, brother. I’ll back your play.” Parnello extended a hand. Gerry took it.

He left, laughing heartily.

“Can you trust him Jessie?” Joey asked, worried as usual.

“Gerry can trust him. Mike trusted him.” Jessie said.

Over the next four weeks Sasha drove Jessie hard. He could walk all day in heels, shop for clothing, accessorize, never forget his purse, do basic hair styling, handle skin care and makeup and became totally comfortable in skirts.

Skirts for men had popped up on the horizon several times over the last twenty years and never really caught on. The trend was back for another go. A number of Japanese cities were taken with the style and they were appearing a bit in Scandinavian countries. Seeing one on the streets of New York, though, turned no heads at all. New Yorkers prided themselves on being able to see anything and remain unfazed.

Jessie had a monthly conference call with Billy Boyle and Brigit, who was an assistant DA. She was attached to this effort as legal counsel. Her boss had no idea what she was doing and had been informed to not ask.

Parnello came back two weeks later.

“You have an interview. If you work out, I get a finders fee. We haggled over you for an hour. Just one thing I can tell you. They’ll ask you in every way possible if you’ll do guys. If you even give them a hint, you get thrown into the regular street work. They are being real selective for this program. Word of mouth is everything and they want good word out there. “

Chapter 10: Working The Silk Trade

Jessie was given a dirty look by the doorman, but Ms Morgenstern had buzzed him up. He checked his appearance in the mirror in the elevator, and freshened his lipstick. They loved that for some reason. His client had asked for the breast option, which was rare, and he hated the prosthesis glue, it made his skin rough when he took them off. She wanted the big size, too so he was decked out with DD boobs nearly falling out of his top. At least his skirt was just above the knee and she didn’t want the ‘fuckme’ pumps.

“Hello, Kitten. My you are a big one. Come on in.” Ms. Morgentstern, call her Babs, was tall and thin. She was modestly endowed in the breast area and seemed to struggle with the concept of style. Jessie knew she was a defense lawyer and a very wealthy one.

Jessie entered, smiling and focused on sending the submissive signals he had learned at the ‘finishing school’. He wondered what Babs really wanted. One of the ways he entertained himself was determining what the evening would entail. He found that women were much more creative with their whores.

The engagements only ended in actual sex about half the time. There was usually foreplay, and a lot of talking. Sometimes they just wanted to take the lead in a date situation. Jessie had entire responses down for appearing demure and shocked at the hand running up his skirt, unhooking his stockings, and beyond.

One time he was challenged to an arm wrestling contest. He made sure he lost at least half the time, and made her work for it.

He did a lot of shampoo and massage work. One time he was taken shopping. She had him try on clothes and critique hers own selections..

And yes, he had sex. He was very good at it, generating climaxes in a calculated manner, always leaving them wanting more.

Jessie began to understand part of his Mom’s life. She viewed it as a skill, bringing pleasure, which is why she was able to stand it, and why she was particular about her clients.

He began to understand his regulars. He had played a lot of roles, from the humbled boyfriend to re-enacting every date in their past. He was big sister, little brother, girlfriend and mysterious man.

Jessie grew to genuinely like some of his clients. They shared their vulnerabilities and secrets, and jut wanted him to listen. Some he steered back to relationships they could repair. One even asked him to be a bridesmaid at a simple civil marriage at city hall. Jessie loved the gown.

Fortunately, New Yorkers could care less how he dressed on the street as long as he didn’t block traffic, the only true offense in the city. Guys with fabulous hair and skirts just blended into the flow of life. Nobody gave a damn.

Chapter 11: Boring From Within

The woman in the front office of the ‘personal services’ business was good. She understood what a valuable commodity a performing talent like Jessie was. To do this well, the guy needed smarts, sensitivity and the ability to adapt to people as well as technical sexual skills. Some customers wanted some more traditional bondage and dominance and she kept her boys away from those. She had other assets, more experienced ones who could handle the rougher stuff. Jessie was under orders to walk out if it got to be more than the image of service they were selling. Billie LaCotta, the manager, knew the value of maintaining an air of exclusivity. If word got out that customers could be turned down for misbehavior, it built the image of quality and safety which attracted those new customers who might be hesitant to use the service. She knew an expanding market was more than worth a few refunds chasing a market with lots of competition. If only her partners understood that.

Jessie was now one of four or five stars in the stable of thirty guys. Billie found him a great apartment on the east side and took the rent out of his take. He knew she was making a slice on the deal, but he played along. Billie began asking Jessie to help out the other guys and work on the schedules. After a while, he asked her for some compensation for being Senior Whore as he put it. Billie laughed, but worked something out.

Jessie had been in the life for almost a year now. He felt a bit jaded, but had a regular customer base and was used on some exotic specials for out of town guests. He hated those, they were highly unpredictable.

It ended on one of those.

One South American woman had begun to demand some very arcane services regarding excretory functions. He had refused. She upped the offer. Her bodyguard began to intervene and Jessie had defended himself, breaking the guard’s arm and jaw. He grabbed his clothes and left an agitated customer screaming in Portuguese down the hotel hallway. He was stopped by hotel security before he could exit the lobby.

Chapter 12: A Thread Off The Knot

The police station had a separate lockup for the sexually unconventional, not official, but practical beyond belief. Less lawsuits, less abuse, less temptation to push for sexual favors. Given his skirt and profession, Jessie found himself in with the other male prostitutes. He felt his outfit was pretty conservative in comparison to the other boys.

“Jessie! Still not sucking any?” “It’s the “Personal Services” girls, girls!” “We have royalty among us!” “Your first bust, sweetheart?”

The regular boys on the street were a bit jealous of the ones from ‘Personal Services’, but they really served different customer bases and lived in different worlds. Jessie knew a few of them. Parnello had sent out some legend on Jessie with the other pimps, letting them know he was under Parnello’s wing.

Jessie settled in, talking hair and clothes with the guys until he was taken into an interrogation room. The cop sitting in there was bored stiff and scribbling on a form. He pointed to the chair, indicating that Jessie was to sit down. Jessie sat and waited, crossing his legs properly. He wished he was wearing a skirt with a longer hemline, this one showed his butt cheeks if he moved at all.

“I’m Detective Baker. It says here you were turning a trick with some foreign woman’s personal assistant and you attacked him. Given he is twice your size and she was carrying a whip, I might be persuaded to think this may not be true. Talk to me.”

Jessie knew he was to shut up and say nothing. He had triggered an “I’m being arrested” text message on his Blackberry” to Billie. He hoped she had something in motion.

“I’m waiting for my lawyer, Detective. I have nothing to say.” Jessie said.

“Figured that. Wait here.” Detective Baker got up to leave. Before he could clear the door, two more plainclothes cops rolled in.

“Get out Baker, were taking this one. Go back to processing the faggots in the tank.” Asshole Cop One said. He was not big but Jessie measured him as very mean.

“Blackwell and Stump, the boys from Special Ops. I’m surprised to see you slumming.” Baker said.

Blackwell, the mean cop, got very mad at Baker, probably for saying their names. “Get out, now, asshole. And shut the fuck up.”

Stump was big but not too bright. He grabbed Jessie out of the chair and began pushing him.

“Stump, cut it out. He’s useless with bruises. Okay, girly, lets go. You’re ours for now.” Blackwell said, in a cold monotone.

They signed Jessie out, got his purse and sweater and marched him out to their unmarked car. It stank of cigars and sweat. He was thrown in the back, the part without door handles.

Jessie realized Billie didn’t need to call lawyers, she called the cops. Her cops.

There was a man in his apartment. One of the faces he had memorized. A police Captain on Billy Boyle’s list.

“Ah yes, Jessie, isn’t it? I’ve been looking at your closet. You have much better taste than my wife does. You been such a good earner up until now. Why can’t you just keep the customer happy? She is very important to some importing we are planning on.” The Captain said.

Jessie started to reply. The cop held up his hand.

“I don’t care what a whore’s got to say. Just do what you’re supposed to do and fuck her. If she wants you to do anything, you do it. If she had not demanded you come back to face her, you’d be in a bathhouse tonight as an auction item. Christ, you must think you’re Queen of the May. Clean yourself up and get back over there in two hours. I’ll be in the lobby to apologize personally. And you will then do whatever she wants. Nod if you agree.”

Jessie nodded.

“Don’t assume Billie will protect you. She does what we tell her to do. Be there and wear something nice.”

The cop left.

Jessie decided this was a payoff. He assumed the phones were checked in this place, but he had another Blackberry, identical in appearance to the one they had given him. He fired off the events and the incredible good opportunity to bust a major player. One thing about busting cops, legally it was easier than a civilian. He hoped Billy and Brigit could get the wheels in motion fast enough.

Chapter 13: Takedown

A little black dress worked for Jessie. He fixed his hair, freshened his makeup and changed his stockings. He was forbidden to wear pantyhose by Billie. Not sexy enough. So he almost always wore a garter belt.

He took a cab over to the hotel. The hotel security apparently were clued in because they escorted him to the elevator. When it opened, he saw the Captain, along with Blackwell. Jessie got in.

Nothing was said until they arrived at the penthouse.

“Don’t fuck it up, girly.” Blackwell said, implying a great deal of threat in just his tone.

The Captain preceded Jessie into the suite. The woman was there, now calm enough to speak English. Jessie was told to kneel on the floor and hold his face down. He heard a whip strike twice and saw chunks of the floor on either side of him gouged out. There were steel barbs on the leather end and it was obvious the woman was an accomplished practitioner.

“Yes, Domina, he is very sorry for damaging your property. Yes, we are fixing Manuel. You may have him do whatever you want. We will charge you for any serious damage to the boy, though. I hope this was not an inconvenience. My regards to your husband.” The Captain nodded to Blackwell and they turned to leave.

Domina walked up to Jessie and gently touched his head.

“Look at me, little boy. Will you obey me now?” Her eyes were alive with anticipated pain and pleasure. Jessie looked at the leather harness she wore. It was well worn.

“What is the Domina’s pleasure?” Jessie asked meekly?

Domina ran her black polished fingertip over Jessie’s exposed shoulders.

“I wish for you to show me you love me, little boy. Bite yourself and draw blood. I will soothe you through the hurt.”

Jessie knew this was not going anywhere good. He saw Blackwell staring at him, grinning ear to ear. The Captain was grabbing his arm and attempting to hustle him out the door.

Jessie began to chew on his forearm and Domina stroked his rear end and crotch. As she began to exhale deeply he heard a crash through the door.

“Freeze! Police! Get down on the floor!” The shout was the best sound he had ever heard.

As Domina turned to look, Jessie twisted free and hit her squarely in the jaw. He heard something break.

“I love you this much, you bitch.” He said.

Domina was tough. Broken jaw or no broken jaw she grabbed her whip and struck at one of the uniformed cops coming through the door. Jessie heard flesh tearing. Then he heard several shots from police Berettas. Domina achieved a degree of pain before she died.

Jessie got up and a plainclothes cop ran up to him.

“Roberts, Internal Affairs. You Musgrove?”

Jessie nodded and went away. Gerry continued the nod.

Roberts put his coat over Gerry and ushered him past Blackwell and the Captain face down on the floor, being cuffed and read their rights.

“The wire worked great. We got it all. Captain Boyle wants to see you now.” Roberts said.

Gerry looked at Billy Boyle, who had a concerned look on his face.

“Billy, was it Blackwell?” Gerry asked, coldly.

Billy nodded. He waved the cops off the two cuffed cops on the floor.

Gerry leaned down and whispered in Blackwell’s ear.

“I know a lot of people who have friends inside, asshole, and some of them owed favors to Mike. I recommend you do yourself before you go upstate. Fuck you.”

Billy led Gerry away. There was no press.

Chapter 14: Moving On Up, To The East Side

Sasha had arranged a ‘wake’ for Gerry. Bigit , Billy Boyle, Parnello , and Billie LaCotta were there. Some more people would be coming later.

Billie had cut a deal and turned in two more high ranking cops. She got immunity with the agreement that she not manage Personal Services any more. The DA’s office just did not want a former key witness with such a profile. She could stay in the background, but not out front.

The bust had made all the papers, and Gerry was infamous. He had testified, but appearing as Gerry. The Commissioner was sad to see him not pursue his police career, but knew his reputation would make it difficult. He was still “that guy who became a gay hooker”, even though it was far from the truth.
Gerry knew he had been a straight hooker, and was pissed at the confusion. He got tired of comical and serious requests for blowjobs from his fellow cops.

Billy Boyle, like all seasoned cops, knew the new male sex trade would not go away, and wanted it kept decent and clean. It was his job to protect the city and by damn, if the city wanted guys in dresses as whores for women, then New York would have the finest. And in a city the size of New York, there was always a demand for anything.

Joey agreed to help get the new Personal Services running as a business partner, helped by their legal counsel, Brigit Kelly, just retired from the DA’s office. Billie would have a background role, along with Parnello. They were already arranging for their new east side location.

Jessie appeared, in a little black dress, fishnet hose, four inch stilettos and a small hat with a black veil. His hair was still jet black and now several inches past his shoulders.

He raised his glass of Jameson and spoke. “Thank you for coming. We all knew Gerry and he was a fine lad. May he be in Heaven an hour before the Devil knows he’s dead.”

Brigit laughed and drained her glass. She smiled at Jessie, kissed him on the lips and said. “We never wanted this for you. We never meant for you to join the family business.” It was the best Godfather imitation she could muster.

END

Winter Is The Season Of Endings

By Tyrone Slothrop- an Angelverse story

Parody is in the eye of those connected to the oxen being gored. Angel descends to visit a very strange lady…..

Chapter 1: Fly On By, Sweet Angel

The information was good. Angel liked it when the information was good. He welcomed this mission as a change of pace, a visit to his merciful side. Angel had thought he had lost any chance at being compassionate over the last few years.

The targets were going down, and he intended that they would go down hard, but he could reserve the final stroke unless they forced his hand. He found himself humming the theme from “Cops” and smiling.

It was a cold day in the city and the wind pushed at him as he made his way to the Municipal Court complex. He felt the heavy door slam behind him as he crossed the threshold. The guard smiled at him, a broad and friendly smile, with an approving nod. Angel returned the smile as he set his purse on the security conveyor. The guard helped him remove his fur coat.

“Let me get that, Ma’m. Any jewelry might set the detector off if it’s big enough.” The man offered Angel the plastic bin. Angel removed his necklace and decided his earrings would be fine left in place. He thanked the guard.

The process determined that Angel was sufficiently harmless and he ducked into the ladies room to repair his appearance. After touching up his makeup and running a brush through his hair, he determined that the weather had lost this round, he still looked fabulous. That setting gel worked wonders, he thought and reminded himself he would have to thank Bob for the tip.

He looked in the full length mirror, a luxury the old Court Building provided. No new construction would allow for such a nice touch. His five foot seven inch height was increased by the modest heels he wore, which matched his dress. He decided he was the wealthy but distraught mother of a problem teenaged boy. That was his role today and that is what he would be. He made another note the thank Frank for the fur coat. It added to the image perfectly, plus it was really nice in this winter weather. He walked out into the lobby with a carefully measured pace, with just enough gentle sway. Angel loved walking in heels.

The Judge’s private chambers were on the sixth floor. He rode the brass railed elevator alone, impressed with the silent efficiency of the machinery. He knew it was old before he was born and he was old. Nearly twenty five this year.

Chapter 2: Court Of Last Resort

The Judge had been doing her job for over fifteen years. The poor mother in front of her was a sight she had seen many times before. She often reflected on why it was always the wealthy who asked for her help and intercession when their little devils screwed up, and just assumed it was because they felt she could help them. Word did get out that she had helped other boys in trouble before. She never considered that only the wealthy would even think of asking a Judge for help, much less be granted an appointment.

“Mrs. Delacourt, may I call you Amy? I understand your son has been in trouble before. And you have tried other diversion programs?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Amy will be fine. We have tried several programs and he has been expelled from them all. He is not violent, just strong willed, I guess. He’s my husband’s child, you know, and I’m so close to him in age, I think he resents me marrying his father. And this latest thing, date rape, stealing a car, resisting arrest. He’s just fifteen, your Honor. Please, what can I do? My husband is out of the country and he has told me to follow my cousin’s advice.” Angel tried to add just enough powerlessness into his projection. Playing older than you are is always hard to do. Fortunately , Angel had excellent role models as a teenager.

The Judge looked over the criminal files on one Brandon Delacourt. They went back to age nine and were larger than the files of some gang members she had sent up. None of it indicated he was dangerous, just out of control. She thought the date rape charge was flimsy and could be beaten. She knew she would not subject the accuser to the Delacourt defense team. She never considered if it might be a false accusation.

The Judge knew of the Delacourts by reputation, private, wealthy and not to be crossed but also useful if they were on your side. She had verified the woman in her office as being recommended by a cousin whose heir apparent to the family fortune was a graduate of the “Special Program.” The Judge smiled inwardly at the memory of Young Charles. He had been so precious. And now he was inheriting one of the largest fortunes in the state. And ready to marry a hand picked girl who knew how to make him happy. The Judge had been part of that selection process.

After some more discussion, the Judge decided to intervene. She assured Amy Delacourt that there was some hope, a very effective program for troubled young men. She had Amy sign a number of papers, one of which would conditionally grant legal custody of Brandon Delacourt to the headmistress of the “Special Academy” in the event of a court order.

After Amy had thanked her profusely and departed, the Judge called her clerk and had the case shifted to her docket. She then made a call to the Academy.

Chapter 3: Angel Of The Morning

Angel waited at the train station, his leather jacket shielding him from the wind bouncing off the New England concrete. He had decided black was the best bad boy look he could conjure up. Black leather, black jeans, black sneakers, black tee shirt. He had his shoulder length brown hair pulled back at his neck and he had his small gym bag over his shoulder, his only luggage.

Projecting false bravado covering fear was the order of the day. He was playing fifteen which was fairly easy as his height and face fit right in. He still only shaved his beard every other day and was probably doomed to have a childlike baby face until he died.

He had arrived on an earlier train than the one he was scheduled on, just so he could get the lay of the land. He was tempted for the tenth time that year to have a cigarette as waiting in stations and airports was so conducive to smoking. Angel grinned and realized he had not had any tobacco since he was twelve, when he was a chain smoker. His mistress had encouraged the habit and his mother thought it made him look sophisticated. Frank, his foster dad, had broken the back of it in three difficult weeks.

A large Town Car pulled up and a tall imperious woman emerged, along with a pretty teenager. Angel noticed that the younger one was fairly good at appearing female, but not yet perfect. It was the little things like how the boy closed the car door that gave him away to Angel’s practiced eye. The pair looked as if they had descended from a 1950’s fashion show for wealthy white women with questionable fashion sense.

“Are you Brandon Delacourt?” the woman asked, crisply but without any warmth in her voice.

Angel gave her his best sneer. “I was told not to talk to strangers, and you are the strangest person yet today.” He turned his back to her, knowing what would come next. It is very difficult, especially if you have been highly trained to defend yourself, to take a shot when you know it is coming. Angel’s work had required him to master that skill.

The woman spun him around and landed a firm but open hand slap to his face. Angel exaggerated the hit and fell over. He had learned at an early age that making a blow look more effective than it was satisfied the sadism in his tormentors. It also enhanced their sense of control. Angel made himself sob and generated some tears. The boy in the taffeta skirt helped him up. Good cop, bad cop, just like Angel had learned at the police academy.

“I will not tolerate that form of verbal insubordination, Master Delacourt. I have papers assigning me as your legal guardian. You will come with us. Now. If you wish to leave you may do so after I explain the terms of your court ordered stay. And I do not discuss business in public places. So come now or I will leave you here for the police as a probation violator.”

Angel opted for surly silence for the car ride. The boy had been introduced as Barbara and Angel played along with his masquerade. The woman was to be referred to as Madam J. Angel assumed they would generate some femme name for him, to be revealed soon, probably tomorrow.

One of the problems of having a method is you become predictable. Angel had debriefed Charles Delacourt extensively. Charles was Brandon’s cousin who had graduated from this place and the one who, after joining the Group, had turned their eyes towards the Academy. Angel loved it when the intelligence was good. So far, it was according to script.

Chapter 4: Angelina, Louis Prima

Angel was shown his quarters, which seemed to be a monument to every mother’s fantasy of a little girls room, one which no self respecting girl over six would have anything to do with. Ruffles, frills and lace seem to be the theme, liberally laced with pinks. Barbara chattered about getting ready for meeting Madam J in her office in ten minutes.

Angel slid two packets out from his bag and secreted them on the bottom of a drawer. The rest of his things he left, assuming they would be missing after they drugged him.

At five pm he was standing in Madam J’s office while she casually berated his manner and deportment. Angel had to admit to himself that she was good. Almost no fifteen year old boy could withstand the practiced psychological cruelty she inflicted. But then again, Angel thought, they should not have to withstand it. He had spent most of his life dealing with adults who thought they could treat children as objects to mold or use.

“Master Delacourt, Brandon, You will need to consider your options. You are here because your mother has consented to let me correct your behavior, and a Judge has ordered it instead of sending you to a juvenile facility. If you refuse to do what I require, you will be sent directly to prison. I want your word that you will comply with my requirements or I will have no choice but to send you away. It is past time to call the appropriate state agencies so you can answer me in the morning. Do you understand?” The woman seemed intent on playing the psychological dominatrix to the hilt.

Angel answered with as much attitude as he could deliver. “Nice try. Call the police if you want to. You want my word? Here it is — screw off.” He knew the slap was coming, rolled with it and began his sobbing routine from the floor.
An older woman came in, she seemed French from her accent, maybe an immigrant. Her wrists locked onto Angel’s arms like vise clamps.

“It is too late to send you out tonight. You will be fed and then sent to your room. Maybe tomorrow you will be more amenable to civil discussion.” Madam J said, barely containing her mirth.

Angel felt the drug they concealed in his food working. As Barbara led him to his room he could barely feel his feet. He fell into the bed face down. Seconal, he thought to himself as he lost consciousness.

Angel heard Barbara enter his room at around three am. She grabbed everything in his bag except for his toothbrush and removed them from the room. He maintained the façade of being asleep as Barbara the boy and the French woman struggled to undress him. Angel was glad he had hidden his spare pair of sneakers in the boxspring of the bed.

About seven am Madam J swept into his room and ripped off the sheet, exposing Angel’s naked body. He grabbed the sheet and cowered in the bed.

“Brandon, your lazy ways are over. Get up, clean yourself and clean that filthy hair. Put on some clothes and meet me in my office for tea. You have twenty minutes.” Madam J said , her voice a combination of command and cruelty.

“But my clothes! They’re gone!”

“I cannot help it if you misplace your clothes. Now take something from the closet after you shower. And make sure you shampoo. And stop worrying about me seeing you. You are just a boy after all, hardly anything to see.” Madam J said. Angel knew she was lying, he was very well endowed and had seen the woman staring at his equipment.

“But those are girl’s clothes!” Angel was whining as best he could. The woman was so predictable she was on the same script from ten years ago.

“If you stay here that is all you will wear until you learn to behave. We will discuss if I will even allow you to stay or just send you to jail!” Madam J said, turned on her heel and left.

Angel retrieved his packets from the drawer. He did shower but avoided the shampoo bottle and used his own soap from his stash. If Madam J had specifically mentioned it, he knew it was part of the setup.

He looked over the selection of dresses and decided to get into character. He quickly attached his packets to the inside of a petticoat with the Velcro tabs, then found a camisole slip. He casually stepped into a ridiculous dress over the petticoats and sat down at the vanity to do his face. After brushing out his hair he decided he looked fine. He then grinned and completed his ensemble with his hidden sneakers over his hosiery.

He knew he did not need to get dressed given the next phase in the plan, but he wanted to, just to have fun with the Madam J. He finished blow drying his hair and was glad to find his door open.

The French woman was waiting in the hall, he could see her shadow and smell her perfume. He sang to himself “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you…”

Chapter 5: Heavenly Host Descends

Angel wanted the French woman reasonably intact, so he started to run for the window. As she reached out from her hiding place, he jabbed a stun gun (which he had secreted in his packets) into her solar plexus while hitting her on the side of the neck with a stiffened hand. She went down hard. Angel dragged her into his room and administered one of his hypodermics. She would be out for a while. He found Barbara in the kitchen preparing tea. He grabbed the boy from behind and gave him a shot with the next needle. He gently set him in a kitchen chair, closing the boy’s open mouth.

Angel made a rapid sweep of the house and keyed his radio. He then proceeded to bring the tea set to Madam J’s office.

As he approached the room he heard the faint sound of helicopters passing overhead. He grinned and sang “The boys are back in town”.

Angel decided on a grand entrance. He opened the door quietly and then kicked it so hard it almost rattled off the hinges.

“I heard you wanted some tea, you pompous windbag!” He threw the opened pot at Madam J’s face, the pool of liquid coming out in midair. She mostly ducked but caught a lot on the top of her head. Angel smiled as she screamed. He waited for the woman to get up and she charged at him. He easily evaded her. Having an enraged opponent is very helpful if you have tactical skill. He was particularly happy knowing his ruse had worked. The tea was room temperature but Madam J’s assumption was it was her normal scalding level, creating the fear and panic Angel had wanted.

“Going to slap me again and feed your need, honey?” Angel taunted. The woman began an arm swing but this time Angel’s hand reached out, faster than the eye could see and just held her wrist, stopping her momentum dead on the spot. The woman squealed.

“The problem with learning a little martial arts is when you encounter an opponent better than you are you make it difficult for him to avoiding hurting you.” Angel said. “So you can either keep trying to fight me or just do what I say. Sit down. And shut up. I have a lot to say and little time in which to say it.”

The woman sat down. Her eyes were on fire. Angel was smiling, looking beautiful and soft in his frilly dress and carefully applied makeup. He proceeded to duct tape her to the chair, enjoying the process immensely. Taping her mouth shut was almost a sexual experience.

“Was that good for you, sweetheart?” Angel asked in a lover’s voice. Her eyes were boring holes in him, pouring out sheer madness and anger.

“My my, little Missy, that tape does not go with your ensemble. What are we going to do with you? You’ve managed to get yourself all wet. How very clumsy of you. “ He said, imitating the French woman.

Angel suddenly shifted gears into overdrive.

“Now that I have your undivided attention, for once in your life you will listen to someone other than your delusions. So where to begin? Oh yes. Your days of pleasure with the torture of young men are over. You have been targeted for, shall we say, a form of discipline which you seem to lack. The discipline to let boys to be boys.

“Let me introduce my Group. We are all the victims of women who tried to mold us for their own enjoyment, and we have made it our mission to remove those kind of terribly ill souls wherever we find them. That’s my job.

“Now normally I would just shoot you, but we have decided that over the years you have been ‘in business’ you have contained your sadism to brief periods of time, releasing your victims to make their way in the world. So you get a bit of mercy.

“We also know you use their fear of exposure to help keep your little game here under wraps. So we end this now and leave you with your life.

“Please remember, if you try again and we find out, you will be killed, without any remorse on our part. “

Angel listened to his radio, chatter coming through his earplug. “They are telling me your friend the Judge has just been arrested on kidnapping charges for one Brandon Delacourt, who is believed to be in this area. I would like you to meet Brandon now.”

Another Group member walked in holding the hand of a seven year old boy, who was dressed identically to Angel in the petticoats and frilly dress. He had long blonde hair, due to the recently applied extensions.

“Brandon, is this the woman who took you and made you wear these silly girl’s clothes?” Angel asked.

Brandon nodded and left the room with the other agent.

“You see, it’s interesting. We have a member who does a really good impersonation of you. It’s was a pleasure watching him imitate you kidnapping that child, feeding him drugs and telling him how he was going to be made a girl because boys were evil. Oh yes, you thought Brandon was a fifteen year old delinquent, that’s right. Sorry. Too bad about all the narcotics in your house, too. I also believe the FBI has had all of your assets frozen for drug trafficking. And it was really interesting how when given the choice of being exposed as your victims or your willing participants, most of your former students chose to be exposed to the media as victims, listing your little tortures in great and graphic detail. I will give you credit, about ten percent refused to rat you out. Yes, we have released all of the information to the media, with the best pictures going to the racier tabloids. Especially the video of you threatening a seven year old boy with jail, calling him by name. That’s a classic. Our cameras at the train station really caught your dramatic essence.”

Angel held up his last hypodermic needle to her eye level. “You will sleep now, your heroin and cocaine mixture will be in your body when the FBI gets here to rescue little Brandon. We chose those two drugs because the public knows them. We wanted to make sure there was no confusion about your character.

“Oh yes. I saw those books on your shelf, the ones on “Petticoat Discipline”. The mistress my mother gave me to when I was eight had those books. She was a bit more direct than you were, using a cattle prod on me whenever I didn’t dress just the right way. In many ways she was just like you, but with more compassion.

“Please remember, I will kill you if you ever do this again, after you get over your little legal trouble of course.”

He administered the needle and after Madam J was comatose Angel removed the duct tape He left the room, passing a sleeping Brandon, now loosely tied up with his face on the unconscious French woman’s thigh. There was a pile of cocaine on the table and heroin works on the floor. A perfect front page tabloid picture, almost is if it were posed.

Angel and the crew left the house and got into the waiting helicopter. Barbara, already securely strapped in, was sleeping soundly.

Angel looked down from about 1200 feet and saw a series of state police cars and unmarked SUVs which he knew to be DEA and FBI rolling through the driveway. The media vans were right behind them.

He had already dealt with all the insults from the other Group members about his dress. Madam J deserved more punishment on bad taste alone he thought.

He started singing “Bad boys, bad boys..” but no one could hear over the rotor noise.

Chapter 6: Off Duty Angel

Frank was still recovering from the disease which had ravaged him for years. He was happy to see Angel, his adopted son. Frank felt pride and guilt at setting Angel on his life’s work since he pursued it with such a single minded focus, quite often approaching a level of coldbloodeness which scared him. He knew Angel was not a sociopath but he could act like one to do his job.

“I see that the Delacourt family is not one I would want as an enemy, Angel. How is their little boy?” Frank asked.

“He’ll be fine. We never terrorized him, just made him play dress up a few times. George was incredible as Madam J. He scared the crap out of me.”

“It might have been kinder to shoot the woman, Angel.” Frank said.

“I don’t know. It’s so damn messy. Plus I am sure she will be viewed as insane anyway. She is, you know. You also know half the charges will not stick and the only way she will do any time is if she covers for her friend the Judge.

“It will take her a while to disentangle her money from the Feds and then the Delacourts seem to have made it a personal mission to make her persona non grata in the business world. So she will be cash strapped for a while. “ Angel smiled. This indirect havoc stuff could be more fun than the ‘direct action’ he had been using.

“I understand Mr. Charles Delacourt has decided to not pursue his planned nuptials with one of Madam J’s little followers. Is that right?” Frank asked.

“Old Charlie played her really well. After he came out and denounced Madam J’s process he pretty much destroyed her shot at the Social Register. Consorting with kidnappers and child molesters and drug dealers, oh my.” Angel grinned, ending with a very good Judy Garland impression..

Frank suddenly turned serious.

“Angel, will you ever do enough to make it go away for you?” Frank voiced the question he swore he would never ask.

“It already has, Dad. But there as so many more little Angels out there. And we are all they have. Nobody else seems to think it’s an issue.“ Angel answered.

Frank and Angel both knew he was lying. It would never go away for Angel. Frank was over fifty and it had not gone away for him.

Angel looked at Frank, whose waist length hair was shining, looking comfortable in his black tights and shirtdress. Angel smoothed his skirt and checked his hair in the reflection on the window. He thought how odd the Group was. A band of brothers, bound by pain from the past, using it to heal wounds which never can be healed.

END